#imagine it like Schrödinger's fic wherein it's both written and not written

[wackybuddiemewbs]

Yet another snippet of a WIP no one is definitely writing…

AKA: Here I go again, right back on all the bullshit that doesn't exist though it kinda does (in some, ugh 115k words of random snippets and not at all outlining outlines??? Whyyyyy???). I guess I just have to accept my absolute lack of impulse control, as further proven by this snippet, that other snippet, and that moodboard that started the madness. But whatevs. No one's writing it, after all. Not for real, at least. What's my problem is now your problem. Caring is sharing. Something to that effect. You know the drill! Cheers! Much love! *flies into the sun*

The Girl in the Pond III

"Home, sweet home,” Buck sighs as he tosses the keys on the counter.

Hen ordered him to go home and get some sleep after he spent the night at the lab to reassemble the skull. Buck hadn’t even noticed until Chim handed him a coffee and he realized the sun had already risen. Not that this is anything new. There is that tunnel when Buck reassembles bones, when he puts those fragments of a person back together. Nothing else matters at that point. Ever, really.

But now he needs sleep, replenish, and then head back in. Some of the tests are still pending for the microbes and larvae. And then there is still the issue of the metal chain.

Buck rubs his eyes. He knows he should leave more work at the lab instead of bringing them back to the apartment. He gets told on the regular. But it’s tough for him. A smile spreads across his lips when he opens the fridge.

He found the Tupperware boxes stored in there already last night when Eddie brought him home. But Buck was dead on his feet, so he didn’t eat any of the food Bobby was kind enough to box for him. Just like he was kind enough to take care of his plants and water them in his absence.

Grinning, he puts one of the containers in the microwave, taking a look around his apartment. He also didn’t do that last night, hasn’t in a while, really. By all accounts, it is his apartment, but he will admit, it hasn’t felt like home like it used to.

Maybe he should sell it after all. But then he’d never hear the end of it from Chimney for having been right. And Buck is petty enough not to give his friend the satisfaction. The apartment is a vast improvement to the flat he shared before. A place that smelled of beer and booze. Where the dining table was never used for dining but for beer pong. Where he never really invited his friends to. The kind of place Bobby likely wouldn’t have set foot in to store food or water his plants. Granted, they didn’t have plants at his old apartment. No one was responsible enough to keep them alive.

So this apartment is actually a sign of his growth. He is no longer that frat boy kind of guy, busy partying instead of working. He was in a dedicated relationship with someone he loved. He is a better man for it, Buck dares to say. So wouldn’t selling it deny that in some way?

Ping.

Buck turns his attention to the deliciously smelling food instead. Turning up the volume, he lets the low thrum of the music blaring over the loudspeakers blur out the rest of the world again, like he normally does on the job. He sets down on the couch and digs in. The food is nothing short of fantastic, which is to be expected from Bobby, of course. But still, did he miss that food.

Thankfully, Bobby made it a tradition around the Jeffersonian to have meals together. To cook together. Buck got the 101 of cooking thanks to him. Before, it was just vegetables, fruit, and takeaway. Anything you didn’t have to process, that is.

It isn’t long after he finished his meal that Buck retreats to the bedroom and just drops nearly dead on the mattress. He is sound asleep no five minutes later, letting sweet darkness take him away.

He wakes up to a noise he can’t detect some hours later. He sits up straight in bed at an instant. Buck leans down slowly to grab the baseball bat he always keeps beside the bed. He moves out of bed slowly, making sure not to make any noises.

There are some grim images flurrying up before his eyes, but Buck pushes them as far back into the darkness as they will go. Because the past can’t have his present, let alone his future. He tiptoes ahead into the living room. But in the dark, it’s hard to see, naturally. And his eyes are still heavy with sleep.

Buck detects movement by one of his potted plants. Buck takes a swing, only for something way too small to be human rushing past his leg. Buck turns around, stunned. His fingers find the light switch at last.

And there sits the intruder, right on the kitchen counter.

Buck drops the bat, letting out a shuddered breath. He closes his eyes.

“You’re back home,” he reminds himself. “You’re back home.”

Once he somewhat gathered himself, Buck takes a look around the apartment. A quick check of the window confirms his suspicion: He left it open before going to bed. It is raining outside. And there is a drenched cat in his apartment now.

Go figure.

“Last time I checked, I didn’t have a pet,” Buck tells the cat busying itself with digging through the remains of his dinner. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

The cat looks up from the bowl of food, then resumes eating.

