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He fucked up.
There's no other way to put it. No way he can spin this so he still comes out the good guy. He fucked up, plain and simple.
Ana sniffles. She pulls her bra straps over her shoulders, fingers stiff.
Eddie takes a moment to look at that bra—he never noticed it before. Her dress had been covering it up for most of the evening and then when they got back to his place, all he’d really been focused on was ripping all that fabric off her gorgeous body. It’s pretty, though— lacy black and sleek. Expensive too if the satin straps dripping down her shoulders and around the cups are anything to go by.
It’s such a silly thing, but seeing that bra only makes him feel worse. Ana got dressed up for tonight—their six month anniversary, why wouldn’t she?—and he ruined it.
He is officially the worst person in the world.
"Ana—"
"Don't," she says quietly. "Just don't. I don't know what kind of person you think I am, Eddie, but I have way more respect for myself than to put up with this for a second.”
Eddie. Not Edmundo. Eddie doesn’t think she’s called him by his nickname a day in her life.
Ana steps into her underwear—the same lacy black satin as her bra—and then into her little black dress. She drags her fingers through her hair until it vaguely resembles neatness. It's almost one in the morning, no one’s going to see her, but the way she puts herself to rights reminds Eddie of the way he’d strap on his body armor before going out into the combat field.
Ana looks around for her shoes. Every now and then, she’ll sniff and drag her fingers under her eyes and nose, determined not to let him see any evidence of her pain. He feels like an asshole for not offering to let her stay the night, but somehow he thinks that’s the least asshole-ish thing he’s done the past hour.
When Ana slips her heels on, Eddie finally gets out of bed and pulls his boxers over his hips. "At least let me pay for an Uber or something."
It’s the wrong thing to say.
Ana whirls around, her face a mask of fury. "I'm not a whore, Eddie. You can’t fuck me and then pay for it, what the hell is wrong with you?"
Eddie blinks at her. He's never even heard so much as a gosh darn it from her lips before tonight.
"I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”
"Forget it." Ana chuckles darkly, shaking her head. "You know, I knew— I knew —from the moment I met him that this was going to be a problem. And something in me told me to just walk away, to just let you and him sort it out together. But I thought to myself, no, I can handle it. It’s not a big deal. I even asked you and you said—”
“I know what I said,” Eddie says quickly.
“Don’t you dare cut me off,” she snaps back.
Eddie raises his hands in surrender. He’s never seen her this angry before. Part of him wonders if this is how she always is when she’s angry or if this is a special type of fury reserved only for him. He guesses it doesn’t matter—whatever the type of rage he’s getting from her is exactly the type of rage he deserves.
“I asked you,” Ana continues pointedly, “And what did you say? Tell me what you said, Eddie.”
He swallows. “I said it wasn’t a problem.”
“You said it wasn’t a problem. Right.” Ana scoffs and shakes her head. “And I trusted you. So that makes me either the biggest fool in the world, or it makes you the biggest liar. And I’m no fool.”
Eddie takes a step forward. He’s so tired of standing still but he doesn’t know what to do. Should he touch her? Comfort her? Tell her everything’s going to be okay? All of those seem like bad ideas but he can't just not do anything.
Fuck.
Eddie looks down at his hands—they’re shaking. It's so odd—he can’t remember the last time his hands shook out of genuine emotion. Usually they shake after work when he's coming down from all that excess energy and adrenaline, but this is raw feeling bleeding through his bones—it’s fear, and anger, and exhaustion all rolled up into one. Fear at how Ana could take this situation and weaponize it if she wanted to, anger that it took sex with someone else to get him to confront the very thing he’s been running from all this time, and exhaustion because even now he's trying to figure out the best way to worm his way out of the situation without becoming too scarred. Eddie Diaz is brave in 99% of situations but when it comes to that 1%, the percent that's likely to leave him hurt and a little bruised, he's as cowardly as a little boy hiding under the covers from all the monsters.
