gooondocks

[gooondocks]

and if your heart wears thin — evan buckley.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: after taking an unfortunate spill on the job, buck's fiancé decides that life is too short to wait any longer.

─── pairing: evan buckley x gn!reader.

─── warnings & notes: angsty angst and then fluffy fluff. near death experience, descriptions of drowning and rescuscitation, brief mention of needles (not graphic), incorrect medical procedure for Plot purposes. no use of y/n. title is from 'beside you' by marianas trench. this starts out with some mild peril but devolves into some of the fluffiest shit i've ever written so. enjoy. not proofread bc i'm lazy.

─── word count: 3.9k.

     YOU SHOULD'VE BEEN EXPECTING IT, is the thing.

     The callout comes about halfway through the shift. Intoxicated male on the boardwalk at Echo Park Lake, bleeding from a head wound, having tripped getting out of one those damn swan boats. Dispatch warns that he’s been hostile and combative to both employees and civilians on scene, and that a police unit has also been sent to assist.

     So really, you should have been expecting it. Aggressive patients aren't exactly rare in your line of work, unfortunately. Hell, this wasn’t even the first confrontational call you attended this week. So you're pretty used to being on your guard on these kinds of calls.

     Except.

     You turned your back for only a second, just to grab something from the medkit. Buck and Eddie are doing their best to coax the patient onto the gurney, gritting their teeth as he hurls slurred curses their way. Hen quietly asks you to grab the pulse oximeter out of the bag, and so you turn, crouching down at the edge of the dock to rummage through the kit.

     You’re not sure what causes it. Why the patient decided to lash out at that exact moment. But there’s a gruff roar behind you and the man flails, edging around Eddie to give you an almighty shove. Crouched like this, your center of gravity suddenly shifts. You lose your balance.

     And then you're in the water.

     Panic floods your body as you breach the surface. It's instinct to gasp for air, except there isn't any; you take in a lungful of the lake instead, sputtering and hacking beneath the water as you try to kick towards daylight.

     It’s deeper than you thought it would be, so close to the shore. You keep kicking and kicking, but your boots never scrape the bottom, nor do you find the surface. It’s cold, too. Colder than you thought possible, in a lake in the middle of Los Angeles. But it’s winter now, you suppose. A grim, chilly February. Most of it has been spent curled up beneath a blanket with Buck, the pair of you ensconced in your cosy apartment.

     The past week has been overcast and windy. And the water is never as warm as the air temperature. Buck laughs every time you run into the surf at the beach, squealing at the sudden, sharp chill of it lapping at your skin.

     How cold can a human body become before it’s dangerous?

     You try to remember, but cold water curls around your limbs like heavy iron shackles, dragging you down. You can’t remember. Buck would know. Buck wouldn’t even have to think about it, he’d just reel off the answer in a heartbeat, and you’d smile proudly and kiss his cheek and insist, once again, that you should do a quiz night at your wedding reception.

     Your lungs are burning. God, your whole body’s just screaming for air, but you can’t find it. There isn’t any. Just endless, depthless water and the occasional wink of sunlight, mocking you from high above, then gone again. Never around long enough for you to find it. Never long enough to save you.

     Instinctively, you suck in another breath. Another barrage of lakewater floods your lungs. Dark spots start speckling across your vision.

     On the dock, Buck is screaming.

     He’d had one hand on the patient’s shoulder, his grip firm but gentle as he helped Eddie guide the guy onto the stretcher. You’d ducked out of sight for a moment, but Buck had been focused on subduing the patient. He tried not to grimace as waves of hot, rancid beer breath crashed over him.

     Then, with a strength that surprised them, the man wrenched out of Buck’s grasp and staggered away from them. Buck doesn’t think he shoved you on purpose, but it didn’t matter; one moment you were suspended, wobbling dangerously close to the edge of the dock, and the next—

     The next, you were gone.

     The patient’s still yelling nonsensically, curses and insults blending together into one unintelligible mess, but all Buck can hear is white noise. He blinks, but you’re still missing. He sees the gurney, the patient, Chimney’s pale face, the ripples spreading over the surface of the lake.

     But no you.

     Terror bolts through him, and without hesitation he’s sprinting to the edge of the dock. No, no, no. Ragged breaths tear out of his lungs as he scans the surface of the water, frantically searching for any sign of you.

     You’re okay, you’re okay, he repeats under his breath, over and over. Any moment now, your head will bob into view, and you’ll shoot him a waterlogged scowl, and he’ll laugh at you doing your best impression of a drowned cat, and everything will be okay.

     But the seconds tick by, one excruciating breath after another. There’s no sign of you.

     Buck shouts your name. A heart-wrenching cry. No, no, no.

     The rest of the team leap into action. Some of them load the patient quickly into the ambulance while Bobby radios for another RA unit. Eddie scrambles to grab the life preserver as Buck tears off his jacket, kicks the heavy boots off his feet. Hen and Chimney prepare their equipment for the worst.

     Please. Please. Buck doesn’t believe in God, but he spares a moment to pray before diving into the lake after you.

     The current catches him off-guard, tugging harshly at his clothes. It rained a lot earlier this week, so the lakes and rivers around Los Angeles are more swollen than usual, but the strength of it sends a spark of fear zipping up his spine. Falling in here, disoriented and panicking…

     He can barely make out your figure through the water’s murky gloom. Kicking hard, he swims down to you, loops strong arms around your waist. Wrapped in Buck’s unrelenting grip, he drags you back to the surface.

     “Eddie!” Buck calls out as he breaks through. Eddie wastes no time in tossing the life preserver towards him, who grabs hold of it with one hand, his other arm coiled tightly around your limp body, trying to keep your head above water.

     Bile rises in his throat as your clammy skin presses against his. You’re so cold. Panic wraps a hand around his throat and squeezes, hard, with every inch he gets closer to shore.

     Eddie and Bobby are quick to pull you both back to the dock, using the life preserver as a tow line. Hauling you out of the water, Buck lowers you gently to the ground. Your head rolls limply sideways, your face unnaturally pale, lips tinged blue from lack of oxygen.

     “They’re not breathing,” Hen murmurs worriedly. She sets the pulse ox on your finger while Chimney tries a sternal rub. You don’t flinch. “Respiratory arrest. Starting CPR.”

