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florenceandthemachine · 4 years ago

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happy chapter! yes I know I missed last week and I've updated the chapter count to reflect. my state is cold as fuck and also somehow on fire and the Big Sad hit me real hard so I had to take a weekend to be dead. love you all.

Chapters: 3/4 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)

”Alright, Eddie.”

No, it was not alright. It was not alright at all.

“I’m starting to worry about you.”

Eddie felt his bed dip as Buck sat beside him, groaning in response, rolling over in a desperate attempt to hide his shame.

“Chris is about ready to call in for a rope rescue, and you’re still not out of bed. I may not understand why you’re meeting your parents for lunch today, but you are, so get up.”And therein lied his shame. Eddie didn’t need a reminder. His parents had spent all of ten minutes in his living room the night prior—annoyingly vague about why they were there in the first place, insisting that even though they were just ‘passing through’ they still wanted to spend some time with their grandson.

Not their son. Just their grandson. Which was totally fine and didn’t bother Eddie at all.

Eddie had spent every one of those ten minutes clenching his teeth so hard he thought he would pop a crown, but ultimately agreed to their request (maybe a little quicker than he would have liked, but he had done less for more when it came to making sure Chris stayed in bed). As bad as that was, though, he wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that he was so hesitant to spend some time with his parents, or the fact that the moment they left, all he felt was guilt.

He knew that he wasn’t the crazy one here; but even then, it was hard to ignore how it sounded, feeling so unhappy—so hesitant—to spend time with his own parents. He knew exactly how it looked for him, because what kind of son was chomping at the bit to rip his own parents head off, just for wanting to spend some time with their family?

It should have been a perfectly reasonable request. It should have been something Eddie was happy to do. It should not have been something that set Eddie’s teeth on edge, that tripped up his sixth sense like no other, the soldier's sense that he had developed in Afghanistan buzzing in the base of his skull like a beehive. It felt like something was about to go incredibly wrong, and it felt fucking disgusting to have that reaction triggered by his own parents, but he couldn’t deny that he was afraid history would repeat itself.

Maybe he really was a garbage person.

The guilt only got worse, surprise surprise, after they left and Eddie discovered Buck standing in the kitchen, where Eddie had told him to stay. He had all but forgotten about Buck. How could he forget an entire person?

Garbage person, strike two.

Eddie wound himself in his blanket even tighter, guilt and shame doing little to motivate him on getting out of bed, but his silence was short lived as his blanket burst into flames just long enough for him to yelp and bolt upright before it completely disintegrated. “You—that’s not—you cheater!”

Buck just laughed, the bastard, idly examining the nails on one hand as he shoved Eddie out of bed with the other. “I’m a demon, you dolt. Of course I cheated. Now,” he started, pushing Eddie upright and all but herding him toward the closet, “why don’t you get dressed and tell me what’s really going on?”

Eddie felt a lump sink into his stomach as he stood up, a harsh breath coming out of his nose as he yanked a pair of pants off of a hanger.

“I’m scared, Buck.”

Either out of shock or respect, Buck remained silent, and Eddie could only spare a glance over his shoulder before he ducked his head, dressing haphazardly. “The last time I saw my parents they tried to... to take him. They were trying to take him from me, and my response was to literally pack Chris up and move across the country. They didn’t reach out for years—it’s been years, Buck—not when Abuela broke her hip, not when Chris changed schools, not when Shannon died. A year goes by, and nothing. And then they send a card, and then I meet you, and now they’re just... here again. And I think they’re going to try again, I think they’re going to—“

Eddie looked down at his hands as he felt the fabric of the shirt he was holding tear beneath his fingertips, staring at the hole, like he couldn’t believe he had just worried a hole through it. He looked up to Buck, guilt and misery written on his face as he tossed the garment aside, hiding his face in his hands as he rubbed at his eyes, dragging his hands down his face shortly after.

“You are going to lunch and I’ll be nearby, but Eddie, listen.” Eddie didn’t realize he was spiraling until Buck stepped forward, grabbing his hands and giving a firm squeeze as he shook his head. When Eddie looked up again, all he could see was Buck—eyes glowing, mouth set, teeth maybe just a little sharper than they were a moment before. “I will never, ever let them—or anyone else—take him from you. Ever.”

“…and Mark says that Washington has one of the biggest volcanoes, but I don’t think that’s true. Ms. Flores and Mr. Beeman says that Mars has volcanoes too, even bigger than any of the ones we have here on Earth!”

“I’m sure it does, buddy. Maybe that’s why it’s the red planet? All the magma?”

“No, Dad, the magma is underground, when the volcano erupts it turns into—hey!” Eddie had a smile on his face as he reached over to steal one of Chris’ fries, grinning as his kid squawked, pushing his dads’ hand away playfully. Their afternoon together had started easy enough; Chris had stolen the show easily, directing the conversation through himself in that effortless way kids managed to do, talking about his school, his friends, his day to day. To this day, Eddie would never understand how this kid had him wrapped around his finger so easily—all it took was the bat of an eye for Eddie to swing through the drive through on the way to the park, and suddenly he was meeting his parents at a picnic table near the playground with arms full of chicken tenders and fries.

Not a great look. Whatever.

Chris had been every bit as ecstatic to see his grandparents as Eddie knew (feared?) he would be, propelling himself forward at a speed that would have made Eddie panic had Buck not spent some significant time over the past few months working on Chris’ physical therapy.

He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse, how easily it was to use his son as a distraction from whatever nightmarish scenario his parents wanted to bring up, but even that grateful moment was cut short as his father chuckled, reaching forward to tousle Chris’ hair playfully.

“Mark, Flores, Beeman, I can’t even keep up anymore kiddo. Sounds like you’ve had a busy third grade in your new scho—“

“Fourth grade, dad.”

“What?”

“Fourth grade, Dad. Chris is in fourth grade.”

Eddie regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. As good as it felt to even attempt to put his father in his place, he could feel the exact moment that both of his parents swiveled their laser-like attention to him. They were smiling, sure, but Eddie felt like he was back to being a kid again, waiting for the inevitable slip up that would get him grounded.

“Fourth grade, right.” Eddie smiled tensely as his father nodded, gesturing between he and his son. “Of course, we would know that if you bothered to call once in a while. We don’t hear from you on Christmas, birthdays, nothing.

“You know, you can always call us too, not send some letter on the anniversary of my wife’s death like a complete—”

“If we didn’t hear from Pepa regularly, how would we know that you and Chris were even alive?”

“Dad—“

“But we’re doing good.”

Eddie felt his jaw click shut as Chris spoke, his heart swelling with pride as both of his parents turned their gaze again. His mother at least had the decency to look mildly guilty—his father, no such luck.

“Of course you are, kiddo. We’re just trying to make sure that your dad has enough help. There’s been a lot of big changes since you both left Texas—two new schools, new grades, new teachers, your father’s new job, and—“

The death of Chris’ mother, Eddie’s mind provided, angry once again that Shannon was being so disregarded by people who were supposed to be her family.

“Yeah, but we’re still doing good.” Chris said, not looking up from the fries he was dunking into ketchup, smearing only a little bit on his upper lip as he shoved the handful into his mouth. “Dad says that sometimes the hard things make us stronger, but things aren’t even that hard. And Buck says that I have a lot of, um. Initiative! And they both say I’m perfect, so that’s good.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate. He didn’t freeze as his parents turned back over to him, and he certainly didn’t feel his heart sink into his stomach. He just… was trying to un-swallow his tongue, was all. Buck had been the one topic that they had somehow danced around, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he should have been thankful or not that Chris ripped that bandaid off.

