Archive of Our Own

I am writing this to say / I am not leaving you forever / I am going to get better / and then I’ll come home

— Soup Is One Form Of Salt Water, by Heather Christle

Eddie is leaving. This is a thing Buck knows, a thing Buck is trying — and only mostly failing — to come to terms with. Her best friend, her other half, is moving 800 miles away, and it sucks.

It sucks major ass.

They don’t talk about it. The Leaving. Not in the way Buck is so desperate to. Many times since the day she’s found out, she’s found herself staring at Eddie’s side profile and begging, silently, for her to say something — anything about it that could soothe the wound. For her to say I don’t want to go. It hurts to leave you. I wish I could stay.

It’s a selfish want. Buck has always been selfish.

She doesn’t say it, anyway. Though once, with her jaw tense and hand wrapped around a door handle, she admitted: I don’t like it anymore than you do.

It’d felt like a confession. The closest Buck was going to get to one, anyway.

Aching with relief, Buck had thought: So it kills you, too, right? This is agony for us both?

Buck doesn’t really expect her to say anything more. Not really. Eddie’s always been the type to put her head down and muscle through the suffering. Her agony lives in the unsaid things — the tense line of her shoulders, the haunted look in her eyes, the dark bags accessorising the thin skin just beneath them, the downturn of her mouth when no one is looking.

Buck worries about her almost constantly, not so much due to the silence, but the silence doesn’t help. But she can’t say anything, or she’d end up saying something stupid and selfish like: Stay. I need you to stay here with me. Or I love you, please don’t leave me. Or even stupider: I’d come. Please ask me to come. None of them would be helpful. She can’t make this about her. Not again. She’s really done enough of that.

So, following Eddie’s lead, she doesn’t say anything. Silence lives between them like a haunting third-wheel.

Buck does, however, help Eddie pack. Buck’s own belongings are half-packed back at the loft, ready to shift over here once the place is empty, but for now, Eddie needs help packing.

And Buck will always be there for her, for anything, no matter what.

Sometimes being there for her means spending her Sunday carefully packing away all the beloved belongings that have made this place feel like a home for the last seven years. Eddie’s little trinkets, all the family photos, the books from the coffee table, the candle from Eddie’s bedside, Chris’ lego kit that Eddie had bought early for Christmas.

Piece by piece, they’re tucked away and sealed into boxes. It feels like slivers of Buck’s heart being stripped away, shard by shard, but that’s not Eddie’s problem. That’s a pain for Buck to stomach and learn to live with.

By the time the sun sets, they’re both beyond exhausted. Eddie brings out beer, and over the course of about an hour, they finish off the entire six-pack together. Then, Eddie waltzes off to the kitchen, a loose sway to her hips, and comes back with tequila and shot glasses.

“I’m outta beer. You down for something a little stronger?” Eddie asks, wiggling the bottle at Buck.

Buck wants to hug her. Desperately. She wants to tell Eddie that she understands she has to go, but she’ll love her anyway. She’ll wait forever. Instead, she says, “As long as we don’t play quarters. You always kick my ass.”

Eddie laughs, her face splitting open into an easy smile, but it doesn’t reach her tired eyes.

They take shot after shot. After every one, Buck scrunches her nose in disgust, and even coughs like she’s dying once or twice, overwhelmed by the scorch of it.

Eddie calls her a baby when she does, and Buck flips her off, pointedly ignoring the way her cheeks burn.

Buck doesn’t know how many shots it takes, but eventually, they end up collapsed in the middle of the mostly-empty living room, lit only by the single lamp left behind that’s tucked in the corner of the room, the warm yellow of it half-blocked by a teetering stack of boxes. Buck is wearing a loose, sweat-stained, grey shirt that she’d tied up the stomach with a hair tie halfway through the warm day. Now, her damp lower back is flat against the cool flooring.

Eddie is next to her, is wearing old black basketball shorts, a shirt that Buck thinks actually belongs to her and has her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail, like it always is.

They stare at the ceiling in a comfortable silence. Then, eventually, because Buck is a little incapable of living completely without speech, breaks it.

“I’m gonna miss this.” She admits, but means: I miss you already.

“I know,” Eddie says, exhaling slow. Buck hears it for what it is: I miss you, too. “You want another shot?”

She doesn’t want another shot. She just doesn’t want this to end. “Yeah, okay.”

Eddie sits up, pours them each a shot from the half-full bottle, and holds Buck’s out for her. Buck takes it, tosses it back, and this time, doesn’t even flinch. No nose scrunch, no nostril flare, nothing. The burn just burns.

She watches Eddie take hers — attention focused on the way her pink lips wrap around the rim, on the way the muscles of her throat work as she swallows, on the way her eyes flutter as the booze shoots down her throat.

Buck thinks she could look at Eddie forever. Her strong jaw, her prominent nose, the little freckle by her eye, the scar through her mouth. Buck has catalogued every little thing, but still, she wants to look, and look, and look till she spots something new.

With time, she’s sure there would be plenty new to witness. The crinkles by Eddie’s eyes are getting deeper as the years pass, and she only wants to see them grow in number. A couple of months ago, Buck even thought she spotted a grey hair between her usual chocolate strands. Buck mourns the fact she might not get to be there when Eddie finds the second, or the third, or the fourth.

Ultimately, she wants to watch Eddie grow old. She wants to grow old with Eddie. She wants to be her best friend forever. She can’t say that, not here, not to Eddie, not tonight. Eddie knows, anyway. Or at least Buck hopes she does.

Shots taken, they drop back down to the floor, their exhausted bodies sprawling carelessly across it.

“I went by Maddie’s the other day,” Buck says as she settles in. “Dropped off some sourdough for her and Chim.”

Eddie knows this. Buck told her that part already, days ago. Eddie doesn’t call her on it — she knows Buck is desperate to fill the silence. To make this night last forever. Tomorrow, Eddie is leaving. Tomorrow, Buck will watch her drive away. Eddie gives her this, this one last night of semi-normalcy, and Buck is grateful.

Eddie’s always been generous, kind, and patient with her like this.

Beside her, Eddie hums. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Buck nods, tracing her index finger through a groove in the timber beneath. “She was talking to me about this new girl at her work. She’s bi. Like me.”

The mention of the co-workers sexuality had been off-handed, but it’d been purposeful. Maddie is always looking out for her, worrying for her, and Buck loves her for it, appreciates the support Maddie endlessly offers, but — Buck’s not ready to move on. Not really.

She had thought bisexuality would solve her problems in dating, that it was the final thing she had to unlock before finding her happily ever after. With Toni Kinnard.

It wasn’t.

Now she’s heartbroken, in every way possible — it’s not really the right time to bring someone new into her life and bed. She’s not sure she’s strong enough to take the hit when it inevitably falls apart in three to six months' time.

“She’s trying to set you up?” Eddie asks. Buck can feel warmth coming off her body in steady waves. Eddie runs so much warmer than she does. Buck likes to blame that for why she always finds herself drifting so close to Eddie.

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t know.” Buck’s nose twitches, nostrils flaring. “I think she just thinks I’m not over Toni.”

Beside her, Eddie tenses. Buck doesn’t mention it. She’s been doing a lot of not saying things these days. Which is funny, because despite how careful she’s tried to be with her words, she still can’t stop saying stupid shit that makes everyone's life more difficult — she swallows a lot, but there’s just … more.

There’s always more with her.

Maybe Buck is kind of a black hole of a woman — always growing, always expanding, always hungry and needy — sucking people in and draining them. Taylor had called her that once. Needy. He was right, she thinks. He was right about a lot of things about her.

“Are you?” Eddie quietly asks.

Buck blinks and finally looks at her. Eddie’s lying on her side with her eyes closed, her body facing toward Buck. “What?”

“Over her.”

It’s a hard question. Buck has never been good at letting go of anything. But she’s as over Toni as she knows how to be, with only a little distance and time between them.

Buck’s just– lonely. Tired of coming home to an empty bed. Tired of feeling like everything good slips through her fingers eventually. Eddie’s name has joined that list now — the list of things Buck has loved and then had to watch slide like grains of sand out of her grip.

“Yeah. I think so,” she says finally. “I miss her, I guess. I cared about her a lot.”

Buck had asked Toni to move in with her, and had tried to build a life and relationship with her. Buck really thought they could make it work.