     Buck hovers at the edge of things. His chest is tight like a vise, steadily squeezing all the air of his lungs and replacing it with cold, slippery dread. He watches Hen and Chimney work over you, counts the reps in his head alongside them.

     He can’t tear his focus from your hands. They’re so still. Like a doll.

     Or a corpse.

     Please. You can’t leave him. You can’t. He hasn’t had enough time. You’re supposed to be getting married. Walk down the aisle together, spend a lifetime together. You were talking about getting a dog just last night. Planned a trip to the shelter for your next Saturday off. You were going to ask Chris to come with.

     And between one breath and the next, all of that could just be… gone.

     “Buck.” Eddie clasps a hand on Buck’s shoulder, wrapping a blanket around him to stave off the chill. Oh. He’s shivering, hands quivering at his sides, soaked clothes clinging to his skin. The blanket is tiny compared to Buck’s broad frame, but it’s something, at least. “Buck, breathe.”

    On the ground, Hen keeps administering rescue breaths. Every few seconds, she'll pause to check your response, but you remain frighteningly still every time.

     Buck can’t breathe until you do. He can’t.

     He feels so hyper-aware of everything around, the onslaught hitting all at once. The crowd of nosy onlookers gathered at the end of the dock, held back by frazzled park employees and a few other members of the 118. The wind ghosting over his skin, chilled gusts that ruffle his damp curls and creep beneath the blanket seeking wet skin to freeze.

     But most all, you. Always you. He can’t look away.

     Eddie’s hand on his shoulder feels like a tether, not quite breaking him from his thoughts completely but keeping him from falling over the edge of the precipice.

     “Buck, breathe.”

     His whole body shudders as does, finally, sucking a ragged breath into screaming lungs. His vision blurs just slightly. He blinks to clear it.

     You’ll make it. He cannot allow himself to think the worst. He won’t give up on you, won’t acknowledge the dark thoughts creeping in from the corners of his mind. You’ll make it. You have to.

     "Come on, kid," Chimney whispers as Hen administers another round of rescue breaths. "Come on, kid, you've got this—"

     And then between one second and the next, your whole body jolts, and you're vomiting out lungfuls of water. Hen rolls you onto your side, rubbing a soothing palm along your back as you wretch onto the ground.

     "That's it, baby, get it all out," she murmurs. You're gasping and hacking and sputtering lakewater all over the place, still not quite conscious, lips still a little blue and face still startlingly pale, but at least you're breathing.

     A wave of relief crashes over Buck and it almost takes him out at the knees. His heart’s still racing dangerously in his chest, trying to break past his ribs to reach you, and his hands still shake, but you’re breathing again.

     You’re breathing.

     He sways a little as his legs go weak. Buck feels lightheaded just witnessing you expel all that water, and sudden nausea grips his stomach in a vice. But he fights through it, unwilling to take his eyes off you for even a moment, even as his vision begins to blur again.

     Tears gather along his lash line, threatening to fall. He remains silent, not trusting that he won’t dissolve into tears the moment he opens his mouth.

     You’re still gagging, heaving onto the deck, but at least there’s no more water.

     He’s itching to reach out, touch you, feel your pulse flutter beneath his fingers to prove he’s not hallucinating. His hand twitches just slightly, like he almost does, but he feels rooted to the ground.

     Body wracked with violent tremors, you start to relax back onto the ground, limbs limp and leaden, throat and lungs burning like wildfire from the water you expelled. Your breath hitches every few seconds, still shallow and slow, so Hen fixes an oxygen mask to your face as Chimney mutters something about getting you to a hospital just as the second ambulance arrives on scene.

     You don't hear any of that. Blinking once, twice, the light is bright enough to make you squint as your mind swims hazily between waking and unconsciousness. Your head is pounding. You feel like you got hit by a goddamn truck. A pained moan whines out of you as you squeeze your eyes closed again to block out the weak, grey daylight.

     Buck bites his lip bloody as he watches you drift, your eyelids fluttering and your slow, stuttering breaths. His eyes are fixed on the oxygen mask. With every exhale, it turns foggy with condensation, and another knot of worry in his chest starts to loosen, but it’s not enough to put him at ease. Not yet.

     He’ll calm down only once you’ve been checked over at the hospital. Preferably with a second (or third) opinion, just in case.

     “Buck.” Eddie’s grip on his shoulder tightens momentarily as he nudges Buck gently forward. “They need you.”

     On the ground, you're only semi-conscious, still not fully aware of your surroundings. But you feel like you're looking for someone. Like there's someone missing, and you reach out blindly with one cold, trembling hand.

     Buck’s own fingers flex in response, but his legs still feel too heavy. He looks to Eddie, who nods at him, before Buck allows himself to be pushed towards you.

     Eddie’s right. You need him.

     Stumbling forward, he drops down to his knees, a dull thud echoing up from the wood that nearly makes him wince. He edges closer, eyes flicking all over your face, taking in your gaunt, washed out features, that cyan tint to your lips, the way you’re reaching out to him.

     Slowly, so slowly, he hesitantly takes your hand in his, curling careful fingers around yours. He squeezes tightly, and then it’s like he’s afraid someone will steal you away from him, because his grip turns almost tight enough to bruise.

     “I’m here, baby.”

     The hand encircling yours is warm and huge and comfortingly familiar, and when his voice drifts over you, something in your mind flickers with recognition. Your eyes flutter as you search for him, ignoring the way the light feels like skewers in your brain. "Buck?" Muffled by the oxygen mask, your voice is barely more than a whisper, throat rubbed raw from expelling the water.

     "Let's get her on a gurney." Hen is all business, but there's a soft, relieved smile on her face. "We'll start an IV of warm fluids in the ambulance to bring your body temp up. You weren’t down for too long, but I want to get you checked by a doctor soon in case there's any neurological issues."

     She’s addressing you, but it’s Buck who’s listening, taking in what she’s saying. He squeezes your hand again, trying to be a tether to consciousness as you weakly nod. He watches as your eyes search for him again.

     “You’re okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs softly, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

     It’s more to reassure himself than anything.

     They're quick to transfer you to a gurney, and soon you're being wheeled towards the ambulance. Buck's hand in yours is a comforting anchor to reality, even as your whole body aches with pain.

     "Cold," you mutter once the doors have closed. Chimney's driving. Buck's in the back with you and Hen. You wouldn't have let go of his hand if they'd even tried to separate you, but they didn’t.

