Love Happened to Other People

After a horrible shift, Eddie is woken up in the middle of the night by Buck on his doorstep.

"I grew up thinking that love was something that happened to other people. Every relationship I tried to have—" Buck shrugged. "None of it lasted. They were always in it for the sex or the parties or the—It just reinforced the idea that love was something that didn't happen to me."

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Based on the Daily Buddie Prompts from a "guided love story journal" via buddiepromptaday. tumblr. com, Day 1: "I grew up thinking love was about…"

Beta'd by DLanaDHZ.

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When something woke Eddie up, his bedroom was dark. The curtains were barely lit by the backlight of the moon, sunrise still hours away. He strained his ears for any sound, thinking perhaps Christopher had called out. Except something in his mind said it had been a clack. A latching. A door. A car door?

On the bedside table, his phone lit up and vibrated with a text. Eddie fumbled for it, unlocked it, and read the text from Buck.

Are you awake?

It was one in the morning. They had just gotten off the worst twenty-four hour shift they'd had that year. All Eddie wanted was to go back to sleep. And yet—

What's up?

Someone knocked on the front door, making Eddie jump. Then he calmed, realizing it must be Buck. But then the adrenaline came back, because why would Buck be at his house at one in the morning? What had happened?

Eddie was at the front door in less than a minute. He didn't even put on pants. When he opened the door, Buck inhaled deeply. "Hey."

"Hey," Eddie responded. "Everything okay?"

All the air rushed out of Buck at once, his shoulders drooping from where he'd puffed himself up. Instead, Buck's shoulders hunched in, all his easy confidence replaced with anxiousness and embarrassment. "Uh, yeah—well, no—I mean—C-can I come in?"

"Sure, sure," Eddie agreed, stepping back to let Buck inside.

He locked the door behind him, then led Buck to the kitchen table. Buck paced from one side of the table to the other, back, and then pulled a seat out and sat down, though his leg immediately started to bounce.

With a frown, Eddie offered, "Beer?"

When Buck nodded, it was absent, but Eddie grabbed him the drink anyway. Maybe it would help settle his nerves so he could explain what exactly had him showing up in the middle of the night.

For several minutes, they simply sat at the table, each taking sips of their drink. Buck did as much tearing at the beer label as he did drinking, though, and Eddie was more focused on watching Buck. There was no blood and he seemed cognizant, so it wasn't an injury. But the nervousness—Their last shift had been hell. They lost more people than they saved. One of them had been a woman on her way to confess her love to her best friend growing up. She'd been conscious long enough to layout her plan, how she was taking into account her friend's love of heavy metal with flower crowns, how she'd waited so long, but it was going to be perfect—

That one was hardest on Eddie. Watching the life drain from her while she talked about the future, while she didn't even realize she was dying. Listening as she talked about how she was finally going to make her move, after years of tiptoeing around each other. It paralleled his feelings for Buck way too closely, and Eddie's stomach had turned.

"I grew up thinking that love was something that happened to other people."

Buck's voice broke through the silence of the night like a bullet, and Eddie almost flinched. Then he frowned at the actual words. "Buck—"

Holding up a hand, Buck said, "No. Let me—" His gaze stayed on his beer bottle as he spoke. Eddie understood the comfort that came from avoiding eye contact. Then he could pretend he wasn't spilling his fears out to someone. "My parents never had enough time for me. Nothing I did was good enough. They only paid attention when I was hurt, when I ended up in the hospital for some stupid shit I did just trying to get them to look at me."

There was a tinge of bitterness to Buck's voice, something that had only gotten worse since the Buckley parents had visited a few months ago. Buck claimed he didn't care about what his parents thought, that he was moving past it, but it was clear that part of him still resented them for how they had treated him growing up. Eddie sure did and he wasn't even their son.

"It made me reckless."

Eddie huffed. The entire team could agree with that. Buck was by far the most reckless member of the team. Not that that was always a bad thing.