“Suit yourself,” Buck mumbles. He turns around to close the window. While Buck loves animals, he doesn’t need every stray to come into his apartment, right?

Buck looks down himself. His knees are still shaking, as are his hands, so he decides to sit down on the couch for a moment. It’s nothing he is unfamiliar with. Coming back from a mission like that, people tend to be somewhat jumpy. It’s all natural. What annoys him is that he won’t stop shaking, even though he rationally knows there is no danger. There is just a cat, and he still finds it hard to breathe.

In an effort to distract him, Buck watches the cat picking out the pieces of salmon of the pasta dish Bobby prepped for him. He places his elbows on his thighs and leans his face against his palms.

I am home. I am home. I am no longer there. I am back home.

Rubbing his face furiously, Buck looks back at the cat on his kitchen counter.

“Okay, so tomorrow, I gotta head to the vet, see if you got a chip. And then we gotta see what to do with you,” Buck mutters, making a mental note to look up animal shelters in the morning. “But you’re welcome to stay the rest of the night. Seems like you made yourself feel at home already.”

Seems like this place attracts strays no matter the species, huh?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good morning, everyone!” Buck calls out as he strides into Chim’s office where Hen and Chimney are already waiting for him. Just as he puts down his bag, he notices an unfamiliar presence.

“Morning,” said presence wearing a suit says, waving at him with a way too bright smile at that hour of the day.

“He brought coffee for everyone,” Chim mutters under his breath.

“Good coffee,” Hen adds, smirking.

“You think we are that easy to bribe?” Buck asks, nodding at the cardboard cup holder Eddie promptly picks up to hand the remaining Styrofoam cup over to him.

“Considering what I had to do for you to take as much as a look at the case, I know that it takes a lot more to bribe squints,” Eddie answers, grinning.

“Coffee’s a good start, though,” Buck says, taking the cup Eddie holds out to him. “Thanks.”

He smirks at him. “Welcome.”

While Buck is already on his third cup this morning after last night left him with almost no sleep, he is more than grateful for the extra shot of caffeine. He inhales the rustic smell, noting that Eddie actually remembered that Buck drinks his coffee black with sugar.

“Okay, guys, I’m set,” Chim says, gesturing at his tablet. Sipping her coffee, Hen moves over to what they coined as the Chimnator.

“I don’t think you’ve seen this before?” Buck questions Eddie as they step over to the apparatus.

“If by thisyou refer to that ominous table, then no,” Eddie answers, shaking his head.

“Okay. Chim? The stage is yours.” Buck nods his head, then gestures at the apparatus.

“Thank you very much,” Chim laughs, feigning a bow. “Okay. It’s actually quite simple: This computer program, which I designed – patent pending – accepts a full array of digital input, processes it, and then projects it as a three dimensional holographic image.”

“O-kay.” Eddie furrows his eyebrows.

Buck looks at him. “You get that?”

“Sure,” Eddie snorts. “Patent is pending, I’ve heard.���

“Buck reassembled the victim’s skull and applied tissue markers. Thanks to that, I can reconstruct the facial features of the victim and project them here,” Chim goes on to explain.

Eddie smiles at him. “Now we’re talking.”

“Her skull was badly damaged, but racial indicators, cheekbone dimensions, nasal arch, and occipital measurements suggest African American,” Buck points out, folding his arms over his chest.

Chim switches the device on. Eddie stares in awe as the holographic image of the victim appears. A young woman, only a representation of her, of course, but a young woman with any prospect of a future snatched from her. It was stolen from her, leaving them with nothing but an image of her, trying to put her fragments back together, to put her story back to where it belongs, with her body, her bones.

“Whoa. Gotta admit, that’s pretty cool.” Eddie gapes. “I know someone who’d lose his shit over seeing something like this.”

He reaches out to let his fingers slip through the rays of light projecting the image. Buck resists the urge to swat his hand away. Because admittedly, it ispretty damn cool.

He focuses back on the victim instead, tries to really see her.

Wait, could it be…?

“Chim? Do me a favor and rerun the program, substituting Caucasian values,” Buck requests, which has the other man frown at him. “Why?”

“Just do it, please,” Buck demands, leaning in closer.

Chim starts to adjust the parameters on his tablet, projecting the result. “Okay. Here you go.”

Buck watches as the image morph.

That’s more like it. Not quite, but almost, almost...

“Does she look familiar to anyone?” he asks. There is something. She is there, he can almost see her. She is right there.