He was afraid, to be honest, of that particular aspect of their new lives coming to light—there were few wounds that Eddie’s parents loved rubbing salt in more than his parenting and his financial situation, and suggesting that he had private help for Chris? That was certainly something that hit both of their favorite topics.

“Buck?”

Even if, you know, he had sold his soul instead of provided a monthly stipend.

“Who is Buck?”

“Buck’s great!” Eddie felt himself finally breathe as Chris picked up the slack, his cheerful demeanor impervious to the doom and gloom swarming around both of his grandparents right now. “He’s really smart, and he’s super nice. Plus he makes Dad laugh, which is also nice. And he taught me how to make cootie-catchers! Did you know that they can see into the future?”

Eddie wasn’t panicking. He definitely wasn’t panicking. He definitely wasn’t looking between his mother and his father, trying desperately to come up with something, some excuse, some way to explain the strange name that called Chris perfect and made him laugh.

...Buck really did know how to make him laugh, though. And he did love Chris, that much was clear. And those two thoughts were the only things buzzing around in his head when he opened his fat mouth.

“Edmundo, who is—“

“Buck is my boyfriend.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the moment afterward—his father turned a lovely complexion of purple and red while his mother looked like she had literally seen a ghost, which, hey! Not that far off from the truth. Eddie wasn’t sure if he was just in shock, or if he was having a stroke, or what, but he suddenly felt heavy, grounded for the first time all day, firmly planted in the moment.

So, Eddie decided that Buck was, as of ten seconds ago, his boyfriend. It… made sense, in a way. Fuck, they were basically co-parenting his kid. Chris absolutely adored Buck. And Eddie knew they were sexually and romantically compatible, hell, he knew Buck intimately from his teeth right down to—

“Buck is your what—”

“Buck!”

Eddie was getting very, very tired of being caught by surprise, so it was actually exhausting to have yet another rug pulled out from under him. He turned his head as Chris called out and almost fell out of his seat, seeing who else but the demon in question striding toward them, smiling like the sun,

Honestly, at this point, Eddie should have expected yet another whiplash, but nothing could have prepared him to turn around and see Buck, striding toward him with a big smile on his face, wearing what Eddie could only describe as a “meet the parents” outfit.

If there was another reason as to why Buck would be wearing a sweater vest in California, Eddie would love to hear it.

At the very least, he wasn’t the only one who was shocked. His parents had similar slack jawed looks on their faces as Chris raced toward Buck, who easily wrapped Chris in a huge hug with a “Hey, Superman!” before setting Chris on his hip easily.

Eddie didn’t realize that he was up until he was already moving, trying to think of how he could explain this, but Buck was quick on the draw—keeping Chris balanced in one arm, he drew Eddie in easily with the other, kissing his cheek, murmuring against his skin easily.

“Thought you could use some backup from your boyfriend.”

...oh, right. Demon. Probably heard the whole thing. Cool, that was definitely a cool thing and not embarrassing at all. Eddie felt his own hand fall into Buck’s as they started to walk back toward his parents, a weight writhing in his stomach, only partially subdued by the warmth burning pleasantly through his bones from the small contact he shared with Buck, looking over as Buck set Chris back down, grinning at the giggling ten year old like he wanted nothing more out of this life.

“Mom, Dad, this is Buck. Buck, these are my parents.” Eddie was half tempted to let the moment stew in a silent awkwardness before starting introductions, but Buck spoke up before he could do anything, extending his now-free hand to Eddie’s father first. “Evan Buckley, Eddie’s told me a lot about you. Glad to meet you both.”

Huh. Eddie never thought to even ask if Buck had a first and last name. He always thought it was just, ‘Buck’.

It was comforting for him to see the good, Catholic guilt push both of his parents to accept the greeting with an incredibly pained smile and a handshake of their own, as much as he knew they both wanted to pretend he wasn’t there.

“So! Evan.” His mother started, always the diplomat. “What do you do?”

“I’ve known I was bisexual from, like, sophomore year. I brought boyfriends home in highschool! Why is this so hard for you to wrap your head around?”

Long since abandoning the idea of civility, Eddie’s voice was tired, watching as Buck pushed Chris on the swingset across the park from their little picnic bench. Chris had all but dragged Buck over there, subconsciously (or maybe consciously, though Eddie hated thinking of that) feeling when Eddie needed some time to yell at his parents.

Which he definitely, definitely wanted to do. Because Buck was a fucking delight, he answered every question perfectly, he complimented, he flattered, he smiled, and his parents had given him absolutely nothing back.

Now, he was actually finding himself… jealous. Because he would have sold his fucking left leg to just be over there, with his kid and his… Buck, instead of here, with the firing squad. Watching the two of them together was nice, though, definitely a memory he would treasure later—right now, it was providing just enough serotonin to keep him from jumping off a bridge.

“Because you’re not like that, not really!” His mother’s voice was pleading where his fathers had been firm, but Eddie couldn’t really tell the difference between the two when they were both parroting each other. “Eddito, you can’t expect us to believe this is just... happening now. In highschool, that was one thing. I am your mother, we are your parents. No one knows you better than we do!”

Eddie threw his hands into the air, turning it into a wave at the last moment when Chris looked over, trying to keep his face relatively neutral. “Mom, you don’t know the first thing about me, apparently, but I’m starting to think that might go both ways. Maybe I don’t know the two of you, either. For starters, I had no idea my parents were so fucking mean.”

The innocent look his father shot back at him made him want to puke. “Eddie, I can’t help it if pointing out the truth seems a little mean to you. That woman leaves you—”

“That woman was my wife, and she died, next topic.”

“—leaves you,” his father repeated, ignoring what Eddie had said yet again, “and now I’m supposed to believe that you, what. Decided that instead of finding someone who could give Chris what he needs, you just looked for the first man waving a rainbow flag and that was that?”

“Dad, I swear to God, if you insult Buck again we’re done for the day.”

If Eddie was surprised by his own assertiveness, he was alone in that—his father wasted no time in scoffing, shaking his head.

“I have every right to criticize someone spending that much time with my grandson, Edmundo. When was the last time you and Chris went to service? Because if it got around that you were hanging around with someone like that—"

Honestly, there was a certain level of irony here that Eddie had to appreciate. His conservative, religious parents didn’t like his boyfriend (and, wait, how had Eddie attached Buck to that word so easily?)—not because he was a literal demon from Hell, which would have been a perfectly reasonable thing for two good, God fearing Christians to dislike, but because he was a man.

“Hey, Chris, we gotta get going! Come say bye, buddie!”

All that aside, the stunned silence that followed as his father struggled to find his voice was sweet, so sweet, even if it was incredibly short lived.

“Really, Eddie? One little disagreement and you’re just going to walk away? We don’t see Chris for two years, and the first time we visit is when you decide to—”

“Chris is going to come over and say goodbye.” Eddie interrupted, voice dangerously low as he looked up to where Buck was helping him down from the jungle gym. “If you try and play him against me with this, you will lose. If you try to play him against Buck, you will lose and I will laugh at you. But we are going home now, and if you give him any grief about that, if you try to make him feel bad that you don’t come up to visit more often, if you do anything that puts a frown on his face, that’s it. You will never see him again. Ever. And I’ve already kept one promise to you once in the past five minutes, you wanna push for two?”

