Chapter Text
Spring in El Paso has been taking some getting used to.
Somewhere during the haste and chaos of the past month (constantly shredding his mental state to pieces, mortgage applications, texts to Chris unanswered, shrinking his life in Los Angeles down into cardboard boxes then blowing it all back up into the facade of a shiny new one in Texas), Eddie Diaz had forgotten about the winds in April.
Splinters press into the flats of his hands and catch on the soft skin of his forearms, like the rocking chair—a curbside score, ‘FREE’ sign freshly removed—is clutching him in place. It holds him steady while he squints at the horizon, a halo of amber and crimson settling over rocky mountains.
Another gust of warm wind whistles through the neighborhood. Eddie listens to sand and sediment hiss across pavement, registers a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He can’t remember how long he’s been out here.
Was it lunchtime when he sat down? ...That can’t be right. He couldn’t have been sitting in the backyard for six hours already, except that he has. He knows he has, because he hasn’t been able to muster the energy to do anything else since this morning’s disaster visit with his mom and Christopher.
Today is the one week anniversary of the big move. Impossibly, he feels farther from Chris now than he did living eight hundred miles away.
The first few days were quiet, mostly filled with unpacking and half-hearted excuses from his parents on why they couldn’t come to the house, why they kept pushing dinner back, how it would be inappropriate for Chris to hang out in a space littered with boxes. How they’re just not ready yet.
So, Eddie’s been by their house every day since his tires rolled over the Texas border. That first night, he bypassed his new place entirely and drove directly to them, U-Haul and all, swallowing the nauseous lump in his throat as he jumped out of his truck, jogging inside a bit too fast. As soon as he had crossed into the state, each second spent without eyes on his son had grown from anxious anticipation into something dark in the pit of his stomach.
That ugly thing made a permanent home within him when Chris had begrudgingly returned his crushing embrace, Helena and Ramon watching behind them like hawks. Eddie had attempted with no luck to catch Christopher’s eyes when they pulled away; he settled instead for trying to bleed love out of his palm through the grip of a steady hand on his son’s shoulder, choking out, “I missed you so much.”
Christopher had murmured a “Hi, Dad,” but then padded silently back to his abuelita, hovering close to her. As if he needed something to tether him a safe distance from Eddie.
That quiet continued to stretch thin over the course of the week, Chris only communicating with his dad through his grandparents and Abuela; they’ve had to repeat anything Eddie says just for Christopher to respond.
And, dammit, Eddie knows this is supposed to be hard, parenting a teenager, only he can’t shake the feeling that he’s still not even doing that. Parenting. That any chance he’d had to hold on to Christopher has since slipped off the face of a sheer cliff and straight into the open arms of his parents, standing there next to bright neon signs blinking ‘WE TOLD YOU SO.’
Chris broke his silence this morning over brunch, and the ugly thing inside Eddie had grown stiff roots into the soft skin of his belly.
“I thought you were a hero. But you’re not—you’re always thinking about yourself.”
A breeze, a bit calmer this time, blows gently across his skin, bringing Eddie blinking back into the present. It’s somehow dusk now, the last smidges of sunset-warm sky gradually becoming victim to the night. He swallows against the grittiness in his throat.
Eddie’s phone buzzes in his pocket for the first time all day, which finally gets him to peel one of his arms from the death grip of the weathered chair. Definitely not Christopher, and not either of his parents.
It’s Buck.
Morning, sunshine!
Eddie huffs in amusement, limbs already starting to feel looser.
Wow, third 24 this week. Cap running you ragged over there?
Something like that
The three dots waver for several seconds. Eddie thumbs at his phone case, bites the inside of his cheek. Tries not to worry when the bubble goes away for a little too long, exhales deep out of his nose when it pops back up again.
Did I tell you he keeps calling Ravi Eddie
It was kinda funny at first but now i think i’m starting to feel bad
That shocks a laugh from him, short and loud, a sharp joy echoing over the valley. He starts to type a reply but Buck beats him to it.
we all miss you over here
Any remaining laughter dies in his throat, and the ugly thing digs its claws in again, because, well. He misses them too. He misses the 118 so much he forgets how to breathe sometimes, and trying to mend his relationship with his son feels impossible right now without them.
I miss you too, Buck.
More than you know
Eddie types out and deletes his next message a couple of times, debating whether he should send it. Whether it’s something he wants to get into.
Rough morning with Chris today.
A FaceTime comes through almost immediately. Eddie stares at the contact photo plastered across the screen, a selfie of the two of them at what was supposed to be Chim’s bachelor party, cheesing hard. Their laugh lines blend together where their temples meet.
Eddie inhales, evidently having forgotten to, and swipes to answer.
“Hey, man,” Buck says, voice rasping smoothly from the speaker. He’s in the loft at the station, phone propped against something on the dining table. “What d’you mean, ‘rough morning with Chris?’ Is everyone okay?”
Buck’s eyebrows are drawn together, concerned, and his mouth is doing that thing where it pulls tight around the edges. He leans closer to the phone, pushing forward on his elbows.
Eddie sighs; he lets his head fall back, eyes slipping closed, and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He uses that hand to drag across his face, dry and tired from the desert heat. “If you count severe levels of emotional distress as okay? Then, yeah, everyone’s fine.”
Buck sighs, light eyes studying Eddie through the phone. “He still isn’t talking to you?”
“Actually, we upgraded to screaming today,” Eddie says, pulling a rueful smile. “Zero to a hundred. I mean, I know I should be happy because it’s progress, right? But... having to face my son telling me I’m selfish? That I’m not—not a hero to him anymore?” His mouth snaps shut, and he looks away with a shake of his head. “I wouldn’t wish this on—well, no, maybe I would wish this on my worst enemy.”
