bluflamingo - Tumblr blog

bluflamingo · 2 months ago

Text

This one is for @buckevantommy - I hope your day gets better! 💙

Tommy is looking for his comfortable boots when his phone rings. It's a good day for a hike; sunny, but not too hot to spend some time outside.

He throws a quick glance at his phone and pauses before he picks up. Evan is a serial texter, but he doesn't call a lot.

"Hey, Evan," he says, "I was just getting ready to leave."

"Yeah, about that..." Evan sounds hesitant. "I'm really sorry to do this, but can I get a raincheck on that hike?"

"Sure." Tommy does his best to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, just..." Evan pauses and sighs. "Nothing is wrong, I'm just having a shit morning. My leg hurts, I thought I would be okay after some painkillers, but I'm not, and now I'm just grumpy and wallowing in self-pity."

"That doesn't sound like nothing," Tommy replies. "Do you want to be left alone or should I come over with movies and snacks?"

Tommy knows from personal experience that company can be a welcome distraction on bad days, but sometimes it can also be really annoying.

"What?" Evan sounds confused, like it's a very strange question.

"Do you need a distraction and cuddling, or do you need to be alone with your thoughts?" Tommy clarifies.

There's a long silence on the other end of the line before Evan says: "I could use a hug. But I know you were looking forward to that hike and..."

"I was looking forward to spending the day with you," Tommy interrupts him. "I'm good with hanging out on your couch, Evan."

"Okay," Evan says, and Tommy thinks he can hear a smile in his voice.

"Let me grab some stuff and then I'm on my way. Any ice cream preferences?"

"Anything with peanut butter or salted caramel," Evan requests, this time more quickly, like it's sinking in that Tommy is actually coming over.

"Good, I'll see what I can find. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you, see you later." Evan's voice is full of something Tommy can't quite identify. Astonishment? But he ends the call before Tommy can ask.

Something about this doesn't make sense. The 118 is so close, Tommy can't imagine they don't support each other on bad days.

Does Evan think he's not allowed to show when he's in pain? Does he believe nobody wants to be around him when he's not doing well? Tommy will probably figure it out sooner or later.

For now he packs a small bag: Three of his favorite movies, a pair of sweatpants for himself, and the heating gel that always helps with his own muscle pain.

Tommy will stop for ice cream and other snacks somewhere close to Evan's place. Cuddling his boyfriend sounds like a very good way to spend his day off.

468 notes · View notes

bluflamingo · 2 months ago

Text

ANYONE WHO MISSED IT/COULDN’T WATCH LIVE i recorded the whole episode here! it might take a second to load :)

(also i am so sorry for any random noises, my laptop recorded my mic as well as the footage i tried SO hard not to speak or laugh 😭)

500 notes · View notes

bluflamingo · 2 months ago

Note

Ohhhh 42 for buddie, please? 👀

“Is this okay?”

----

It’s all going great, right up until Buck realizes he’s crying.

“Hey,” Eddie says, his hand on the side of Buck’s face, thumb brushing through the wetness on his cheek. “Hey, hey, what is it?”

He’s stopped moving, and Buck hates that. Buck arches his back, wants to press his skin to Eddie’s, wants to get him closer and deeper, until he has no more thoughts in his own head. “Please,” he says. He digs his fingers into Eddie’s hips. “Please.”

“Is this okay?” Eddie asked a few minutes ago, one of his arms sliding under Buck’s shoulders, so close they were almost nose to nose, close enough Buck could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. They’ve never done it like this before. It’s always been hands and mouths, one memorable time where Eddie let Buck climb into his lap and roll his hips until they came shuddering and gasping together. They haven’t talked about it, except right before the first time, when Eddie asked, “What’s it like?” and Buck said, “I don’t know how to describe it,” and Eddie said, “You could show me.”

That was weeks ago, and Buck has been—fine, mostly. As long as he doesn’t think about it. As long as he doesn’t acknowledge that he’s being Buck 1.0 again, seven years of character growth down the drain. Whenever it starts to ache too badly, he gets his hands on Eddie and pretends. Because they’re friends and partners and—Buck doesn’t have words for the rest, but they can fuck, too, why not? Buck can suck on his tongue and suck on his cock and suck bruises into his thighs that will still be there once Buck is back home in his own bed, curled up, hugging a pillow, unable to sleep.

But then Eddie had the nerve to ask, “Is this okay?” and now Buck is crying.

