#stream of consciousness tumblr fic in the year of our lord 2025??

[fastcardotmp3]

goodbyes in the rain.... (~700 words)

"I know you'll wanna eat 'em all while you're driving, but save some for Chris," Buck says, the fabric of his shirt going dark in speckled increments the longer they stand here. "And-- and call. When you get there."

Eddie breathes in sharply through his nose and nods, needing the beat it offers to not have all of his insides spilling out across his tongue the next time he unclenches his jaw and opens his mouth and--

"Of course."

--speaks.

"Good," Buck croaks. It's almost impossible to look directly at him. The sun isn't in the sky today in the sunshine state, but only because it's right here on the ground, blinding Eddie with the force of its unyielding loyalty. "Good. Okay. You'll drive safe?"

"I'll drive safe," Eddie agrees. It's the third time he's promised. It's the third time Buck has asked. "And I'll save some," he lifts the baggie of cookies in his hand, "for Chris."

Buck nods. Cyclical. Just passing the same mannerisms back and forth and back and forth and--

"Okay," Eddie opens his arms and swallows thickly and he doesn't have to pull or be pulled before they are caught in a firm embrace, growing deeper before it releases, going deeper than any they've shared before, if only because every subsequent hug carries more history than the last. If only because this one carries the pressure of actually, in many ways, being the last.

"You'll call," Buck murmurs into Eddie's shoulder. His curls are damp where they brush against Eddie's cheek, his jaw, his neck, a tangible presence making itself known at his temple. "If you need-- If you think of anything for the house. I'm gonna do the repairs we talked about, but if you think of-- anything."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees hoarsely as he pulls away, holds Buck by the shoulder for a lingering beat. "I'll call. About the house."

He's in his truck before he even realizes he's looked away from Buck at all. The sun is on the ground today in Los Angeles, to the point where every direction here on the pavement is filled with its glow. The sky may be dim, but Eddie doesn't realize, he doesn't recognize when he's looked away, because even as he starts the engine and buckles his seatbelt and starts to drive, he sees him.

Sees him everywhere. Sees him in the dotted yellow lines disappearing under his wheels and the cracks in the sidewalk where they went for strolls when Eddie's arm was still in a sling.

Sees him in the plastic baggie filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies sitting in the passenger seat. Sees him in the blur of his eyes as he rolls to a stall in front of the stop sign at the end of the block where he raised his son and raised himself until he failed at both.

Eddie swallows around a lump in his throat and definitively does not look in the rearview mirror just in case. Stalls longer than he has any right doing at a suburban intersection.

Grabs his phone.

Dials.

"Eddie?"

"Don't forget to water the plants," he pleads wetly, one hand still gripping the steering wheel. If he lets go... if he lets go, "you're the one that gave most of 'em to me, so you have to-- keep them alive."

"I will," Buck almost sounds stunned, something in it keeping his voice steadier than even Eddie's.

"And you can paint my bedroom," he offers. "I've always hated it and I know you do to and it's just-- a shit color, so. You can paint it. Whatever you want. It's-- yours anyway, now, so."

"I was thinking green," Buck tells him. "Something sage-y."

"That'll be good."

"Yeah."

Eddie breathes. The sun is in his rearview and if he meets its reflection he'll go blind and won't be able to drive, won't be able to make it to that house waiting for him four blocks from where he grew up.

He looked at the pictures on the listing again last night. He thought about holes in the wall. If he fucks it all up, who will help him fill them back in?

"Buck, I..."

"I know."

"I have to."

A breath. Rain patters on the windshield, growing stronger all the while. Eddie does not look back to see how dark Buck's t-shirt has gotten.

"Go," he begs, with all of his light. "I'll be here."

Eddie hangs up the phone before Buck can hear him sob.

He lifts his foot off the brake and rolls through the stop sign.

He goes.