He’s going to puke. He should sit down, he needs to sit down, but his legs feel frozen in place. “I didn’t know this would happen,” he begins haltingly. He doesn’t know why he’s still trying to convince her he’s not the bad guy here. “I just—”
Ana cuts him off. “What were you thinking about?”
“I—What?”
“What were you thinking about? You know, when you moaned your best friend’s name right before you came inside me. What was even going through your head? I know it certainly couldn’t have been me.”
Shit, she's not pulling her punches, is she? Not like he expected her to. His heartrate kicks up without his permission. He feels ill. Violently, terrifyingly ill. Eddie can’t remember the last time he’s thrown up but he feels dangerously close to it now, his mouth flooding with that tell-tale rush of saliva right before he hurls his guts up.
“I—please don’t make me answer that.”
“Why not?” Ana crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t I deserve to know?”
“Ana—”
“What were you imagining? Were you imagining being inside of him?” She takes a step forward, eyes cold. “Is that what you wanted, Eddie? You wanted him underneath you, moaning your name, begging you not to stop, fucking himself on your cock?”
“ Knock it off. ”
She pretends to think, as if he hasn’t spoken. “Or, what, maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it was his dick you were desperate for. Is that what you were thinking about when you came, Eddie? I mean, I’m just taking a stab in the dark here. Stop me when I get warm. Just wondering—is this what you think about when you fuck everyone or is it just me, your girlfriend, who gets the special treatment?"
Eddie wracks his memory—he can’t remember a time he’s ever been ripped apart so cleanly, so viscerally before. Even the worst words from his father, sharp and callous and borderline unloving, were never so achingly cruel.
He doesn’t know why hurt so badly from her. They shouldn’t. They’ve only known each other for a little over a year, been dating for a few months. In the grand scheme of things, Ana is a blip on his radar, a time in his life he'll cruise by just as quickly as he came upon it. But it hurts, damn, does it hurt.
His hands into fists at his sides and Eddie prays his voice comes out level when he says, “Look. You want to embarrass me, I get it, but—”
Ana laughs. “Oh. Oh, I want to embarrass you?” She claps her hands, mocking. “Congratulations, Edmundo, that’s exactly what I want to do. Not a very nice feeling is it?”
“If you’d just let me explain, then—”
“Okay. Go ahead, I’m listening. I’m all ears. Tell me what you have to say. Explain.”
Eddie opens his mouth but finds there’s absolutely nothing to say. Even if they could patch this night up and pretend it all away, Ana would never look at him the same, their relationship would never be the same, and every word that comes to mind just sounds like an excuse. I didn't think this would happen is the best he can do, and even that sounds lame.
So Eddie swallows his feelings, his guilt, and his pride, and says, “I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
And just like that, all the anger leeches from Ana’s face. In its place, a terrible, terrible sadness.
Eddie kind of almost wishes the anger would come back.
Her bottom lip trembles. “Well, I don’t forgive you.” It’s not unexpected, but it still aches to hear. Ana clears her throat. “I'll have my sister come and pick up my things tomorrow. I don’t think I have a lot here but I can’t—I can’t take care of that right now. Just—” she glares at him when he takes a step forward, “Do not fucking touch me. Do not walk me to the door. Just leave me alone.”
Eddie nods. “Okay.”
His voice is so quiet, he's not even sure she hears it.
Eddie stands frozen for several minutes and only sinks to the floor at the side of his bed when he hears the Uber pull away from his driveway.
He fucked up and there’s only one person he can think of to talk to.
Eddie blindly reaches for his phone on the nightstand. He doesn’t waste time with greetings. When the phone picks up, all he can say is, “Can you come over?”
There’s a beat of hesitation, then a muffled noise as blankets are thrown aside.
“I’m on my way.”
Bobby lets himself in. Eddie gave him a key not too long after the tsunami hit, just to make sure someone other than himself (and Buck) had the means to get into his place just in case something else were to go to shit. Bobby’s never had cause to use his key since then, but hey, there’s a first time for everything. Sitting on the floor with his face in his hands, Eddie’s not sure he’d be able to drag himself off the floor to open the door anyway.