“Buck,” Eddie says, but Buck squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“No, no, I’m fine.” He pulls on Eddie’s waist like he can make him move that way, like Eddie isn’t rigid as steel when he wants to be. “Keep going.”

“You’re crying.”

Eddie withdraws from him completely, and that’s—Buck sobs, can’t help it, the sound high and shuddering. He tries to twitch away from Eddie’s fingers on his face, but Eddie persists, pulling and petting until Buck flutters his eyes open and looks at him again.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, but it’s clear he knows he didn’t. He’s a firefighter and a medic; he knows when someone’s physically injured. And he knows Buck better than anyone. Just like Buck knows him.

“No,” Buck says. He runs his hand up Eddie’s arm, soft skin and the flexed curve of his bicep, and wonders how he’ll be able to live not touching him like this anymore. “I told you I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Eddie uses his palm this time, swiping away moisture that’s leaked down toward his jaw. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Because Eddie is perfect, of course he is, and here Buck is ruining his first time, his chance to experiment. Ruining his confidence for the next guy who’ll be in this bed, after Buck. After— “You’re perfect, Eddie, I swear.” He pushes this time, pushes at Eddie’s shoulder, but it’s just as ineffective as before. “Let’s—can we—”

“Buck,” Eddie says. He props his elbows alongside Buck’s shoulders, takes his face in his hands. The expression on his face is devastating, concern bleeding into anguish. “Did you not want…?”

“No,” Buck says. “No, it’s not that. I want too much. I want…” He doesn’t even know how to say it, so he just says, “Eddie,” low and pleading.

He expects Eddie to roll away, the warm weight pinning Buck to the bed disappearing, cold rushing in. He expects to hear that this was a mistake, that Buck wrecked this because he couldn’t be content with what he had.

But Eddie doesn’t move. Instead, his fingers slip up into Buck’s hair, and the corner of his mouth lifts, his gaze going soft and molten. “We’re idiots, I think,” he says, then brushes his lips across Buck’s jaw where he surely tastes like salt. “You could never want too much.” He kisses Buck’s mouth, speaks the next words right against his lips. “Want to give you everything.”

Buck’s breath hitches on another sob. “Eddie,” he says desperately, and this time when he pulls at Eddie’s hips, it works. Eddie reaches between them, lines himself up, and slides back inside, back where he belongs. Buck wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, his legs hooked around his waist to keep him close, get him deeper, keep him there. That he could actually get to have this seems impossible. Impossible that Eddie could want what he wants.

“I love you,” Eddie says. He rocks his hips, just slightly, making Buck cry out. “God, I love you.”

It’s almost too much to take. Buck tries to get Eddie closer, wants to touch him everywhere, opens his mouth for Eddie’s tongue and digs his fingers into Eddie’s shoulder and breathes deep, feels his and Eddie’s chests expand together. Eddie can barely move, but it’s good, perfect, just holding him inside like this. Buck never wants it to end.

“Buck,” Eddie says, and this time he’s the one pleading, but Buck murmurs, “Wait,” and, “Like this,” and, “Is this okay?”

Eddie drops his head to Buck’s shoulder and groans, but he pushes in deep and goes still, just like Buck asked. “Anything,” he says. “Anything you want.”

“I love you,” Buck sighs, and he holds on tight.

178 notes · View notes

bluflamingo · 2 months ago

Text

Bucktommy Fic Recs 9/13

•One Shots

••General Audiences

For worse or for better (I want you forever and ever) by unhingedangstaddict @unhingedangstaddict

•••Teen and up

Some cheese with your wine? By torturedslothdepartment @kinardsevan

His person by pirl

•••••Explicit

Fever’s high with the lights down low by kirkaut @kirkaut

Baby baby baby (put a baby in me) by queermccoy @queermccoy

•Finished Multichapter Fics

••••Mature

Every time I Try to Fly (I Fall) by typicalopposite @typicalopposite

•••••Explicit

100 Days by Citrus_orchid @cosyvelvetorchid

•Tumblr one shots

This post This post This post This post This post @firewasabeast

Worship @tenisperfection

This post This post This post This post these three that start with this one @peppermintquartz

This post @station18908

Operation seduction @elliethefroggy

This post This post @redvelvetcupcakes21

Last weeks recs here

98 notes · View notes

bluflamingo · 2 months ago

Text

9-1-1 | it's the final countdown

85 notes · View notes

bluflamingo · 2 months ago

Text

How to recover fic deleted from AO3 that’s NOT on the Wayback machine

Sharing this because I just found out about this and it blew my mind.