Eddie wasn’t sure if he was burning that bridge or crossing it, but he was all smiles when Buck and Chris rejoined them, easily slotting himself against Buck’s side as his mother and father each hugged and kissed Chris’ head. Eddie may have let his eagle eye slide a little bit—he could tell my Chris’ giggling protests that they weren’t saying anything uncouth, and even if they were, he knew Buck would put a stop to it before anything else.

Waiting until his mother released Chris, Eddie leaned and kissed Buck on the cheek, tilting his head back to the truck. “Chris, you wanna go with Buck and get buckled in? I’m gonna walk your grandparents to their car.”

Chris took off happily with Buck in tow, and Eddie allowed himself a moment to feel all warm inside watching Buck take Chris’ hand happily as they walked away before he had to turn and face his parents once more. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not that his mother was first to speak, pleading with him while his father unlocked and started their car. “You don’t need to be so sneaky to talk to us, Eddito. You know your father and I just worry.”

“If you want to talk sneaky, let’s talk about your spontaneous road trip to Los Angeles. Have you talked to Abuela? Or Pepa? Because Buck’s met them both, and they both love him. Have you even thought about visiting with them while you’re out here?” Eddie asked, the look on her face answer enough. Eddie sighed, shaking his head as he turned to his father, waiting to see what kind of explanation he would try and bury this in. “You dragged Mom a thousand miles just to interrogate me but you won’t even see the rest of the family?”

He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his mother shut the door to the passengers seat of the car, and Eddie found himself wishing he could just tune this entire topic out as easily as she seemed to when his father met this gaze again.

“I am just trying to get you to do what is right for Chris.”

“That’s just it! I am what’s best for Chris, and I don’t understand why you can’t accept that. He’s my kid, mine, and if you can’t trust me to do what’s best for him,” Eddie paused, “then I don’t know what I can do to get that across.”

He shook his head as he started to walk back to his car. He had really, really hoped that would be the end of it, but he was well aware that would require luck, which he did not have, his father's voice calling after him making that painfully clear.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, Eddie. When your little… mistake comes crashing down, we will be the only ones here for Chris! You can’t just turn your back on family!” Eddie felt his hackles rise as he walked away, ears ringing as he dug his heel into the dirt and looked over his shoulder.

“You turned your back on us—on me—a long time ago.” Eddie’s voice was low as he opened his door, slumping into the driver seat like a string had been cut, hands shaking as he started the truck.

“What was your family like?”

Eddie’s voice was soft from his place against Buck’s side, tucked up under one of Buck’s arms, the warmth from the demon eliminating any need for a blanket.

Eddie had made it exactly three blocks (just long enough to be out of view of his parents) before Buck had demanded he pull the car over so they could switch. He was more than happy to give up any responsibility, sliding into the back seat beside his kid, letting himself be completely engrossed in whatever Chris was listening to for the rest of the ride home.

Buck had been the one who drove them home, made dinner, entertained Chris while Eddie showered. Buck was the one who helped with everything along the way just like he always did. And now Buck was literally, literally anchoring him into reality, a comforting weight along Eddie’s side.

He couldn’t tell what Marvel movie was on—honestly, he had kind of stopped caring about any of them after Black Panther—but they were still Chris’ favorite, and he was sure that Chris would have been livid at them for talking if he hadn’t fallen asleep in the first five minutes of the movie. He wanted to save the moment like a snapshot forever; Chris’ head against Buck’s thigh, sprawled out over the both of their laps, his soft snores doing little to mask Eddie’s question (or Buck’s snort in return). “Eddie, my parents were like... completely crazy. Yours are getting up there, but mine were insane. My mom...” Buck shut his mouth as Chris shifted, waiting until he was settled to resume.

“My mom is the reason I got into this position in the first place.”

Eddie felt his face fall as Buck spoke, repositioning himself to sit up a little straighter beside Buck, eyes trained to the demons’ face. Buck was smiling, a sense of bitter irony on his face as he pushed some hair from Chris’ forehead. “When my dad died, my mom... didn’t take it well. She kind of fell off the deep end. Maddie was lucky, she got out before the shit hit the fan. Anyway, my mom and I tried everything—therapy, grief counseling, the power of prayer—seriously.” Buck said, a smile on his face as Eddie laughed, shoulders shaking.

“You’re such an ass.” Buck said, but he was smiling as well, shaking his head. “Anyway, when that didn’t work, my mom tried the other route. She was, like, off the deep end at that point. Talismans, ouija boards, drugging herself up to talk to the dead. I probably should have turned around when I came home to find a pentagram painted on the floor, but.”

Buck shrugged like this was the easiest thing in the world to announce, but Eddie had long since stopped laughing, his jaw a little slack. “Oh, Buck...” He hated how weak his voice sounded, but Buck brushed it off, continuing on.

“No big deal. She sucked at Latin, turns out. I got these devilishly good looks, and she got torn apart by hellfire.” Eddie choked on a laugh as Buck beamed at him, because of course he would be making a pun at a time like this. He stifled the rest of his laugh as Buck squeezed him a little tighter, shaking his head as Chris let out another little snore.

It was easy enough to maneuver Chris into his arms, carrying him to his bedroom, though he certainly wasn’t about to object to Buck’s abject closeness, less than a half step behind Eddie as he put Chris to bed. It wasn’t until he stood to leave did he actually see the look on Buck’s face as he tousled Chris’ hair and said goodnight; it was incredibly soft, dopey even, and the only reason Eddie could make that comparison is because Hen had told him plenty of times that was the same way he looked at Chris.

He just never thought he would see that look on someone else.

Eddie kept his voice low as he closed Chris’ door, starting the walk back to his own room slowly, swaying easily in step beside Buck as he scratched at his head. “Do you remember, when we met, you told me—“

“How incredibly hot you were, how good you were with your tongue, how—“

“Jesus, Buck, no, you fucking pervert. I was going to say, you told me that I wasn’t being normal about this.” Eddie said, and Buck hummed, his hand idly reaching out toward Eddie’s. “What are most of your contracts like?”

Buck snorted as he tugged Eddie into the bedroom, turning off the television, the lights, even locking the front door with a wave of his hand. “I’ve never fucked another contract, if that’s what you’re asking.” he started, pulling the sheets down with another wave and a laugh as Eddie threw his shirt at Buck’s head. “God, Eddie, they’re fucking assholes. Everyone’s power hungry, or money hungry, or just stupid as fuck, seriously. In like, a whole decade, I’ve never had anyone make a contract for someone else before. But you…”

Eddie looked up as Buck pulled him closer again, planting a kiss on his lips. Part of Eddie wanted to shy away, wanted to say the boyfriend thing had all but been an act, but he had given up on that about thirty seconds after Buck told his father to fuck off.

“Even when you were drunk, you only cared about what was best for your son. That’s why it was so easy for me to make a contract with you. Seeing how good of a person you were, how much you loved your kid? No question.”

