#seeing buck deal with having custody and balancing his own emotions

[mazzystar24]

I have a confession to make girlies, I’m not fucking with the idea to keep the long hair/beard combo on Ryan for Eddie UNLESS it’s for a missing/presumed storyline where we see buck taking care of Chris and all the drama and trauma that ensues from everyone thinking Eddie is dead only for him to show up for xyz reason hence the long hair/beard

Like think kidnapping,or Hollywood amnesia, or coma but no identification vibes.

Yeah people hate when shows pull these storylines but I sometimes like a little temporary character death to see ultimate drama and emotions only for writers to go sike and you can’t really do that on non fantasy or supernatural themed shows without these silly little tropes

I got totally distracted when I was just gonna comment on my unpopular anti long hair and beard opinion but oh well

[not-withoutyou]

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, choking on air— a hand hit a cushion.

“Sergeant Barnes?” A soft voice, gentle in a way that felt out of place accompanied with the panic lodged behind his sternum.

Observe.

A cot under him. A swimming head and buzzing white light —a laboratory. Hydra? No. Wakanda. Not a laboratory. A recovery room. Safe. He had been sleeping— not sleeping— unconscious, put under by means other than his own. Because there hadn’t been dreams. There hadn’t been anything.

No exit. No windows, blocked door. Shuri stood in the entry way, careful, nervous hands clasped in front of her. Not a threat. Friendly. Guards behind her —not friendly. (Understandable.)

Assess.

Why was he out? A mission failure. He’d failed, he’d failed. Another attempt at removing the triggers had caused an outburst. Bucky closed his eyes. He’d thought Steve was here. (Steve his friend. Steve his favorite person to see.) But he’d imagined it. Or Steve had left, hadn’t wanted to see him. Bucky understood. Or worse —maybe Steve was hurt, maybe Bucky had hurt him.

Bucky tried to sit up, to throw the blanket off his body — until he noticed that it wasn’t a blanket draped over him at all. It was a jacket. A light leather one that smelled like cologne he recognized from a dream.

“Captain Rogers was called away,” Shuri explained, pulling Bucky’s focus to the present again. “He wanted to wait for you to wake, but the business was urgent.”

Bucky nodded blearily. Captain Rogers —Steve— had been there, after all. The details were fuzzy, but yes, this was Steve’s jacket — it smelt like him. He must’ve forgotten it. Bucky clutched a handful of it like he was afraid it would evaporate.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri tried again, noticing his attention starting to drift, but she didn’t sound angry. (Bucky would have deserved the anger.) The guards took a step closer to her simultaneously.

Bucky let the jacket fall back into his lap. “Did I hurt anyone?” His voice was hoarse. He’d been screaming, before. He remembered. The softness in Shuri’s expression made it almost seem like she cared. For being so young, she carried herself with so much compassion… like a little sister. Did Bucky have a sister? A name with an R. The thought only half-registered before it was gone.

“A few scratches. Just yourself.”

And Bucky felt a bandage near his collarbone, reached up and touched the gauze with his hand to solidify its existence. The damage would undoubtedly have been worse if he’d had a left arm.

“When you are ready, I have another theory I would like to test before the day is out.”

More procedures to try to get his sanity to stick, to un-scramble his thoughts. God, Bucky was tired. He was so tired, his head ached and he didn’t know how much more of this he could handle. “Okay. Can I just have 5 minutes?” His voice cracked.

“Take your time.” Shuri gave him a soft smile before she turned to leave.

Once again alone, Bucky brought the jacket to his nose and closed his eyes. Old leather and fresh, clean rain. Something woodsy and strong like cedar, like a past life. He pulled it close to his chest and thought to himself, over and over, that Steve would be back. He had to come back to get his jacket. And, perhaps, because he had promised. Bucky couldn’t remember why, but he knew that meant something.