     Buck watches over you like he’s scared you’ll stop breathing if looks away. The lines of his fave are still creased with worry, but his thumb is soft, tracing soothing, mindless circles over your skin.

     When you speak his head snaps up slightly, eyes immediately locking with yours as you call out for him, murmuring in a raspy voice that you’re cold.

     “I know, it’s okay. Here, let me.” Hen wordlessly passes him a heated blanket and he’s gentle as he strips you of your wet shirt. Expertly avoiding the leads and tubes attached to your body, he tucks it around you, still holding your hand all the while.

     "Mm." You make a small, pleased noise as the blanket's warmth envelops you. It barely registers when Hen reaches across to take your other hand, wincing a little as she inserts a cannula to start you on an IV of warm fluids.

     "ER is ten minutes out," she murmurs quietly, and settles back to monitor your vital signs, offering you and Buck a little privacy.

     You're still shivering beneath the blanket, even as the warmth of it starts seeping into your bones, but that's more of an aftereffect of drowning than actual cold. You squeeze your fiancé's hand as hard as you can. "Buck?"

     “Right here, baby,” he murmurs softly, squeezing right back. His free hand moves to your head, fingers gently running through your damp, tangled hair.

     "Wanna marry you."

     The words that spill out of you are little more than a mumble, your eyes still closed, face still hidden beneath the oxygen mask. Soaked strands of hair drip murky lake water onto the floor.

     Buck is already your fiancé. You're already engaged. But there's an urgency settling in your gut, twisting up your insides in the worst way.

     You want— no, need to marry him.

     As soon as possible.

     It takes a few seconds to understand what you said, but when the words finally register, it feels like they’ve grown talons that tear right into his chest. The urgency in your tone makes his eyes still, and his heart starts to race all over again, threatening to beat right out of his chest so it can live next to yours.

     Eyes softening, he moves his hand from your hair to rest his index finger under your chin, gently tracing his thumb over your lip.

     “Marry me, huh?” he mumbles softly. You’d never be able to tell that on the inside, his brain is screaming gleefully that he’d marry you right now if Hen were ordained.

     He taps your nose over the oxygen mask, and if you were a little more awake (and not encumbered by the oxygen mask), you’d nip at his finger, a playful smile toying at your lips.

     Instead, you make the cutest grumbling sound he’s ever heard. "Mm. Now.” Your engagement ring is tucked safely in your locker back at the station, replaced on shift by a black silicone band that won't get damaged on a call.

     You squeeze his hand again, tugging insistently on it. Blinking against the harsh light of the ambulance, your gaze finds his, eyes still foggy and unfocused. “Marry me.”

     If another day passes before you’re married to this man, you may actually lose your mind.

     Butterflies swirl around Buck’s stomach, a far cry from nausea that rolled through him not that long ago. The small smile on your lips and the way you’re tugging on his hand make him feel all warm and gooey.

     He laughs softly at you, tapping his finger against your nose again. “Right now? We’re gonna get married right now? With you in the hospital?” He’s got no hope of masking the amusement in his tone. He wants to marry you yesterday. His eyes sparkle as he looks down at you with a quirked brow.

     You nod a little, trying not to wince as that sets off the pounding in your head. God, you pity those who get regular migraines. This is torture, and you only suffered a little oxygen deprivation!

     But Buck is smiling.

     He’s smiling and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You thought you'd never see it again. You want to see that smile every moment for the rest of your life

     "Mm-hm," you mumble, leaning into his touch. "Eddie can be flower girl. Wedding night in a hospital room. Scandalise the nurses."

     You're not sure how much of that was coherent, but you hear Hen snort, so you figure it was mostly audible.

     Buck’s grin broadens at your suggestion, but he bites his tongue to stifle the laugh bubbling in his chest. “Scandalise the nurses, huh.” He glances at Hen out of the corner of his eye, catching her trying to smother a similar smile.

     You huff at him, as if he’s being particularly difficult. As if you didn’t almost die twenty minutes ago. As if there aren’t more important things to focus on than the elopement you’ve suddenly decided you need.

     Besides. They’re nurses. You’re pretty sure they’ve seen worse.

     “Sucked your dick in the broom closet at work,” you mutter, your eyes falling closed again as warmth and safety wrap you up like a swaddled baby. “We’re pretty scandalous, baby.”

     Hen is barely able to muffle her squawk in time, hand clapped over her mouth, and you can't help but smile at the bright sound of it. You're sleepy, and you've got no filter, but at least everyone else gets to enjoy it.

     Buck, meanwhile, almost chokes on his own saliva. Eyes wide, jaw slack, a rosy flush creeps up his neck. It’s Hen’s reaction that makes him laugh, though, and he finally lets it out, quiet but affectionate as it tumbles from his lips.

     He shakes his head a little as he looks back down at you. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” His thumb keeps tracing lightly over the back of your hand, and the expression on his face is impossibly soft, his heart still racing in his chest.

     "Eddie in a pretty pink flower girl dress," you mumble, nonsensical images flitting through your mind of your friend drowning in tulle. You sigh. "You'd still be prettier. Just wanna marry you."

     The way he’s looking at you makes you feel warmer than any blanket. You feel like you’re floating on a cloud instead of stretched out on a gurney in the back of an ambulance.

     You want nothing more than to curl up in his arms right now, at home in your bed. This situation is certainly not ideal.

     "Bet we could get Eddie to wear a dress." More sleepy grumbles. You try to roll over, shuffle closer to your fiancé, but annoyingly, your body feels far too heavy to cooperate. "Play the I nearly drowned card. That would work. Bobby can officiate. Hen gets the cake. Can't wait another day."

     Buck snorts at the idea of Eddie in a dress, but his heart feels so full it’s like his body can barely contain it. The urge to wrap you up in his arms, to hold you close and never let go, hits him like a baseball bat to the head.

     “We gotta wait until you’re able to talk without being a smartass,” he says teasingly, tapping your nose again.

     You whine, frowning like a grumpy, tired child. “Then we’ll never get married.”

     Truly, if you have to wait for until the day you stop being a smartass, the world might end first.

     You look over at Hen through sleepy, puppy dog eyes. "Back me up here, Hen." You're so drowsy, exhaustion pulling you into its delicious embrace, but you’re pretty sure you'll remember all of this when you wake up.

     Hen certainly will, at least.