Buck’s voice had dropped down low as he sunk into the bed, making grabby hands at Eddie until he followed suit, finding himself fitting perfectly in the crook of Buck’s shoulder, resolutely not thinking about the flat plain of muscle beneath his hand as he wrapped an arm around Buck’s midsection. Eddie felt his eyes wander across Buck’s face, his lips, the smooth line of his neck to the little gem on his necklace. “You really think I’m a good father?”

“Eddie, come on.”

When he looked back up at Buck’s face, Eddie felt a spark burn through his spine, meeting Buck’s glowing eyes for the third time in three months and the second time that day. Eddie wasn’t sure who moved (okay, he was definitely the one who had moved) but the kiss was soft, a barely there brush of lips, a pressure that set Eddie’s lips on fire.

“You’re amazing.”

#911 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #halloweenfic #demon!buck #flospeaks #fic

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 38

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @ocfairygodmother

“How much do you think Kyle knows?” Esme asks, several hours later as she stands at the end of their bed with Addie in her arms. Her body sways from side to side; the movement solely to calm her shaky nerves baby, the baby already fast asleep. Her voice is low; eager to keep any eavesdroppers -especially little ones- from hearing their conversation.

“Might not know anything,” Tyler replies, as he slips into a pair of cargo pants, tending to the zipper and button.

“What’s the chances of that? Considering all the time he’s been spending over there, getting to know her. In the biblical sense.”

“How long were you able to hide what you did for a living from your family?”

“That’s a valid point. But I didn’t live under the same roof as them. And Kyle’s been over there every day for a week and a half; we barely see him. Can you be with someone THAT much and still be totally oblivious?”

“Maybe she’s really good at her job and knows how to keep things on the down low. She fooled us, didn’t she?”

“I’d just like to take this opportunity to swallow my pride and admit that you were right all along. You didn’t trust her from day one. “

“You called me paranoid and overprotective,” he reminds her.

“Usually that’s all it is,” she reasons. “You can be VERY paranoid and overprotective. I thought you didn’t want some strange all up in your personal space. You don’t like people disturbing your happy place.”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t think there was something...off...about her.”

Esme shrugs. “I thought maybe she was just eccentric and outgoing. Friendly.”

“Overly friendly. Like she was trying too hard.”

“Well you ARE a tough nut to crack. I guess it is sort of strange that she seemed so hell bent on being friends with you; you’re not exactly the warmest and most welcoming person. And the whole thing wanting to touch you all the time,” she frowns. “I mean, I can’t exactly blame her for wanting to. I’d want to feel you up too. But she was so...I don’t know...insistent.”

“And you encouraged it. That night she had dinner here.”

“I was joking around and you were a really good sport about it. I just thought she was being goofy and totally harmless. And I was right there. It’s not like she was being sneaky about it.”

“Like when she came over here and I was alone and she started making comments about my dick?”

“It’s a very nice dick,” she playfully comments. “Guess she just knows a good thing when she sees it.”

“It was weird. Normally I don’t mind being checked out, but that was fucked up.”

“Maybe she wanted to bang you and see if you lived up to your man whore reputation,” Esme teases, and he gives a small laugh and snags a belt from the closet; slipping it through the loops on his pants. “I don’t blame her for being thirsty. I’ve been thirsty for seven years and I feel no shame for that.”

“Yeah, but I like when it comes from you. Other people? Not as much. And she’s a little…”

“Overbearing?”

“That works.”

“I don’t understand how he didn’t hear or say anything,” she muses, watching her husband as he finishes dressing. Shrugging into a short sleeved button down; olive green and fitting ‘just right’ across that broad chest and shoulders and snug around the biceps.

He’s changed a lot in seven years; physically speaking. Heavier and wider, stronger and more powerful, a touch more gray scattered throughout his hair and in his beard. More tattoos and scars that are still healing; injuries he’d sustained at Michael McMann’s home in Ireland. But the most drastic difference -despite the horrors and struggles with PTSD and everything that comes with it- are with his personality. The edge is still there. The grittiness and the toughness that comes with years of serving in the military and then as a ‘gun for hire’; the often haunted look in his eyes, caused by the things he’s seen and heard and had been forced to do to stay alive. It had taken years for all those walls to come tumbling down; a full time job even after they’d gotten married and having Millie AND the twins.

It had been a struggle for him; opening up to someone, trusting them, allowing himself to have those softer and vulnerable moments. He’d grown up with an abusive father and went straight into the SASR after graduating high school; had a wife that cheated on him regularly, had a child diagnosed with a terminal illness, then made the unfortunate -and entirely selfish- decision to abandon him while he was dying. But little by little the cracks in that hardened exterior began to spread and grow wider. He began laughing and smiling more easily; genuine smiles that would light up his face and crinkle the corners of his eyes. Letting go of the constant need to be the strong and stoic one; afraid that too much emotion and showing -and receiving- too much affection made him ‘soft’. Weak.

Slowly he’d come around; his children managing to strip away at the last of the layers that he found it so hard to get rid of. They’d always been there. The empathy. The compassion. A heart ten times bigger than his body. Just needing to be reminding that it was okay to expose those sides of himself; to allow himself to feel.

To be human.

“It would be hard don’t you think?” she continues, as she places Addie in her bassinet. “Keeping that kind of secret when you’re under the same roof?”

We’ve kept a lot of secret things from each other,” Tyler points out.

“That’s different. We have a past and a lot of bad things happened in it. Anything we’ve held back from one another, has been done with good intentions. She’s just over there doing her thing and spying on us and having her colleagues over. She’s probably just been using him to get close to us. Or to find things out about us. Kyle isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer and he wouldn’t twice about it if she started asking him things. If she’s that sneaky…”

“Maybe what’s going on between them is legit. Maybe the dick’s that good.”

Esme grimaces. “Ewww. That is my brother. Let’s not talk about that. He probably could have given you a run for your money during your days as a whore.”

“I was not THAT bad.”

“Bullshit you weren’t! I bet half those scars on your back aren’t even from the job. I bet they’re left behind from some stripper with those tacky long nails that are like daggers.”

He grins, then leans it to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “She was a Sunday school teacher, actually.”

“Yeah, and I bet now she can’t even walk into a church without bursting into flames because of how badly you corrupted her with your filthy ways. I was an innocent, good girl until I met you. And now look.”

“You may have only been with two other guys before me, but there was nothing innocent about you. What went on those days? Even just that first day? Good girl, my ass.”

“I can’t help it that the voice and the accent brought out the nympho in me,” she says, and directs a swat to his ass before he heads around to his side of the bed. Watching as he removes the Glock remover and its holster from the lock box in the nightstand; slipping the latter onto his right hip before covering it with the bottom of his shirt.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Tyler reasons, when he catches her observing with wide eyes.

“And if all else fails, she probably has a garden rake you can borrow and kill someone with.”

He smirks. “It’s not too far-fetched to think maybe things between your brother and Salena are the real deal. What would she have to gain by banging him just to get to us?”

“Orgasms? Hopefully.”

“It makes no sense that she’d do that. Hook up with him to get to us. That’s way too much work.”

“None of this makes any sense,” she grumbles, and then sheds her housecoat in favour of pulling on a simple white and yellow striped Maxi dress over her bra and panties.

Tyler doesn’t argue with that.

“Okay, so we’ve established that it is possible Kyle knows nothing. But explain this to me: why would Mahajan give us Ovi if his intention all along was to come after you? Wouldn’t that just put Ovi in harm's way all over again? And why would he wait this long for revenge? The kid’s been with us for six years now.”

