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You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.
—Richard Siken, You Are Jeff
The ride to the airport is silent.
Stifling. Resigned.
The LA lights flash outside as they drive past, and Eddie takes a moment to close his eyes and rest his head against the cool glass window.
He’s coming to Texas. He’s coming for his son. For all intents and purposes, it should feel like coming home.
It shouldn’t feel like he’s ripping his heart in two.
What’s made Buck and Eddie effective partners over the past six years has always been their ability to read each other so well. It meant being able to pass tools before they were requested, coming up with rescue maneuvers together with just a look, always having each other’s back without ever having to ask. It meant knowing when the other was happy, when they were hiding something, when they were hurt.
He sees the tense lines of Buck’s figure now: eyes fixed on the road, shoulders stiff, hands keeping a tight grip on the steering wheel.
He knows everything Buck has been trying not to say. He’d been uncharacteristically silent through it all, from the moment he first found the real estate listings to the time Eddie started planning for the trip, even when he’d been talked down by everyone else from a permanent move to a long visit.
He’s been quiet, but Eddie knows that Buck loves him. That, despite it, because of it, he will never make Eddie choose between him and his son.
They’ve never needed words to understand each other. Eddie doesn’t have the words now.
Because how do you take that—a love that glows, a love you can see in everything he does, a love that has saved his life countless times, a love that will always, always be one of the best things he’s ever encountered—and throw it back in his face by leaving him? Eddie knows, Buck knows, that he can’t promise he’ll come back, not when there’s a chance that Chris wouldn’t want to.
And Eddie loves Buck, too, but it would be cruel to say it at all.
Eddie stares outside the window, hoping that the lights will dry any wetness in his eyes. What is he even doing? He’s ruining his life, just like he’s ruined his son’s childhood, just like he’s ruined his marriage and all his relationships, because that’s all he knows, that’s all he can do, that’s all his hands are good for, and when you’re a broken man, it is in your nature to destroy everything around you, and here he is destroying one of the most precious things in his life, and he will die alone—
A hand reaches over, a warm weight on his arm, sliding down to squeeze his hand. He doesn’t realize he’s been trembling until he’s been stilled. He can feel Buck’s concerned gaze on him. Slowly, Eddie moves his hand until their fingers are properly intertwined—the way they fit perfectly is both a revelation and a confirmation. Buck lets out a breath.
How does Eddie keep this? How can he deserve to keep this?
“Buck,” he whispers, and it’s a prayer, a plea. Buck squeezes his hand in response.
They arrive at the airport, but no one moves to get out. The only movement is from Buck’s thumb tracing patterns on Eddie’s skin. Eddie knows its warmth will be imprinted there forever.
For a few heartbeats, everything unspoken between them settles in the air. But Buck starts to let go, and Eddie feels his heart in his throat.
How does Eddie keep this? How can he deserve to keep this?
He tries.
“Buck,” he says again, shifting in his seat to look at him head-on for the first time tonight, the first time in a while. “Buck look at me.”
Buck squeezes his eyes tightly shut, but Eddie takes his free hand and cups Buck’s face, tracing the furrowed lines between his brows, the slope of his nose, the mark by his eye. When Buck finally looks at him, his eyes are red-rimmed and devastated.
That night, all those years ago, he didn’t just promise to be there for Buck. He also made a vow to let Buck be there for him. He’d forgotten. He remembers now, and he feels it in his veins, sparking a fire in him.
Eddie’s hand follows the tense lines of Buck’s face, tracing down until his thumb presses against the corner of Buck’s mouth and again the slope of his lips—a prayer, a promise.
Eddie finds his courage in Buck, the way he always has.
“Call Bobby,” Eddie says, and Buck’s eyes snap to his, uncertain, with the faintest threads of hope. “Ask for emergency leave. For a few days, for a week, for as long as you can. Go back and pack. I’ll book your flight. I—” he falters. “I want you with me. Please come with me.”
“Yes,” Buck breathes out, and Eddie feels his heart finally taking root in his body, unfamiliar and entirely welcome.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t say it earlier.”
Buck shakes his head. “There were a lot of things we didn’t say.”
“We will,” Eddie replies with conviction. “Some things… Some things deserve to be said out loud.”
Buck smiles, small but growing, the most genuine one he’s had in a while. Eddie has missed seeing it. Hopefully, he won’t have to miss it anymore. “I’m starting to see that.”
The silence settles between them again, but Eddie can’t be cold with Buck’s warm skin against his, with their fingers still intertwined.
There are words to say, things to do, a son to reconcile with. They will. They will, together.
That’s what partners do after all.