The short version of it is: The Wayback Machine is not the only backup/archive of AO3 content out there. It’s just the most user-friendly and immediately browsable.

THIS database on Archive.org contains most AO3 fics as text files, including plenty that are not Waybacked: https://archive.org/details/AO3_final_location

What you’ll need: A browser for .sqlite3 files such as DB Browser for SQLite, an archive manager (e.g. WinRar or 7zip), good internet download speeds, and potentially a LOT of free GBs in storage space.

Not needed but heavily recommended: A download manager such as HTTP Downloader (so you don’t lose the entire download the second your internet stutters).

1. Click here to get to the archive’s files. It’s going to look something like this:

ao3_current.sqlite3 and ao3_old_files.sqlite3 are metadata files. The .zip files contain fic, most of them in simple .txt format. The metadata files tell you which fic is in which zip.

The “current” metadata file is recent backups. The “old” metadata file seems to be fics archived until 2020ish.

2. First, download either ao3_current.sqlite3 or ao3_old_files.sqlite3. Now launch DB Browser for SQlite, then File > Open Database Read-Only > open the sqlite3 file. Now click on the Browse Data tab.

3. It’s going to look like this.

4. The “Filter in any column” field can be used for keyword searches in, well, any column of this table. Be warned, it takes a while to update, give it time, it’s indexing.

5. Here I searched for all fic which gets a hit for the “Avengers” keyword (usually fandom). You can also search for a specific title, author, description, etc.

Let’s try to locate the first fic on the list. Click on the field on the left - row 1, column 1.

On the right you’ll see the full content of that cell. The most important thing here is the start - ao3_01. This means that the fic is located in ao3_old_files_part01.zip.

6. Download ao3_old_files_part01.zip and open it with your archive manager. It’s 5.5 GB. This will take some time.

7. There are multiple ways to find the fic within the zip file. Probably the easiest way is to use your archive manager’s search/find function to locate the fic by keyword - author is a good bet here, or title if it’s unique enough - and extract that. This way you don’t have to extract the entire archive. Be sure to add a wildcard operator (*) on either side of the keyword.

8. Extract the file and you’re done. Note: It will probably be in .txt format, and might be in one giant block of text. Just select-all and paste it to a proper word processor to restore the paragraph formatting.

+ I suppose if you’ve got like a free TB of space you could just skip the metadata step and download all the zip files and unzip them and use a command line search tool for keywords, too. This will work with keywords like title, author and fandom that are part of the file title. The metadata file just contains additional info, like character fields, description, etc.

This isn’t a perfect remedy, there are still fics that got deleted before they could get archived here. But it seems more complete than the stuff on the Wayback Machine on average.

7K notes · View notes

bluflamingo · 2 months ago

Text

"Evan's not here," Tommy says, and Eddie scowls at him as he pushes past Tommy, already aiming for the kitchen as he hitches the six pack he'd brought with him up under his armpit. It'd been a - a thing. A 'my best friend and my new friend are too busy sucking face to spend every spare moment distracting me from my problems' thing, a thing where Eddie sort of finally understood exactly why Buck had hip checked him on the basketball court months ago. He wants his best friend back. He wants the ease of his friendship with Tommy back.

Which is - Christ, he's selfish, is the thing. A month without Chris there to keep him occupied and Eddie has had some startling realizations about himself. ("You're not selfish, Eddie, you're the most selfless person I know." from Buck and "So fix it," from Tommy, a rare night out with the both of them because he'd headed date night off at the pass by asking Tommy to go out for drinks before he and Buck could make plans without him).

"My world doesn't revolve around Buck," Eddie tells him, and screws the cap off a beer to hand it to Tommy. Tommy's doing that judgmental face he gets when he wants to say something bitchy but hasn't put the words in the right order yet. And - Eddie's not lying. Buck is a fixed point, an ever present life-line, but he's not the fucking sun.

Neither is Chris, apparently, which is news to Eddie and he's - spiralling, still. Quietly, calmly, and he's only punched one hole in the wall on a bad night.

"You ever go to Frank?" Eddie asks, like Frank is the only therapist in the greater LA area, and Tommy rolls his eyes, disappears long enough for the muted sound of the television to go quiet.