Bobby calls, “Eddie?”
“In here.”
He hasn’t moved an inch, not even to put a shirt on, which means that when Bobby steps into his bedroom, he’s just as semi-naked as he was when Ana walked out. Dear God, he’s a disaster. Can this night get any better?
“Eddie?” Bobby's voice is cautious. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?
What a loaded question.
He shakes his head, though. “No.”
“Are you sick?”
“No.” Now that he thinks about it, he probably shouldn’t have pulled Bobby out of his bed for this. He doesn’t even know why he did. He’s still such an asshole even when he’s not trying to be. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, none of that,” Bobby says easily. His voice sounds lighter now that he knows Eddie’s not about to keel over and die or something. “Do you want to keep the light on?”
“Not really.”
“You got it.”
The switch flips as Bobby turns the lights off, plunging the room into a darkness broken only by the slanting moonlight. The floorboards creak as Bobby takes a seat beside him.
“This is comfortable.”
“Yeah.”
“You want to tell me why we’re sitting on the floor?”
Eddie swallows thickly. If he opens his mouth, he’s going to cry. He knows that for a fact. He shakes his head.
“Okay, then. Do you want to listen, or do you want to be silent?”
“Silent.”
Bobby doesn’t say anything more, not even to acknowledge his request. He rests a hand between Eddie’s shoulder blades, and when Eddie flinches at the touch, Bobby only holds his hand still until he gets used to it. That’s the great thing about Bobby Nash, Eddie thinks as he sits on his bedroom floor, butt getting more numb by the second. Bobby’s lived enough life and been through enough shit to know that sometimes, all you need is a person beside you, someone to take your hand and guide you back to the light. Eddie needs that right now because with each passing moment, he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into a shame spiral.
It’s not even the fact that he wants to have sex with Buck. Eddie kissed Maria Pasqualone behind the bleachers of his highschool when he was fifteen and traded messy blowjobs with Michael Beecher the night before his graduation when he was eighteen and high on adolescence and shitty weed, and it was never a big deal.
This feels like a big deal.
Not because Buck is a man but because Buck is Buck. Beautiful, charming, brave, and heroic Buck. His best friend, his partner, his co-parent...
And Ana reached right down into his chest, where all his secrets and desires lay curled around each other safe and hidden, and tore it wide open, throwing his most tender feelings on the ground between them like refuse to be stomped on and sneered at.
It’s his own fault in some ways. His thoughts wandered, he let his guard down too far—he’ll take the blame for that. But to have it all tossed back at him so casually, so cruelly—it’s doing things to his insides. He’s not sure there’s a word for how this feels. It’s deeper than hurt and closer to betrayal, but that doesn’t make sense either, does it?
Bobby’s thumb starts up a steady back and forth motion, soothing and gentle. He doesn’t ask for any explanation even though Eddie knows he can feel him shaking underneath the palm of his hand. At some point, Bobby starts whispering to himself. No, not whispering to himself—praying.
God knows Eddie needs all the prayer he can get.
“Bobby?”
“Hm?”
“I date men.”
It’s not what he means to say. Very much not what he means to say, but it’s out there now and if Eddie has ever wanted to rewind time a few seconds and rewrite the course of his life, it’s right here, right now.
But Bobby only hums. That thumb doesn’t stop.
“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” He sounds sincere, touched even. “You want to look up now?”
“No.”
“Okay. You know,” Bobby says after a moment, “My wife was bisexual. Marcy, not Athena.” He makes a sound that almost a laugh. “She came out to me while we were still in college. It was a different time then, I wasn’t really sure how to act. She laughed at me more than a few times, got frustrated more than a few times. But even then, I knew I loved her, and learning that about her just gave me another aspect of her to love. The same goes for you too, by the way,” he says after a beat. “In case you were wondering.”
He was, but he can’t acknowledge that right now. If he does he will throw up—or even worse, break down into tears—and he’s already embarrassed himself enough for one night.