But if she’s honest, now, only a few months down the line, when she tries to picture Toni at the end of an aisle, waiting for her, the image won’t settle — Toni’s face is blurred, and the crowd is faceless, and it’s just– it’s not right. It’s not realistic. It could never be. She thinks, maybe, she always knew that it could never be, because neither of them ever really opened up to the other.

Maybe that makes her a terrible girlfriend.

Maybe that’s what Toni meant about not being Buck’s last. Maybe Toni sensed that Buck wasn’t able to give her everything. She’s still not sure. It’s not like she can call and ask, either. Not without seeming desperate. Buck sighs. “I think I just miss having… someone. I don’t know.”

“You miss the idea of her.”

“I guess.” Buck swallows down the truth: I miss feeling like somebody wants me. I miss being touched. Being held. Being loved. Why am I so hard to love?

“She kind of sucked.” Which– confuses Buck, really. Because they were friends first. Eddie liked Toni well before Buck ever did.

Buck bristles, half-heartedly. She frowns faintly. “Hey. She wasn’t that bad.”

Eddie’s mouth quirks, her eyes still closed, as she says, “She was.”

Buck sighs again, long, tired and maybe a little dramatic. She shifts, so her arm is tucked beneath her head, forearm acting as a pillow, eyes settling on the ceiling again. “I don’t know. I think I’m just bad at it. Relationships. Being a girlfriend.”

“You’re not bad at it,” Eddie assures her. “Any guy or girl would be lucky to have you.”

Buck rolls her eyes. “I cheated on Taylor.”

Eddie turns onto her back, head flat against the flooring, accidentally shifting to right beside Buck with their shoulders fully pressed together. The warm contact makes Buck’s chest flutter in a way she can’t really think about.

“Okay,” Eddie says dryly. “You’re not perfect. Still — I’m worse.”

“You were—” Buck shifts onto her side, facing Eddie, clearly unable to pick a way to lay. She drinks in Eddie’s lax features, her flushed cheeks, her tired expression. She doesn’t look sleepy. Just tired. “There were extenuating circumstances, Eddie. You know that.”

Buck’s never had a husband, but she thinks if she had a dead one, she’d probably still do some messed-up things years later if she never processed it properly, if life never gave her a chance to. But, like Buck has told her many times, Eddie wasn’t entirely at fault for how things played out, even if she never should’ve befriended Kit in the first place. Kit was an absolute weirdo. A weirdo who showed up at Eddie’s home, who Eddie begged to leave.

Eddie won’t hear a lick of it. She takes full responsibility, which Buck admires, in a small way. It’s just very Eddie of her, to carry everything. Even if she shouldn’t have to. The strength is what she admires the most, not the stubborn way Eddie holds it alone.

Buck is more than a little worried Eddie’s going to carry this around and use it to punish herself for the rest of her life.

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles, clearly unconvinced. “I guess.”

Quiet settles between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Buck’s socked-toes brush against Eddie’s ankle. Eddie doesn’t pull away.

Minutes pass. Then, “I don’t think I’m good at it either,” Eddie says quietly. “Relationships. Being a girlfriend.”

“Why not?”

Eddie scrubs at her eye before she finally pries them open. Buck is lying there like a freak staring at her. Eddie seems unfazed by this, like she expected as much.

“I don’t like it. The performing.” It’s not the first time Eddie has called dating a performance — but it’s been a while since she has, at least. Eddie doesn’t really talk about dating these days; the wreckage behind her is too hard for her to look at for too long, meaning in typical Eddie fashion, she dodges the topic entirely.

Buck doesn’t think it’s the Kit and Sol Eddie struggles to cope with, but instead, the look of horror on Christopher’s face when he’d walked in and seen his mother with her arms wrapped around a dead ringer of his dead father.

Buck knows she misses Chris like a lost limb. Buck wishes she could do something to help. Anything.

“It’s constant,” Eddie adds. “And exhausting.”

“Dating isn’t supposed to be a performance,” Buck tells her. Buck’s never had that consistently with any partner, not really, but she’s had glimpses of it. The safety of loving and being loved. She’s seen it enough to know it’s possible, but never gotten to grab it with two hands and keep it. Maybe she’s not worth keeping. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything anymore. “It’s supposed to be easy. Comfortable.”

“Never has been for me.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder. “So, maybe I’m just bad at it.”

Buck shakes her head. “I think you just dated the wrong people.”

With a soft huff, Eddie catches Buck’s eye and says, “Yeah, maybe.”

They don’t say anything else for a while. Eddie eventually rolls onto her back while Buck stays tucked on her side. Eddie’s eyes close again. Buck keeps watching her. Memorises her. She doesn’t want to forget a single detail, though, she knows she will. She’s only human.

Buck wonders how long it would take for her to forget the scent of Eddie’s everyday perfume, or the way her hand feels when it settles on Buck’s shoulder, or the way her nose crinkles right up when she steps outside into the sun first thing in the morning.

The night continues on around them. Time uncaring of how hard Buck wants to hold onto this one last evening. It’s getting late, too late for them to be awake, and at some point, Buck kind of thinks Eddie might’ve passed out.

Buck shifts, finally rolling onto her back again, and closes her eyes, too.

It’s only then that Eddie speaks again, as if she were waiting for Buck to no longer be staring down her side-profile. “Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to be someone's boyfriend?”

The question takes Buck off guard. She doesn’t think she really understands what Eddie means. Buck has always liked being a girlfriend, in whatever form it came, with men or women. If anything, she craves it. To be someone’s girl. To be kept. Loved. Cherished. And to keep, love and cherish in return.

She blinks her eyes open. “What?”

“I just think it’d be easier. To do the boyfriend stuff. The rules make more sense. It just seems easier.” Eddie’s voice is quiet and slightly slurred. They’re too drunk to be talking about this. But also too tired to end the conversation before they say things they shouldn’t. The moon hangs high in the sky, the glow of it beaming in through the open curtains and mixing with the dull lamp light. “Open the doors, buy the flowers, look after them, all the stuff guys are supposed to do.”

The explanation does little to help Buck’s confusion. Guys don’t tend to like it when she does those things for them, but Toni did. Sometimes. Not always. Buck never bought her flowers, but she thinks if she had, Toni wouldn’t have even put them in water. Buck would’ve just had to watch them wilt on the kitchen counter of Toni’s apartment, silently.

“You can do that stuff, Eddie,” she says, “I know there’s like, society's expectations and stuff, but you’re allowed to do that stuff.”

“What? With a man?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” Eddie replies, instantly, so quickly she sounds almost offended by the idea. “I don’t know. Forget it.”

Buck, unfortunately, is not capable of forgetting it. Once she’s got a scab in front of her, she’s helpless to do anything but pick at it, even if she knows it’ll bleed.

It’s just … it kind of sounds like– well, it kind of sounds like Eddie doesn’t want a man. Or maybe wants to be a man? Buck’s not sure. Tentatively, but still predictably overly curious, she asks, “Have you ever thought about doing it, you know, with, um– with a woman?”

Eddie, beside her, bristles. Her lax sprawling turning tense. “What?” She sits up then, twisting her head to look down at Buck, bewildered.

Buck lets their eyes meet. Eddie’s eyes are wide, frantic, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Buck shrugs a shoulder, aiming for nonchalance, trying not to add to the tension in the room. “Do those things, but like … for a girl. Buy her flowers. Do all the gentleman stuff. Woo her.”

Eddie rubs a hand over her face, staring straight ahead, through the archway at the pile of boxes. “You don’t get it.” Her voice has a tightness to it, one that Buck knows means she’s trying to shield herself from the truth.

Buck thinks she does get it — she thinks she might be hitting the nail right on the head, actually.

So, Buck does as Buck does best. She picks, and picks, and picks. “Have you ever thought about it?”

Buck herself has never really thought that Eddie might be gay. In retrospect, it kind of makes sense. Eddie’s never been very good with men, not romantically, never seemed settled or like she was doing it for the right reasons. She was always just filling a role, trying to be what was expected of her, or trying to give her son what she thought he needed and wanted. Buck’s never really seen her date for herself. She’s never taken it slow, never wanted to be romanced, never fallen in love — not with a man.

It’s a valid question, she thinks. A valid thing to nudge at, to explore.

