Word Count: 3,964
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with 911, Fox, or anything else related to that particular universe.

Author's Note: There is art to accompany this chapter which you can find on my Tumblr or embedded in the AO3 version of this fic.

He leaned against the truck, arms resting on the butt of his M4 rifle in an attempt to look relaxed and unthreatening. Crowds drifted by, eyeing their tac gear with obvious apprehension. The black truck behind them was large enough to suggest more weapons could be used if someone got a stupid idea. Their neutral faces hidden by dark sunglasses probably did little to make them appear approachable.

It wasn't as though Eddie liked to appear dangerous but they were a small part of an intricate network that was scattered across the city to protect hundreds of thousands of people. If they were seen, and spoken about, and that deterred someone from an act of violence? Then their meticulous planning worked. Then he'd done his job well.

He'd lost track of how many people could have crossed in front of him during the many hours in the sun and he knew he was going to have a lot of strange tan lines across his arms from the straps, buckles and gloves, but as hot as it was, the truck afforded them enough shade that he could survive. Besides, he'd been in Afghanistan in the middle of summer in far more gear that was heavier and thicker than what he was wearing now. You didn't wear short sleeves in Afghanistan. You didn't leave some of your gear in the truck.

And yet somehow, amid all the milling crowds that he absently scanned for potential threats or drugs or drunkenness or outright stupidity, his eyes caught on the one face he wouldn't have expected to be here.

He straightened his spine, feeling Walker glance towards him like he'd perceived a problem and needed to raise his guard, but Eddie shook his head slightly. Even though Walker wasn't sure what he was looking at, Buck wasn't a threat. Buck didn't even seem to have noticed him, standing thirty feet away amid the swirl of the crowd and dressed in all his gear. But Eddie, who had spent hours with his eyes drifting over that face and torso, would recognise his body anywhere.

Eddie was glad for the dark sunglasses because they concealed how his eyes dragged over Buck's bare chest. The sheen of sweat was noticeable among the smeared pink, yellow and blue glittery handprints that adorned Buck's chest and neck. They concealed or disguised many of the Marks that littered his skin. Across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose was a similar pink, yellow and blue series of streaks in paint, which snaked down his arms and interrupted the lines of tattoos and Marks. When he lifted his hand to his ear, talking to someone that Eddie couldn't hope to guess and turning to look in the other direction, Eddie memorised the large pink, yellow and blue heart that spread across the wings of his shoulder blades and tapered towards the small of his back, ending where the line of his cut-off khakis began.

Eddie knew what those colours meant.

And Buck was obviously very committed to wearing them on every available patch of skin.

What Eddie wasn't sure about were what those colours meant in relation to being invited to the bar, where he'd then watched Buck chat with that girl. Did it change anything? He couldn't tell. He'd like to ask, but that meant he'd have to go to the art class next week. Which then meant he'd have to sit through an excruciating 90 minutes of trying to draw something abominable before he could ask Buck something in the scant minutes before he had to leave for a shift at the bar.

The crowds shifted and his brief vision of Buck was gone, swallowed by the sea as if he'd never been there at all.

His heart thumped a little at the thought of the sea and he resumed his position of leaning against the truck.

"You good?" Walker muttered, no doubt still scanning the rest of the crowds after Eddie had gotten distracted by a single person.

"Yeah, man." He nodded, patted his rifle, began wandering his eyes over unfamiliar faces again. "Just thought I saw someone."

Walker hummed, tilting his head from side to side to stretch his neck. "It feels like all of LA has walked past us at this point. I could've seen the same person ten times and I wouldn't even know."

"Don't let Grant know you said that. If you've seen the same person ten times and can't tell, we could be about to have a serious situation on our hands."

Walker bumped his elbow and Eddie bumped back, both wearing similar grins.

"Glad you got your sense of humour back, man. Was starting to think we'd lost you to the Black Dog."