“Bobby?” he asks again after some time has passed.
“Yes?”
“I fucked up.”
Bobby hums again. “Well, as someone who’s had my own share of fuck ups, I’m pleased to tell you that there are very few things a good explanation and a decent apology cannot fix. Where are we on a scale from one to ten?”
Eddie considers that. “An eleven.”
“Ah, that’s pretty high. Well, do you—
“I’m in love with Buck.”
There’s a longer silence. Still, that thumb doesn’t stop moving.
“You don’t say.”
Eddie looks up at that. Even with the lights off it takes him a moment to adjust to the darkness. “You knew?”
Bobby chuckles. “Son, I think everyone but you two figured it out a long time ago.” He looks around the room. “I’m assuming that’s why there’s still women’s perfume on the dresser with no woman in sight?”
Eddie laughs, strangled. “Something like that.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s alright too.”
Eddie doesn’t know how long they stay like that but Bobby doesn’t complain once. If he gets uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. At some point, around what has to be the hour-and-a half mark, Bobby yawns and stretches his legs out. He doesn’t leave Eddie’s side once.
One day, Eddie’s going to write him a thank you card. He doesn’t know what it’ll say. Thank you for sitting on my floor while I tried to keep from crying all night seems a little on the nose but he’ll figure something out.
Bobby only stands up when the sun begins to rise. He pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and sends what is either a very long text, or multiple text messages and holds a hand out for Eddie to pull himself to his feet. Damn, he’s in top shape but even his legs are stiff as hell.
“Listen, I have to go get ready for a doctor’s appointment, but reinforcements are on the way.”
“Oh.” His voice sounds like he hasn’t spoken in hours, probably because he hasn’t. “You don’t—you didn’t have to do that.”
“Shut up,” Bobby says not unkindly. He stretches, joints popping, and picks up his jacket up from where it’s resting at the foot of the bed. “You going to be okay here until then?”
“I’m fresh out of razor blades if that’s why you’re asking.”
Bobby gives him what he and Buck refer to as the Disappointed Bobby Look, and deadpans, “Hilarious.” He’s almost out the bedroom door when he stops and turns around. “Listen, Eddie, about Buck.”
Damn, just when he thought he was safe.
“Bobby. We don’t have to—
He holds up a hand. “Just listen. I’ve known that kid for a long time. He’s not just a part of my team, he’s a part of my family, as are you. I’ve seen every version of him imaginable and I can tell you right now I’ve never, in my life, seen him act with anyone else the way he acts when he’s with you and Christopher.” Bobby pauses, considering. “Abby Clark was his first love, but that doesn’t mean she has to be his greatest. If you’re in love with him, you need to tell him because I guarantee you he needs to hear it.”
Eddie sighs. “Bobby, I can’t just…”
“Hold on, now. I’m not saying you have to today, or tomorrow, or even next year,” Bobby says calmly. “But he needs to know. And frankly, I think you need to say it.”
He’s probably right, but…
“What if I lose him?”
It’s the only question that’s been plaguing his mind ever since Ana stormed out, ever since he realized the truth he'd long kept hidden was this close to bursting it’s way from his chest. Because the reality is that Eddie could lose everything . All it takes is a simple word, a mere miscalculation and everything he’s built, and fought for, and bled for will come tumbling down. The worst thing is, he doesn’t even think Buck would be cruel about it. But things would be different. He’d stop coming around more and more, start coincidentally distancing himself from Eddie until there’s nothing left between them but the frayed thread of what they used to have. Buck made a promise to Christopher that he’d always be there for him, and Eddie knows even if things fell apart between them, he’d keep it. But how torturous would that be? To be stuck keeping a promise to the kid of the man he’d turned down? Eddie’s not willing to do that to either of them, to make their relationship awkward and tense just based on the fact that he accidentally caught feelings for someone he wasn't supposed to.
Bobby only shrugs. “What if you don’t?” He lets that question sit in the air between them as he glances down at his watch. “Damn, I really do have to go. You did the right thing calling me, by the way. You know I’ll always be there when you need me.”