     A slow, sly smile creeps onto her face. Buck feels distinctly like he’s being ganged up on. For once, he really doesn’t mind.

     "Well, we as a firehouse are well-known for our impromptu party planning..." Hen recalls her vow renewal, and Chimney's wedding to Maddie, and every back-to-work celebration she ever organised. They are pretty damn good at this. "As long as the doctors clear you, I don't see why we can't plan a shotgun wedding in your hospital room."

     A triumphant, extremely sleepy grin spreads across your face, and you look back at Buck. "So marry me, hotshot."

     He huffs a melodramatic sigh, as if this is the world’s biggest inconvenience for him, but he cannot hide the way his ears turn pink, the way his whole body lights up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

     “A shotgun hospital wedding it is,” he says, bright with glee as he lifts your hand to his mouth, brushing a sweet kiss to your knuckles.

     With that settled, contentment curls up beneath your ribs like a cat in a patch of sunlight, and you doze off into a dreamless sleep, feeling like the luckiest person alive.

[gooondocks]

when crypt doors creak and tombstones quake.

affectionately known as the ‘eddie is too tired for this shit’ fic. buck / eddie • rated m • 2/3 chapters • 14k words.

Let’s make one thing absolutely clear: Eddie Diaz does not believe in ghosts. He sits on the fence about demons and God and all that shit — you can take the man out of Catholicism, but not Catholicism out of the man, apparently — but ghosts? Hauntings? Casper? Yeah, Eddie calls bullshit on the whole thing. There’s a logical explanation for pretty much everything, in his opinion. Odd creaks and bangs are just the house settling, and hey, he doesn’t remember putting his car keys in the kitchen sink but he’s just moved across the country, he’s cranky and sleep deprived, who's to say he didn’t do it? The house is old and neglected and fucking massive. It definitely looks like the kind of house you’d find in a horror movie. It looks creepy-as-shit. It looks like your stereotypical haunted house. But that doesn’t mean it is.

(or, eddie inherits a haunted mansion, moves across the country with his son, and falls in love with a charming paranormal investigator, all while insisting that ghosts aren't real.)

read on ao3.

[gooondocks]

hold me like we're going home

affectionately known as the 'buck adopts a teenager and together they heal each other' fic. buck / eddie • rated t • 6/12 chapters • 33.3k words.

chapter 6 is up!! in it, we get: the holiday season, buddie bonding, eddiemorgan bonding, maddiemorgan bonding, and a sprinkling of angst!! snippet below <3

     He tosses the pencil down and drags a tired hand over his face. “It’s the holidays,” he mutters, looking down at his hands, toying with his fingers. “They make me feel weird.”      Eddie watches him, a silent question in his eyes.      “I haven’t spent them with people I really care about in… God, since Maddie left, probably.” That’s what, fifteen years? Over a decade haunting a big, lonely house or spending the New Year warming the bed of some near-stranger, scrambling for just a taste of affection, of home or love or family.       Something like nausea flashes across Eddie’s face for a moment before it vanishes.      Eddie says, “Come and see Santa with me.”      So Buck does.

[gooondocks]

are there edges of your soul i haven't seen yet?

for @summerofbuddie week seven: alternate universes! aka buck has bloody hands and eddie gets flustered. buck / eddie • rated g • 2.1k words.

     And Eddie is observant. He prides himself on being able to notice things, tiny details other people seem to miss. That’s half the reason he made the transfer into Homicide, after all.      So if anyone asks, he’ll never admit that it took a full twelve seconds before he realised that the guy in the white lab coat, elbow-deep in an open chest cavity, is definitely not Dr. Peterson.

( or, eddie's having a not-so-great day when he meets the new medical examiner, dr. buckley, who seems to make everything brighter. )

read on ao3.

[gooondocks]

when crypt doors creak and tombstones quake.

for @summerofbuddie week seven: alternate universes! affectionately known as the ‘eddie is too tired for this shit’ fic. buck / eddie • rated m • 1/3 chapters • 6.5k words.

Let’s make one thing absolutely clear: Eddie Diaz does not believe in ghosts. He sits on the fence about demons and God and all that shit — you can take the man out of Catholicism, but not Catholicism out of the man, apparently — but ghosts? Hauntings? Casper? Yeah, Eddie calls bullshit on the whole thing. There’s a logical explanation for pretty much everything, in his opinion. Odd creaks and bangs are just the house settling, and hey, he doesn’t remember putting his car keys in the kitchen sink but he’s just moved across the country, he’s cranky and sleep deprived, who's to say he didn’t do it? The house is old and neglected and fucking massive. It definitely looks like the kind of house you’d find in a horror movie. It looks creepy-as-shit. It looks like your stereotypical haunted house. But that doesn’t mean it is.

(or, eddie inherits a haunted mansion, moves across the country with his son, and falls in love with a charming paranormal investigator, all while insisting that ghosts aren't real.)

read on ao3.

[gooondocks]

hold me like we're going home

affectionately known as the 'buck adopts a teenager and together they heal each other' fic. buck / eddie • rated t • 5/10 chapters • 28.7k words.

chapter 5 is up!! in it, we get: buddie bonding, buckmorgan bonding, morganfirefam bonding, and morgan deciding that being a menace to chimney is her new number one priority!! snippet below <3

     Regardless, Buck is graciously not asking . Eddie knows that must be eating him alive. Buck is, famously, a talker; Eddie knew that by the end of his first shift, and by his third, he understood just how much Buck yearned to know everything.      Not out of curiosity, but concern. If Buck knew about the problem, he could fix it, because he simply cannot allow the people he loves to walk around with unsolved problems.      Buck is a fixer, and Eddie is an unfixable thing.      That isn’t Buck’s fault, though. He’s able to read the tension written into Buck’s shoulders like his favourite book, and Buck is so determinedly not asking that it’s uncomfortable to watch, so it won’t hurt if Eddie offers up a few tidbits of information, right? Just to soothe his friend’s racing thoughts.      That won’t end badly at all.

[gooondocks]

Sweet mother of god these press releases just keep getting better and better. They are just fresh out of fucks over there are Kamala HQ. Petty as hell and I am LOVING it

Yes, that one is incredible, but did you see the one they did yesterday?

They've come here to eat popcorn and end these creepy little fascist weirdos' whole careers, and they're all outta popcorn.