Hen shakes her head. “No, Buckaroo, sorry.”

Buck blinks.

Maybe...

“Chim, split the difference, mixed race.”

“Lenny Kravitz or Vanessa Williams?” he asks.

Buck blinks at him. “Hm?”

“Nevermind.” Chim adjusts the parameters once more. The woman’s features change once more. And that is when Buck starts to see it. Underneath all that, in the bones, there are the answers.

Almost there, almost there...

“Reduce tissue depth over the cheekbones to the jawline, please,” Buck requests, watching the image change another time. “Does anyone recognize her?”

It can’t be just him, can it?

“Not me,” Chim says, holding up his hands.

“Wait, is that who I think it is?” Eddie gapes.

So I’m not the only one.

“The girl who had the affair with the Senator?” Hen gasps.

“Her name is Cleo Louise Eller. Only daughter to Ted and Sharon Eller. Last seen approximately 9 p.m., April 6, 2017 leaving the Training Loft on Melrose Avenue. She didn’t even make it to her car,” Eddie says, his eyes fixed on the image.

“Pretty good memory,” Buck notes, rather impressed.

Eddie grimaces at him. “Yeah well, it’s my job to find her.”

“Well, in that case, congratulations on your success,” Hen sighs.

“This isn’t exactly the way I wanted it to end,” Eddie huffs.

She offers a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I know. No one ever does.”

“But at least we’re one step closer to find out what happened to her,” Buck points out. They have a name now. They have a way to start and find out what happened to her.

“Right, right.” Eddie scratches the back of his head. “Okay, I need to make some phone calls, request the files for review. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Buck watches as the agent leaves the room, looking distressed. He tears his gaze away and back to the holographic image.

“Hi, Cleo. It’s just about time we get you home,” he mutters under his breath, studying her features.

Because now they have her.

Now all they have to do is find out what happened to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, Buck finds himself sitting in his office with Eddie taking up most of the couch, heaps of files spread out on the table and either side on the sofa. He will have to give the agent that much, he is a meticulous worker. Even without having much of the details, Buck understands that Eddie dedicated a great deal of his time to finding Cleo.

Buck turns the page in the folder he picked up, getting stuck on the photo attached. Cleo smiles back at him, full of life, charming, kind eyes. And for far too long, she has only been food for the fish, somewhere down in a pond. Why? He has no clue. Buck only understands that this, how she smiles back at the camera in that image, is how she should be right at this moment, too.

But reality is sadly not always what it is supposed to be. In fact, it rarely is. Knowing Cleo’s background a bit more by now, he can safely say that from that nice smile, you cannot deduce the hardships she faced. Because she had a lot of reasons not to feel like smiling.

“That’s my favorite picture in the bunch,” Eddie notes, not looking up from the folder he is currently reading through.

“It’s a good picture,” Buck notes. “Natural. A lot of photos look… staged.”

It’s all the more his favorite because it is rather recent. Cleo had some good days, even when she was deep in her depression. And Buck just hopes that she had more days that made her smile, even though no one was there to take a picture of it.

“That’s what I liked about it, too,” Eddie chuckles softly. He puts the folder down, then, studying Buck instead. “I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“How did you recognize her before she even had her own face?” he asks.

Buck shrugs. “I recognized the underlying architecture of her features, the rest is just window dressing.”

He isn’t lying when he says that he sees a person when he is looking at those bones. To Buck, they are more than collagen and calcium phosphate. The bones are more than what keeps your body upright. In them lies a big part of your history, the part of history that can outlast you for much longer than muscle and flesh. Sometimes, they are the only things that can get someone back home, to their families, to reunite with their stories and finally find peace.

“Amazing.” Eddie shakes his head, smiling.

Buck blinks, then puts his focus back on Cleo’s photo. “You don’t seem too happy about this finding, though.”

“Oh no, believe me, I’m happy,” Eddie argues, though it comes out rather flat.

“Then what’s the issue?” Buck questions. “I mean, aside from the fact that Cleo is sadly dead?”

“The issue is that this investigation now involves Senator Bethlehem,” Eddie answers.

Buck makes a face. “So?”

What does that have to do with it?

“He chairs the Senate Committee overseeing the FBI,” Eddie continues, expecting Buck to catch on in some way, but he still doesn’t see how that changes anything.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

Eddie rolls his wrist. “So you might be able to see the conundrum…”

“Not really,” Buck answers simply, which has Eddie frown. “Hm?”