“Everyone does. When they’re young.” Eddie is still staring dead ahead, her body stock still. She’s not even swaying, despite how much alcohol is pulsing through her. From her posture alone, Buck would assume she was painfully sober.

Buck didn’t really imagine kissing girls when she was younger, but she was always looking, maybe when she shouldn’t have been. She thought it’d been aesthetic appreciation at the time. She does know better now.

Eddie, concerningly confident and numb-sounding, tells Buck, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Eddie.” Buck’s voice is gentle. She finally sits up, a few stray curls falling into her face. She brushes them to the side, her fingers twitching to reach out and hold Eddie’s arm, to squeeze it reassuringly. She doesn’t reach out in fear that it’ll spook her. Eddie’s muscles look tense like a frightened prey animal. “I don’t know if that’s true.”

Then, Eddie turns, sitting criss-cross and staring at Buck a little like she had the night Buck said she’d take over her lease. Her eyes are big, and wet, and– Buck feels a little bad. For pushing. For prodding. Because Eddie looks terrified and vulnerable. She looks, honest to god, terrified that there’s something wrong with her. Terrified that she might be–

“But that’d make me– uh.”

Buck doesn’t finish Eddie’s sentence for her, even though she can feel Eddie’s wide, brown eyes begging her to. She waits. Patient. Like Eddie would for her. She thinks being loved by Eddie has made her a better person.

And like Buck knew she would, because she’s the bravest person Buck’s ever had the honour of knowing, Eddie finishes and grinds out a quiet, “It’d make me gay. To want that.”

Buck nods. “Yeah.”

Eddie blinks, expression twisting like she’s fighting the wetness in her eyes.

“Buck.” There’s a warning edge to her tone.

Buck doesn’t back down — doesn’t really know how to. The question isn’t meant to be invasive; she just thinks maybe no one has ever asked Eddie before. No one ever asked Buck if she was into girls, and it probably would’ve sped the process up a little. Softly, she asks, “Are you?”

“No.” The answer is sharp, harsh and instant. It’s such a hard shutdown — like Eddie’s thought about it, and knows to reject it. Or has taught herself to. “I can’t be.”

Buck thinks she hears what remains unsaid: I can’t be, but I want to be. I would if I could.

She doesn’t know if she’s right. Maybe Eddie isn’t gay. Maybe she’s bi. But it kind of seems like she’s something, right? Buck’s not crazy.

“Eddie…”

Eddie’s gaze flicks away. She grabs the cap of the tequila off the floor and secures it on tight. Before Buck can say anything, Eddie’s already standing and brushing herself off. “I think we should call it a night.”

“Eddie–” She tries.

Eddie doesn’t let her get any further into the sentence. Just looks her dead in the eye, and shakes her head, just once. The wetness in Eddie’s wide brown eyes is gone now. She’s leaving no room for argument, no space to push. Buck doesn’t want to leave things on this note. Doesn’t want Eddie to go to bed alone and think about this alone. Eddie shouldn’t have to do anything alone.

I’m right here, Buck pleads with her eyes, let me be here. Let me in. Just this one last time.

Eddie doesn’t see it. Or doesn’t listen to it if she does. “I’ll grab your blanket from the cupboard. Couch should be good to go.”

One last time, she tries, quietly: “Eddie.”

“No,” Eddie says shortly, ducking out of the room, bringing the tequila bottle with her. A moment later, she returns with the plush blanket Buck loves to sleep under when she stays over, neatly folded in her hands. She’s gripping onto it so tightly that her knuckles are pale. She offers it out to where Buck is still sitting on the floor.

Then, “Goodnight, Buck.”

Buck tries to catch her eye. Eddie doesn’t let her. Buck sighs and takes the blanket. “Night, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything else. Just turns and walks out.

The next day, Maddie gets kidnapped, and Eddie’s trip is delayed.

Eddie stays and helps look for her, because she’s Eddie, and she’s the best. Just having Eddie there stops Buck from losing it completely. She drives all night, even as Buck drives her gradually insane from the passenger seat.

But eventually, once Maddie is safe and sound at the hospital, and as the sun sets in the distance, Eddie still leaves.

As she drives away, Buck swears she can still smell a hint of Eddie’s perfume in the crook of the right side of her neck. The rain doesn’t wash it away. She’s afraid nothing ever will.

Eddie’s gone. And Buck is left with an empty house, an aching heart, and a truth she only half knows to be true. A truth Eddie took with her to suffer with, alone. That is kind of Eddie’s M.O.

Buck sleeps with her ex. It’s not her finest moment. They fuck atop Buck’s bare mattress, both of them a little too sober for this to feel like a drunken mistake, but drunk enough to let it happen anyway. It also that doesn’t stop Buck from whispering Fuck, I’m so drunk into Toni’s mouth as they collapse into a heap on the bed. It makes her feel less shameful. Less like she’s doing something she shouldn’t.

Buck tries to come on Toni’s unrelenting, thick fingers, but the walls of Eddies– no, Buck’s bedroom keep throwing Eddie’s name back at her, echoing. In the end, she fakes it. Toni doesn’t notice.

Buck isn’t really surprised by that. Toni didn’t notice a lot about her. Or if she did, she didn’t seem to like it very much.

In the morning, like a lonely fool, she lets herself be swept up in the scene of someone making her breakfast and wanting to stay.

It all comes crashing down quickly. Buck should’ve expected as much.

She’s leaned in close, looking up through her lashes as she asks if Toni isn’t worried Buck’s going to break her heart anymore.

Now that the competition is out of the way – lands between them like a slow-ticking grenade, and everything fractures as it explodes. Shrapnel digs into Buck’s skin in the form of You’re living in her house. The implication makes her feel unmoored, uneasy. Toni doesn’t get it. Toni doesn’t get the BuckandEddie thing. She never has.

It escalates. Things always do. Cruelly, loudly, she tells Toni, “I don't have to want to sleep with everyone I have feelings for, and I don't have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with.”

Toni doesn’t stick around for long after that.

Buck feels bad. Just a little. It wasn’t nice. But it was true.

Buck wonders what kind of woman it makes her that she had been so ready to sign back up to a relationship that made her feel half-miserable, half-worthless, just because it’d make her feel wanted and less lonely again.

She tries not to think about that for too long. She tries not to think about Eddie, too. Or about how Toni felt like she was competing for Buck’s attention. Or about how bitter the words she’s straight felt on her tongue. Or about the scoff she got in return.

She tries not to think at all.

After a long sister-sister therapy session in Maddie’s kitchen, she finally unpacks her belongings with music blaring loud enough to drown out any possible thought. She doesn’t think about any of it. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter.

Eddie’s gone anyway.

So it’s not Buck’s problem.

As if things couldn’t get worse, while Eddie’s gone, Bobby almost dies. Or, well, he dies, and then he comes back.

Buck is so sure he’s dead that she collapses in a hallway, body slumped against the cement wall, and screams, and screams, and screams till her throat gives out entirely.

Karen is the one who calls Eddie with the news, because Buck is– well, catatonic. For the first night, at least. Buck goes home, curls up in her bed, and she doesn’t cry. She just lies there, playing out the events over and over, wondering what she could’ve done differently to make the end result different.

She comes up with a million different options, and Bobby is still dead.

Three days later, with Eddie, Athena and half the 118 A shift in tow, they break into a government morgue and break Bobby out. Bobby, who is in a hospital gown, rocking three days of stubble, and smells a little worse for wear, but is so, so alive.

When she gets back home, with Eddie still trailing behind, she excuses herself to the bathroom. Inside, she throws up. Repeatedly. The grief catches up with her all at once, the grief that was, but now isn’t, because Bobby is back, and alive, and–

Eddie picks the lock on the bathroom door and crouches behind her, holding her hair back.

Buck sobs against the ceramic rim, and Eddie rubs her back soothingly. She doesn’t give easy reassurances, doesn’t say: It’s okay, it’s going to be okay, you’re okay. Because it’s not. And maybe it won’t. And she’s definitely not.

Instead, she strokes over the curve of Buck’s spine and says, “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

And Buck just sobs harder.

Eddie doesn’t stay. Can’t. They argue before she leaves, and Eddie cries. Buck hates it when Eddie cries. All the anger washes out of Buck at once, the momentum of the fight coming to a sharp halt.