Eddie looked at Walker, who was very obviously looking at the crowds to avoid his surprised stare. "I wasn't depressed, Walker."

"Weren't you?" Walker's eyebrows twitched above his sunglasses, lips pursing briefly. "You have to know you weren't okay."

And…yeah, okay, Eddie knew that much.

"Losing Shannon was… It was a lot."

Walker's shoulder brushed his again. "I know, brother."

Eddie returned his attention to the crowds but it didn't feel uncomfortable to stand beside his best friend and second-in-command. For the first time in almost a year, Eddie felt as though his breathing was in sync with the rest of his team.

It was as startling as it was familiar and welcome.

He stopped attempting to draw Buck when he saw him the following week, instead sketching the outline of handprints that were spotted with glitter, or the stretch of shoulders and the lines of a back covered in a large painted heart. The proportions were wrong, and he couldn't get the shadowing right to make it look like the curve of Buck's spine, but it was more appealing than sticking to the mundane task that had been assigned that week.

Natalie hadn't commented on his absence last week and Buck looked nothing less than impassively at the wall. It jumbled Eddie's brain after their conversation two weeks ago and seeing him at Pride on the weekend. He was pretty sure he could still see speckles of glitter near Buck's collarbone and if he squinted, he thought Buck's skin looked stained with pink and blue. It wasn't doing much for his concentration as he mulled over what he could say to Buck later but he supposed it reassured him that Buck had been at Pride, that he hadn't somehow mistaken Buck for someone else.

The minutes ticked by until class wrapped up. Eddie took his time, catching Buck's eyes when he pulled the t-shirt over his head. Buck blinked at him, inclined his head in a silent question, and Eddie nodded once.

The others filtered out, the buzz of conversation gradually diminishing. Natalie glanced between him and Buck with a question on her lips. Buck shook his head at her and she swallowed it away and left. And then Eddie was left with Buck's curious but controlled gaze on him.

"Missed you last week," Buck said, his voice deliberately light when it became evident Eddie didn't know how to break the ice that had somehow formed between them.

Eddie leaned against the table, biting the inside of his lip. "Work stuff came up." He hesitated, gaze catching on the stripe of glitter beneath Buck's ear. "I...saw you on the weekend."

"Oh?" Buck's eyebrows rose, a small curl at the edge of his lips. "I hope it was earlier in the day."

Eddie's eyes flicked towards a corner of the ceiling, tongue darting out to lick his lips. "Your paint and glitter were mostly intact, yes."

Buck laughed and it helped thaw the ice enough that some of the tension in Eddie's shoulders loosened. "What did you think?"

Eddie hoped his face didn't flush as dark as it felt with the way Buck was staring at him when Eddie's eyes gradually made their way back. "It was a...a good look. I'm not sure I could pull it off."

"Oh, I don't know." Buck's gaze skipped over him and it was very obvious what he was doing which drastically changed Eddie's perception of being invited to the bar a couple of weeks ago. "You could sign up to be Nat's model next semester. Maybe I'll draw you."

Eddie was pretty sure he forgot how to breathe at the blatant pick-up line, the deliberate heat behind the blue eyes. He might have misunderstood what joining Buck at the bar while he worked meant, but there was no misunderstanding him now.

"Well, I- I hope your drawing skills are better than mine. Otherwise I'll be getting my shirt off for no reason," he said after a terribly long pause dragging his thoughts into some semblance of order.

"Are you saying this," Buck gestured at his shirt, "has been for no reason?"

"I'm pretty sure I have pages of reasons. They're just not very good ones," Eddie replied and Buck's lips curled into a smile, eyes sparkling.

"But you have reasons?"

Eddie pressed his lips together, eyebrow arching. "Are we still talking about drawing?"

Buck hummed, taking half a step towards him. Eddie's heartbeat ticked up. "I don't know. Can we start over from the part where you said it was a good look that I was covered in paint and glitter?"