Inhaling deeply, Buck said, "Even Maddie—She ditched me."

"That wasn't what happened, Buck," Eddie reminded him, shifting his nearly empty beer bottle from one hand to the other.

Briefly, Buck met his eyes, then looked back at the bottle. "I know that now, obviously. But I didn't then. All I knew was that every person I loved didn't love me back."

Eddie's heart constricted in his chest, both at the awful thought that Buck felt that way and also at how Buck said it like it was nothing, like it was as expected as a heat wave in July.

"And every time I went somewhere new, every relationship I tried to have—" Buck shrugged. "None of it lasted. They were always in it for the sex or the parties or the—It just reinforced the idea that love was something that didn't happen to me."

He ran a hand through his hair, his curls bouncy in a way that suggested he had showered after their shift but before bed. And then something—maybe that same call that had Eddie's stomach turning, maybe a different call from today, maybe something else—had him driving twenty minutes to Eddie's doorstep. And Buck had listened to Eddie's problems enough times, had helped him work through those problems, that Eddie wanted nothing more than to help Buck too. He didn't know how he could help when he wasn't exactly a master of love and relationships, but he would try.

Buck took a shaky breath, picked at the label enough that it started to flake onto the table. "And then Abby—"

Something in Eddie's chest throbbed at the mention of Buck's ex. The woman who had him up in knots when Eddie first joined the one eighteen. The one who tormented him for months, who ghosted him. The one who showed up with a fiancé and zero explanation. Saying Eddie hated her might be a stretch, but not a large one.

"Abby made me think maybe I was wrong." A small, hesitant smile lifted Buck's lips, and Eddie could tell that part of him still loved the older woman. "She didn't want to jump into bed with me. She stayed with me in the hospital. She shared her fears and her worried with me. I thought finally—But then I was wrong."

His voice cracked and Eddie's eyebrows furrowed. Leaning closer to Buck, he said, "That was on her, Buck. Not you." Emphatically, he said, "There's nothing wrong with you."

That same hesitant smile was now aimed at Eddie. "I know that. In my head." Buck tapped his head, then his chest. "But it's a little harder to get that through my heart, you know?" A frown. "Not when every. single. relationship I've had has ended the same way. With being left behind."

God, Eddie wished he was better with his words. Buck was clearly hurting, eyes shining with the threat of tears, and all Eddie could do was sit there and offer him a beer? It sucked.

"That's why I…I never really liked Ana," Buck admitted, then hunched his shoulders like he expected an attack.

For a moment, Eddie could only stare. "What?" Buck hadn't liked Ana?

Hunching his shoulders more, Buck was quick to wave a hand and clarify, "I mean, I—I liked her. She was a great person. But I didn't like—" He sighed. "The more time you spent with her, the more it felt like I was being left behind again. The more I started to wonder if I wasn't good enough for anything long-term. Just a hook up. One night. The summer fling you tell your grandkids about trying to convince them you're cool, or whatever."

"Buck—"

"That's not the point." Buck waved the words away, his eyes again focused on his beer bottle. "Eddie, my entire life has been a series of people leaving me. Of never being anyone's first choice. Of people getting tired of me because I'm—I'm exhausting, I guess."

The reminder could not have hurt more if Buck had actually hit him. Eddie's voice felt gravelly when he said, "We talked about that, Buck. I didn't mean it. I was angry with the world and I took it out on you. You're not exhausting."

A nod and a glance up. "I know. But when you started dating Ana, it felt like you'd had enough of me. That you didn't need me around anymore."

The thought was ludicrous. Not need Buck? Get tired of Buck? Eddie could hardly imagine going a day without seeing him at work, having him over for an afternoon, calling or texting him on the phone.

Buck's face screwed up, like what he was about to say was painful. "And I hated it. I tried to be happy for you. I watched Christopher so you could go out, and I asked you about her because it made you smile, but I—I always wished it was me."