[gooondocks]

take this sinking boat (and point it home)

for @summerofbuddie week two: romcoms! aka buddie meets the wedding scene from princess diaries 2. buck / eddie • rated g • 3.3k words.

Eddie knows, now. The truth. That’s why he’s here, again. Ready to make those vows to another woman he doesn’t love. Making the same sacrifices in the name of honour and duty and family, the way it was drummed into him as a child. The stakes may be higher but it aches just the same. Don’t lose the only person you’ve ever really loved by making that mistake again. Shannon’s voice is a distant echo in his mind. Eddie watches as she dips her head in a small nod. Presses her lips to Christopher’s curls. Before she was his ex-wife, Shannon was his best friend, and she has always known him better than any other soul alive. It feels like a gift. It feels like permission. Eddie just needs to find the courage to accept it.

read on ao3.

[gooondocks]

seven several sentence sunday

haunted mansion buddie au snippet!!! this fic is killing me and if anyone wants to volunteer as a beta reader i'd owe you my firstborn child but for now enjoy!!

“I’ll lurk for the night. Do a bit of calling out, a few EVP sessions. Lots of paranormal investigating is a waiting game. Hours and hours of nothing just for one good bit of evidence. Just sitting alone and asking questions into the darkness, hoping it’ll answer back.”      That’s… not what Eddie was expecting.      He’s never been a fan of those ghost-hunting shows. Too loud and brash and in-your-face, and much too fake for his taste. They’re entertainment, not reality, and Eddie was kind of expecting this guy to be no different. He’s got all the flashy equipment, he’s got that movie-star smile that probably makes all the girls swoon. If he had a TV show, he’d probably make a killing, actually.      But what Buck just described, it just sounds… lonely. Melancholy.      Almost peaceful.

[gooondocks]

hold me like we're going home

affectionately known as the 'buck adopts a teenager and together they heal each other' fic. buck / eddie • rated t • 2/10 chapters • 9.8k words.

chapter two is live! buck meets morgan and immediately regrets every decision he's ever made. eddie's there to make him feel a lil better about it (but is also absolutely laughing at him)

     It’s like meeting a fairy in real life, he thinks. If that fairy were planning to kill him on sight.      Buck swallows roughly, and tries to plaster over his unease with his signature smile.      He wonders if this kid can smell his fear.      “Hi Morgan, I’m Evan. Uh— Buck. You can call me Uncle Buck if you want, or just Buck is fine…” He can’t see Lydia, she’s behind him, but he can practically feel her wincing.      Morgan takes a measured step inside. Buck closes the door behind her.      “Buck?”      Ouch. His name has never sounded more like an insult than when it comes from the mouth of a teenager. “Yeah, uh, Buck.”      A heavy beat of silence, and then Buck watches Morgan turn away from him, that hard-as-concrete look settling over his shoulder at Lydia.      “I’m sorry,” Morgan says, sounding utterly unimpressed, filled to the brim with dry snark, “you’re putting someone named Buck in charge of keeping me alive? Are you serious?”

read on ao3.

[gooondocks]

hold me like we're going home

affectionately known as the 'buck adopts a teenager and together they heal each other' fic. buck / eddie • rated t • 2/10 chapters • 9.8k words.

chapter two is live! buck meets morgan and immediately regrets every decision he's ever made. eddie's there to make him feel a lil better about it (but is also absolutely laughing at him)

     It’s like meeting a fairy in real life, he thinks. If that fairy were planning to kill him on sight.      Buck swallows roughly, and tries to plaster over his unease with his signature smile.      He wonders if this kid can smell his fear.      “Hi Morgan, I’m Evan. Uh— Buck. You can call me Uncle Buck if you want, or just Buck is fine…” He can’t see Lydia, she’s behind him, but he can practically feel her wincing.      Morgan takes a measured step inside. Buck closes the door behind her.      “Buck?”      Ouch. His name has never sounded more like an insult than when it comes from the mouth of a teenager. “Yeah, uh, Buck.”      A heavy beat of silence, and then Buck watches Morgan turn away from him, that hard-as-concrete look settling over his shoulder at Lydia.      “I’m sorry,” Morgan says, sounding utterly unimpressed, filled to the brim with dry snark, “you’re putting someone named Buck in charge of keeping me alive? Are you serious?”

read on ao3.

[gooondocks]

hold me like we're going home

affectionately known as the 'buck adopts a teenager and together they heal each other' fic. buck / eddie • rated t • 1/10 chapters • 4.3k words.

IT'S ALIVE. this is my first canon fic in this fandom and i'm honestly terrified but we're gonna roll with it. i've got a weird feeling this fic's gonna turn into a monster but everything will be fine.

Buck leans into Eddie’s touch, just for a second, before clearing his throat. “They want me to take temporary emergency custody. Just until better arrangements are made.” The loft falls eerily silent. It would be almost comical, the way the entire team has simultaneously held their breath, if he didn’t feel like a lead weight was resting on his shoulders. Hen, ever pragmatic, is the first to recover. She looks at him with an expression Buck can only call cautious, gentle and kind around the edges. “Temporary?” “I couldn’t abandon her.” He can feel something just behind his teeth, waiting to spill out, but he can’t quite name it. “Not if I could do something about it.” (or, buck fosters a traumatised teen and together they start to heal.) read on ao3.

[gooondocks]

WIP WEDNESDAY

here's a wee snippet from the next chapter of 'hold me', my girldad!buddie fic!!! enjoy.

Buck had spent the rest of the afternoon wandering aimlessly around Target. Clutching a list of things he should probably buy, courtesy of Athena and May, Buck spent forty-five minutes in the soft furnishings section debating on a mint-green pillow versus pale yellow.

In the end, he bought a scented candle and called Eddie from the Jeep to complain about his failure.

He could probably turn the dining room back into a bedroom, Buck thinks now, perched on the edge of the couch as his leg bounces a mile a minute. Put the dining table into storage, get a bed from IKEA — except this isn’t his apartment, it’s Abby’s, and holy shit he still needs to talk to Abby about this but she hasn’t answered any of his calls and okay, Buck knows he’s spiralling now.

At least the scented candle smells good.

[gooondocks]

for the love of god someone needs to write a buddie twister/s au and it cannot be me

[gooondocks]

hold me like we're going home

affectionately known as the 'buck adopts a teenager and together they heal each other' fic. buck / eddie • rated t • 1/10 chapters • 4.3k words.