Eddie bit his bottom lip at the smile threatening to break out again. It shouldn't be this easy to talk to someone, or for that talking to lead to flirting. It shouldn't be so easy to play along with it rather than freaking out and running away. "Are you seeking more ego stroking?"

Buck snorted. "Please. Me without a shirt isn't something you haven't seen before."

"True." He tilted his head, tracking Buck's gradual approach to him, noting the steady increase in his heartbeat the closer Buck got, the decrease in depth of his breathing. "You still have glitter on you."

"Have you ever tried to get rid of glitter?" Buck rubbed behind his ear, no doubt knowing about the smear that remained. "It's a disaster. It gets everywhere. On your clothes. On your sheets." He paused, barely blinking as he looked at Eddie. Had his eyes always looked navy? Eddie had always thought they looked like the ocean on a clear day. "On other people."

"Oh?" He managed to keep his feet under him, somehow standing, somehow steady. "I'll have to be careful then."

There was a foot of space between them, his blood warming to the point of boiling, his heart carving new grooves into his lungs and rib cage. There were butterflies swarming in his stomach for the first time in almost a decade, throttling his throat as Buck gazed at him.

"Best to keep your hands to yourself," Buck said, voice quietening, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Why would I do a stupid thing like that?" he muttered, fingers tangling into Buck's shirt and pulling him closer because enough already.

Buck huffed around a laugh, breath fanning across Eddie's mouth as large hands cradled his jaw. "We forgot about glitter on my hands."

"What a shame," he mumbled without a trace of disappointment, pressing his lips against Buck's before he lost his nerve or lost his damn mind.

He could feel Buck's smile against his mouth and the shudder that spilled down his frame, and his heart thudded when Buck's fingers tilted his head. Buck's tongue swiped against his bottom lip and his breathing hitched, fingers unfurling to spread across muscles he'd spent months attempting to draw. Touching was better than drawing, though. Touching drew Buck towards him, made Buck gasp into his mouth in ways that made Eddie keep spreading fingers across his torso and twist into the fabric of his shirt.

Eddie nipped his teeth into Buck's bottom lip, absently noting the way Buck's fingers twitched against his jaw, and then tried to soothe the pain with his tongue. He was pretty certain it was Buck who whimpered and Eddie found his hands skimming down to clasp at the curve of his waist, stealing the breath from the taller man's lungs as if it would somehow make Eddie less dizzy.

It was over too quickly and yet Eddie thought he was probably seeing glitter across his vision when Buck pulled away, resting their foreheads together. Eddie tried to steady his breathing, gazing into a shade of blue he'd never seen before directly in front of him.

"I really have to get to work," Buck complained with a soft laugh, kissing Eddie again, gentle and quick. Then his hands were gone and Eddie thought he might have to get one of the EMTs to check him for burns tomorrow. "Drive safe," he said, reddened lower lip disappearing between his teeth as he smiled almost shyly, ducked his head, and then fled from the room.

Eddie was still dazed at least five minutes later, index finger reaching up to tug at his lower lip in disbelief that he'd actually done that. The walk to his car was on autopilot, as was the fifteen-minute drive home. He kissed Abuela's cheeks and wondered if she could feel the way they tingled.

"Is everything alright, Edmundo?" she said, cupping his jaw like Buck had done barely half an hour ago, staring into his eyes like she could see through all the layers that had been split open with a thorough kiss by a very attractive man.

"Yeah, Abuela." He captured her wrist, kissed her knuckles, let his fingers slip over hers to squeeze reassuringly. "I think I just need to get some rest."

She nodded, patted his cheek with her other hand. "Duerma bien, nieto."

"And you," he said, leading her out of the house and giving her a wave as she backed out of his driveway.

He still felt like he was floating as he swapped his clothes for sweatpants, brushed his teeth, ran a hand through his tousled hair. He wasn't vain but he spent some time looking at the lines of his abs, thinking about Buck's joke to draw him. He was sure Buck would like what he saw if he had the chance.