When she comes into the living room the next morning to apologise, Eddie isn’t there.

Eddie leaves a note. A stupid note. That’s all Buck gets, apparently. That’s what their relationship has become. Buck kind of hates her, for a beat, and then she watches a single tear hit the note, and it makes the ink bleed, blurring Eddie’s perfect handwriting.

Buck sniffles quietly, alone in the living room. She doesn’t hate Eddie at all. She just loves her. Which is worse, she thinks, because she can’t have her. She pockets the note and leaves.

When she comes back home that night, she expects to crawl into bed, feeling exceptionally sorry for herself for a few hours before inevitably falling asleep — instead, Eddie is there. Waiting, leaning, wearing an old flannel of Buck’s that she’s clearly stolen from the closet.

Behind door number one is Christopher. The brightest boy Buck has ever known. The kid she’s missed so damn much. She hugs him so tight that Chris makes a dramatic wheezing sound.

Behind door number two is Tia Pepa. Eddie’s aunt. She’s cooked them a meal, and Buck sees all of this for what it is. An apology.

Buck forgives Eddie. Of course she does. She’d forgiven her before she’d even slid out of bed this morning. Eddie just hadn't been there to hear it.

As she falls asleep that night, with Christopher down the hall in his unchanged bedroom, and Eddie tucked even further down the hall on the couch (at Eddie’s insistence), she thinks about when they’ll leave, and how much harder it’ll be this time.

She got to have them again. One last time. A big, happy, almost-family.

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t get much sleep either.

Eddie doesn’t leave. Or well, she does, for three and a half weeks so that Christopher can finish out the school semester and pack, but she comes back. For good.

Eddie doesn’t tell her why. Buck doesn’t ask about it — is too scared to jinx it. Eddie’s coming home. That’s all that matters.

On her first night back, Buck forces Eddie to take the bed, and Eddie argues, stubborn and exhausted, and ends up dragging Buck to bed with her by the wrist.

Eddie passes out faster than Buck has ever seen her do. Beside her, Buck is restless, suddenly remembering the last time she lay side by side with Eddie. Remembers knocking ankles, sharp tequila, quiet murmurings, and an almost truth.

Suddenly, startling her from her thoughts, Eddie rolls over in her sleep and slings an arm over Buck’s waist. Eddie’s hand settles against the bare skin between the end of Buck’s tank and the beginning of her long, cotton pyjama pants. Buck’s breath catches in her chest. She doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think, too scared that somehow even a single thought will disturb Eddie from her slumber.

Eddie shifts closer, sleepily and grumbly, like she’s frustrated that she has to move at all, even though no one is actually making her. She drops her forehead against the side of Buck’s bicep, noses at it once, and then her breathing evens out again.

It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed. Hell, it’s not the first time Eddie “octopus arms” Diaz has ended up half sprawled over her best friend in her sleep, but it’s– it feels different.

Why does it feel different?

She really can’t deal with that right now. She just got her people back. Her life is finally, finally going to make sense again. She closes her eyes and wills her tense muscles into relaxation through sheer force.

Sleep doesn’t take her for a while, but it eventually does.

In the morning, Eddie wakes up first, and is wearing the same slouchy flannel she’d been wearing all those weeks ago, this time, it’s over a tight brown tank. Then, Buck clocks something that makes her halt in place.

Eddie’s wearing her reading glasses.

In the kitchen.

Eddie never wears her glasses unless she’s tucked away in bed, where no one can see. Buck has never understood why. She looks beautiful in them.

The vision of her in them, sitting in Buck’s dining room chair, with her brow scrunched, legs tucked up, and scribbling aggressively at a crossword puzzle, almost knocks Buck straight onto her ass.

She stands there, trying to grasp for a single thought that isn’t ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, for what must be a full minute. A second thought doesn’t come before Eddie spots her. Her gaze flicks up, and she finds Buck there, in a black sports bra and dark sweats, and smiles, her expression melting into something so soft and adoring that it kind of hurts to look at.

“Mornin’, Buck.” Eddie tucks the pen behind her ear. “Coffee’s there if you want some.”

Buck, on an objective level, well before bisexuality even seemed like an option for her, knew that her best friend was hot.

Thankfully, it’s never been something she’s particularly had to deal with. It was just a fact of life. Firetrucks are red, dogs bark, and Eddie Diaz is unbelievably hot.

Unfortunately, that has apparently changed.

Eddie is sitting in the place she never should’ve left, and looks– light, and bright, and beautiful. And Buck suddenly wishes she could slap a hand over her eyes, covering her eyes completely without Eddie noticing. It’s just kind of hard to look at her right now.

Instead, wordlessly, she stalks over to the coffee machine and pours it into her cup. Follows it with two scoops of sugar, a splash of hazelnut creamer and then a drizzle of caramel syrup. Her movements are all mechanical, her brain too broken to work on anything other than muscle memory.

“You sleep okay?” Eddie asks, immediately sounding suspicious. “You’re walking like a robot.”

“Uh-huh,” Buck lies, through her stupid teeth, like a liar. “You?”

“Yeah. I slept okay. I, uh– I was gonna make breakfast, but Chris kinda spent the whole way up talking about your eggs, and I thought–”

Buck turns, then, coffee in hand, and manages to break out of her stupor. The mention of Chris will always make her feel lighter. “Oh, yeah. I’ll whip something up before he wakes up.”

Eddie puts her book down and leans forward, her feet sliding off the seat and thudding softly against the floor. “You don’t mind?”

“Hey, my favourite Diaz is back,” Buck says, grinning now. “The least I can do is make him eggs.”

Eddie rolls her eyes, but the quirk at the corner of her mouth shows that it’s all just fondness. Buck kind of wants to kiss that tiny ghost of a smile..

She jolts, refusing to let the thought settle, and spins back around.

“Thanks, Buck,” Eddie says. “He’s excited to hang out with you. He’s far too cool for me, these days, but apparently not too cool for his Buck.”

Her jaw clenches at that, her eyes burning. His Buck. The words settle something aching, pulsing and hurting in her chest. She missed him so, so badly.

“Yeah.” Her voice only wobbles a little, which she thinks is very impressive. Buck lifts a hand and scrubs at her eye hard enough that little white dots appear in her vision. “We’ll see how long that lasts. I’m sure he’ll be headphones on and ignoring me by the end of the week.”

Eddie hums. “Guess you’ll just be stuck with me then.”

Buck smiles to herself and nods. The thought of being stuck with Eddie kind of thrills her. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The next Tuesday, Buck wakes up bright and early, ready to go for a run and start her three days off on a good foot. She makes her way out of the bedroom, blinking slowly like a cat and yawning wide enough that her jaw aches with the stretch of it. Then, she halts.

She can hear something, something from the– from the backyard? Her eyes narrow. Is that–

Is that mowing?

Who the hell is mowing at 7:30 am on a Tuesday morning?

Wearing her (Eddie’s) fluffy, white, bunny slippers and wielding nothing but her phone, she drags herself down the hallway and pulls the backdoor open. She’s confronted with a sight that makes her almost pass out.

Eddie is mowing the lawn. Eddie is wearing the most dad sunglasses Buck has ever seen, a very tight, cut-off tank that shows off inches of glistening, carved abdomen, and flowy basketball shorts that have barely two inches of inseam, and is halfway through mowing the back lawn.

Her tanned biceps are flexed, shining with a thin layer of sweat and aglow under the sun. Buck’s eyes trace from the joint of her shoulder, down the strong curve of her upper arm, to her forearms, which– fuck. They’re so hot. How does someone have such hot forearms? Buck kind of wants to bite them. Is that weird? Does that make her a bad friend?

Unfortunately for Buck, just beyond those life-altering, strong forearms are Eddie’s hands. Buck has had a pretty long-term thing for Eddie’s hands—for her calloused fingertips, her long fingers, her scarred palm. They’re strong hands. Working hands. Hands that are currently wrapped around the handles of a lawnmower, and Buck is, unfortunately, unable to stop herself from thinking about them wrapped around her wrists, or her thighs, or two of those fingers pushing into her mouth–

Eddie comes to a pause when she spots Buck. She turns the mower off, dragging her glasses up and resting them atop her pulled-back hair. “Shit, sorry. Did I wake you?”

Buck blinks.

“Hello? Earth to Buckley?”