“If he is a suspect, he needs to be held accountable. His position shouldn’t weigh in on whether he is questioned, let alone persecuted, should he be found guilty,” Buck points out, though he has a hard time understanding why he has to. Shouldn’t Eddie know this? And shouldn’t he look at it the same way?

“I agree, but what should be and what is the case… are two pairs of shoes at times,” Eddie sighs.

“So what? It’ll be covered up?” Buck asks, feeling his muscles tighten. Because far too often, that’s the end of so many stories. People deciding that certain people don’t matter as much, that it’s okay for them to disappear in a shallow grave. People deciding that other peoples’ stories are not as important or can be altered to what they need it to be.

And Buck won’t ever stand for that.

“Not if I can help it, but we need to play it smart to keep that from happening,” Eddie lets him know. “So the best we can do is keep quiet for now, plan the next moves.”

“Well, that’s as much as we can provide you, given the evidence. If you want us to find more, we need more context, more facts,” Buck ponders. “Thus, the only logical conclusion would be to confront the Senator, right?”

Eddie shakes his head with a small hiss. “Bones, it’s not that easy.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Sorry, force of habit,” he exhales. Though something tells Buck that this won’t be the last time he is going to hear that stupid nickname.

“So? When are we going to talk to the Senator? Or one of his staff or whoever?” Buck keeps asking. Because it just boggles his mind that they keep their feet still instead of moving forward. Isn’t that what the FBI does? Kick down doors? Raid buildings? Wave their guns around dramatically?

Eddie scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, about that… I know we talked about you coming out in the field and all…”

“Ugh, you rat bastard!” Buck cries out.

He knew it. He knew it and he still agreed. Because he was stupid enough to think that people may actually change. That he was just wrong in his assumptions about Eddie, but he was right. Of course he was right.

“With a case this big, the Director is going to create a special investigation. And if I line all my ducks up in a row, I could maybe, just maybe, head it up,” Eddie argues. “But as I said, for that, I need to play it smart.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I think I could be a duck,” Buck insists, grimacing.

“You’re not a duck, okay?” Eddie chuckles softy. “On this one, we gotta stick to the book. Cops on the street, squints in the lab.”

Here we go again...

“Did you ever have the intention to let me take part in this case, for real?” Buck questions, feeling his jaw tighten almost painfully. “Or was that really just to squeeze out some information from me, to kickstart you on the case?”

Eddie looks at him rather shocked, but Buck knows that this is a valid conclusion to draw from this. So he doesn’t get to act insulted, right?

“No, it wasn’t for that,” Eddie argues. “I asked for your help because I knew you were the only one who could.”

Buck sits back with a huff. “There’s another forensic anthropologist in Montreal.”

“But that guy isn’t you,” Eddie points out, which has Buck smile. “It’s a woman, but okay. I also think she’s not as capable as I am. She is pretty damn good, though. I read some of her papers.”

“I was sincere in wanting to let you come along. It wasn’t a hoax. It wasn’t to trick you,” Eddie insists.

Buck looks back at Cleo’s photo instead of Eddie’s pleading eyes. Because then he’d be inclined to believe the guy, but Buck also knows that his people reading skills are by no means as good as his skills as a forensic anthropologist, to say the least.

“But this case just leveled up way above my pay grade. I have to be even more careful. Because I can’t afford to blow this, Buck,” Eddie continues. “So if I don’t want that case taken away from me, I gotta stick to the rules – rules I don’t make and rules I don’t have power over, do you understand?”

“Oh, okay, so maybe in the distant future, if there is a case that is completely unproblematic… that’s easy to solve… then maybe I get to ride shotgun as you do some detective work, pro forma? So I get to tag along, like a good little trained duck?” Buck snorts. “Quack that!”

Eddie licks his lips. “No, I’m just saying that this case is different.”

“And what tells me that you won’t say that about the next case… or the case after… or the case after that?” Buck argues.

“Because I promised you,” Eddie answers.

Buck shakes his head. That won’t do. “You promised me full participation on thiscase.”

“Yeah, but I just explained to you that the circumstances changed,” Eddie retorts, clearly frustrated, which Buck somewhat enjoys. He is frustrated, too, so at the very least, Eddie has to share in it.

“Well, if your promises are all circumstantial, how am I supposed to build on them?” Buck counters.

How is he supposed to take the man’s word for it if he can’t keep it for less than a week?

“It’s just this one case,” Eddie sighs.

“I somehow have a feeling I might hear that again soon.” Buck shakes his head.