IT'S ALIVE. this is my first canon fic in this fandom and i'm honestly terrified but we're gonna roll with it. i've got a weird feeling this fic's gonna turn into a monster but everything will be fine.

Buck leans into Eddie’s touch, just for a second, before clearing his throat. “They want me to take temporary emergency custody. Just until better arrangements are made.” The loft falls eerily silent. It would be almost comical, the way the entire team has simultaneously held their breath, if he didn’t feel like a lead weight was resting on his shoulders. Hen, ever pragmatic, is the first to recover. She looks at him with an expression Buck can only call cautious, gentle and kind around the edges. “Temporary?” “I couldn’t abandon her.” He can feel something just behind his teeth, waiting to spill out, but he can’t quite name it. “Not if I could do something about it.” (or, buck fosters a traumatised teen and together they start to heal.) read on ao3.

[gooondocks]

no one's ever had me (not like you) — evan buckley.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: when buck meets his high school sweetheart at the ten-year reunion, he learns that their lives may be very different now, but the spark is still there.

─── pairing: evan buckley x gn!reader.

─── warnings & notes: fluffy fluff. no use of y/n, i'm british so probably inaccurate depiction of high school reunions. based on the song 'so high school' by taylor swift bc i heard it and couldn't stop thinking of this idea. crappy ending bc i suck at wrapping things up. enjoy!!!

─── word count: 2.1k.

     "DO YOU THINK ANYONE'S DONE US all a favour and spiked the punch yet?"

     When the email appeared in his inbox a few months ago — an e-vite, of all things, complete with the kind of graphic design prowess he hasn't seen since the early 2000s — Buck had been pretty intent on ignoring it.

     A hundred excuses had bubbled up in the back of his mind, because honestly, the thought of heading back to his hometown to attend a high school reunion made his skin itch. Trapping himself in a sweaty gymnasium, surrounded by dozens of almost-strangers engaged in a vanity contest of 'who's the most successful?' coupled with a shitty DJ blasting 2010's greatest hits?

     It's really not what he'd call a good time.

     Even if he could've talked himself into it, sharing a ZIP code with his parents for even a day or two was more than he was willing to tolerate. He'd left Hershey in his rearview almost a decade ago, and there's not a fragment of his whole being that regrets it for even a second.

     Except.

     Except the dates lined up with one of his rare weekends off work. Except when he looked up the flights online, just to see, he'd stumbled across a deal so cheap Buck honestly thought he was hallucinating for a moment.

     Except Evan Buckley believes in signs from the universe, and when Maddie gives him that look over lunch one day, even though Buck had absolutely not mentioned the reunion to anyone, it's the final nail in the coffin for him.

     He booked the tickets. He told the team he'd be out of town for the weekend, and bought a new shirt, and now he's standing in his old high school gymnasium. He wrinkles his nose at the smell, that sweat-and-hormones stink that never really goes away, and you're sidling up to him at the refreshments table, and the speakers are blaring an old Ke$ha song he hasn't heard in years.

     For a moment, he's seventeen again. The sound of your voice slips over his skin like a cool breeze in the desert and suddenly it could be the night of junior prom, and the pair of you have sequestered yourselves in a shadowy corner, laughing at the committee's subpar attempt at an 'Under the Sea' theme.

     Buck blinks, and he isn't seventeen, but he flashes you a wide smile anyway as you help yourself to a glass of bright red punch.

     "Hi."

     He says the word so quietly, he's surprised you even hear it. But there's a sparkle in your eye as you raise the cup to your lips, and he knows you heard him.

     You always could.

     The last day Buck ever saw you, he kissed you goodbye before you piled into your dad's old truck and drove out of sight, bound for college and big dreams and a future that didn't include him. Your lips had been damp with tears. On his loneliest nights, Buck swears he can still taste the salt on his tongue.

     It's been a decade, but you still look so similar to the wide-eyed kid he fell in love with. Your hair's a little longer, perhaps; there's a scar on your chin that wasn't there before, and the dimples around your smile have deepened, but that's all. You're still you. The thought makes his chest ache a little, but it's a good pain.

     He wonders if he's changed much. He wonders what you see when you look at him.

     "I suspect it was the first thing Marty Brandt did when he got here," Buck adds, louder this time, and you laugh, and he wonders how he went ten years without hearing that sound. "I didn't think you'd be here. Didn't see your name on the RSVP list."

     You shrug. "Jem bullied me into it. Emailed my boss to get the time off and everything."

     Even as you try to seem annoyed, a trickle of fondness finds its way into your voice. When Buck follows your gaze to the dance floor, it's hard to miss your childhood best friend throwing shapes to an old Maroon 5 song.

     "You two still talk?" He doesn't mean to sound surprised, except...

     Well. Staying in touch with high school pals hadn't been a priority when he skipped town. Hard to imagine a single one of his classmates he'd want to stay in touch with. Except you.

     A grin tugs at your mouth. "Worse. We work together." You tilt your head, still smiling fondly in Jem's direction. "Tried to shake her off, but she wouldn't let me."

     He knows a little about that. "Or was it the other way around?"

     "Wouldn't you like to know, Buckley?"

     He would, actually. He watches you grimace a little at the flavour of the punch when you take another sip, an adorable twist to your mouth that he once knew so well. A decade ago, the sight of your pout could've made him do anything.

     "Tastes like half a bottle of vodka," you tell him, and you take another sip even though he knows you never liked vodka. Remembers playing truth or dare at a party in junior year, and how you threw up in the bushes afterwards.

     Buck had held back your hair and tucked you against his side afterward, letting you snuggle into the warmth of him while you slept off the worst of your hangover.

     There's a distance between you now, but it's comfortable. Buck tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and the pair of you migrate over to a shadowy corner of the gymnasium, away from the prying eyes of your former classmates.

     "So," Buck says, as the DJ switches to another song, "how have you been?"

     He can't help but wince half a second later. Seriously? How have you been? He's never been to a high school reunion before, but he's seen plenty of movies, and he's pretty sure he's hitting all the marks of being a fucking cliché.

     To your credit, you don't laugh at him. Cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink Buck has ever seen, you manage to bite back the giggle rising in your throat.

     Buck wants to sink through the floor.

     "I've been okay," you tell him, swirling your glass of punch absently. The corners of your eyes crinkle a little as you smile at him. "Life, y'know?"

