More couch drabbles courtesy of this spoiler for 6 x 01. Buck/Eddie.
Like these things go, the innocuous comment lands hard and finds itself a corner in Buck’s brain to fester.
“If my couch was like this one, I’d sleep on it all the time,” Buck groans as he sinks into the new couch in the Diaz household. Christopher, laughing next to him, bumps into his shoulder.
"Buck, you don't even have a couch."
Buck laughs with Eddie at that both because it's funny and because of how Christopher's wit has been growing as quickly as his limbs.
He doesn't think of it throughout dinner or on the drive home. He doesn't feel melancholy, its arms chilling his insides with a slowly tightening grip, until he steps into his loft and sees emptiness where his couch once sat.
There's been nothing there since Taylor moved all her things out, hiring the same movers who brought everything in and took Buck's couch out, never to be seen again. Buck had been meaning to buy another one every day since she left, but by the time month three rolled around, the emptiness looked like it belongs. It festers, and Buck suddenly notices other things he'd taken out of his apartment to make room for Taylor: the side table he liked to put his coffee on the rare days he had time for coffee at home, the lamp shaped like a fire extinguisher that Taylor had called too masculine and Buck had shoved to the back of the downstairs closet.
He's not sure why it still lives there, hidden away. Before he goes upstairs, Buck brings the lamp out again and wipes the dust away, putting it back where it once lived. It doesn't turn on when Buck plugs it in and flicks the switch, and he sighs, making a mental note to grab some light bulbs when he's out.
He goes to bed and tries not to think of the space below him, empty. Dark. Festering.
***
Eddie comes over for a beer the next day and makes himself at home on the balcony. Buck sits next to him in companionable silence and thinks about how he's never known what companionable silence was until Eddie.
Eddie breaks it.
"I'm thinking of getting a grill," Eddie c, eyeing the one in the corner of the balcony.
Buck laughs. "Don't. Just take this one. I haven't touched it except to move it around."
Eddie looks at him, eyebrows raised. "You don't even like grilling," he says, as if remembering a fact he'd learned a lifetime ago that he's forgotten he has the knowledge of. "You think there's no—"
"—point to it," Buck finishes and lets the smile threatening to take over his entire face win. "I'd much rather just eat what other people grill and make all the dips."
Eddie hums. "Why did you get it then? They aren't cheap."
Buck thinks of the couch as he answers.
"I didn't."
Eddie looks at him expectantly.
Buck relents. "I mean, I did, but Ali and I, when I rented this place, we got all the stuff that we might need, and she really has an eye for this stuff, so I kind of let her take the lead."
Eddie nods. "She liked to grill?"
Buck shrugs. "I think so. She left before we ever got to the grilling stage of the relationship." Buck means it to come out as a joke but it falls flat. Eddie stays silent, staring out into space.
"Can I ask you something?" he asks after Buck finishes his beer. Eddie automatically rises and goes back in to the kitchen, and Buck knows that in twenty seconds, he'll have a refill.
"Sure," he calls out after a moment, and Eddie presses a cold bottle into his outstretched hand.
"Why do you not have a couch anymore?" he asks.
Buck blinks.
He could tell Eddie what he's been telling him and Maddie and everyone else; that he's hardly home enough, that he only really uses his apartment to sleep, and that buying a couch that would go unused is like letting your ex-girlfriend talk you into a wine subscription when you don't even like wine that much.
Buck doesn't want to tell Eddie that. Not again, not anymore.
"I'm not sure," he says slowly, "but I have a theory."
"Okay," Eddie says, as if Buck's told him he's hypothesizing about the mysteries that lie in the deepest corners of the oceans.
"Ali picked that couch too," he starts, and Eddie, because he's Eddie, catches on almost immediately judging by the minute twitch to his left eyebrow.
"I liked it when we went shopping," Buck continues, "she said a lot of things about how youthful it would make the place seem while still being classy and understated. She said it wasn't too masculine or feminine, so it would suit both of us, even if I still don't know why we were gendering a couch." Eddie smiles at that, and Buck goes on, suddenly eager to finish now that he's began.
"Anyway, I knew it looked nice and large and that I could afford it even if Ali offered to pay half. I let her and we brought it home and it somehow ended up lasting even after she left."
"I wasn't the biggest fan," Eddie comments, smiling wryly. "I mean, it was a fine couch, but it always was so—"
"—it's the material," Buck finishes, because he's seen Eddie sit on it one too many times to know how he feels. "It felt too posh and cold and it was after Ali left that I realized that in all the talks about getting what would fit the apartment best, we never talked about comfort even once."
Buck looks away from Eddie at that. Eddie's couch, both old and new, molded to Buck like it was welcoming him home, and Buck doesn't want to look at Eddie and see him realize why Buck sleeps like a stone every time he stays over.
"So I guess it was good Taylor made you get rid of it?" Eddie asks quietly. He says Taylor's name with great reluctance, and in spite of himself, Buck smiles.
"Weirdly, I missed it once it was gone."
They lapse into silence again, sipping their beers as the late afternoon sunshine paints everything golden. Buck tries not to be obvious as he steals glances at Eddie, bathed in contrasts of light and shadow in a way that's hard to look away from.
"You still didn't answer my question," Eddie reminds him after their beers are done again. This time, Eddie stays by his side and looks steadily at Buck.
"I didn't get a couch because I guess I don't know what I'm looking for," Buck admits, staring down into his lap, suddenly finding it hard to hold Eddie's gaze. "I've never bought a couch before, not by myself, and not for me."
"Isn't comfort a good place to start?" Eddie asks, and Buck shrugs again. Eddie laughs suddenly.
"You know, your birthday's coming up," he says, running a hand through his hair. "We—Hen, Chim, Maddie and I—we thought we could all chip in and buy you a couch, but Bobby put his foot down on our group gift."
"Oh," Buck says.
"Yeah," Eddie nods, and he plays with the label of his bottle as if contemplating a truth he's just come upon. "Something about how you shouldn't choose a couch or a bed for anyone else."
Buck's throat tightens.
"Guess he's right," he says gruffly. "Though if you guys want to give me money—"
Eddie's laughter breaks the seriousness. "No promises, but I can go with you to bring a couch back. The truck will have room for it."
"Maybe I'll take you up on that," Buck responds, "or maybe I should just steal your couch when you're not looking. It's really the best one I've been on, Eddie."
Buck feels rather like the time he was caught in a grocery store holding laxatives for a cat that he didn't have, except that there's no embarrassment this time, just the quiet agony of having revealed too much.
"Yeah?" Eddie asks quietly. It's the softest his voice has been in an afternoon filled with soft voices and quiet confessions. "You look like you're at home when you're on it."
Eddie doesn't add like you don't when you're here but Buck hears it all the same.
"Maybe I'll just get the exact same couch," Buck says in response.
Eddie smiles. "It's your choice."
Buck echoes the words and the smile. "Yeah," he says. "Mine."
***
The couch Buck ends up getting is similar to Eddie's though not identical, and Eddie, as promised, helps bring it to the apartment.
Seven months later, he helps carry it home. They put it diagonal to what Buck calls the Diaz couch. The two couches, while similar, are mismatched enough that it won't earn them any points from Architectural Digest.
Buck loves them more than he thought it possible to love inanimate objects, pieces of wood and fabric and wire molded together to make an abode. Eddie, passing by, presses a kiss to Buck's shoulder, and Buck makes a mental note to give Bobby a hug when they go into work tomorrow.
"We still have to bring in the coffee table," Eddie says, "Coming?"
"Yeah," Buck says, following. "I'm right behind you."
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