After raining steadily for a few days, the thunder storm had started to break up. Cracks in the heavy, dark clouds almost looked like a creation myth over the vast fields and the purple-gray mountains in the distance. The Genesis of all things. Bucky was allowed outside with supervision. He needed a reprieve from the past two dour weeks. When Steve’s plane landed, he found Bucky sitting by the water, pulling blades of grass up by the roots. Bucky hadn’t meant to start plucking them —his hands did on their own volition. (Destruction was a pattern he needed to break.)

When Steve approached him, it was carefully, keeping his hands where Bucky could see them. (Not a threat. Safe. Safe.) He remembered Steve. He remembered that he missed him. That it was good to see him. Sometimes Steve showed up wearing tactical gear, dirty and beat up. Today, though, he was in khaki trousers and a white button down. His hair was neat and styled. (Some rogue part of Bucky’s brain thought he looked pretty.)

Bucky stood up, slow, awkward and off-balance.

“Hi, Buck. You remember me?” Steve asked. The usual greeting. (Sometimes Bucky didn’t remember, didn’t say anything at all.)

“You’re Steve.” Bucky wanted Steve to smile at him instead of looking so sad. (Steve always looked so sad. Worry lines were starting to crease his forehead.)

“Do you know where you are?”

“I’m in Wakanda trying to get better. I useta hurt people. I don’t do that anymore.”

Steve exhaled a breath he’d been holding. “I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly,” he said. “But — they needed me in DC.”

When Steve didn’t get any other response, he continued. “You’ve — you’ve been pardoned, Buck. You’re forgiven.” His hand reached out halfway between them, but he dropped it, shoving it back in his pocket.

Bucky opened his mouth, but didn’t utter a sound. He couldn’t meet Steve’s eyes.

“Do you remember what I always tell you?” Steve asked.

Bucky’s voice was thick with emotion when he found it again. “You say it wasn’t my fault.” He couldn’t meet Steve’s eyes.

Steve smiled. “That’s right. And the powers that be seem to agree with me.”

The best outcome he could have hoped for, so why did it feel so hollow? Bucky shook his head. Steve must have gone to argue on his behalf— but he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve it. A tiny nagging hope persisted out of spite — maybe Steve was right; maybe Bucky still had some gold in his tired heart. He couldn’t think, now, about what he’d done —his fucking bones would cave in. Shoving it all back, he’d deal with later.

Clearing his throat, Bucky reached down beside him to retrieve the bundle of material that had been carefully folded at his feet. “You forgot your jacket.” He held it out in front of him like a peace offering.

Steve blinked a few times in soft bemusement, but took the abrupt shift of topic in stride. Keeping his hands in his pockets, Steve made no move to take the jacket. “Oh! No, I— I left it for you.” There was something in the way he said it that made Bucky feel like there was more; like he’d left something out. (Bucky shrugged off the feeling — it wasn’t new. He always felt like he was missing something.)

“It’s yours.” Bucky didn’t know why, but he was adamant that Steve would get cold without it.

Something cracked in Steve’s expression. A lightning-quick flash of something in his eyes, shattered and crystalline.

“Keep it. We’ll share. It can be both of ours.”

Bucky didn’t know why shared custody of a piece of clothing made him feel like crying.

. . .

Visit me on Ao3

[florenceandthemachine]

Chapters: 1/5 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Demons, Canon-Typical Violence, One Night Stands, Getting Together, Drunkenness, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Diaz Is A Good Father

HAPPY HALLOWEEN 3RD EVERYONE and thank you to @eddiesdiaz and @hearteyesforbuck for convincing me to write what started out as a spite fic. 

***

“You really love that kid, huh?” Buck murmured against his chest, and Eddie smiled, a soft chuckle making his chest (and Buck’s head) shake. “I do. He deserves everything I can give him and so much more. I’d do anything, give up anything, to make sure Chris is happy and safe.”

“You’d... sell your car for him?” He asked, looking up as Eddie scoffed.

“Please. In a heartbeat.”

Buck rose a brow, fingers circling Eddie’s palm. “You’d sell your house?”