What. "Buck," Eddie breathed out. Did he just—

"I'm in love with you, Eddie."

Eddie's elbow slipped off the table, making him jerk to stay upright, but Buck didn't seem to notice. He was pulling at the beer label in earnest now. His words came faster, like he was desperate to get them out before Eddie could respond, or before he lost his nerve.

"And I-I-I don't know when it happened. I don't know when it changed from friendship, or coworkers, or whatever into—into more. But I'm in love with you. And I am terrified of losing you, of you deciding I'm not worth it, of you moving on and leaving me behind. Because I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. I want to sleep with you, sure—

A flush sprang to Eddie's cheeks and his heart hammered in his chest. "Buck!"

"But it's more than that. I want to cook dinner with you, and do the dishes. I want video games with Chris. I want to take him to surfing lessons, teach him to play soccer, go skateboarding, whatever he wants. I wanna make it happen for him. And I—" His speech slowed, and his fingers gripped around his bottle instead of tearing at it. "I want to hold you when a call goes bad. I want to be the first person wishing you happy birthday, or Merry Christmas. I wanna be there when you have a bad day so I can make it better. And—And even if you don't love me the same way I love you, please, please let me stick around, Eddie." And finally, finally, Buck met Eddie's eyes. "Please let me still be your friend."

It was one in the morning. Christopher was sleeping just down the hall. The only light on was the kitchen, casting the entire conversation in a sort of haze. And Eddie was tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Buck," his voice sounded wrenched from his gut, but Eddie didn't try to clear it. "You don't have to worry about any of that. You are the best friend that I have ever had."

One of Buck's bashful smiles made an appearance and Eddie's chest warmed. "And you're mine."

But it was more than that. It was so much more. And Eddie was awful with his words, but he had to do better. Buck had poured his heart out and confessed, not only to loving Eddie but so much more. Eddie had to do better.

"I broke up with Ana because I realized I was repeating the same mistakes I did with Shannon," Eddie admitted.

Buck's eyebrows furrowed and he tilted his head to the side curiously.

Eddie gave a small shake of his head and explained. "I grew up thinking love was a man and a woman, usually high school sweethearts." That's what his parents had been. "I was taught that you never got divorced, that you soldiered on, worked it out or got over it. But I tried that with Shannon, ignoring any problems, bottling things up." A bigger shake of his head. "It didn't work. It exploded in our faces."

An explosion just as damaging as any bomb overseas had ever been. His life had been in shambles afterward, and he'd had to pick up the pieces one by one and figure out how much of him was left.

He sighed. "And with Ana, I realized I was trying to fulfill that role again. A man and a woman. We even knew each other because of a school," he said with a huff of laughter. "And sure, we liked the same kinds of movies, but it always felt like I was playing house. Like it wasn't real. And I didn't want to ignore that, didn't want to wait until we'd gotten hitched to admit that I wasn't going to learn to love her."

That's what his parents had said with Shannon, when he had first mentioned that she was pregnant to his parents, that they were getting married. They would learn to love her, with bitterness in their voices. And when he went to them for advice after learning Christopher had C.P., they said he would learn to love his son, while exchanging glances they thought he couldn't see, couldn't interpret. For once, Eddie wanted to be in love, not in a relationship where he hoped to one day more than tolerate his other half.

And he was. In love, that is. He hadn't known love could feel like this until—

"Since joining the one eighteen, I've seen all kinds of love." Eddie waved to the side, toward the front door, as if the team was there. "Bobby and Athena and their kids and their family. Hen and Karen, with Denny and Nia. Chim and Maddie, and now Jee-Yun. They've all had their problems, but they work through them. Together."

Whereas earlier, Buck couldn't meet Eddie's eyes, now his gaze was fixed on Eddie, taking in every word. He had always been a fantastic listener. Eddie shifted on his seat, so he was closer to Buck, and even leaned closer across the table.