With a dopey smile, he snapped off the bathroom light, padded across the hall to his room and fell among the blankets and pillows.

For the first time in almost a year, he didn't acknowledge Shannon's photo before he went to bed.

"Dad?"

He rubbed at his eyes with one hand and raised the mug of coffee to his lips with the other, squinting slightly at Chris who was far more of a morning person than Eddie could ever pretend to be. Even with an almost delightful stretch of uninterrupted sleep for the first time since last August, he still wasn't a fan of mornings.

"Yeah, mijo?"

"What's the thing on your shoulder?"

He frowned, his attentive stare on the toaster temporarily abandoned to look at Chris. "The thing on my shoulder?"

"Yeah." Chris crossed his right arm over his chest, fingers tapping behind his shoulder. "You got a thing there."

His eyes darted towards his shoulder but he already knew there was no way he'd be able to see it without a mirror. He left the toaster to stride to the hall, the mirror by the door offering the perfect height and decent enough lighting to-

Oh

Oh.

Oh fuck.

His right hand raised to cross his chest like Chris had done, although he had better reach and more coordination. His fingertips caught on the back of his shoulder, tracing the blood-red Mark that stained his skin.

Any lingering feeling of warmth or joy from the kiss the night before was swiftly doused by a bucket of iced terror.

"Dad? The toaster popped."

He swallowed, struggling against the wave of emotions that crashed over him and wasn't that an ironic sort of thought.

"Be right there, buddy," he said, his voice tight as he moved through the hallway in search of a shirt. If Carla showed up and saw it, if Abuela arrived and saw it, hell if anyone in the change room saw it and asked about it…

Fuck.

"You seem distracted today," Walker said, bumping his shoulder as they watched Tandy and Nicholls spar in the small ring among the training equipment. Eddie was meant to be spotting Tandy, correcting his technique to take down assailants, while Walker was shouting commands at Nicholls who was masquerading as a perp for the purposes of the exercise. So far, he hadn't found fault with anything Tandy had done.

Which wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact Nicholls had flattened him to the mat, twice.

"Just stuff," he mumbled, adjusting the fold of his arms over his chest and hoping the Mark on his shoulder wasn't some glowing beacon beneath his black t-shirt.

"Yeah? You wanna go out after? Drink a few? Shoot the breeze?"

He winced when Nicholls toppled Tandy to the floor again. Tandy looked at him, helplessly pleading for some sort of way to stop the torture. He'd give Tandy another few months but if he couldn't pick up his hand-to-hand skills, Eddie thought he'd have to bump him.

"You're leaving your body too open," Eddie said, gesturing at his chest and then shifting his arms from side to side. "It means you're telegraphing what you're about to do. Nicholls has enough experience to recognise it and counter it."

"You callin' me old, Diaz?" Nicholls said with a grin, relaxing his grip on the much younger Tandy who clambered to his feet and tried to stand at more of an angle.

"The polite term is experienced," Eddie said, unsurprised when Nicholls flipped him off without even glancing towards him.

He watched for a couple of minutes before Walker nudged his shoulder again. "Don't think you're getting off that easy, Eddie. I nearly lost you to that monster once. I'm not about to watch you start to buckle again."

Eddie's eyes swung towards his second-in-charge. It wasn't often that they used first names on the job. They wore shields at work, armour thicker than their vests when interacting with one another like this. "I'm okay, Si," he murmured, and promised himself that he'd cover his emotions better. If Tandy was telegraphing what he was about to do to Nicholls, then Eddie was obviously telegraphing how he felt too much to Walker.

In life-or-death calls, he couldn't afford for anyone to doubt him. He couldn't allow even the faintest hint of miscalculation to creep in because he was thinking.

He'd never be able to live with himself if he lost anyone else.