When he comes back Eddie's reading the label on his beer bottle

"Apparently I resent you," Eddie says, and Tommy chuffs a laugh.

"Apparently?"

"No, I -." The words had been just as hard two hours ago. This little trip was his own design, he'd been told specifically to sit in it for a while but Christ, an hour a week isn't enough time to talk through his issues and it's not like he can tell Buck he resents him for finding something he's happy and stable and solid in. So. Tommy it is. "You and Buck are good together. I'm happy for you both. I am."

Tommy settles against a countertop with his hip digging into the Formica. His kitchen has gained a dutch oven that looks suspiciously like the one Buck has been showing Eddie for like six months that he couldn't justify the cost of because he's not around enough to use it as much as he'd like.

"I'm not usually the one without his shit together," Eddie says.

"No offense, Eddie, but I thought the whole point of therapy was you realizing you rarely have your shit together."

Also true. He's - usually better at hiding it though. Kim was a joker stacked up on a wobbly house of cards and he'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she'd bring the whole thing tumbling to the ground. Mass casualty event. No survivors.

"You make each other better people," Eddie says, which is the wrong thing to say apparently because Tommy scowls.

"If you wanna completely ignore all the work we've both put into ourselves," he snipes, and - yeah. Fair. Buck's been in therapy for years now. Every once in a while he'll pull something out of his ass that makes Eddie's skin itch - something so mystifyingly self-aware that it makes Eddie want to claw into his chest cavity and rip out his fucking heart. And Tommy - well, he doesn't know much but it's not like Tommy's the paragon of perfection. He's worked through some shit. Is still working through shit, if the aftermath of his and Buck's first real fight is any indication.

"I've never been with someone who makes me want to work on myself," Eddie admits, and the lines around Tommy's eyes shift. He sighs.

"Never gonna find that if you don't want it for yourself."

Yeah. Frank's said as much. It's just - Eddie doesn't have a starting point. Tommy had the whole hiding his true self thing, and Buck had the dead-brother-shitty-parents thing, and he's whittling them both down to the sharp edges of themselves in his mind, which isn't entirely fair but it's easier than trying to confront what the fuck his own problem is. Dead wife, his kid in another state, a contentious relationship with his father, a whole backlog of PTSD he's never really confronted head on. Weird feelings cropping up about a religion he thought he'd left in the dust and sand of Afghanistan and a hole he's been trying to fill up with other people since - well, he doesn't even know since when.

Tommy's got his dog tags laying in the bottom of an empty fruit bowl on his kitchen table. Eddie's never seen them before, and some part of him knows Tommy'd brought them out for a conversation with Buck he'll never hear himself, and he aches. He doesn't want them, but he wants what they have, wants to be able to talk about the difficult shit without closing in on himself, wants to have someone to come home to, wants -

"I spent six months imagining my therapist's head exploding every time she made me talk about something uncomfortable," Tommy tells him, and takes a long drag off his beer. For the first time since he'd knocked on Tommy's door, Eddie actually feels a little bad about interrupting his night, but that just leaves him spiralling some more because Eddie usually feels bad about everything, all the time, so why hadn't he felt guilty about this until now? And why does he feel guilty about not feeling guilty?

"I just want him to fix me," Eddie says, and Tommy laughs. Laughs hard and long enough that Eddie's feeling offended. Off kilter and pissed off and -

"You're not a single loose wire, Eddie. Can't just replace a cable and have a clean slate. You gotta change your oil and replace the spark plugs and top up the coolant, over and over again until you die."

It's the sort of metaphor Eddie'd like to lob across the field of engagement just to watch it get shot to pieces. It's apt, though.

"Feels like the whole engines gotta go," Eddie tells him "Transmission's shot and my catalytic converter keeps getting stolen and the mufflers been welded back on so many times that it's half-solder."

"Christ," Tommy says, which. Yeah. Exactly. "Well you can't exactly send yourself to the junk yard for scrap and buy a newer model."

"Buck does," Eddie snaps, and Tommy rolls his eyes. He'd been there the last time Buck brought up his 1.0 days.

"Half the time a system update patches ten bugs and creates twenty more."

"So Buck's buggy, is what you're saying."

He rolls his tongue over his teeth. "You are running off faulty software and you've been refusing to update to the new version because you heard it'd burn the battery faster, is what I'm saying."