The firm, heartfelt sincerity of that is enough to bring tears to Eddie’s eyes. He's so tired of being emotional. Where was Bobby Nash when he was growing up? He's certain he would have turned out a hell of a lot differently if he'd had Bobby Nash in his life when he was a kid.
Eddie clears his throat and changes the topic; blessedly, Bobby allows him. “What’s the doctor's appointment for? Is everything—”
"Relax. Annual check-up. Oh joy.” Bobby rolls his eyes in such a way that Eddie knows he picked up from Athena. The thought, as well as the dry displeasure in Bobby's tone, teases a laugh, small but genuine, from his lips. Judging by Bobby’s smile, that had been the goal.
“Call me later and let me know you’re okay.”
“Sure. Listen, Bobby. I...”
Bobby waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. I know. Get some rest.”
He shuts the bedroom door with a quiet snick and it's only after his truck pulls out of the driveway that Eddie thinks to ask him who the reinforcements are. He thinks he knows though, a suspicion that's only confirmed when a key turns in the front door lock.
Dammit Bobby.
Eddie pulls on a pair of sweatpants and walks into the living room just in time to see Buck slowly kick open the front door. In one arm, he holds a sleeping Christopher wrapped around him like an octopus, and in the other hand, a cardboard drink carton with two coffees and an apple juice. Buck hasn’t noticed Eddie standing in the foyer yet so Eddie takes a moment to watch him. He should help him but damn if he's not a sight to behold this early in the morning. Painted in pale sunlight, Buck looks like he rolled right out of bed and threw on the first clothes he could find—which happen to be a thin, white t-shirt that’s doing very pleasant things to Eddie’s insides and a pair of black track pants. He's almost overcome by the sheer force of his desire then, the breathtaking want that nearly rattles him to his core.
But then Christopher snuffles, his bony arms and knees digging into Buck's skin and okay, yeah, fun's over.
Buck’s eyes widen with relief when Eddie steps into the living room. “Take the cups,” he whispers as soon as he sees him.
Eddie grabs the carton from him and steps aside as Buck carefully moves through the living room and carries Christopher to his bedroom. There's something unprecedentedly sweet about the ease and comfort with which Buck moves and exists in his space. He doesn't need to ask where Christopher's bedroom is, or even if he's allowed to venture to such a private part of the house. He just goes there on his own like he knows he'll always be welcome. Probably because he is. As long as Eddie Diaz is alive, and even after, Buck will always have a home with him, even if that home is simply the ventricles and chambers of his heart.
Buck comes out into the living room a few minutes later and drops down onto the sofa with a groan. “Chris is light as a feather ninety percent of the time but that other ten percent is a fucking killer."
Eddie chuckles, taking a seat next to him, and leans his head against the back of the sofa. “What, you mean to tell me you couldn’t tough it out, firefighter?”
He means it teasingly but Buck doesn't answer. Eddie cracks an eye open to see Buck's gone incredibly still beside him, eyes locked on him. When Buck notices his gaze, he clears his throat and reaches for his coffee, cheeks pink. Eddie's about to ask him what the fuck that's all about, which is about the same time he realizes he's still shirtless.
Oh.
Buck clears his throat, his voice only a little choked when he says, "Ha ha. I wanna see you try it.”
Oh, right, their play fight about carrying Christopher. Only, now, all the comebacks have flown straight from Eddie's head. Buck was checking him out. He licks his lips, unthinking, and watches Buck unconsciously track the movement.
Oh.
Interesting.
Eddie takes a moment to file that away for later as Buck gives himself a little shake and takes another sip of his coffee. When he puts the cup back down, Eddie knows what he’s going to say even before he says it, can see the concern written so clearly in his eyes it might as well be painted in the irises. Mood effectively killed.
“So, uh, not that I’m not happy to be here, but what’s going on? Bobby said you were having kind of a rough night. You know you could have called me, right?”