“Without a doubt.” Eddie locked Buck’s fingers in his own, bringing their hands to his lips, kissing each of Buck’s knuckles.

“Would you sell your soul?”

———————————————————————————————————

For the record, Eddie Diaz really and truly thought that he was going to have a good day when he woke up.

He had actually slept that night, which was a great start.

He finished his morning run in time to have breakfast with Chris and Carla, which was embarrassingly infrequent.

He was still smiling, humming some song from one of Chris’ shows under his breath, when he went to check the mail that morning, and that was when everything went to shit.

The simple “Condolences” card would have basically gone unnoticed in the stack of bills and junkmail, had it not been for the Texas zip code on the envelope. He thumbs the edge of the card, a frown across his face as he racks his brain—had anyone died recently? He didn’t think so, hadn’t heard from his aunt or his abuela, they hadn’t had any life or limb threatening calls in almost a month and a half.

He opened the card slowly, eyes scanning over the block of text written on the left side of the card, his heart instantly kicking overdrive as he picked out a few words.

The card was for Shannon.

Shannon, who his parents were not exactly on the best of terms with. Shannon, who had responded to Eddie leaving in turn, who had divorced him less than twenty four hours before her death.

Shannon who had been dead for a year, almost to the day.

He almost, almost couldn’t believe it, that his mother and father would be the kind of people who send death-anniversary-condolence cards, but those thoughts were stuck swirling around in his own guilt. Shannon had died a year ago and Eddie hadn’t even realized it. Sure, they had a tumultuous relationship at best, and he still missed her—especially missed her with Chris—but it still felt gross, realizing that he had spaced out what he felt should have been such an important milestone.

He only barely scanned over the words “Chris” and “with us” and “for the best” before he slammed the card against his chest, his eyes wide and wild, only a second away from going full fight-or-flight because of a fucking greeting card. He didn’t want to believe that he was still going to be fighting against this, that he had to continue to fight against his parents for his son. They were doing better. He was doing better. And for anyone to suggest, twelve months after the fact, that Shannon’s death would have been a decent reason for Eddie to give up custody...

Between calling out of work last minute and having to be reminded twice to kiss Chris goodbye when Carla brought him to school, Eddie knew that he wasn’t exactly the image of stability at this point—but he was pretty sure that could all be forgiven, considering his circumstances.

Blindsided by an event that happened a year ago: check.

Still only barely making ends meet and paying for his son’s needs: check.

Regularly feeling like an absolute failure in a personal, professional, and fatherly sense: fucking triple check.

Eddie’s only saving grace was that Chris had already planned on spending the night with Hen and Karen and Denny that evening, so Eddie could do the one thing he did best.

Better than anyone else. Better than anyone, ever.

Finding a random bar to get absolutely plastered in.

--

“It’s just, when I thought they couldn’t sink any fucking lower, they do. They act like she was no one when she was alive, and now that she’s dead I’m supposed to just hate her alongside them because they hate her cause she divorced me, but spoiler alert! She died anyway!” Eddie was saying, his face resting cheek down on the bar, the straight whiskey he had been sipping swirling around in its glass, the amber liquid refracting light over his face. He was alone in the bar, had been for two hours at least—his words might have been the slightest bit slurred, but the bartender seemed to be ever understanding, nodding his head as he wiped down the spot next to Eddie, what seemed to be the last of his closing duties.

His bartender, who was rapidly going up in Eddie’s opinion—not just because of his impeccable pours, and the fact that he was pretty cute (and yes, that was Eddie’s unbiased opinion), but because he was listening. He was actually listening as Eddie rambled on, more than just that passive grunt-and-nod that so many bartenders thought passed for actually paying attention to their clientele.

“You know,” Bartender started, tapping his fingers on the bar, a steady rhythm that pulsed through Eddie’s cheek in a semi-comforting manner. “It’s okay that you didn’t hate her. Even after the divorce. Just because two people divorce, doesn’t mean they don’t love one another, just that... that they’re better apart than they are together.”