“...Eddie,” Buck quavers, not falling for the deflection. One of his hands twitches where it rests on the tabletop, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out. “None of that’s true, and you know it. I’d be willing to bet those aren’t even his own words. I’m sure he just... needs a little more time.”
Eddie puffs out a short laugh, self-deprecating. He tries on a smile for Buck and tips his chin in appreciation.
Buck continues. “You are a fantastic dad. Christopher knows that,” he gestures at the firehouse around him, “we all know that. And I won’t be letting you forget it, either.”
Eddie’s mouth trembles slightly, and he finds that it’s impossible to look at the screen head-on. He knows what he would find there. Knows that, right now, alone on his back patio, he won’t be able to handle it.
A few silent moments stretch out comfortably between them while Eddie breathes in, then out. He finally nods, turning shining eyes back to FaceTime. “Yeah. Thank you.”
Buck’s gaze twinkles, teasing. “Mhm, sure. Don’t get used to it, though, because you have now reached your compliment quota for the evening.”
Eddie laughs, pleased and grateful for the diversion. “Watch it. I’ll raise your rent.”
Buck’s answering cackle is strong enough to throw his head back for a second, the long planes of his neck stark in contrast to the dim hues of the station behind him. “Uh-huh, good luck with that. I won’t be paying it.”
Eddie can’t hold down his smile. “And reduce my networth to pennies? Don’t forget, I know where you live, Buckley. I’ll come claim retribution.”
For whatever reason, the air of the conversation curdles instantly. Eddie watches Buck shift in his chair, averting his eyes; after an awkward beat, he laughs, too late to be convincing. Not that he could have fooled Eddie, anyway.
“What?” Eddie asks, suspicious. Buck stammers for a moment, then starts craning his neck, eyes darting around the station.
“Hey,” Eddie hisses. “I know what you’re doing. Don’t you dare try and rope anyone into saving you from this.”
Disgruntled, Buck groans. “Fine, fine.” He shakes his head a little, mouth pressing into a line. A dimple flickers at the corner of his lips. “I, ah. Kinda did something stupid the other night.”
Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “Sounds normal to me.”
“No, Eddie, like... stupid stupid. I’m pretty sure I messed up big time.”
“Okay. Messed up what?”
“I saw Tommy.”
The ugly thing is back, and this time it uncoils dark green in Eddie’s chest, crawls up and out of his throat, burrows its tendrils into the soft flesh behind his teeth.
“...Okay,” he coaxes, barely concealing disdain, “and what did you do? Tie his shoelaces together? Pour a drink on his head?”
With a wry smile, Buck responds, “Um, no. Not exactly.” Hesitation flickers across his brow. “I went out drinking with Ravi, and he found Tommy at the bar, I guess. Then out of nowhere Ravi was leaving, and Tommy sat down with me, and one thing sorta led to another and... and, he, uh. You know. Spent the night.”
Pulse rabbiting in his ears, Eddie’s jaw ticks. “He spent the night.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t even the problem, really,” Buck says, exasperated. “Eddie—he told me that he dumped me because of you.”
The tune in his ears shifts from rushing blood straight to television static. “He what?”
Tommy doesn’t have any right to mess around with Buck like this, he thinks, not after he’s been baking his way through this breakup for months (even if Eddie does miss homemade vanilla bean scones like hell). “So—he doesn’t want to take responsibility for his own shitty actions. Instead, he blames your best friend?”
“I know, right? It doesn’t make any sense.” Buck heaves a sigh, bone-tired; Eddie can tell that this has been eating at him. “Anyway, he wouldn’t drop it. And, I dunno, he just sounded so... happy, that you’re gone. It pissed me off.” His lips twitch. “So I said some things I kind of regret.”
“He had it coming.” Eddie’s chest lightens, skin buzzing pleasantly.
“You don’t even know what I told him! It was mean.”
“Don’t care, my statement still stands,” Eddie sing-songs, finally standing up to pace into the yard, wandering just up to the cusp of visibility from the porch light. His muscles are screaming from so many hours of disuse, but he ignores them, combing the night sky to find which constellations are visible from here. “He hurt you considerably already. For me, that’s enough.”
Over the speakers, the station alarm sounds. Eddie starts, taking an aborted step as his brain catches up to its own autopilot. Woah, there, nowhere for you to run to.
“Shit.” Buck rushes to his feet, carrying Eddie with him. “Showtime. Gotta go.”
“Wait, Buck,” Eddie says, the words crawling out of a subconscious crevice of his mind. He doesn’t even know what he’s planning to say.
Buck slows to hang back from the stairs momentarily, a rogue curl splaying over his brow, falling just above his birthmark. “Yeah?”
“Did Tommy say why?” Shut up, Eddie, shut up shut up shut up. “Like—what the hell about him breaking up with you had anything to do with me?”
Buck falters, lips slightly ajar. “Uhm... yeah, yes, he said why.” Eddie can’t catch Buck’s eyes, and feels kind of deranged about it. “He said he was open to dating again. When I asked what changed, he told me the ‘competition’ was out of the way. Meaning you.”
“Buck, let’s go!”
“Copy you, Cap!” Buck shouts, rerouting to the fire pole. “Okay, now I really gotta go.”
Eddie salutes, “Duty calls. Stay safe out there, you hear me?”
“No promises!” Buck grins, dimple in full bloom on his cheek.
“Talk soon.”
“Later.”
The silence that follows the dial tone is deafening. Eddie exhales, realizes that he’s shaking a bit.
Competition?
He slips his phone into his pocket and stares at the tremors in his fingers; won’t acknowledge what this is, because he knows it’s on the list of things he can’t allow himself to have.
Eddie grits his teeth and turns to beeline inside, deciding split-second to do some target work. His fists are already curling in anticipation of slipping on his gloves.