Eddie doesn't have a whole lot of charge to begin with. And the metaphors are starting to muddle in his brain, too many different ideas battling around when he's already spent an ornery hour talking to Frank and another trying to convince himself he doesn't resent his best friend for accepting his own fucking flaws and working on them.

Tommy sets the beer bottle down. Eyes Eddie for a moment, and Eddie wonders how often he levels that look on Buck, how Buck feels when Tommy flays him open and digs through his insides. "You wanna go hit something for a bit?" he asks, and Eddie nods so quickly he nearly smacks his nose into the brim of the bottle in his own hand. He's about done feeling his feelings, for the moment. He'll probably end up being annoyed that Tommy makes him wrap his hands before he takes some aggression out on the bag hung up in the corner of Tommy's garage, but maybe when Tommy gets annoyed with him and does that takedown maneuver that knocks the wind out of Eddie's lungs when they're sparring he'll let that go.

Tommy flicks his forehead on the way to grab him something to wear. "That's for calling my boyfriend buggy, jackass," he says, and laughs himself all the way down the hall when Eddie splutters after him.

His bedroom door snicks shut by the time Eddie's recovered enough to remind him that he'd been Eddie's friend first.

680 notes · View notes

bluflamingo · 2 months ago

Note

hello!! happy tuesday!! requesting 💛 💗💜 for buddie :)

thank you!! 💛 - reunion kiss/relief

The Indiana Jones Thing [On AO3] 2.3K words | buddie | near death experience | first kiss

The horizon dips and sways in Buck's field of vision, salt stinging his eyes and lips. His whole world is shades of blue: the ocean around him and the cloudless sky overhead, the white sun beating down. His skin from the shoulders up feels hot and stiff with sunburn, but everything else is cold. Even in the middle of the day, the ocean is so fucking cold.

The Pacific Ocean is one of the warmest oceans in the world, second only to the Indian Ocean. He read that somewhere, but he can't remember where, or what got him on the topic in the first place. It might have been Chris, or it might have been one of his insomnia-induced late-night Wikipedia binges in those shaken weeks after the tsunami.

It doesn't feel warm. Not right now. His clothes cling damply to him—t-shirt, uniform pants, his boots long-since kicked off and lost to the depths. He doesn't know how long he's been out here, or how much daylight he has left. How much daylight they have left to search for him, if anyone is even looking.

They're looking for him. He believes that. He does.

It's just—he's been treading water for a long time.

Perspective is strange from the water. The waves move him, breaking against his face, blurring his vision, but all he can really see from this angle is the vast blue ceiling of the sky. Birds, sometimes, high and fast-moving. Contrails, even higher than that, sunlight glinting on metal, streaks of vapor spreading out behind. He has a crazy, futile urge to wave his arms and scream every time one passes overhead, like someone's going to spot him from a jet forty thousand feet in the air.

All he can do is keep swimming. The water slips around his arms as he moves, a steady repetitive motion that's as slow as he can make it without actually sinking. Frog kicking to conserve his energy. He's a strong swimmer, always has been. He can do this. They're out here looking for him—he knows it. That means it's his job to stay alive long enough for them to find him.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming," he mumbles, a cracked, rasping singsong, and the sound of his own voice startles him so badly that he loses the rhythm of his strokes for a moment and goes under. When he finally surfaces again, sputtering, there's a low, rising rumble, the waves around him getting choppier.

Tsunami, he thinks vaguely. But it wouldn't feel like this. Out on the open ocean, tsunamis are fast-moving but barely perceptible on the surface. It's only when they move into the shallow waters closer to shore that the devastation starts. Flooded streets. Toppled cars. A small, precious body clutched in Buck's arms, or falling away into the water with devastating finality.

The rumbling is getting closer. Buck spins clumsily and blinks for a few moments, wondering if it's just a mirage that's about to blur and vanish into the punishing brilliance of the sun on the water. But it stays, and it gets closer: the sleek white shape of a patrol boat cutting through the water toward him, U. S. COAST GUARD printed across his hull.

Buck starts laughing, ragged and breathless. Maybe he's crying, too, or maybe that's just the saltwater stinging his eyes. The sound of the engine vibrates in his chest, in his ears, as someone in a wetsuit drops into the water and starts swimming toward him with long, smooth strokes, RFD towing behind him. For a wild instant, Buck thinks it might be Eddie, but of course when the man gets close enough to make out any detail, he's a stranger. Older, weather-beaten face, no-nonsense expression.

