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BUDDIE SHARING A LOOK (part 3)
9-1-1 EDDIE DIAZ and EVAN BUCKLEY
@summerofbuddie week 4: canon appreciation
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Buck answers the call with one hand, continuing to mix the soup in his pot with the other. “What are you doing awake?”
Eddie snorts, illuminated by a kitchen light as well, “Could ask you the same thing.”
“It’s earlier for me.”
“It’s still almost one in the morning, Buck.”
He taps the screen, flipping his camera to show Eddie the pot of red liquid. “Making soup. You?”
A laugh echoes in the kitchen, one from 800 miles away and one from memories, and then Buck is looking at a pot on a stove. “Making soup.”
Buck smiles as he and Eddie both flip their cameras back to their faces. “That’s a bit weird, dude.”
“You copied me.” Eddie accuses.
“I did no such thing!”
“I’m the one in the future.”
Buck rolls his eyes, “You can’t use that only when it’s convenient for you.”
“And get…” Eddie hums. “Tomato? Got your crackers?”
Buck holds up the sleeve of crackers, ready to be dumped into his hot soup. “Locked and loaded.”
“You’re so insane.” Eddie smiles fondly, shaking his head, “The only person who dumps almost an entire packet of crackers into his tomato soup.”
“Grilled cheese in tomato soup is weird, Eddie.”
“You’re weird.”
“Says the man heating up Italian wedding soup at almost two in the morning.” Buck counters, smiling as Eddie rolls his eyes.
“I was working late. I’m hungry.”
“Are you not eating enough?” Buck frowns, “Look, I know cooking for one is hard but—“
“Stop.” Eddie says gently, “I had something to eat earlier. But then I picked up a couple more rides so I can take Chris to a game next week. That’s all. I promise, I’m taking care of myself.”
Buck chews on his bottom lip, moving the pot to a cool burner, “I guess…I’m used to helping take care of you.”
Eddie’s smile is soft and tired, “You still are, Buck. You always will. Now, grab your crackers and sit down. Our soup is ready.”
Buck does as told, taking a seat at the table and propping his phone up so he can listen to Eddie tell him about the wild passengers he had as they eat their soup together.
It doesn’t matter that there’s 800 miles separating them. They’re still them.
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It’s kind of open to interpretation,” Guzman explained. “But I think it does play into a lot of people’s curiosities. And I think we all — especially Oliver and I — are curious, what is their story? What is going on there? Is this something that does need to be addressed? Is this something that he needs to admit to himself or follow through? Or is this something that’s nothing, and everybody else is making a bigger deal than it actually is? So that’s TBD. The only person who really knows those answers is Tim. (source)
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"if you asked me to marry you tomorrow, i’d say yes." "what about today?"
prompt from list 1: sacred romantic moments
“Y’know, if you asked me to marry you tomorrow, I’d say yes.”
Buck stops— more like freezes, really— and turns to where Eddie is about to start brushing his teeth.
The bathroom is a bit foggy, the hot air still high in the confined space. They probably need to turn the vent on, but neither of them really like the loud noise.
Buck blinks, then blinks again, as he stares at Eddie’s profile.
“Is this…” he says, slowly, “is this about the call?”
With the toothbrush hovering right before his mouth, Eddie meets Buck’s eyes in the hazy mirror then looks away, says, “Well, yeah.”
And Buck’s heart goes into an overdrive, because Eddie is just brushing his teeth, the foam starting to peek out through the corners of his mouth. His hair is still wet from the shower they just took, dripping down his back, the t-shirt he has on is clinging to his skin just a little too tight. He’s watching Buck through the mirror, fleetingly, small, abrupt looks, and it’s only then Buck realizes he might be gaping at him a bit.
Eddie frowns, leans over and spits the toothpaste out, then he turns to Buck, some toothpaste still sitting at the corner of his mouth.
Without any conscious thought, Buck reaches out, using his thumb to wipe it off. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut then open again, heavy lidded and dark.
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i swear somewhere this works — trista mateer