Buck blinks. Again. And again. “Sorry, no, uh– I set an alarm. Why are you mowing?”

Eddie narrows her eyes at her, gesturing around at the lawn. “It needed mowing?”

Right. Because Eddie lives here again. This is Eddie’s house. Eddie’s house that Buck is taking up space in. It doesn’t matter that Buck has been mowing the lawn for the last few months, and it doesn’t matter that she planned on doing it this afternoon once the worst of the heat of the day had passed.

It’s Eddie’s house again. It’s Eddie's overgrown lawn. And Eddie’s lawnmower. And–

“Right,” Buck answers, nodding. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna go for a run. Now.”

Eddie removes both hands from the lawnmower and drags her eyes over Buck’s sleepy form, analysing her. Buck begins sweating under the heat of Eddie’s searching gaze. It lands on the bunny slippers, and then Eddie is grinning, like she’s found what she’s looking for. They lock eyes again, and Eddie asks, elbow resting against the mower handle. “You sure you’re okay?”

Buck’s eyes flicker over to the way Eddie’s bicep is flexing tantalisingly as she leans. Then back to Eddie’s bright eyes.

Impressively, not even once has she thought about how perfect Eddie’s tits look in the shirt. She didn’t even notice, actually. At all.

“Yep,” she responds, voice tight. “Never better.”

That afternoon, Buck starts properly looking at apartments within her budget. She books three tours of places for the next day.

When she tells Eddie as much, Eddie frowns for a beat before smoothing out her expression. Buck’s not really sure what to make of that. Maybe she wishes Buck had started working on it before Eddie got back. She probably should’ve.

The next day when she goes to leave, the Jeep refuses to start. Buck sits for a long four minutes with her forehead against the steering wheel before she pops the door open and drags her sorry ass out of the car.

As she stumbles out of the vehicle, she spots Eddie standing at the beginning of the driveway, her head tilted to the side and an amused smile tugging at her mouth.

“You need a hand?”

Buck can’t think about Eddie’s hands and survive. She shakes her head. “No, it’s uh– it’s been doing this. I gotta take her back to the mechanic.”

Eddie scoffs and stalks over to the front of Buck’s car. “Mechanic is gonna charge you out of the ass. Probably has been already. Pop the hood.”

“Eddie–” Buck tries.

Eddie lifts a stubborn brow at her. “Pop the hood.”

Dejected, Buck leans back into the car and pops the hood open. Eddie opens up the garage, dragging her little tool trolley out and gets to work poking around. Buck drags a stool out of the garage and perches her ass on it, texting the real estate agent she’s been speaking to that she’ll have to reschedule.

Eddie keeps poking and prodding. Minutes pass, and then eventually, turns to Buck and says, “Can you pass me the flare nut wrench?”

Buck knows a lot about a lot of things. She worked in construction, she worked on a ranch, she’s a firefighter, and an all-around general know-it-all. She does not know a single thing about cars.

She wets her lips and glances at the trolley beside her. Quietly, she lets out a very dignified, “Uh.”

Eddie laughs. It’s bright and teasing, with no malice behind it. Buck wants to kiss her. Because she’s an idiot. An idiot who wants to kiss her best friend. Her beautiful, currently greasy-handed best friend.

She wonders how long the urge has been there, and she just never noticed. She’s always felt a needy lurch in her chest when Eddie laughs, side-by-side with a swell of pride that it’s her who makes Eddie laugh and smile like that. Horrified, she thinks, maybe she’s wanted to all along. And Eddie doesn’t know. Hasn’t known.

And Buck can never tell her. Because it’d ruin everything. And Buck only just got it all back.

Eddie wipes her dirty hands on her shirt, which tugs it down, and shows off a few extra inches of cleavage, and Buck’s mouth goes dry. She glances away quickly, like the sight is scorching her eyes, and stares at the array of tools.

Eddie grabs what must be the flare nut wrench and wiggles it. “This one, bud.”

“Right. I knew that.”

“Sure you did, princess,” Eddie teases. She’s never called Buck that before. Warmth licks up the back of her neck, embarrassment blossoming and reddening the skin there.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, don’t tell me to shut up. I’m fixing your car. I’m saving you hundreds of bucks right now.”

Eddie’s already leaning over the car again, tightening something, loosening something else. Important car things, Buck is sure. Eddie looks so competent while she does it, too. So sure of every movement. Buck tries to focus on that instead of the way Eddie’s jeans are currently tightly hugging the curve of her ass and her thick thighs as she bends over and into the car.

“For all I know, you could be making it worse,” Buck says, trying to distract herself.

“Fuck off,” Eddie laughs. Again. That laugh. The easy, comfortable laugh. Buck kind of wants to bottle it up and keep it on a shelf.

She thinks she might be a little pathetic.

Thirty-five minutes and several tool-handing-over-missions later, Buck’s car roars to life. Eddie closes the hood and grins at her, doing a little bow. When she straightens back up, a single strand of hair has fallen over her face. Eddie blows a puff of air at it, and it curves around the side of her pinkened cheek instead.

God.

Buck is so done for.

Fuck her stupid, stupid bisexual life.

That night, Buck cooks Eddie’s Tia’s chilli con carne recipe for dinner as a thank you. Eddie moans a little obscenely as she tastes the first bite. Chris calls her dramatic, but then takes a mouthful himself, and lights up like a Christmas tree. Between the two of them, they eat four and a half servings of it.

I could do this forever, she thinks, I wish I were allowed to want this forever.

Chris darts back to his room as soon as dinner is over, because apparently his friends need him for a game. As he crutches down the hallway, Eddie stands and collects the dishes, advising Buck to stay seated, and that she’s got them.

Buck is ready to argue — has the words lined up and everything — right up until Eddie reaches overhead to slide a mug from the dishrack onto the highest shelf. Her shirt rides up barely three or four inches with the motion, but it’s enough to expose the clean line of her side, the faint curve of rib at the edge of strong, ridiculous muscle.

Buck freezes.

Buck’s never met a girl with such impressive abs. It’s one of the first things she ever noticed about Eddie, even before she knew her name.

Eddie Diaz, that day, every day since, and now, looks like an old Greek statue — something carved from marble and so beautiful that you feel like you could look at it for days on end, and still not catch every perfect little detail. She’s a work of art. Buck almost tells her as much, but then remembers she’s not supposed to think those things, let alone voice them.

Buck’s words and the long-forgotten urge to argue die in her throat. She just sinks down into her chair and sighs mournfully, the huff of air not unlike one that would escape a very sad dog that’s lazed on a couch and not being pet.

Eddie turns her head, brow raised, hip still on display for the world (Buck) to bear witness to.

“You that sad about not getting to do the dishes?”

Buck shakes her head, straightening up. “No, uh– I’m just. You know. Tired. I’m gonna–” She tosses a thumb over her shoulder, which is a little confusing, because it’s directed straight to the front yard. “Take a shower.”

Eddie’s brow raises even higher, edging toward her hairline. “On the front lawn?”

“What?”

“You pointed outside, Buck.”

“No, I didn’t.” Yes, she did.

“Yes, you did.”

“I didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Didn’t.”

“Didn’t,” Eddie says, mouth twitching upward.

“Did,” Buck fires back, overconfident.

“Gotcha.” Eddie grins — bright, smug, and annoyingly pleased with herself.

Buck scrunches up a used napkin and tosses it at her. It knocks against Eddie’s bicep, and Eddie snickers to herself, turning the tap on and pulling Buck’s flowery dish gloves on.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” Buck repeats, because now she’s thinking about Eddie’s stupid hands again. “Inside. In the bathroom.”

“Great,” Eddie hums, squirting soap into the hot water. “I’ll meet you in bed.”

The statement sucks all the joy and ease from Buck’s chest. Suddenly, she feels queasy. The words feel so– domestic. Like something you’d say to a lover. Buck’s mouth turns downward into a frown.

Then, as she poorly attempts to smooth out her expression, she says, “Y-Yeah. See you in bed.”

Before Eddie can turn around, which Buck can see she’s gearing to do, Buck speedwalks down the hall with her phone in hand, ducking into the safety of the bathroom.

After her very brisk, cold shower, Buck crawls into bed and closes her eyes. When Eddie comes in, Buck keeps her eyes closed and tries to pretend she is actually sleeping. She can’t face Eddie. Can’t look into her perfect, brown eyes. Can’t talk to her.