Checking the Mark became almost an obsession and every time he looked at it, Eddie wasn't sure if he was grateful or infuriated that it stayed, stubbornly, blood-red. He knew it was Fate mocking him, burning colour into his skin to taunt him that he had feelings for someone he couldn't obtain, wanted someone he couldn't have, desired someone who didn't feel the same. The likelihood of Buck ever returning his feelings were small considering his array of pale pink Marks, and it was crushing and overwhelming. Crushing to realise Fate wanted to highlight the feelings in his heart that his head hadn't processed, and overwhelming that Fate could decide to tie him to someone other than Shannon when she hadn't even been dead a year.

This Mark was different to his first though, the one that had now scarred. His feelings for Shannon had developed slower, a long time after hers. When he'd woken and found the half-half Mark, there'd been no ambiguity about Fate's intentions. She had been Marked first with red and when he'd returned her feelings, they finally had matching half-half Marks. He remembered feeling like such a child, fumbling his way through understanding any of the feelings that swirled through his head because Marks had been something he'd started to think were impossible for him. All the girls he'd kissed as a teenager had not left even a hint of colour on his skin.

In frustration or fear, he moved Shannon's photo from the dresser to his bedside table. He stared at it every night until his eyes burned with exhaustion, confessing all the secrets he didn't know how to tell during the day.

"I don't want to betray you," he whispered into the darkness, his sigh disrupting the stillness of the house. "You left me and then you died and I still feel like I'm betraying you. How messed up is that?"

If anyone had asked, he could've sworn he heard Shannon's laugh drift around his room. Maybe that was Fate's final revenge for the Marks – parts of those you'd loved and lost stayed with you until the end, taunting you with memories and haunting you with what you'd never have again.

He rolled over, convinced the back of his left shoulder was warmer than usual, and stared at the ceiling.

"I fell for someone that will never fall for me," he admitted to the ghosts that he knew had to be circling above him. He had scraps of Buck's many pale pink Marks filling pages of a sketchbook. Maybe Eddie had gotten a deep red Mark and Buck had just gotten another pink. Maybe he had so many that it was innocuous, meaningless, and he didn't even know he had it.

He couldn't bear to think that maybe Buck hadn't even gotten a Mark at all.

"Fuck that stupid drawing class."

He hid the sketchbook on the upper-most shelf of the linen closet, out of reach of Christopher and Carla and Abuela, and did the best he could do to push the book and the class out of his mind.

He skipped class that week.

And then he skipped the next one.

He narrowed his attention to every detail at work, focused all his energy on suspects and leads, blew open doors with enthusiastic gusto, kept his hand on Walker's shoulder when they stalked through buildings in search of perps with Tandy and Nicholls and Polson sweeping their six, forced any distracting thoughts from his mind.

He resumed the routine of home to work, and work to home, and tried to ignore the restlessness beneath his skin that chewed at his toes and gnawed at his ankles.

He couldn't afford to let the carefully controlled façade slip again.

"Diaz!"

He almost jumped a foot in the air but if anyone ever asked, he'd deny it until he went to his grave.

"C-Commander?"

"Fourth of July barbecue at my place," Athena announced, her stare pinning him to the spot in the empty locker room at the end of shift. "Don't even think about trying to skip out on this one. It's been far too long since I've seen that little boy of yours."

He swallowed, attempted to conceal the grimace. "Commander, really-"

"I don't think you heard me," Athena said, the same sort of clipped tone when she was trying to intimidate a witness that seemed to be dishonest or flipping a suspect in the hopes of catching a bigger fish. "You're coming, even if I have to send the BearCat through your front door and D Platoon Shift B drags your ass out." She paused, one eyebrow raised. "Did you hear me that time?"

He nodded mutely. He couldn't afford the repair costs that the vehicle would inflict on his house, and she knew it.

She smiled like a shark, nodded at him, and strode out of the room like she hadn't just scared the shit out of him.

Not least of all because he was still standing there without a t-shirt to cover the Mark on his shoulder.

~TBC~