Oooh. That was a good point. It was wrong, but it was still a good point. Eddie rose his hand to counter balance himself, pushing into an upright position so he could take another swallow from the glass in front of him. “I didn’t love her, not at the end, but...” Eddie started, sipping and swallowing. “I loved what she was.”

The bartender leaned forward, raising a brow, and Eddie felt his eyes naturally drift from the small green gem that was hanging off of the chain around his neck to the beauty mark, dancing above his browbone, scrunched up as he scrutinized Eddie that much further. “And what was she?”

“A partner.” Eddie said easily, catching the surprise on the other's face. “She was my partner, even though I was a shitty one. And she was a friend, even though I was a shitty one. And she was such a good parent, and I’m—“

“I swear, if you say you’re a shitty parent I’m going to clock you with this bottle.”

Eddie laughed in spite of himself, his eyes trailing back down, somewhere around the bartender’s chest—Buck, his name tag said. Eddie was pretty sure he had been told that already. “Seriously, man, I’ve heard you talk more kindly about your kid from the time you were half a drink in than most people do when they’re sober.”

Eddie sighed, knocking the rest of his drink back, sliding the glass back to Buck. “Well, isn’t that how dads are supposed to be? Willing to take bubb—bulb—bullets for their kid?”

Buck snorted, swiping Eddie’s glass for a refill—only a finger this time, not three—Eddie was probably going to be cut off soon, much to his dismay. He wasn’t nearly as plastered as he wanted to be, and having to go to another bar was going to be a major fucking inconvenience. “Not mine.” Buck said, putting the bottle back on the shelf. “My dad would probably be more upset about a bullet going through any clothes he bought us than he would be about it actually going through us. Charming bastard, he was.”

Eddie sucked in a deep breath—to offer his condolences or maybe to cry, he wasn’t sure, because Buck waved it off before he could say one thing or the other. “It’s no big deal, it’s all said and done now. All you can do is be there for your kid as best as you can, and Eddie, I can already tell that you are.”

Eddie sighed as he let his head fall into his hand, lips buzzing as he exhaled, face smushing against his palm. “I hope so. I really want to be, I’d... fuck. I’d give anything to help my kid, to make sure he was safe, to... to make sure he would always be protected.”

Had Eddie been a tad more sober, or maybe a tad more attentive, he probably would have noticed the sudden flick of Buck’s eyes, or the way his wrist jerked to a sudden halt while he was cleaning a glass. He might have noticed the way Buck ran his tongue over his lips, and... well, okay, he definitely noticed that, and was pleased to see Buck’s lips turn into a smile.

“Hey, closing time is in about... now. You sober enough to go for a walk with me, or do you want me to call you a cab? Either way, I’m not letting you drive.”

Eddie pouted, reaching for his wallet in his jacket pocket, blinking in surprise as Buck waved him away. “Come on, you’ve had a rough... year, sounds like. I’ll consider it on the house.”

Eddie felt his cheeks pink up, pulling his jacket on, smiling as he looked down to the bar for a moment. “Alright, well, I owe you one then.”

“Counting on that.” Buck said, his smile wide again, just barely on the right side of too-sharp and too-toothy. “Now, come on. Take a walk with me.”

--

The cold Californian air (well, as cold as it got in California in March) did more to sober Eddie up than any amount of water, and he smiled as he shrugged his jacket a little tighter as Buck locked the door to the little bar he had spent the past few hours in.

His smile grew as Buck finally made eye contact with him again, easily falling into line a half step ahead of Eddie as they started to walk, letting the bartender lead the way to wherever they were going.

“So, Eddie. How did a nice guy like you wind up in a bar like mine?” Given the half conversation they had in the bar, Eddie had no idea what kind of conversation Buck would be expecting—so he was surprised when Buck directed the topic toward himself, asking Eddie about where he grew up, what he did for work, his likes, his dislikes. It was cute, and benign, and Eddie felt his cheeks pink up in a way that wasn’t entirely related to the cold weather every time he caught Buck actually listening to him, actually giving a damn about his interests.