"Alright, Firefighter Buckley," he says as soon as he's close enough, and it's the best thing, the best thing, Buck has heard in hours. "I'm gonna push this floatation device to you, and I want you to grab it and hold on. Got it? Can you do that for me?"

"Y-y-yeah." Buck's teeth are chattering now. He doesn't know if it's cold or adrenaline or both; a wave of weakness washes through him. "I kn-n-now the d-drill."

The RFD bobs through the water toward him. He grabs at it, clutching it to his chest with such force that he goes under again for a second.

God, it's a relief to let his legs go loose, to feel the buoy hold him up, to have his survival dependent on something else besides his own body and stubbornness.

The guardsman waits until his grip is secure to start towing him back toward the boat. After that, it's all a confused blur of harnesses and hands and the sudden chill of the air as his body leaves the water, sopping wet clothes clinging.

He nearly collapses when his feet hit the deck, the abused muscles in his legs cramping and twanging. His arms feel like two chunks of concrete dangling from his shoulders. Two guardsmen catch him before he can collapse—the man from the water, and a woman who's enough shorter that Buck has to tilt at an awkward angle to lean on her shoulder. Someone wraps a thermal blanket around his shoulders, and he's guided stumbling and clumsy to a padded bench. He blinks, squinting in the sunlight—it's past the arch of the sky, heading toward the western horizon now. It was early morning when the boat broke up and he went into the water.

"H-how l-l-long was I—was I out there?" he manages through chattering teeth.

"It's sixteen forty-five now," the woman says. "Took us a while to pinpoint your location. You're a strong swimmer, Firefighter Buckley. Good thing, too."

More than nine hours. Closer to ten. He's not sure it felt that long. Time sort of stopped having any real meaning out in the water, but he feels every minute of that time now. "Ju-just Buck. Is f-fine."

"Buck." She actually smiles. "Your team is going to be glad to hear that you're alright. Now I have a few questions, just to see how you're feeling. Are you up for that? Someone's getting some dry clothes for you right now."

He nods. His neck feels heavy, and his muscles are throbbing, and the shivering is worse now, even with the blanket. He stumbles through the assessment, and must reassure her that at the very least he's not about to drop dead on her watch, because after that he's released to change into a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that are several inches too short for him but blissfully dry. After that, he huddles back into the thermal blanket and watches the horizon skid by as the boat makes a wide, looping turn. It looks different from this angle. Bigger. He can see more of the world from above the water than he could when he was trying not to drown, and there's a metaphor in that, maybe.

That's the last thought he remembers having before sleep catches him and drags him under.

He wakes to footsteps, the sound of voices. All of the sounds feel louder and closer now, and when he finally drags his eyes open, they're docking. It's nearly sunset, the waves reflecting shifting shades of red and gold. It's pretty, he thinks sleepily. Even if it did just try to kill him. Again.

Shouts. Footsteps on the deck. Then hands on his shoulders, gentle but firm, and Buck blinks up at Bobby.

"Hey, Cap," he mumbles.

"Hey, kid." Those might actually be tears in Bobby's eyes, but he's smiling all the same. "Glad to see you're alright."

"Glad those Navy SEAL tryouts actually paid off," says Chim from behind him, and he's beaming too, unabashedly teary-eyed. "You just saved me from having to make one of the worst phone calls of my life, my friend."

"They wouldn't make you notify Maddie," Buck mumbles. "Against regulation."

"Yeah, and I bet you can name the line and letter," Chim says, as Bobby sinks down and wraps an arm around Buck's shoulders, squeezing tight. Buck leans against him. His skin feels itchy and sore from dried salt and sunburn, but at least he's not shivering anymore. Bobby's here, and Chim. He squints past them, but no other familiar faces appear.

"Hen and Eddie are in the other boat," Bobby says, before he can even ask. "They should be here any minute."

"And you are about to be read the riot act, make no mistake about it."

"Wasn't on purpose."

"Yeah, I know." Chim reaches across Bobby to scruff Buck's salt-sticky hair. "Just the worst luck known to mankind. You've got to be down at least three of those nine lives at this point."

The guardsman who examined him reappears over Chim's shoulder as they bump to a halt next to the dock. "Just a few more minutes, gentlemen. We already called it in; the ambulance will meet us there."

"I'm fine," Buck says, more for form's sake than because he thinks it'll get him off the hook here. "Just tired."