She wishes so badly she could stay on the couch without it being an argument. She has got to move out. This is– it’s agony. She’s breaking her own heart by lingering here, in a place that feels so much like her true home, when she knows it’s not where she’s supposed to be.

She’s supposed to be the best friend that visits, that crashes a night or so every few weeks; she’s not supposed to stay. She’s not a fixture in the house. She’s not on the lease anymore. She’s not even Eddie’s partner, in any capacity these days. She’s just– she’s just Buck.

Eddie crawls in behind her after changing into sleepwear, and Buck tries to breathe as evenly as possible so Eddie doesn’t try to talk to her.

A soft touch settles on her bicep, like she’s going to shake Buck, but then it disappears. Quietly, Eddie whispers, “Night, Buck.”

Buck doesn’t respond at all.

Eventually, real sleep takes her. In her dream, she’s seventeen and in high school, giving a presentation about what family means to her. Halfway through, all her teeth fall out, and everyone laughs at her.

When she wakes up, the bed is empty, and her teeth are thankfully back in her head. She doesn’t get up for forty-five minutes, just melts into the cushions and sheets, hoping the bed will swallow her whole.

It doesn’t.

Two weeks later, Buck gets approved for a house, with a move in date a mere three weeks away. It’s a nice house. Two bedrooms. Weirdly comfortably in her budget. 10 minutes from the station. It even has a hot tub.

It’s kind of the perfect house.

Eddie doesn’t really take kindly to the news when Buck tries to tell it to her, her expression falters like she hadn’t expected Buck to get a place at all. Ever.

Which is confusing, because Eddie knew Buck was applying for places. Non-stop. Even well into the night while Eddie snuggled into her side, her arm wrapped securely around Buck’s centre.

As Buck packs her things, Eddie starts– well, for lack of a better word, moping. She just kind of looks dejected and defeated every time she catches Buck stacking her things neatly into brown cardboard boxes.

She’s just acting weird. Buck can’t figure out why. Doesn’t even feel like she can ask.

Then, on a 3am on a Friday that they have the house to themselves, Buck walks into the bathroom to pee and spots Eddie completely shirtless, shaving an undercut into the back of her hair.

They both pause. The trimmer continues buzzing.

Buck stares very directly at Eddie’s face, and nowhere else. Because she’s very respectful. And because Eddie’s tits are right there, shouting Buck’s name. In her periphery, she can see the circle of Eddie’s areola, and the peak of her nipple, and– that is just too much for a pining best friend to handle.

Buck gulps. Audibly.

“Uh,” Eddie says, eloquently.

“Uh,” Buck repeats, eyes flicking to the still vibrating trimmer.

Eddie has the bulk of her hair gripped in a loose fist, the trimmer held against the nape of her neck, right at the edge of where her hair begins. “I’m cutting my hair.”

Buck nods, slow, her eyes sliding back to Eddie’s face. “I can see that.”

Eddie lowers the strands down, finger jabbing at the trimmer till it flicks off, before asking, “Do you need to pee?”

Buck swallows thickly. “Uh,” she repeats. Again. She doesn’t remember why she’s here. She doesn’t remember her own name. She doesn’t even know if she’s awake right now.

Because Eddie is shirtless. And shaving her head. And–

“Is that … Is that a yes?” Eddie enquires, slowly, gaze flicking between Buck and the toilet. “I can duck out for a second.”

“Your tits are out,” Buck says, suddenly, and much louder than she expects to.

Eddie barely suppresses a snicker, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. It doesn’t help much. Her tits shift with the movement. Which is fine. Buck is so fine. “Sorry, uh– yeah? You’ve seen me shirtless before, Buck. Are you scared of my tits now?”

“What?” Buck whisper-yells. “No. I know I’ve seen your tits. I’m not– I’m not scared of tits. I love tits. I’m a big fan of tits, Eddie. You have no idea.”

Eddie’s eyes drag down, down, down to where Buck’s tits — braless with her nipples poking through her thin cotton shirt — are resting against her ribs. Eddie wets her lips and flicks her gaze back up. “Uh. I’ve got some kind of idea.”

Buck might pass out. She’s really, really concerned she’s going to pass out. Her head is spinning, and Eddie looked at her boobs, and–

“Buck, why do you look dizzy?” Eddie steps closer. Still shirtless. Then lifts a hand, cradling Buck’s cheek, tilting her head down, and looking over her with a scrutinising eye. “You’re all flushed.”

“Uh. E-Eddie,” Buck exhales, eyes silently and desperately pleading for Eddie to stop holding her so much like she’s about to push up onto her tip toes and kiss her. “I’m good. I’m fine. I just— I do. I need to pee. I need to pee so bad. Busting for it, really.”

“But you’re okay?” Eddie asks, voice warm. Worried.

“Yeah.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, of course.”

Eddie doesn’t seem to fully believe her, but leaves Buck to her business after that. Once she’s done, she opens the door again, and Eddie is wearing a black sports bra now, accompanied by her low-riding shorts.

Buck is grateful and mournful all at once. She steps through the doorway, making space for Eddie to return to the bathroom. Eddie sneaks past, their bodies brushing. Buck tries to pretend like it doesn’t electrify every single one of her nerves.

Promptly, Eddie returns to the position Buck found her in, hair pulled back, trimmer on and nudging at the edge of her hairline, and Buck is– well, if she’s anything, she’s nosy. “Why are you shaving your head?”

The trimmer glides through Eddie’s hair, taking a chunk of the long, dark strands out. Half of it drapes over her hand, while the other half drops against the tile below. “Just the underside of it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I wanted a change,” Eddie says with a shrug, dumping the cut-off strands into the sink. “And a lot of lesbians have undercuts. Karen told me.”

Buck feels her entire body freeze up. She plays the sentence back over and over in her head, trying to figure out if Eddie is saying what she thinks she’s saying. Maybe Eddie just appreciates lesbians. Lesbians are great. Buck loves lesbians. Karen included. And they admittedly do have a great aesthetic. Maybe, Eddie just–

“And I want it because I’m a lesbian, too,” Eddie clarifies. Buck blinks, once, twice, and then Eddie is suddenly not holding the trimmer anymore and is leaning against the sink with one hand, looking at her with amusement flaring in her eyes.

“Right,” Buck says. “Right. Okay. You’re gay.”

A short nod. “Yep.”

Silence ensues. Buck should really say something. Anything. She scrambles, grabbing at the closest thought she can get her hands on.

“You like women.” Jesus. Thank you, Captain Obvious. That sure is a very simple definition of what a lesbian is. Is Buck’s brain auditioning for a starring role in Webster’s Dictionary?

Eddie offers her another simple nod.

“And you’re a woman,” Buck adds, which– yeah. Right. Obviously. Buck knows this. Why is Buck talking, actually? Maybe the silence was better. Maybe she should take a vow of silence. She’s said enough, she thinks, for this lifetime. Maybe she should sew her mouth shut. She’d finally be cured of her chronic foot-in-mouth disease.

Eddie presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek, barely suppressing a grin. “You’re three for three, Buck.”

Buck is still just hovering in the doorway. Quietly, trying to regain her sanity that has unfortunately abandoned her, she whispers, mostly to herself, “Right. Okay.”

Eddie’s beginning to look a little less confident. Her shoulders slump a little, her head tilting. “You, uh– you got any thoughts on it?”

Suddenly, bursting out of her, she says, “I-I’m not homophobic.”

Eddie’s eyes fly open, her hands raised up and palms pointed out in surrender. “Okay, hey, did not say that. Buck, you’re– I know you’re not homophobic.”

“Okay,” Buck exhales, shoulders slumping with relief. “I just needed to make sure you knew.”

“Right.” Eddie’s eyes are flickering all over Buck’s face, searching, and Buck’s not sure what she finds, or if she finds it, because half-way through the visual exploration of her features, Buck yawns. When her eyes pry back open, Eddie is worrying the inside of her bottom lip, before saying, “Okay, maybe this is– a bad time. You should go back to bed.”

Buck blinks slow, still, if she’s honest, not really comprehending what is happening. “Right.”

“Right.” Eddie smiles, it’s small, but there. “Goodnight, Buck.”