Because he’s heard stuff like that before. It’s just temporary. It’s only a few months. It’s for the better, for you and your sister. Everything will be as it used to in no time. It’s just a new city. A new state... It’s just a trip to find myself again. I won’t be long. I’ll see you soon again. I love you.And in the end, those were all just a long list of promises not kept, of lies.

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “My hands are kinda tied on that one, can’t you see that?”

Buck really should have known better. But then again, Buck is not where he was last time they worked together, he won’t go back to the person he was before. He only focuses on the present, heading towards the future. The past stays in the past.

So let’s change things up a bit, shall we?

“Well, my hands are also tied. Because in that case, the Jeffersonian will be issuing a press release identifying the girl in the pond as Cleo Eller,” Buck retorts. “Because the Jeffersonian is dedicated to the truth, not making things comfortable for politicians or federal government alike.”

Eddie gapes at him. “You do that, I’m a dead duck.”

“Quack?”

“What are you trying to do?” Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes at him.

Buck puckers his lips pensively. “… Blackmail you?”

Eddie blinks at him. “Blackmail a federal agent?”

Buck rolls his shoulders. “Yeah?”

Like it’s hard.

“I don’t like it,” Eddie grumbles.

“I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to. It wouldn’t classify as blackmailing if the other party wanted it…,” Buck wants to say, but Eddie cuts him off, “Fine, you’re in.”

“Really?” Buck furrows his eyebrows. He actually imagined that to be much harder.

“I don’t fancy being a dead duck,” Eddie answers. “But as I said, we need to play it smart.”

“I am smart,” Buck replies.

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

“Bobby was right, I have a steep learning curve,” Buck chimes, pleased with himself. “Blackmailing actually works if you do it right.”

“How about you try to steepen the curve on humbleness for a change?” Eddie snorts.

“Nah.” Buck waves his hand in the air dismissively.

“Seriously? That’s all you’re going to say to that?” Eddie chuckles, amused.

Buck grins. “Quack?”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, leaning back on his chair. “Cute. Let’s pack up and go, then. And just remember: Ducks in a row.”

“Quack.” Buck makes a mock salute, which Eddie ignores as best as he can as he puts his jacket back on.

Time to walk ahead, even if it is in a row.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So you’re certain it’s Cleo Eller,” Romero asks, scratching his chin as he skims through the report.

Because just like in high school, you tend to wind up at the principal’s office more than once.

And Eddie can just hope that Buck knows how to be a duck. Because if they get off to a bad start, lining everything up in a row is going to be so much more difficult than he knows it’s going to be anyway.

And he really can’t afford that. He owes it to Cleo’s parents to find the person who did this to her. He promised to do whatever it takes. And now he finally has a chance to make good on that promise. So Eddie will do whatever it takes to give the parents the peace they belonged for two long years already.

“The profile’s dead on, age, race, height…,” Buck explains, to which Eddie quickly adds, “Plus, the timeline fits. I mean, Cleo Eller didplay tennis in college. Too much of a coincidence, don’t you agree?”

“Coincidences don’t exist,” Buck argues, grimacing at him.

Eddie sighs, then smiles at the Director again. “As I’m saying, it adds up.”

Buck looks at him confused, and on most other occasions, Eddie would take heart and explain it to him. Because Eddie understands that this is new for Buck. This is his first time actually out in the field. In the lab, things look very different. But he can’t do that right now.

Ducks in a row, after all.

“Talk to me about the Senator,” Romero says, at least intrigued enough for Eddie to have a small hope that they are going to get through with this.

Eddie hands him a photo of Bethlehem, licking his lipsd. “Cleo Eller, the victim, worked for Senator Bethlehem…”

“It was reported that they were involved sexually,” Buck cuts in, and it takes all of Eddie’s impulse control not to roll his eyes.

“We couldn’t confirm that,” he points out instead.

“That is true, but it was reported, so it should be taken into consideration,” Buck argues, tilting his head to the side. “It may contribute to figure out the motive, right?”

For that he is as smart as Eddie knows him to be, the guy can be really dense at times.

“Oh Bethlehem’s a hound, everybody knows that,” Romero snorts, thankfully not too put off by Buck’s interjections yet. And Eddie can just hope that it stays that way.

Buck looks at Eddie with an expression oozing with “Told you so!”, but he isn’t having it. Eddie understands that Buck has a certain way of looking at things and thus wants to argue for the Senator being the culprit, but that’s just not how it works around here. And it seems, Buck needs to learn that lesson rather fast.