“But, uh, enough about me.” Eddie said, his face bright red as he realized just how long he had been talking. It was unlike him, to say the least—while he wasn’t really a private person, he didn’t have that many opportunities to share himself with people, so now that he had one, he was definitely rambling. “What about you, what’s your story? You’ve already heard all about my parents and my son, any rugrats of your own wandering around?”

No sooner did than the words left Eddie’s mouth did he wish he could take them back—the flash of pain that crossed Buck’s face was only compounded by the way his shoulders hunched, drawing into himself like it was second nature. “Nah, felt like it was kind of selfish, you know? Risking fucking up a little kid just because I wanted one, when I have no idea how to care for one. My parents were... not great. I mean, they weren’t terrible, but they definitely didn’t want to be parents, and they just weren’t... there.” He started, his words slow as they fell back into step with one another. “But I have a sister. She’s so smart, she got out the minute she could and never looked back. She’s the one who gave me this, when I graduated high school.”

Buck’s smile was nothing short of captivating, small and soft as he pulled the small stone Eddie had seen earlier out from his shirt, admiring the gem on the chain before he tucked it away again. “Anyway, she left, and then my dad died, and then my mom kind of lost it, to the point where my options were either move across the country or call an old priest and a young priest. So, don’t walk away thinking you won the award for crazy parent this evening.” Buck said, snorting in a way that was a little too familiar in the “I-make-light-of-my-problems-to-cope” tone that Eddie himself had mastered.

Keeping their pace even, Eddie sighed, looking up at the night sky. It was bright, obnoxiously so—between the city lights and the street lamps above him he couldn’t make out a single star, but he liked to imagine them anyway. The moon was full, at least, and that would do for the time being. “Bobby—err, my boss—says that your family, your real family, is the one you choose, not the one you’re born into. I don’t know if that helps, but… you can always choose something better, Buck. You deserve that much.” he finished with a shrug, raising a brow as he watched Buck shrink into himself, catching the motion out of the corner of his eye.

“You think so?” Buck asked, looking up at Eddie through his lashes (which was a truly impressive feat, considering Eddie was pretty sure Buck was taller than he was). “I do. Or at the very least, I like to believe it.” Eddie said as Buck smiled, bumping his shoulder playfully as they fell back into step, well aware of the way Buck’s eyes trailed over his lips as they curved into a smile of his own.

He wasn’t... stupid, after all. He may have had a busy life and a busy schedule, but Eddie knew when someone was flirting with him. It happened enough while they were out on calls—not that he wanted to toot his own horn—and while he had religiously turned down every single ‘opportunity’ while he was on the clock, that didn’t mean he was a stranger to a one night stand (especially after a few drinks).

And the way that Buck seemed to be looking at him was... delicious, to say the least.

He was caught by surprise when they came to a stop in front of the same bar they had left some half hour ago, his own curious expression met with Buck’s grin. “Well, look at that!” Buck said, looking above the bar toward a set of windows set back behind the neon sign. “Thanks for walking me home.”

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh as he nodded his head, dramatically waving an arm in front of him. “Well, it was my pleasure. And, um, thank you for talking with me, and for listening to me. It... You’ve turned a really shitty day into a much better night.” Eddie said, feeling a warmth spread through him as Buck flat out blushed.

He blushed. Motherfucker had no right being that cute.

“Well, I’m glad that I could help.” Buck said with a smile, pulling him back into the present, looking up at what Eddie assumed was his apartment. “But, you know... the better night doesn’t have to be over yet. Do you want to come up for some coffee?”

Buck probably had a very nice loft above his bar—but Eddie couldn’t be sure, because the moment the door shut behind him, Buck had him pressed up against it, lips pressed against his own and hands blazingly hot on his body. The only thing he could be sure of was that Buck had a great ass—a perfect ass, even because that was the only thing Eddie was holding on to before Buck picked him up, literally, and carried him up the stairs to bed.