Chim scoffs loudly, and Bobby says, "You're going to the hospital, don't fight me on it."

"Okay," Buck yawns.

He closes his eyes again, not quite sleeping so much as drifting, vaguely aware of the warmth and weight of Bobby's arm, the bustle around him. Then he's being coaxed to his feet, muscles screaming all the way. He tilts heavily into Bobby as Chim steadies him from the other side and they shuffle their way off the boat. Bobby delivers him into the hands of the paramedics, and Buck is sitting on the edge of the ambulance bay while his lungs and pulse are examined for a second time, when he hears a ragged voice shouting his name.

"Oh," Buck says, squinting in the dimming sunset. The lights are on around the dock, making it plenty bright enough for him to make out the tall, dark-haired figure sprinting across the lot toward them.

"Buck," Eddie shouts again, and then again, softer, as he stumbles to a halt in front of him. "Buck."

"Hey, Eddie," Buck mumbles. He blinks a couple of times, but his eyes are having some trouble focusing. Eddie's face blurs before him, then settles. Wind-burnt cheeks, wide, wet, beautiful eyes. Chest heaving like he's been sprinting a lot farther than across the parking lot. "Sorry."

Eddie swears under his breath and steps closer as the paramedic lifts her stethoscope away with a deep sigh.

"I'll give you two a moment," she says.

"I'm sorry," Buck says again, and Eddie says, "Fuck, Jesus Christ, don't be sorry," and heaves him into a hug. It's tight enough to be uncomfortable, as sore as he is, but Eddie is warm and breathing quick against his hair as his hands pat over Buck's back like he's checking for injuries and then just clutch at him, and Buck thinks he could probably happily stay here forever.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he mumbles.

A slightly crazed-sounding laugh escapes Eddie. His cheek scrapes against Buck's, warm, uncomfortably scratchy against his sunburn, and then he turns his head just enough to press his lips to Buck's cheekbone, bruising, barely even a kiss. It does something funny to Buck's insides all the same. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm okay."

"I thought you were dead." It's shaky this time. He's pretty sure Eddie is crying. He thinks he might be, too. Exhaustion and relief and the way Eddie is holding onto him like he can't stand to let go.

The kiss, too. That kiss, just now, that was barely a kiss.

"Eddie, hey." Clumsily, he reaches up. His shoulders ache, his arms feel like lead, but he manages to catch Eddie by the arms. "I'm okay."

Eddie nods against him. Then he kisses Buck's cheek again. This time it's softer, almost delicate; this time, it feels deliberate.

"Are we gonna do the Indiana Jones thing here?" Buck murmurs. "Because I'd be cool with that. For the record. If we are."

Eddie lets out a shaky laugh, which is what he was going for, and finally releases him. He keeps a hand on Buck's shoulder, thumb just brushing the side of his neck, the same way he's always held onto Buck. Over his shoulder, Buck can see Hen approaching, but she hangs back.

"Since when have you seen Indiana Jones?" he asks.

"Blame Chim."

"Okay."

"So," Buck stutters, and it's not the cold now, or exhaustion. This is just nerves. "So—so if you—do you want—?"

Eddie breathes out a quiet laugh. His thumb moves carefully against Buck's skin. And they're doing this, apparently, after everything: right here, on the tailgate of an ambulance with half of their family and a couple of mildly impatient first responders looking on. Buck will be embarrassed about that later, probably.

Right now, though, Eddie says, "Yeah, Buck, of course I do," in that fond quiet voice that Buck loves so much. Right now, Eddie leans down again to kiss Buck a third time, carefully, right on the lips.

It lingers sweetly for a moment. A few yards away, Chim wolf-whistles and Hen starts laughing, but Eddie doesn't pull back until Buck is light-headed and breathless and smiling like a dope.

Eddie looks pretty dopey himself: soft-eyed, a little stunned, even though he's the one who started this. Buck leans up for another kiss, and doesn't break it even when his shoulders and neck cramp into painful knots at the movement. He must make a noise, because Eddie pulls back a moment later. He doesn't go far, though. His hand is still warm on Buck's nape.

"Buck," he says.

"Yeah," Buck sighs, trying not to pout. "You're riding with me in the ambulance, though, right?"

"Obviously. And you're coming home with me after."

"Obviously," Buck repeats. He tilts his chin up for another kiss, even though it hurts, and Eddie lets him.

87 notes · View notes