I Pray That Something

He doesn’t know what to say, and the silence grows fast between them as Eddie searches for something to say back that’s proportional to what Buck said.

I’d wheel you around too, Buck. I’d make you the first cup of coffee in the morning, just the way you like it. I’d give you my last spare pair of clean socks and my child and the morning newspaper. I’ll pull out Chimney’s chair right before he goes to sit at lunch tomorrow to make you laugh. I’ll buy you milk for breakfast every time you mention we’re out of it. I’d bring you the moon and get down on one knee and plead in a universe I didn’t used to believe in to let us be together.

But he misses his chance, and Buck carries on. “I’d wheel you around like a little old man.” Before Eddie can raise back an argument, Buck powers through. “I’d carry you, like Chris when he’s sleepy. Two Diaz’s, one for each arm.” Eddie can practically taste the smile in Buck’s mouth, and it makes him dizzy. “I’ll bring gummy bears tomorrow, and milk. You need anything else?”

Just you.

“Nothing, Buck. Just you.”

***Eddie just wants to be in Buck's arms, any way he can. It's a disaster.