But he says he has a steep learning curve, so here’s to hoping.

Eddie hands the Director another photo. “Ken Thompson, Cleo’s boyfriend.”

“Thompson’s still Bethlehem’s aid. Thompson keeps Bethlehem’s calendar. No way the Senator has an affair that Thompson doesn’t know about,” Romero ponders. “No sexual relationship, no motive. What about the ugh, nutcase?”

“Nutcase?” Buck frowns.

Eddie slides over another photo. “Oliver Laurier. The stalker. I still have my money on that guy.”

“Why would you place bets on that?” Buck asks, seemingly genuinely convinced Eddie means that literally. Considering just how brilliant Buck is – after all, three doctorates, right? – he can be surprisingly slow on the uptake.

“I am not…,” Eddie whispers, then turns back to the Director. “Look, the stalker? He’s been obsessed with her. He’s been following her. There was a restraining order. It may very well be that he couldn’t cope, finding out that she slept with Bethlehem. You know how those guys can be. So I’d want to look more into that. And I think that guy may be a good starting point.”

“Walk me through it, then,” Romero says, intrigued enough not to turn him down, which is good. “What’s your first move?”

Eddie nods his head. “I’d like to inform the Ellers that we found their daughter.”

Romero grimaces at him. “Don’t you find that rushed?”

“We can confirm her identity,” Buck jumps in. “It is Cleo Eller, we can say that with a certainty. We just don’t yet have enough evidence to confirm who killed her. So there is no objection to inform her family. This isCleo Eller.”

“That’s not what he’s implying, Buck,” Eddie says quietly.

“Then what’s the implication?” he questions, blinking at him, then the Director.

“Simply put: It’d be better to keep this quiet, for the sake of the investigation, Dr. Buckley,” the Director answers. “That’sthe implication.”

“I still don’t understand,” Buck insists, looking at Eddie now almost pleadingly.

“The Director is making a point that making the information public that this is Cleo Eller may cause setbacks for the investigation of her murder. Because then the murderer knows that we’re looking for him,” Eddie explains, hoping that a rational reason will get through that brilliant yet thick skull.

“And you agree with that?” Buck questions, now looking almost shocked.

“It’s been what? Two years? What’s another few days?” Romero ponders.

“With all due respect, Sir, I’ve come to know the family pretty well in the course of the investigation. Especially the Major. Two years of not knowing what happened to your child? That’s worse than hell,” Eddie swallows thickly.

He doesn’t want to imagine that pain, ever. He can’t. And he will do whatever it takes that he won’t.

“So you areaware of the consequences of informing them at this stage of the investigation?” Romero questions pensively.

“Yes, Sir. But I think they will do what’s best for Cleo. I’m very sure about that, actually. I know them. They just need to know what happened to their girl,” Eddie tries to reason. “They deserve not to be kept waiting.”

“Okay, fine. Your call.”

“Thank you, Sir,” he says.

“That’s all?”

“Yes, Sir,” Eddie confirms, then looks at Buck. “Let’s go, c’mon.”

Buck follows after him somewhat stiffly. Once they reach the elevators, Eddie finds he’s had enough of the awkward silence and asks, “What’s the matter?”

“… I feared you were going to follow the Director’s lead and not tell Cleo’s parents,” Buck admits, his voice barely audible, his eyes fixed on the numbers flashing up on the panel in front of them.

Eddie turns to look at him. “I mean, it would probably be the more rational choice. Something I’d think you’d appreciate.”

Buck meets his gaze. “You trust them, the Ellers?”

“Yes?” Eddie answers, not yet sure where the other man is going with this.

“Then it’s a rational choice to decide to tell them. It’s also the right thing to do. They are entitled to the truth about their daughter,” Buck tells him. “Which is why I think it’s the best choice on all accounts.”

“Glad that we agree on that,” Eddie chuckles softly. “So let’s go and see them. But remember…”

Buck nods. “Ducks in a row.”

“Exactly that.” Eddie shakes his head with a smile, then looks at Buck with more sincerity, “But I really mean… in a row. So please, let me do most of the talking. I know them. I know what to tell them.”

“Sure, I’ll only give the facts,” Buck replies. “I know what to tell them regarding that.”

“Somehow I had a feeling you were going to say that,” Eddie mutters, grimacing.

Because somehow, this does not at all sound promising, even though Buck says it like a promise. But yeah, it’s his task to keep his ducks in a row. It’s his job. He can do it. He has to.