“I dunno, babe. He’s got his reasons I guess.”

“It’s been seven years since Dhaka. If he held a grudge against anyone, it would have been Saju. For not taking you out.”

“But he’s dead and I’m still here. So…”

“That line of thinking makes no sense,” she argues. “Why would he wait all this time to exact revenge?”

“Probably to catch me off guard.”

“Hmm...I guess…”

“Or maybe he was waiting until I had a lot to lose. So it would make a bigger impact.”

“That’s just fucked,” Esme declares. “And if that’s the way he thinks, he’s an even bigger monster than I thought. Waiting until a man has a family?”

“More lives destroyed that way,” Tyler reasons.

“That’s messed up.”

“You what kind of people these are. You’ve worked closer with them than I have. You were the one that would go in and make nice with them and get them to trust so you could get the info guys like me needed. You can’t tell me you didn’t hear and some fucked up shit.”

“Of course I did. But this is different. This is personal. We aren’t talking about random strangers we’ve been hired to help. We’re talking about OUR family. You’re not just some guy off the street that I barely know. You’re my husband. And those are my kids downstairs and…”

“Nothing’s going to happen to the kids. Or you.”

She scowls. “I noticed you didn’t put yourself in there.”

“I gotta do what I gotta do, yeah? Keep you and the kids safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Well it matters to me if you’re still breathing at the end of it. And can we not think all doom and gloom? If Salena is telling the truth...if she is who she says she is and she’s working for Neysa and her ‘people’ are keeping an eye on things...maybe things won’t escalate. Maybe it will just be all idle threats and nothing will come of them.”

“You really want to just sit back and hope nothing happens?”

“What else can do?”

He takes a seat at the end of the bed, grimacing at the pain in his knee and the small of his back. “I can eliminate the threat.”

“You said yourself that you can’t just walk into the prison and shoot him in the head. And it’s the people he has doing his bidding that we have to worry about.”

“So I stop them before they can cause issues.”

Esme frowns. “You’re talking about tracking them down first? Before they can even get this far?”

“Take them right out of the game before it even starts.”

“That’s a little risky don’t you think? How would you even know who these people are? I doubt Mahajan is going to willingly give you their names.”

“There’s ways of finding out.”

“How?” she asks, and leans back against the dresser across from her.

Tyler stares at her pointedly.

“Oh hell no!” Esme objects. “I am not getting involved in this.”

“You already ARE involved in this.”

��I am NOT going to Mumbai to talk to Mahajan. There is no way I’d be able to get information out of him. Why the hell would he tell me anything? If he really IS after you, he’s going to tell your wife who’s working for him.”

“I wouldn’t let you go there anyway. But you know people. You still have contacts in the game. Probably some that are in India right now.”

“People that I haven’t talked to in years,” she reminds him. “I can’t just call them up and ask them for help. It isn’t the same kind of relationship you have with your contacts. They’re glad to hear from you’; they’re happy you’re even still alive. Mine are hoping I’m dead. That’s a lot of burnt bridges, Tyler. And some of them? Going to them for help would only make things worse.”

“So you give me their names and numbers. I’ll talk to them.”

“And that would be better, how? I lied to them years ago and now I turn around and give their info to a mercenary? You can see why that would be problematic, right?”

“Then just give me their names and I’ll find their numbers another way. I don’t even need to bring you into it. They don’t need to know how I found them.”

“They’d figure it out.”

“Well we need to figure out who these people are. The ones working for Mahajan. Before shit does hit the fan.”

“WE don’t need to do anything,” she informs him. “Let Salena and her people take care of it. It’s what they’ve been doing, right? Keeping an eye on things?”

“I’m not going to trust complete strangers with your life. Or our kids’ lives. I’m just not.”

“So you’re just going to find out who these people are and hunt them down one by one?”

“If I have to.”

“Tyler...no...just no. How is that even an option?”

“It’s the ONLY option.”

“The hell it is! Salena and her people are already on this!”

“And I already said I don’t trust them. Not with you, not with my kids. I trust myself. And a couple other people. That’s it. And I’m not going to just sit back and and wait for things to go to shit. I need to stop it before it happens.”

“You don’t know that anything is going to happen.”

“I’d rather not take the chance that it will.”

Sighing heavily, she crosses her arms over her chest.

“You trust me?” Tyler asks.

“Of course I trust you. You're the only person I do trust. But I also love you and I don’t want to just send you out there to get killed. These are bad people. Extremely bad people.”

“I’m not some rookie going in blind,” he reminds her. “This is what I do. It’s who I am.”

“No. It’s part of who you are. There’s a difference.”

“And right now, I need to be that ‘part’. I need to be the old Tyler. And I need you to be okay with that. I’m not doing this because I want to. I’m doing it because I have to. You’re my wife. Those are my kids. And without any of you, I’m nothing. Which is why I need you to let me do this.”

Another sigh. Heavier this time. Resigned. “Can we at least give it two weeks? For the kids? Because we’re going away next week and then it’s Millie’s birthday shortly after. And we can not take that away from her. She’s a little girl. And she’s so happy and so excited and it’s going to break her heart enough when you leave and I’d rather her not find out until AFTER her party. Can you do that at least?”

He nods. “But if anything happens…”

“If anything happens then you go and take care of it. But for now can we just act like nothing’s going on? For them? Because they're kids and they don’t need to worry and stress over adult things. Can we just pretend around them that everything’s fine? Because it’s going to be hard enough when you leave without the anticipation of it hanging over their heads. Please? Can we do that?”

“Of course baby.”

He reaches out and takes hold of one of her hands, gently tugging her into him, placing her between his legs. And he presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist and then wraps both arms around her waist; pulling her tight against him, forehead resting against her chest. Eyes closing as he feels her hands on him. First in his hair. Fingers combing through it before her nails lightly scratch against the nape of his neck, then the tips running softly over the outer edges of his ears. And when her palms come to rest against his cheeks, he looks up at her, attempting a reassuring smile when he finds those huge dark eyes filled with tears.

She’s silent as he watches her. Fingertips travelling over the older scars that mar his face; the one across the bridge of his nose, then the left side of his forehead, followed by the one alongside his left. Then she moves to the one that he’d sustained during the incident at Michael McMann’s house. Starting at the top of his right eyebrow; spreading up onto his forehead and disappearing -for several inches- into his scalp.

She kisses him. So soft and sweet sweet...the tenderness and the love so evident...that it takes his breath away and nearly brings tears to his eyes.

“I can’t lose you,” her voice is just above a whisper. “I just can’t.”

“You won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

She manages a small smile and places a kiss on his brow. And he tightens his hold on her; falling backwards onto the bed and tucking her securely into his chest; one hand on the back of her head, the other on the small of her back. Feeling her body trembling against him and the tears that dampen the front of his shirt.

****

She plays the part of a perfect hostess; bringing out carafes of coffee and tea and a jug of ice water, along with plates of various small desserts and finger foods. Tyler had noticed the drastic change in her the moment she’d answered the door. Her usual flowing and brightly colored sundresses or tropical themed shorts and band t-shirts replaced with well tailored dress slacks and a crisp white blouse; her usual bare footed approach abandoned in favour of a pair of black heels. But her personality change is the most baffling. No longer loud and boisterous and bordering on obnoxious, instead both soft AND well spoken. Now that the truth is out -or at least part of it - she no longer has put on the front of the affable, annoying, and overly friendly new neighbour. Now she’s professional and courteous. Polite. And almost too apologetic. A continuous string of “I’m sorry�� and “I wish things hadn’t come out this way” as she led them out onto the back deck. Telling them help themselves to food and drink before disappearing back into the house.