“Yeah,” Buck mumbles, giving Eddie a two-fingered salute before turning and heading down the hallway. She gets all the way to the bedroom door, pauses suddenly, her whole body jolting with the halt, and realises, at once, she’s acting like an absolute moron and kind of a dick, which is so not fair, because Eddie was so cool about her coming out. She’d hugged her comfortingly and everything.

Buck groans, spins in place before stomping back down the hallway. Eddie is standing there, smiling knowingly, like she knew Buck would come back.

“I’m so happy for you,” Buck tells her, genuine and earnest. “This doesn’t change anything between us. I– you deserve this. To be happy. To look how you want. To be a lesbian. I’m so, so proud of you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile wobbles, her eyes glistening under the flickering yellow bathroom light. Buck should probably change the bulb. Buck will sort it out before she moves out, so Eddie doesn’t have to deal with it. “Yeah, I uh– I’ve been thinking about it. For a while.”

“Since–” That night. Buck doesn’t finish.

She doesn’t need to. Eddie answers the unsaid question. “Before. Since I was– uh, maybe twelve, or thirteen, really. I just– it didn’t feel like an option then. I didn’t know I was allowed to. It wasn’t something I felt like I could do for a long time, but I–” Eddie shakes her head, like she often does when she’s overwhelmed and fighting tears. She turns, her ass leaning against the sink’s curved edge. “I want to let myself have this. I’ve waited long enough. You’re right, Buck.”

Buck makes a soft humming noise, questioning — unsure which part she’s right about.

“I do deserve it,” Eddie says.

Buck is helpless to do anything but grin. She crosses the short distance between them and pulls Eddie into her chest. Tiny little cut strands of hair fall onto the skin of Buck’s arm, and suddenly, she’s itchy, but she ignores it. Just smiles into Eddie’s hair, holding her tight.

“Yeah, you do,” Buck murmurs. “You deserve the world, Eddie.”

They stand like that for a moment or so. Maybe a beat longer than is necessary. Eddie eventually extracts herself from Buck’s long arms, and her eyes catching herself in the mirror before sliding back over to Buck. “Can you, uh– could you finish it for me? It’s hard to see the back.”

Buck lights up. “Yeah! Of course. I did this for girls in college all the time.”

Eddie looks like she knows something Buck doesn’t. Buck doesn’t push.

They shave Eddie’s hair, and then afterward, they take turns showering to get all the little hairs off. At the end of their late night adventure, they flop into bed wearing fresh, cozy pj’s. Eddie is on her back, and as Buck settles in, her head rolls to the side, and finds Eddie’s already looking her way.

“I’m really glad you’re my best friend,” Eddie tells her.

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “Me too.”

It sounds like I love you. Buck wishes it were. But this– this is good, too. It’s enough. More than enough.

Things shift a little after that.

They shift slowly, so slowly that Buck doesn’t even really notice they’re changing at all. She first notices it at the gym. She finishes up on the treadmill, sweat dripping down her cheeks, and moves toward the bench to get her benchpresses in. But, before she can even take the first step toward it, she realises Eddie is already there, sliding weights onto it for her.

Eddie is not benchpressing today. Today is not Arm day. Buck knows Eddie’s routine. Arm day is very much tomorrow. Eddie shoots her a grin as she finishes sliding the last one on and rolls out a yoga mat a half-dozen feet away from the machine, clearly preparing to get some stretching in.

The benchpress stares back at Buck, prepped and ready to go. Buck doesn’t have to do anything. It’s just there. Waiting. Ready. Already taken care of.

Which could mean nothing. That’s what Buck chalks it up to, at least.

But then, things keep happening.

Eddie buys her a gift. A house warming gift for her new place.

Which is simple and normal enough.

But it’s a plant. A little pot of flowers, budding and ready to blossom. It’s a Western Dog Violet, according to the little tag that’s sticking out from the dirt.

Later, while lounging on the couch and researching the plant, she stumbles across an article that says that violets are a sapphic flower, dating back to Sappho in the 6th century BCE. When she tells Eddie — who she’s currently laying her head in the lap of — as much, Eddie just nods, not even looking up from her phone and says, “I know.”

Which is weird. But still could mean nothing. Buck is sure it does. Maybe Eddie is just a lesbian expert these days. She is a lesbian now. It makes sense.

What doesn’t make sense, is that Eddie has started splaying her hand at the small of Buck’s back every time she sneaks past her. That– that feels purposeful. And life-ruining. Because Buck’s skin stays warm with the ghost of the touch for hours after it’s ended.

She starts waking up early to make Buck coffee in the morning, just how she likes it. She restocks Buck’s baking supplies without Buck even adding the items to the shared grocery list. She organizes Buck’s boxes into a neater pile (though, she does do this with a sad look in her eyes) while Buck cooks them dinner.

It all just keeps piling up.

Then, in the middle of a long shower after a rough call, it clicks. Eddie is taking care of her. Eddie is gifting her things, touching her softly, making her life easier in small ways, lifting things for her, just– looking after her. Like a boyfriend would. Eddie is acting like Buck is her girlfriend.

As the hot water splashes down into her face, she gapes, eyes widening. She steps back, once then twice, still completely naked. She glances into the stall next to hers, where Eddie is showering, her eyes closed and hands soaping up her toned stomach.

Silently, Buck mouths, “Ohmygod.” Then, promptly, she returns to her own stall, still flabbergasted.

She– fuck. She doesn’t know what this means. She doesn’t know what to do with this information. Maybe they’ve just adapted to living together in a weird way. Maybe Eddie is just more comfortable with herself and her behaviour is shifting. Maybe it’s nothing, nothing at all.

Or maybe it’s everything.

Buck stands under the scalding hot water, letting the drops of it wash over her.

It can’t matter. In a week, she’s leaving. In seven days, she’s moving out of Eddie’s house and into her own. She can’t bring this up, because it’s just– it’s not fair to Eddie. Especially not while Buck is still under her roof.

What if she’s wrong? What if the mere mention of what their relationship is ruins their friendship entirely?

It’s too much to risk.

A week later, moving out day finally comes. Buck is up at 6 am on the dot, makes breakfast, eats it and then drives to pick up the moving truck from the rental place. When she pulls back up at the house, the Han family are huddled in the driveway, only a few feet away from their car, clearly only having just gotten out of it.

Buck slides out of the truck, striding over with her arms spread. “Maddie! You made it!”

“Of course,” she says, letting go of Jee’s hand and meeting Buck in the middle, tugging her into a tight hug. “And we’ve got the whole gang. I don’t know how much help we’re gonna be, but–”

Buck shakes her head, squeezing tight. She pulls back, grinning down at Jee before looking back up at Maddie. “No, no. I’m just glad you’re here. Eddie’s, uh–”

Eddie pops up, frankly, out of nowhere. “Right here.”

At the sound of Eddie’s voice, the tiniest Han, Daniel lights up. His little hands reach out, closing and opening. “Eeee!” .

Eddie grins, waving her fingers at the giddy little baby. Buck’s chest clenches.

Chimney adjusts his grip on his son, looking a little like he hasn’t slept at all. “Do you wanna hold him?” he asks.

Beside Buck, Eddie blinks, surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

She smiles then, stepping closer and taking the bundle of joy into her arms. She holds Danny naturally, his little body cradled securely in her arms, his round head perfectly supported by her hand.

Buck finds herself just– staring. Eddie’s attention is focused entirely on the baby, her grin bright and splitting her face open, the kind of smile she only has around kids. It’s easy, shame-free and– breath-taking. Buck tries to exhale, but it gets stuck in her throat, wrapping around the lump that’s formed in it.

Fuck.

She’s so beautiful. And she loves Buck’s family so much. Fits into it like she was made to be there.

Daniel giggles, lifting a hand and grabbing at a loose strand of Eddie’s hair, which today, is down and draped in soft waves over her shoulders, and unfortunately, over her face enough that tiny little baby hands can grip onto it. He tugs, once, rather harshly. Eddie’s nose scrunches in discomfort, similar to the way it does when she’s first confronted by the sun in the morning, and then she looks over at Buck and smiles, shrugging a shoulder, like What can ya do?

She thinks maybe Chimney and Maddie are talking. Maybe to her. Maybe to Eddie. Maybe to each other. She can’t hear any of it. All she can hear is the violent thump, thump, thump of her heart against her ribcage.

