Crash (A 9-1-1 Buddie Fic)

Chapter 6

Eddie understood though, without Buck needing to say a word.

He was afraid. And Eddie wished he could take away that fear, but he knew very well he had helped contribute to it over the years. The fear of being left behind, abandoned, forgotten. Eddie saw it in Buck every time Buck worried about upsetting the ones he loved, every time he felt like someone was pulling away or was quieter than usual. Buck took it all in and internalised it, his mind telling him it was his own fault.

So, Eddie understood that despite the acceptance and love, Buck still feared his parents wouldn't look at him the same way. He squeezed Buck's hand, the act causing those bright blue eyes to meet his.

"We don't have to, if you're not ready."

But that seemed to horrify Buck and he shook his head. "No, I want to."

"I'm not going anywhere," Eddie assured him, and almost immediately he could see Buck relax, the tension leaving his shoulders, his smile returning as he nodded.

"Me too... either, er.. I'm not going anywhere, that is."

"Good," Eddie said, his gaze moving up the path toward a large tree that Christopher was currently eyeing up. "Because I'm going to need some help decorating that monster."

-.-.-.-.-

The whole ride home, Christopher talked about the plans he had for the tree and about how they needed to make sure they had enough popcorn and lights. Buck joined in, tone as excited as Christopher's, his eyes lit up, and Eddie could only smile as he listened intently to the pair, occasionally interjecting with a bit of common sense and the occasional 'I don't think that's possible', only to be shot down and told he had no faith. Apparently, between the pair of them, they had it all in hand and really, Eddie thought to himself, he should have known better than to argue with them.

By the time they reached the house, their spirits were so high that Eddie wondered how he was going to get Chris to sleep. He was about to say as much as he climbed from the car, but the words quickly died, as did the cheer, as his eyes landed on the sight of his father sitting on his doorstep.

Buck seemed to notice too, clearing his throat and turning to Chris with a forced smile. "Hey, bud, how about we go to the store? Pick up some popcorn and supplies... let your dad and grandad talk."

Eddie was grateful for the lack of suspicion from Chris, grateful that he didn't fully understand what was going on. It was hard enough for Eddie to deal with his own feelings and thoughts on the matter. He shared a quick look with Buck, a brief nod to let Buck know he would be okay, and Buck ushered Chris from Eddie's car, with the tree strapped to the roof, and into Buck's. Christopher had no complaints, instead rattling off the beginning of a list of what other supplies they should get.

Even once Buck had pulled away, the sound of his jeep growing ever distant, Eddie found himself rooted to the spot beside his own car. But he took a breath, steadying himself, and pulled his keys free as he forced himself to move toward the house. His father stood as he approached and Eddie unlocked the door and swung it open, motioning for his father to enter.

Their greetings were brief and Eddie fetched a beer for his father, out of politeness, and sat in the centre of his couch as he held his own beer between both his hands, his father taking a seat nearby. They sat like that, in silence, for what could have been seconds or minutes, but it felt like hours to Eddie, long, drawn out hours, torturous as he waited.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Eddie finally asked without looking up.

"You mean apologise?" his father asked in return and Eddie rolled his eyes, letting go of a dry scoff before his father continued. "And I would, except I don't know what I'm meant to be apologising for. You walk out and my sister cusses me out, then today your mother does the same, and I have no idea what I've done."

"No, you never do."

His father sighed, shaking his head lightly as he waved a hand toward Eddie. "See, this? This cold shoulder... I can't read you. Ever since you were young, you would get all... malhumorado. And I don't... I don't know what I should be doing."

"You could try not judging others based on what you think is right and wrong."

"Is this about your friends? The ones in Texas who... who..."

"Got married?" Eddie supplied for him, raising his eyebrow at his father.

His father huffed out, as if the very thought offended him. "Why does it matter so much to you? You never cared before about my opinion before."

Grip tightening on the bottle, Eddie raised his head and he let go of a short and callous laugh. "Never cared? I always cared about your opinion! I cared about how I always had to be strong enough and manly enough and obedient enough... I always tried to be what you wanted me to be. What you expected me to be."

"Edmundo..."

"I don't want to be that person," Eddie said, meeting his father's gaze, jaw tight and back straight. But he shook his head, taking a breath to calm himself, as he thought of how far he had come. Of how much he had changed. "I'm not that person. Not anymore."

His father held his hands up. "I don't know what you want from me. You're my son and I'm proud of you. I'm proud of the person you are now. I'm proud of the way you raise Christopher."

"And what about if I marry a man?"

"That's..." His father seemed to choke on his words for a moment, struggling to put his thoughts into sentences. "You would go so far as to do that because I don't approve of your friends?"

"Don't you get it?" Eddie asked, and his voice felt broken, his throat raw. "It's not about them."

"What are you-"

"I'm in love with Buck, and one day, I'm going to marry him. With, or without, your approval."

His father cleared his throat several times, his eyes flicking up to Eddie but unable to stay there, unable to fully meet Eddie's gaze. After another attempt at clearing his throat, he placed his bottle and the table and pushed up from his chair. "I need some time to think."

"Of course, you do," Eddie answered, bitter and harsh, sinking back into the couch and taking a long swig of his beer as he listened to his father head out, unable to look behind and at the door until he heard it fully close.

He thought he could distance himself from it, thought he could close himself off to caring about what his father thought of him. But his chest still ached, his body feeling hot with the anger and frustration and disappointment that washed over him. And the sadness. The sense of loss that he tried to force down with the rest of the beer from his bottle. He didn't want to admit that it didn't just hurt, it cut deep, deeper than anything his father had ever said to him in the past.

His mother was wrong. His father would never change.