“Is it just me or did things just go from weird to really fucking weird?” Esme whispers to him as they sit side by side; their knees touching and his hand on the small of her back.

It’s comforting. The simple brush of his body against hers and his familiar scent; filling her with a sense of security and effectively calming her nerves. He won’t leave her side now, making sure she’s always close enough to touch, never out ear shot and certainly not out of eyesight. His protective nature kicked in high gear. And for good reason.

“It’s not just you.”

“It’s like we’re living in the Twilight Zone,” she mutters, and then issues a long, shaky sigh.

“It’s okay,” he assures her, as he rubs the small of her back. “Everything’s going to be fine. The worst could have happened already. If she was working for the other side, she would have had guys here to ambush us the second we walked in.”

“How do you know they’re not hiding inside for the perfect moment?”

“Not a rookie, remember? You have to trust me,” he presses a kiss to the side of her head. . “Just trust me.”

She manages a small smile and leans into him. A hand resting on his thigh and his lips lingering against her temple; hand slipping off her hip and up onto her side, rubbing comfortingly. Selfishly he enjoys having this role in her life: the fierce and loyal protector. It’s an ego boost knowing that she has that much faith and trust in him. And he knows he’s more than capable of living up to her expectations; confident in his strength, skills, and abilities.

“I promise none of it has been tampered with,” Salena comments upon her return, noticing that their cups remain empty and the food hasn’t been disturbed. “As I said earlier, I’m not here to hurt either of you. Or your children.”

“So why are you here?” Esme asks, her hand slipping from Tyler’s thigh as he moves beside her; pouring himself a coffee and her a tea. “And why the big production? Why show up out of the blue and act as if you wanted to be friends? You could have just been honest right off the hop. You think it would have bothered either of us? This isn’t the first time someone has threatened us in the past seven years.”

“I know it isn’t. I know everything there is to know about the two of you. About everything that went down in Dhaka; start to finish. And I know about your little return there. About Mumbai and Ireland and New Zealand. Information is easy to get when you know the right people.”

“And when you’re willing to pay big for it,” Tyler adds. “Something tells me Nik Khan helped you out quite a bit.”

“Nik and I have a very good working relationship, “ Salena admits, and Esme gives a derisive snort. “I don’t approve of her transgressions. Or attempts at them. But as far as business goes, she’s one the best there is. And we trust her completely.”

“Who is we?” Tyler inquires. “And who are you? Why don’t we just cut the shit and get down to it. You wanted us here to talk, so talk.”

“My name...my REAL name...is Allison Rav.”

“Rav?” Esme arches an eyebrow. “You’re related to Saju? How?”

“Related by marriage only. My husband...ex husband, I should say...is Saju’s youngest brother. Former special services as well. We parted on good terms and have remained friends. And business partners. After Saju died...correction, after he was murdered...Anil left the military and started things up; in Saju’s memory. A way of both honoring him and avenging him. This…” she lifts up one of the plates of food and removes a file folder -one of many- from underneath. “...is everything there is to know about it. About us. About who we are and what we do.”

She offers the file to Tyler and he accepts it; dropping it into the empty chair beside him.

“Are you a mercenary?” Esme asks, her body and nerves starting to relax; comforted by the mention of Saju’s name and the woman’s connection to him.

“Far from it,” Allison gives a dry laugh. “None of our people are. We strictly provide security. We’re trained to assess potential threats and stop them before they happen. But we do seek out mercenaries; when things because too volatile and need...permanent...results.”

“When you want guys like me to go in and put our asses on the line and get blood on our hands.” Tyler smirks.

“Our area of expertise and concern is providing support to those being harassed and threatened by the Mahajans and the Amir Asifs of the world. And there’s a lot of them. So when Neysa contacted us and said that she was receiving threats of bodily harm and death against her and her son, we didn’t hesitate to help. We have her and Aarav in hiding. A safe house just outside of Mumbai.”

“You really think that’s smart?” he asks. “Being that close to Mahajan and his people? Doesn’t leave much room for error. Why not move them somewhere further away? Other side of the world if you had to. Doesn’t make sense for them to be that close.”

“It’s what she requested; to be close to home. We move them when...and if...we have to. We ended up here..I ended up here...when Neysa ‘disappeared’ and Mahajan’s people lost track of her. That’s when he changed his game plan, so to speak. His first thought was that she came here. What better place to hide them with someone who could protect her and Aarav if need be? The person who worked with Saju to get Ovi out of Dhaka alive. What a turn of events THAT was. He was supposed to eliminate you and in the end you worked together. Not what Mahajan expected.”

Tyler gives a tense smile. “How about we NOT talk about Dhaka.”

“Fair enough,” Allison agrees, and pours herself a cup of coffee. “When he thought she’d come here, we were ready. We already had eyes and ears on the situation. He hadn’t sent anyone here or sent out any official threats, but we knew it was going to happen. So we acted first and got here as soon as we could. But things ARE picking up. He is escalating things. This is a man hell bent on revenge and will stop at nothing to get it. You both know what these kinds of people are like. They don’t care if there’s a woman and children involved. They’ll be their first targets to get to who they really want.”

Esme issues a heavy, shaky sigh and Tyler gives her a small, reassuring smile; arm wrapping around her, palm softly and comfortingly rubbing her shoulder. “It’s been seven years,” she says. “Why now? Why wait all this time? And why Tyler? Mahajan gave us his son. So Ovi could be safe and have a normal life. A real family. Why would he let us have him if this was his plan all along?”

“There’s two reasons,” Allison replies. “The first is that Saju failed his mission. Yes, he helped get Ovi out of Dhaka. But he didn’t eliminate everyone standing in his way. He wasn’t supposed to leave anyone alive. You two survived. And I understand why he didn’t kill you; he would never harm a woman in that way. I’m sure he looked at you and thought of Neysa and realized he couldn’t go through with it. But you…” she looks at Tyler. “...you put up one hell of a fight. He didn’t expect that.”

“What’s the second thing?” Tyler asks.

“Did Ovi tell either of you that his father has been in contact with him? On a regular basis?”

Tyler frowns. “What?”

“Even behind bars, Mahajan still holds a lot of influence and power in the drug world. He has a lot of money stashed away in several offshore accounts. Enormous amounts of money. He needs someone to run the business now that it’s booming again. And what better person to be his successor than his only son? But that kid is tough. Resilient. He isn’t giving in. He wants nothing to do with that kind of life and isn’t afraid to tell his father that. Which naturally has enraged Mahajan. He’s taken it as a sign of disrespect. Dishonour. And he’s not going to let that slide. He feels the only thing standing in Ovi’s way...preventing him from doing it...is the two of you. But especially you.” she nods in Tyler’s direction. “He thinks Ovi is completely under your influence and is only saying no because of you.”

“I’m starting to finally see why he wants into the game so badly.” Tyler says to Esme. “It isn’t about the actual job or the money. It’s about being able to protect himself. And us if he has to.”