     He does. He really fucking does. "Any partners? Kids, spouses, anyone I have to worry about punching me?"

     You only mentioned Jem earlier, so it doesn't seem like you brought a date, but he isn't sure he'd love it if he found his partner cosied up in a dark corner with their high school sweetheart.

     God, he hopes you didn't bring a date.

     There it is, a flash of— something, there and then gone in an instant. Buck hasn't thought about high school in years. Hasn't paid any mind to the friends he left behind. Once or twice, his thoughts have flitted to you, though. The one that got away. Where you are, if you were happy.

     When he landed in LA, when he finally settled into his place at the 118, he'd thought of you. He'd hoped you managed to find a place you belonged. A family that loved you like his did.

     He thought this would be awkward. Running into you again. Your name hadn't been on the RSVP list, and he'd been so relieved, because what if there was some uneasy tension between you? Buck isn't sure he'd have been able to cope with that.

     There aren't a lot of happy memories from his childhood. His adolescence left a lot to be desired, but— you. A bright spot in all that grey.

     An uncomfortable reunion might have ruined that. Those memories are cherished, for Buck; locked up tight in his battered heart.

     But it's not uncomfortable, or awkward, or uneasy. Ten years and ten seconds have slipped by like sand in an hourglass and he wonders if there's been a moment in the last decade where he felt this at ease.

     You sigh at his question, quiet and fond. "There was an engagement," you say after a moment, chewing on your lower lip, "and a break-up. Two years ago, now. Amicable, but..."

     "But it still feels like you lost something." Buck knows that feeling intimately. It's been a long time since Abby left him, and even though he's over her, the memory of it still stings sometimes.

     You nod. "Yeah. One minute you're going to marry someone, and then you're not. Doesn't really matter why not, in the end. Still hurt a little. Not anymore."

     "No?"

     You smile at him. "No."

     Buck isn't sure how much time passes, how long you both remain huddled in that dark corner as the world continues to move around you. The DJ keeps churning out a series of early-2000s hits that he's fairly sure is just one of those throwback Spotify playlists, and you both make jokes when the Class President gets on stage to give a cheesy speech, and he tells you all about the ill-advised escapades of his early-twenties.

     Crashing his bike, dropping out of college. He glosses over the unsavoury parts of his youth, but the way your eyes soften, he knows he isn't fooling you. He never could, not when it mattered. Stories about Peru have you in stitches, and a particularly messy tale about his time as a ranch hand makes you laugh so hard, half a glass of punch ends up your nose.

     He missed that. Making you laugh.

     Warmth unfurls in his chest when he looks at you. It's the kind of familiarity people associate with coming home, except it was dread he felt stepping off the plane, and uncomfortable memories prickled at him as he drove through the streets of his hometown.

     You? You've always been that for him. Warm. Safe. Home.

     "You've heard all about my wild twenties. What about you?" he wonders, as the pair of you drift back to the refreshments table, seeking snacks that don't taste like cardboard.

     (Buck manages to find a bowl of chips that aren't completely stale, so he'll call that a success.)

     "Oh, the usual," you shrug as you refill your glass. "Finished college, got a job and an apartment and a cat and a fiancé. Lost the fiancé, got another cat." You take a moment to flash him your lock screen, a picture of two calico cats curled up on your couch. "Think I  traded up there, huh? Anyway, got a new job and moved out West about a year ago."

     "Oh, really? Where'd you go?"

     "California, actually. I'm in the History department at Berkeley."

     He blinks at you once, twice. Something inside his chest goes zing. "I'm in LA!"

     "Well maybe I'll have to come down and play tourist for you sometime."

     There's a coy tilt to your mouth that he's seen before, and something pleasant skitters down his spine. Your cheeks turn even rosier, and Buck suspects the spiked punch is only partly responsible.

     "Maybe you will," he says.

     His number hasn't changed since he left Pennsylvania, and maybe that's another sign, too. The shitty music starts to wind down, and his old classmates start to stagger out into the parking lot, and when you kiss his cheek and promise to get in touch, he wonders if there's such a thing as second chances.

     It isn't the same. He isn't seventeen and you're different people now. This isn't making out under the bleachers at a football game or skipping class to take a ride on his motorcycle. You're adults now, all grown up with a whole host of other problems, and it isn't the same. It isn't.

     Except.

     The next day, Buck's phone buzzes right before he boards the flight to Los Angeles. The number isn't familiar, but when he opens the message, he cannot fight the grin that creeps onto his face.

     Hope you get home safe. I'd hate to have to find a new tour guide x

     It's not the same, because he isn't in high school anymore and neither are you. But as he switches his phone to flight mode and tucks it back into his pocket, a giddy feeling sweeping through his chest, he can't help thinking that maybe this could be better.

[gooondocks]

fight or flight — poe dameron.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: you and poe have never seen eye-to-eye. most days, you wonder if you ever will.

─── pairing: poe dameron x solo!reader.

─── warnings: reader is gender neutral, reader is han & leia's child, no use of y/n. lots of snarky banter. this was supposed to be flirty fluff but it turned into an angstfest so, yeah, sorry for that. finn eavesdrops and chewie is sassy bastard.

─── word count: 1.6k.

     “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.”

     Poe ducks his head and quickly manages to conceal the wince creeping onto his features just in time, but crouched in the cockpit beside him, Rey still feels his shoulders go stiff. She presses a hand to her mouth in a weak attempt to stifle her laugh, but she’s not quite successful as Poe shoots her a glare.

     She doesn’t blame him, really. You are… Well, sort of scary when you’re angry.

     There’s more than just a spark of your mother’s fire in you, that’s for sure.

     Glancing over her shoulder, she finds you standing in the doorway, regarding the pair of them with a ruthless glare so sharp it might leave a mark.

     Rey is suddenly pretty sure that Poe didn’t talk to you like he said he would.

     “I go for a nap because I haven’t slept properly in two days after you—” The finger you jab in Poe’s direction might as well be a knife, the way he flinches, “— get us stranded in First Order territory after leading us on a wild goose chase, knock out the comms and the navigation with your, frankly batshit, behaviour which I have spent hours trying to fix, and then I left you with one simple instruction.”

     Which… Alright, not all of that is strictly fair, Rey thinks, because at least half of the chaos of the past few days can be attributed to sheer bad luck, and another third can be blamed on decisions made under pressure whose outcomes boiled down to bad or worse.