"Buck, I broke up with Ana because I realized that every time I spent an evening with her, I ended up wondering what you were up to, or what you would do in that situation."

Buck's breath hitched, his grip tightening around his beer. Nodding, Eddie continued.

"I realized that the person that helped me work through every problem I've had—the only person I even wanted to talk to about my problems—was you." He pointed at Buck, as if that would ensure that the point got across. The way Buck's eyes were welling up, it did. "So you don't have to worry about losing me, or losing Christopher. We'll be here as long as you want us. Probably longer." Eddie took a deep breath to strengthen his resolve, to get the words past his lips. "Because we love you too. Buck. We love you. I am in love with you."

It was like someone cut Buck's strings. He sagged in his seat. All his energy fled and, with it, his hold on his tears. They slipped down his face, slow but continuous. He brought his hands up to wipe them away, but it didn't help.

"R—really?" he asked. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

Now Eddie moved his whole chair over so it was almost flush with Buck's and grabbed Buck's wrists to stop him from wiping away his tears. When Buck met his eyes, Eddie nodded.

"I mean it," he said. "You're—You're it for me, Buck." He swallowed thickly. "Love doesn't happen to 'other people,' Buck. It happens to you too."

It felt cheesy, but it was also the right thing to say. While Eddie fought off a grimace at how tacky he thought he sounded, Buck let out a small sob. He pulled his wrists from Eddie's hold in order to put them on either side of Eddie's face and bring their foreheads together, closing his eyes as more tears poured down his cheeks. It wasn't pretty crying, but Buck still looked pretty great to Eddie's eyes. So he did something he had dreamed about but never dared do before.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Buck's in a chaste kiss. Buck surged into it, kissing Eddie once, again, again, like the more kisses they shared the truer Eddie's confession would become. Eventually Eddie had to pull back, to catch his breath, to stop things before they got too heated. Buck's eyes followed him, brimming with warmth instead of tears, and Eddie loved that expression more than any other he had seen on Buck's face tonight.

"That was," Eddie said, his voice coming out low. He cleared his throat and Buck grinned like a pleased cat. "As great as that was, it's probably nearing two A.M. and we both need sleep."

The pleased look morphed into shy embarrassment. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Right." Buck pulled away, leaning back in his chair to put distance between them. "Sorry. I should've waited until, you know, tomorrow to throw…all this," he waved his hands around in the air to encompass the whole conversation, "at you."

Shaking his head, Eddie said, "No. I'm glad you came over. I'm glad we talked." Buck smiled. "I'm just exhausted, and I'm sure you are too."

Nodding, Buck stood from his seat. He jerked his thumb toward the door. "Then I guess I'll see you—"

"Sleep with me."

Buck froze mid-step backward toward the door, nearly tripping over his own feet. His bewildered look nearly made Eddie laugh, if his own words didn't have his face burning red as a tomato.

"Not—That's not what I—Just sleep," he clarified. "Just—" His voice failed him, and he covered his face with his hands.

A few seconds later, Buck pulled Eddie's hands away so they could make eye contact. He was back to wearing that soft, warm expression Eddie loved so much.

"I would love to," Buck whispered, before giving Eddie a chaste peck on the lips.

Clearing his throat, Eddie nodded. Then nodded again. As he led the way to his bedroom, he smiled. Talking about feelings was hard. It was opening himself up to ridicule and embarrassment. It was like pulling his heart from his chest and handing it to another person and praying they didn't damage it. But it was also the key to understanding and acceptance. And if it would keep making Buck smile, Eddie would work to be better at it.

Because love wasn't what he'd learned from his parents growing up, and love wasn't something that happened to other people. Love was a late-night conversation, homecooked breakfast omelets with a cocky smile, and the joy in his son's voice when he learned Bucky had come to spend the day.

Love was more than Eddie had known before or hoped for, and he would take any number of one A.M. texts, or hard conversations, to hold onto it.

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fin