“That’s why he didn’t want to tell us,” she laments. “Or why he gave us such bullshit excuses. Because he knew he’d have to tell us that he’s been speaking to his father.”

Tyler nods.

“Mahajan wants the obstacle removed,” Allison continues. “He really just wants Tyler out of the picture; he’s the biggest hurdle and true threat. And it would be a way of righting Saju’s wrongs. That’s why we’re here. To prevent any of that from happening. We’re here to protect you. Not hurt you.”

“I’m more than capable of protecting my own family,” Tyler informs her. “I don’t trust just anyone with this. And I’m especially not going to trust you. You could have just told us all of this right from the beginning. Not put on some big, ridiculous show.”

“Neysa asked us to keep this quiet. She didn’t want to scare either of you. Or your kids. And now that you’re getting back into the mercenary business, there’s an even bigger target on your back. Mahajan sees that as a direct threat.”

“He can take it whatever fucking way he wants. I don’t care if you and your people stay on the sidelines or keep in the background. But I’ll protect my own family. I’m more than capable of doing it and I know my wife and my kids trust me. They know I’ll keep them safe. Better than any of your people can.”

“He’s right,” Esme speaks up. “There’s no else I trust with my life. With my kids’ lives. And we’ve got people working for us that can always lend a hand if they need to. We don’t need perfect strangers fucking things up.”

“We’re highly trained,” Allison argues. “We’re more than capable of...”

“Tyler can do it. And that’s who I WANT doing it. I don’t care how highly trained you or your people are. No one can protect us the way he can. No one. And if that pisses you off and you pull your people out of here…”

“We’re not going anywhere. Neysa wants us here and this is where we’re saying.”

“I want to talk to your ex husband,” Tyler says. “There’s information I need. About who is working for Mahajan. Who these people are he has after us.”

“Anil expected you’d want to speak to him. That you would have a lot of questions for him. All his contact information is in the first folder I gave you. There…” she pulls the other files from under the plate of food. “...are your files. Everything we have on the two of you. There’s also a file about Dhaka and everything that went down there. And one with copies of all the threats that have been made so far. To Neysa and to you. I trust this information will be in good hands?”

Tyler nods and accepts the folders, placing them with the initial one she’d given him.

“We kept this secret because that’s what Neysa wanted,” Allison explains. “She didn’t want to alarm anyone. So I HAD to put on a good show. I had to get myself into your life. I had to get close to all of you and get you to open up to me and tell me things. And I know that you know what that’s like, Esme. Having to lie to people; fool them. Having to trick them into giving you what you want.”

“And my brother?” she asks. “What about him? You used him to get to us? He broke up his engagement for you. And all along you were just using him? Why did you have to stoop THAT low?”

“We do what we have to to get what we want. Kyle has no clue about any of this. I’d like to keep it that way. Because he’s a good guy and there’s feelings...legitimate feelings...involved now. On both sides. It started out as part of the job, but it’s become more. So much more.”

“Yeah…” Esme smirks. “...sure it has. Can we go now?” she addresses Tyler. “I really want to go. I’ve heard enough and I just want to get the hell out of here. I just want to go home.”

“We can go,” he confirms, and then gathers the folders off the chair and stands up. “I don’t want any of your people near my house,” he informs Allison. “I don’t want them watching me or my wife or my kids. Especially my kids. You tell them to back off. That I’m more than capable of protecting my own. Because if they get in the way and totally fuck things up? If that happens? You’ll end up a few employees short because I won’t hesitate taking them out too.”

Allison nods in confirmation, then stands as well. “We’ll continue to keep an eye on things. Just as Neysa asked. And if you need our help…”

A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he lays a protective hand on the small of his wife’s back. “I won’t.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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ittybittytatertot · 5 years ago

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Batman & The Flying Graysons Ch. 6

“You’ll need codenames.” Batman said a few days after John and Mary had moved in. They had already gone over all the information Bruce had compiled, and the couple were eager to join him on patrol.

“And costumes, naturally.” Mary said as she dumped a bin of fabrics and craft supplies onto the work bench.

“We already have a closet full of costumes.” John said, holding a domino mask in front of his eyes, “Including ones with better masks.”

Mary laughed, took the mask from John’s hands, and wrapped him in her arms. “If we go out in the Flying Graysons’ colors, we’ll be recognized. We need something new.”

“Fine, fine.” John kissed his wife’s cheek. “But nothing doom and gloom, no offense Bruce.”

“Hm.” Batman said, “The Batsuit is designed for stealth and-”

“We know, you’re very practical and serious with your pointy bat ears and vampire cape.” Mary teased.

Bruce took solace in knowing they could never prove he was blushing under his cowl. “Exactly. Dark, monochrome colors blend in with Gotham’s infrastructure.”

“Think of the possibilities though: foes distracted from bright colors; glitter and sequins blinding them; and bold, dramatic silhouettes making them question if what they’re fighting is even human.” John said, gesturing his arms broadly.

“That is...intriguing.” Batman said, starting to consider the merits of more colorful uniforms outside of his annual appearance at Pride. “But back to codenames,”

“Starling!” John shouted, smoothly moving Mary’s arms from his waist so he could spin her around. He kissed the back of her hand, “My Darling, Starling.”

“I like that.” Mary said, “Colorful, shiny,”

“Beautiful birds.” John whispered in her ear.

“Known to be aggressive and annoying.” Bruce interjected, but that only made Mary’s face light up more.

“Perfect for annoying evil-doers, then!” The couple laughed.

Mary brought her hand up to stroke John’s stubble. “And you could be...Bluejay.”

“Also known to be aggressive and lou-” Bruce tried to say, but he was ignored as John twirled Mary like the cave was a ballroom.

“Mm... blue,” John dipped his wife low to the ground, “I can work with that.”

Cheeks getting redder under his mask, Batman turned away from where John brushed his lips against Mary’s and closed the tabs he had open about types of bats. “As long as it’s settled.”

#earth 386 #this one has been ready for a while but i can finally post it #ch: bruce wayne #ch: mary grayson #ch: john grayson

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thesydneyfeminists · 6 years ago

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“Queer Eye” Breaks Down Toxic Masculinity Culture

Since its release in February 2018, the Netflix reboot of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” has been all over the media. Like any pop culture fad, the show has received both raving reviews and ruthless criticisms. On its surface, “Queer Eye” is a fun, feel-good show with just the perfect amount of “edge” for its target audience. There’s a heavy focus on personal transformation, teachable moments, community building and self-love/ care. The cast is comprised of five gay men who each handle one aspect of these transformations: fashion, food, home, culture, and personal grooming. Personally, the show strikes an emotional cord for me. I’m a sucker for the exact kind of sappy, optimistic messages the show portrays. Plus, I’ve enjoyed watching the show and its main cast grow and adapt over three, short seasons. “Queer Eye” is easily bingeable, takes my mind off the doom and gloom of the world and fans a small flicker of hope that whispers, “we can change the world by helping one another.” Still, in researching this article, I found plenty of articles illuminating flaws in the show I never would have seen otherwise. These faults range broadly but include the capitalistic and materialistic basis of the show, the mistreatment of cast members, and the general “unqueerness” of a show with the word “queer” in its very name. All these points are valid, and I will link some sources at the end of my piece that flesh out these criticisms in more depth and nuance. Today, though, I want to apply a feminist lens to one particular aspect of “Queer Eye,” and that’s toxic masculinity.