     It’s not really Poe’s fault. Not anymore than the rest of them, at least.

     But Rey knows how you feel about this ship. The Falcon is your inheritance, the only real home you have left in the world. It’s all that is left of your father.

     You were protective of it even before he died, and since—

     Rey clears her throat. “I’m just gonna… go check on Finn.”

     Poe’s expression reeks of betrayal as Rey scoots past you to go and find Finn, who’s loitering in the main hold with Chewbacca, but she’s not about to hang around and get caught in the crossfire between the two of you.

     She doesn’t have a death wish.

     Finn looks just suspicious enough, when she locates him, that she doesn’t even bother scolding him for eavesdropping. She’s about to do the same, after all.

     “He told me he checked it was alright before we started reconfiguring the navicomputer.” Rey folds her arms across her chest, frowning in the direction of the cockpit. Your voice is still rattling down the corridor towards them.

     Finn clicks his tongue. “Evidently not.”

     In the cockpit, Poe pushes himself to stand, resting a hand on the back of the captain’s chair. Your voice is hard as duracrete as you take a step towards him, crowding the small space with so much of your frustration that it feels difficult to breathe.

     Poe wonders if the sensors are on the blink, and someone popped an airlock somewhere, because the air feels a little thin. You jab in the chest with your finger, and all he does is blink, suddenly lightheaded.

     “I gave you one instruction. I said, the nav systems are rebooting, I’m going grab some shuteye, don’t touch anything. And what do you do?”

     “The console was beeping!”

     “I don’t care if a damn mynock got in here and started eating it, I said don’t touch it.”

     “But it’s alright for Rey to touch it?” He’s being petty, he knows that, but an angry flush has started creeping up your neck, and he wants to know what you look like with your cheeks coloured that delightful shade of pink.

     “Rey didn’t break it!” A ragged breath tears from your throat, and you rake a hand roughly through your hair. “She knows what she’s doing. I trust her.”

     “And you don’t trust me, is that it?” Something like sadness swirls low in his gut as he waits for your response. It hurts him to ask, even though he’s wearing his bravado like a mask, even though he likes pushing all your buttons because when your eyes flash like that, it’s like standing in the eye of a hurricane or falling in zero gravity.

     You’re not friends, he knows that. Not since the day you met, and you pressed a blaster up against his neck in the cargo hold of your old ship and he’d grinned down at you as if getting his life threatened was his favourite pastime.

     He’d been trying to steal it. You’re still not sure what happened, exactly, except that there were Stormtroopers firing at your ship — which, honestly, was held together by little more than string and sheer stubbornness at that point — and your mother’s favourite flyboy watching you with a bizarre hope in his eyes, and you’d just… hated him, in that moment.

     Hated him for crashing into your life and dragging you, kicking and screaming, back to the life you’d fled. Hated your mother for her good heart and your father for running away. Hated the whole damn galaxy for not killing you when it had the chance.

     Poe had wanted you to take him to D’Qar, but you’d spent too long leaving things behind to go back now, so you’d dropped him at the nearest safe outpost and prayed you’d never see him again.

     Clearly, the universe had other plans.

     It’s been years since that first encounter, but neither of you have warmed to one another since then. There’s very little point, you think. He’s unbearable, always needling at you, picking at all of your defences as if he has a right to know you.

     It doesn’t matter. In the end, everyone leaves, one way or another.

     You just wish he’d hurry up and do it, already.

     You’re not friends, but you’re something more and something less, and the way your lower lip twitches at his question feels like a punch to the gut.

     “Why should I?” You blink at him, and a moment later you realise how close you’ve grown, almost chest-to-chest with this man who drives you mad. With a rough swallow, you force yourself to take a step back.

     He doesn’t move. Hardly dares to breathe, with his mouth curled into that little half-smirk he knows you hate, because it hurts that you don’t trust him, but it would hurt more if you knew it.

     “Why shouldn’t you?”

     A scoff. “Well, for starters, I don’t think you’ve ever had a plan that didn’t blow up in your face.”

     The familiar howl of Finn’s laughter rolls down the corridor, quickly cut off by a quiet thump and a low, pained groan.

     Poe blinks at you. “Excuse me?”

     “And you don’t take proper care of the Falcon!” The controls and all their exposed wires serve to prove your point.

     Turning on your heel, you march out into the corridor, abandoning him in the cockpit. He stares at your retreating form, unable to kick his brain back into gear for a few seconds, but a moment later he’s striding after you.

     “I take care of the Falcon!”

     A huff of laughter bubbles out of you, entirely lacking in humour. “Lightspeed skipping.”

     “That was one time!” His voice squeaks out of him much higher than he’d like, and as they emerge into the main hold, he clears his throat. “And the Falcon was fine.”

     You come to a stop so suddenly that he can almost hear your shoes screeching on the floor. “It was twice, and just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. That seems like a lesson you should’ve learned by now, but no, you keep pushing it!”

     Reckless and stubborn, headstrong and utterly selfless. Not for the first time, you regret being dragged back into this mess. Your life hadn’t exactly been peaceful before — you are your father’s child, after all — but it wasn’t this.

     How many more heroes will you watch die before all of this is over?

     How much of it can you take?

     You watch one of those heroes stare at you, now, and it feels like you’ve swallowed a handful of broken glass.

     Behind you, sitting at the dejarik table and making absolutely no attempt to disguise his eavesdropping, Finn leans close to Rey. “You’d never guess they were married, huh?”

     He’s whispering, but it’s not exactly quiet.

     As if you’re suddenly possessed by the same entity, you and Poe whirl around, mouths agape. “We are not married.”

     An uncomfortable heat curls around your spine at the thought of it. Married to Poe Dameron? You cannot imagine anything worse.

     Chewie, seated opposite Finn and Rey, makes an exasperated sound. Rey can’t help but snort.

     You narrow your eyes at your father’s oldest friend, resting your hands on your hips. “‘Could’ve fooled me?’ Chewie, what are you talking about?”

     As your wrath settles upon a new victim, Poe takes the opportunity to slip out of sight, with every intention of hiding in the Engineering Bay on the opposite end of the ship until the danger has passed.

     Marching quickly down the corridor, Poe drags a hand over his unbearably warm face and feels like something beneath his ribcage is itching to crawl out. He thinks it might be his heart.

Married to you. Yeah. He can’t think of anything worse, either.