“What, and ruin Christopher’s sleepover? He’s been talking about it for a week now. Not a chance. ” When Buck doesn’t respond to that, Eddie sighs. “Yeah. It was a pretty shit night.”
“Was it, you know, nightmares or…” His voice trails off waiting for Eddie to fill in the blanks.
Well. Some parts of the night were definitely nightmarish, he will say that much. Buck will just have to settle for a half-truth.
“Ana broke up with me.”
Buck’s eyes widen. “Shit. What happened?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he says quickly. It hasn’t escaped him that only five hours ago he was moaning Buck’s name only for the man in question to now be seated next to him, but if Eddie thinks about that too hard, he’s likely to do something stupid like climb in Buck’s lap. Or run away. Either is good.
At Buck’s prompting look, Eddie thinks of something else to say. “I guess we both figured out that we weren't exactly what the other needed.”
Understatement of the year.
Buck considers that for a long moment. He takes another few sips of his coffee, his fingers playing with the cardboard around the cup.
“Oh. That’s—yeah, I mean, it’s good that you found that out now. You know, before things get too serious.”
Their six month anniversary was yesterday and her stuff was practically halfway moved in. But Eddie says, “Yeah,” because he gets it. For all the time they spent together, for all the laughter, and the sex, and the vague future plans, their relationship wasn't really going anywhere.
Buck won’t meet his eyes. It’s such an odd thing to notice, mainly because the only reason Eddie does notices is because he’s so used to having Buck’s attention on him at all times that it feels like having a blanket stolen in the middle of a cold night when it isn’t. He's about to nudge him in the ribs and asks what's up when Buck takes a deep breath.
“It was—what did you—I mean, like, what was it that you found out that you needed?”
Ah. The confession is right there on the tip of his tongue. One word, three letters: you. He can’t make himself say it though. He’s been swallowing his feelings down for so long that they're stuck in his throat, right at the base. But he can’t just not saying anything. Bobby is right—one thing Eddie knows about Buck is that he’s always so terribly, treacherously unsure of his place in the world, or his place among people that are supposed to love him. If nothing else, he needs to know that he’s an irrevocable, irreplaceable part of Eddie’s life.
Eddie swallows hard. “I think it’s actually more fair to say that, you know, maybe I should just stop looking." A beat. "I don’t think I’ve got a bad thing here.”
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
Buck stares at him for a moment before his face unfurls into a soft smile, pretty enough to rival the morning sky. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you might be onto something there.”
He's effortlessly beautiful all the time, but especially when he’s happy. Eddie's still not 100% convinced he's not ready to just say fuck it and climb in Buck's lap and kiss him senseless, come what may, but he can't do that yet. He's still blindingly terrified and just because he's not actively on the verge of a breakdown right now doesn't mean he's ready to take that plunge. Ana only broke up with him a few hours ago, and the loss still hurts even after everything.
Eddie can feel his good mood slipping so he changes his train of thought. He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Now get that ass up and get into that kitchen. I’ve been craving some french toast. Make it sweet.”
Buck laughs. “You’re such an asshole.” But he gets to his feet without complaint, and when Christopher shuffles from his room and follows his nose into the kitchen, Buck takes a break in meal prep to hug him good morning. He perches him up on the counter while he cooks, says something that makes Christopher laugh brightly, and Eddie's heart clenches .
This house, this kitchen, with his son and the man he loves safe and sound and happy—Eddie can’t think of a single thing in the world he could possibly want more than this.
"Dad," Christopher calls over his shoulder. "Buck said we could taste the first piece of French toast, come on."
“Just a second, mijo.”
Eddie pulls himself off the sofa and walks into the bedroom. When he picks up his phone, he’s already got a message from Bobby?.
How are things there?
They're alright. I think I’m going to be okay.
Bobby's response comes a second later.
I always knew you would be.
Eddie clicks his phone off before he starts tearing up (again), and when Christopher calls his name again, voice bright with laughter, Eddie takes a deep breath and follows his family into the light.