Holy fuck, Eddie thought he was going to cum then and there.

Eddie wasn’t someone who was overwhelmed easily, but he found himself starting to lose himself as Buck’s teeth roamed around his body, leaving love bites on his neck, collar bone, down his stomach, and then oh—oh—Eddie felt his cock sink into warm, wet heat, his eyes rolling back in his head as a guttural noise escaped his throat.

Buck just giggled. That asshole.

Nearly an hour later, Eddie was delightfully sore, body tugged in ways he didn’t think were possible without an aggressive amount of stretching. He struggled to catch his breath as Buck flopped over his chest, looking every bit as content as Eddie felt.

“Eddie, holy, uh,” Buck started, and Eddie was pleased to realize he wasn’t the only one who was panting. “Holy shit, that was amazing. Is there a, uh, round two in the stars, or do you have to go home soon? I don’t know about your kid...” Eddie blushed, feeling a little bit of warmth in his chest, entirely unrelated to the physical presence of the man currently using him as a pillow.

“No, he’s out for the night. But as far as round two goes, you may need to give me a few.” he answered with a laugh, all smiles as Buck pulled himself up to press a kiss to Eddie’s lips, sighing contentedly. His deeper breaths turned into a steady sigh as Buck started to trace patterns up and down his free arm, fingers dancing over the palm of one of his hands while the other wrapped around Buck’s shoulders.

“You really love that kid, huh?” Buck murmured against his chest, and Eddie smiled, a soft chuckle making his chest (and Buck’s head) shake. “I do. He deserves everything I can give him and so much more. I’d do anything, give up anything, to make sure Chris is happy and safe.”

Buck felt, more than he heard Eddie speak, the vibrations traveling through his cheek easily. “You’d... sell your car for him?” He asked, looking up as Eddie scoffed.

“Please. In a heartbeat.”

Buck rose a brow, fingers circling Eddie’s palm. “You’d sell your house?”

“Without a doubt.” Eddie locked Buck’s fingers in his own, bringing their hands to his lips, kissing each of Buck’s knuckles as his naked body moved against him. Eddie let out an entirely undignified noise as Buck rolled suddenly, straddling his hips, one hand supporting his weight beside Eddie’s head, the other still linked with his own as he grinned.

“Would you sell your soul?”

Eddie groaned in response as Buck rolled his hips down, still equally overstimulated and sensitive as he nodded his head quickly. “Course. Like I said, anything.”

Eddie felt his eyes slide half shut as Buck sucked in a breath, the expression on his face nothing short of elated. “Oh, Eddie. You won’t regret this, I promise.” he gushed, his eyes bright. “It’s a deal.”

Even as he felt the confusion grow, Eddie couldn’t help but smile as Buck leaned down into a kiss, his enthusiasm—even if Eddie wasn’t sure what it was about—was positively infectious. He felt another groan get pulled from his lips as his eyes slid shut, the sound drowned in Buck’s mouth, Buck’s body heavy on his own and his hand warm in Eddie’s, and...

...wait, no, not warm. Hot. Really hot.

In fact, his entire body was hot. Every inch where Buck touched him was suddenly burning, like he was a white hot coal pulled straight from the fire.

Eddie gasped and pushed back from the kiss, his lungs burning from the inside out, feeling like he was sucking in smoke, his head starting to spin.

“Eddie, it’s okay, just breathe...”

Buck’s voice was a thousand miles away as Eddie grit his teeth, willing his eyes to focus. The last thing he could see was Buck, still beaming at Eddie like he won the lottery; eyes so bright they were literally glowing, his smile far too sharp to be human, matching the two growths sprouting from his head, and Eddie—

Eddie finally broke, body arching away from the burning heat that was spread out on top of him, letting out what he thought was a scream as everything went black.