Image Description: Photo of the Fab Five against a plain, white backdrop. Tan is on the far left, wearing a black, long sleeve, collared shirt with large white polka dots and dark blue jeans. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and he is looking into the camera with a very slight smile. Bobby is standing to the right of Tan, wearing a black tshirt, black pants, and a light grey blazer. His body is angled towards Tan and his right hand is in his pocket. He is also looking directly at the camera with a neutral expression. Jonathan is in the center, wearing a white tshirt, dark blue pants and a blue jean jacket. His back is to Bobby and his hands are wrapped around Antoni’s arm. He is looking into the camera with a neutral expression. Antoni is to the right of Jonathan, wearing a grey tshirt, white jeans and a dark brown leather jacket. His left arm is wrapped around Karamo’s shoulder. He is looking at the camera with a neutral expression. Karamo is on the far right. He is wearing a dark blue tshirt and dark blue, velvet blazer with dark wash jeans. His right hand is in his pocket and he is also looking at the camera with a neutral expression. Image Source: https://variety.com/2018/tv/features/queer-eye-emmys-reality-conversation-contenders-1202843269/

“Queer Eye” takes place in the deep south of the United States, a place with a reputation for racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia and ableism. The show and its cast attempt to grapple with many of these topics. Sometimes they succeed and sometimes they fail. Some of the failures are teachable moments. Others aren’t. One of the structural issues “Queer Eye” confronts fairly well and directly is toxic masculinity. Unlike the original show, not every episode the reboot features a cishet man. I very much appreciate how the Fab Five branch out to include more diverse people in the second and third seasons. For example, “Black Girl Magic” is probably one of the most memorable and well done of the episodes on the show. Another personal favorite is when the Fab Five help a young man “come out of the closet” for the first time. However, in many of the episodes, “Queer Eye uses gay men to unleash traditionally feminine qualities in masculine blokes to redefine what all of those things even mean” (https://www.redonline.co.uk/red-women/blogs/a531752/laura-jane-williams-queer-eye-feminist/). In doing so, the Fab Five actively deconstruct toxic masculinity and embody feminist activism. They show up, communicate with their fellow men and make them question what it means to “be a man.” And, for the most part, the men listen. Partially because it’s a TV show, of course, and they have to listen. But also, partially because the Fab Five have access to and constructively use their male privilege. They show how all prospective allies should use their various privileges: to call out toxic behaviors and help people who are willing to unlearn them.

Image Description: Photo of someone holding a sign up in front of some city buildings and trees. The sign reads “You can be masculine without being Toxic bro. #truthtopower.” It is written in mostly black letters on a white background. The words “you can” are outlined in bright pink. The word “masculine” is underlined in red. The word toxic is written in green, outlined in bright orange and underlined in red. “#truthtopower” is written in red. You can’t see much of the person holding the sign, except the top of their head and their hand/ forearm. They are wearing a grey baseball cap and a camouflage shirt. Image Source: https://theconversation.com/the-real-problem-with-toxic-masculinity-is-that-it-assumes-there-is-only-one-way-of-being-a-man-110305

Over the course of a week, the Fab Five teach the cishet men on their show fairly basic life lessons – how to properly groom themselves, cook a meal, decorate their house, etc. They very clearly don’t believe in the “one size fits all” model and thoughtfully tailor their lessons to the individual. The underlying moral of these interactions is the value of vulnerability. For example, in one episode, Antoni teaches a widower how to prepare a proper meal for his two young sons. Since the death of his wife, Rob Elrod struggled to prepare healthy meals for himself and his family. So, Antoni’s cooking lesson is a learning moment about food, but also about how to be the best possible parental figure to young boys. Throughout this episode, viewers see a tender, loving, yet flawed father. By the end of the episode, we are left hoping his continued relationship with his sons will be better because of the Fab Five. As another blogger suggests, “That’s the thing about toxic masculinity — it’s not just the unconscious belief that having your own style and enjoying refined pleasures of the senses makes you less masculine, it’s the belief that vulnerability in any form makes you less masculine and, therefore, less of a valuable human being” (https://medium.com/s/pop-feminism/queer-eye-for-the-male-victims-of-toxic-masculinity-cdcdad02730d). And if I had to choose one word to describe the very heart of “Queer Eye,” it would be “vulnerability.” Not only do the Fab Five cultivate this vulnerability with the men they makeover, but they show it themselves as well. And, in doing so, they invite the audience to share in these moments of opening up.

Image Description: Screenshot of a tweet by user andi zeisler (@andizeisler). Tweet reads “general periodic reminder: the term ‘toxic masculinity’ does not mean ‘all men are toxic.’ It refers to cultural norms that equate masculinity with control, aggression, and violence and that label emotion, compassion, and empathy ‘unmanly.’” The tweet has been liked 20,166 times and retweeted 7,792 times. It was published on the 15th of February, 2018. Image Source: https://knowyourmeme.com/photos/1348005-toxic-masculinity via @andizeisler’s twitter account.

I wish “Queer Eye” could be mandated viewing for all cishet men. But that’s one of the main problems with the show. The audience it attracts is not the audience that truly needs to watch it. There isn’t much hard data to support my hypothesis. But, if you tune into internet conversations about “Queer Eye”, it’s clear the majority of viewers are not cishet men. The show seems to attract a large LGBTQIA+ fandom, probably because wholesome representation of any kind is so difficult to come by for us. Otherwise, the target audience appears to be young(ish), upper middle class, white people. It definitely does not include the very demographic of men that so desperately needs to hear the lessons “Queer Eye” teaches. The result is a warm and fuzzy TV show catered very specifically to people who already know the dangers of toxic masculinity. For the length of an episode, we get to sit back and be proud of ourselves for simply understanding that deconstructing toxic masculinity is critical work. Furthermore, “Queer Eye” so often puts the burden of transformation on those with marginalized identities. As one writer quotes, “Queer Eye suggests we can all get along, if only half of us would just be super-duper nice and patient with the other half” (https://slate.com/culture/2018/02/netflixs-queer-eye-reviewed.html). The Fab Five are thus both a beacon of hope and a reminder that the darkness is still ever so present. Still, if nothing else, “Queer Eye” reinforces the importance of representation and suggests the possibility of a world without toxic masculinity. The Fab Five very clearly care about people, and their palpable labors of love alone make the show worth watching.

By: Brittany L.

Sources

https://slate.com/human-interest/2018/02/why-queer-eyes-common-ground-message-fails-in-2018.html

https://slate.com/culture/2018/02/netflixs-queer-eye-reviewed.html

https://theestablishment.co/the-not-so-secret-materialism-of-queer-eye/

https://www.indiewire.com/2018/03/queer-eye-netflix-not-queer-1201932107/

https://www.them.us/story/skyler-jay-reveals-his-true-feelings-on-queer-eyes-trans-makeover-episode

https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/queer-eye-cutting-room-floor

https://www.bustle.com/p/queer-eye-season-2-exposes-the-fab-fives-flaws-but-thats-the-point-9394381

https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2018/06/queer-eye-season-2-review/562883/

https://www.redonline.co.uk/red-women/blogs/a531752/laura-jane-williams-queer-eye-feminist/

https://medium.com/s/pop-feminism/queer-eye-for-the-male-victims-of-toxic-masculinity-cdcdad02730d

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