Fuck. She has to do something. She has to. It’s stupid, and it’s reckless, and she’s going to do it anyway.

Her head snaps at breakneck speed to the left, gaze locking with Maddie’s. “Hey, Mads. Can you go inside for a second with Chim? There’s muffins on the table.”

“What, we just–” Maddie gestures toward her car, the one she’s only just climbed out of. Clearly perplexed at why they’re being offered a break before any work has been done. “The truck is empty.”

She stares harder into Maddie’s eyes. “Please.”

Chimney cuts in then, his hand now looped with Jee’s. “Buck, what are you–”

Buck ignores him entirely. She focuses on trying to convey the urgency through her pleading eyes alone. She glances purposefully between Eddie, the baby and back to Maddie. It’s not clicking. Buck exhales, hands shaking, and says, half under her breath, “It’s not so crazy.”

Maddie’s eyes widen in recognition. “You mean–”

“Yes. It’s not crazy. It’s not crazy at all.” She nods, her head jerking rapidly as she steps to the side. “Please go inside.”

“Chimney,” she says, voice suddenly just as loud and firm as Buck’s, sounding a lot like she’s rounding up a soccer team of toddlers.

Chimney’s head snaps toward her. “Yeah?”

She steps toward him, crouching down to pick up Jee. Then, turns to him and instructs, “Go inside. Grab the baby. There’s muffins. Pronto.”

He blinks, dumbfounded. Eddie, to his side, still holding the baby, looks equally dumbfounded. Chim opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, stammering out, “What, uh– What?”

She adjusts her grip on Jee. “Get inside. It’s happening.”

Chimney’s jaw drops. “Wh– It? It’s happening?”

Eddie looks between all three of them like they’ve all collectively lost their mind. “Sorry,” she interjects, “What the fuck is happening?”

Daniel, in her arms, has abandoned the collection of strands he’d been tugging on, and is now blinking slowly, like he might fall asleep then and there. It’s so cute. It cannot happen.

“You’re–” Buck reaches over, plucking the baby from Eddie’s arms. Eddie’s bottom lip juts out into a pout. Daniel pouts even harder, eyes watering. Buck fights the urge to smack herself for daring to interrupt — but this has to happen now. It has to, or Buck is going to lose momentum, and is going to move out, and never know, and– she just has to. “–Going with your dad.”

Chimney swoops in easily, taking the baby from Buck’s still slightly trembling hands.

The Han family unit strolls into the Diaz house without another word. Buck turns her attention to Eddie again, and she feels a little bit like her heart is trying to escape her body through the tunnel of her throat.

She swallows thickly, shoving it back into place.

“We have to talk,” Buck breathes out.

Eddie’s bewilderment shifts to confused concern, her arms crossing over her chest. “I– okay…? Sure.”

Buck takes a steadying breath. The sun is high above them, the beams of it kissing the warm apples of Eddie’s cheeks, and making her eyes look a little like molten chocolate. The rays, she realises, also light up two strands of grey that swirl through Eddie’s hair as it hangs loose. Buck can’t even remember when she started wearing it like that.

Slowly, trying to sound as steady as she can, she tells Eddie, “I’m going to kiss you.” A step closer. Eddie doesn’t step back. “Right now.”

Her eyes widen, fingers twitching by her side. She wets her bottom lip. It looks so much like an invitation that Buck almost abandons the rest of her stupid little speech. “You’re–” Eddie begins.

Buck holds up a finger, silencing her. Eddie looks a little unimpressed with the finger. She’s a little surprised Eddie doesn’t swat at it.

“I’m going to kiss you. And it’s about to be the scariest thing I’ve ever done, and I-I’m going to do it anyway.”

Eddie stays silent, but right there, at the familiar corner of her mouth, there’s a twitch of movement. Something eases in Buck’s chest. Emboldens her. Her hand drops from where she’d been holding up the finger. Eddie’s arms, in response, go lax and hang by her sides.

“Because I’m in love with you,” Buck confesses, and the world doesn’t explode. Eddie just smiles. Small, soft, like she can’t help it. “And I think—” A pause. A shaky breath. “No. I know you are, too. So. I’m going to kiss you.”

Eddie is just standing there, smiling still, and Buck feels a little like she might throw up if Eddie doesn’t say something.

“You can talk now.”

Eddie’s brow ticks up, amused. “I thought you were gonna kiss me. I was waiting.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Uh-huh.”

Buck doesn’t move an inch. “You love me back, right?” She checks, her voice cracking right in the middle.

Eddie doesn’t answer. Not with words, at least. She just laughs, grabbing Buck by the collar of her overshirt and pulls her into the best kiss of Buck’s entire life. There’s a finality to it. A confirmation.

Kissing Eddie for the first time feels like opening the door to the rest of her life and realising, behind the wooden slab, had been everything she’d ever wanted just waiting for her to take it. Buck deepens the kiss, her hand curving round the side of Eddie’s sun-warm throat, pulling her in harder. Eddie groans into her mouth, and Buck feels it. Tastes it. Memorises it.

Eddie pulls back first, fracturing the kiss with a trembling breath.

“Don’t go,” she whispers against Buck’s mouth. “Stay.”

Buck hadn’t even realised her eyes were wet, but now, with barely a breath of space between them, hot tears begin spilling over her cheeks.

She’s never been on the other side of this. She’s never been the one leaving. Her foot is the one half-way out the door, hanging just past the threshold. Buck kisses her again, so overwhelmed by emotion that it’s the only thing she can do.

Eddie returns it enthusiastically, her hand drifting down and tucking under Buck’s plaid shirt, settling at the small of her waist.

Reluctantly, Buck pulls back, her forehead knocking against Eddie’s. “That’s gonna ruin my credit score.”

Eddie grins, laughing wetly, her own eyes glistening with emotion. “It’s fine. It sucks already.”

Buck chews on the inside of her cheek, drawing small little lines back and forth against the sensitive skin of Eddie’s neck. “Can you ask me again?”

“Buck,” she breathes. Buck’s name fits so well in Eddie’s mouth, safe against the pink muscle of her tongue. Eddie takes Buck’s face into her hands, cradling her like she’s something precious. She traces a calloused thumb over Buck’s soft, tear-stained cheeks. “Stay. Forever. With me and with Chris. You belong here with us. I want you to stay.”

It feels like being offered the key to the city. Or to the universe. Or just– to something really good, and massive, and bigger than her.

She nods, her bottom lip trembling as she fights what she knows is a full-body sob. “Okay.” Eddie’s eyes light up, glistening with joy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Drifting closer, still holding Buck’s head, she murmurs, “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yeah,” Buck answers, automatically. “But … you should know my sister is absolutely watching from the window.”

The two of them, with Eddie’s hands still on Buck’s cheeks, turn in sync. And there, in the living room window of the Diaz home, is Maddie beaming proudly with Chimney by her side, who is holding up his phone. Upon being caught, neither of them even flinch or try to pretend they’re not looking. Chimney does, however, lower his phone and shoot them a thumbs up.

Buck grins despite the tears, laughter bubbling out of her.

Eddie nudges Buck back to face her. Buck goes easily, willingly, gladly. Their eyes lock again, and Eddie has something mischievous glinting in the brown of her hues. “Guess we should make ‘em regret it then, huh?”

And, well, Buck has followed Eddie loyally and without question up until this point, how could she possibly stop now?

One of Eddie’s hands drops down, curving around Buck’s body and grabs a handful of her ass as she pulls her back down into another kiss. Buck gasps softly against her mouth, cheeks pinkening. She swears she can feel Eddie smiling smugly into the kiss.

Buck will not be out done, though. She breaks the kiss, which surprises a now pouting Eddie.

She crouches, hands curving around Eddie’s thighs and scoops her up easily. Eddie’s legs wrap instinctively around her waist as Eddie yelps.

“Wh– you–” Eddie stammers out, arms wrapping around Buck’s neck. “Jesus Christ.”

“No, ma’am.” Buck leans in, brushing her lips against Eddie’s. Eddie shivers. “Just Buck.”

Their mouths slot together like two puzzle pieces that’ve been searching for their other half for a million years. At first, the kiss is half for show, but then Eddie’s tongue is slipped into Buck’s mouth, and any thought other than Eddie, Eddie, Eddie disappears entirely from Buck’s brain.