Work Text:
Buck is pretty sure it's not a special occasion. It's definitely not his birthday. He hasn't almost died recently. So why is Eddie hell bent on keeping him out of the kitchen?
All morning, he's stayed by his side while they do chores. Which isn't unusual. Then they worked out together. Also not unusual. It's hard to argue that Eddie is doing anything out of the ordinary, but Buck can feel it. Something is up.
It's obvious when they get called up for lunch. For the past hour Buck has smelt sauteing peppers. That means lunch is probably stir fry or fajitas.
“Surprise.” Bobby says, setting down a platter of sandwiches on the table. So not stir fry or fajitas. “Eddie said he heard you missed Philly cheesesteaks.”
“You heard that? You remember that?” It must have been a couple weeks ago, he was watching a movie with Chris and it somehow led to Chris asking him what food he liked as a kid. And Buck said there was a truck with really good Philly cheesesteaks that Maddie used to take him to when he got a good grade. After she left, Buck only went back a couple times but it wasn't the same.
“Of course.”
Eddie plates a sandwich for him; a bowl of kettle chips is being passed around. Bobby and Eddie are watching him, so Buck takes a big bite.
At least they wait for him to swallow before questioning, “So, how'd I do?” Bobby tries to sound casual.
“It's good, Bobby.” Buck takes another bite, hoping that was enough.
“I can feel a but in there. C’mon, tell me what's wrong with it.”
“They're good sandwiches, really, Bobby. Just not really a Philly cheesesteak.”
“I'm not putting Cheez Whiz on a sandwich.”
“Most places don't actually put Cheez Whiz on them. No. Um. It's the peppers. Authentic Philly's don't have them.”
Chim pipes in, “No, the peppers are what make it a Philly cheesesteak.”
“I have no idea why people think that, but it's wrong.”
“Then why do I get peppers whenever I order one?” Someone else adds.
A couple other people chime in with similar statements. “Yeah, and that Philly cheesesteaks pizza we got had peppers” and “I think the peppers make it better.”
“Oh my god, I'm not arguing about this. Fine everyone in Pennsylvania makes it wrong and you're right, whatever.” Buck shoves the last bit of his sandwich in his mouth and pushes his chair back from the table before stomping down the stairs.
There's not much to do down here. He and Eddie already finished their chores and worked out. As much as he wants to hit the punching bag right now, he shouldn’t.
He grabs a clipboard anyway to redo inventory. B-shift just did it, but it can't hurt to do again.
As expected, Eddie isn't far behind. He comes up behind Buck and wraps himself around Buck’s back. Resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry the surprise didn’t work out.”
“I appreciate you and Bobby doing this. Really. It was a sweet idea. And there’s nothing wrong with peppers on a sandwich. It’s fine. It tastes good. It’s just not the same sandwich I had growing up. And it felt like everyone was piling on that I had to be wrong. It's like if Bobby tried to make your abuela's tamales but didn’t use her secret ingredient – which she said she'd tell me soon– and everyone argued with you when you said they weren't the same.”
“I know, Cariño.” Eddie tightens his hold on Buck.
“Just, like…why would I lie about that? This whole thing is so dumb. I don’t care about the sandwiches. But this is an objective fact and no one was believing me.”
“Hey, I believe you.” Eddie presses a quick kiss to Buck’s birthmark. “Always. I’ll always be on your side.” Another kiss to his cheek. “And if you’re wrong, we’ll be wrong together.” A kiss to the lips. It lingers longer than it should. So far they’ve managed to avoid getting written up for PDA at work.
“You think I could be wrong?” Buck says, raising an eyebrow and smirking.
“Is that what you heard?” Eddie's face is nuzzled into Buck's neck.
“Yep. I heard you doubting me.”
“No, you and your facts are fine and I’ll fight anyone who tries to say otherwise.”
“Really?”
“Really. How about we make some of your authentic cheesesteak for Chris after shift?”
“Yeah? You think he would like them?”
“He was so excited when I said I got Bobby to make them. He’ll love yours more.”
The two of them finish redoing the inventory. If anything else happens with them tucked behind the truck, no one knows.
The rest of the shift drags. No one says anything about Buck and Eddie being a bit more clingy. They even get away with napping on the couch together. It's not a q-word shift, but it is boring. Mostly standard medical calls and a few car accidents that are cleared quickly with no injuries.
“I’m sorry about lunch, Bobby.” Buck says, as they sit down for dinner. Usually, he would have helped, but today he was washing down the truck and rerolling hoses with Eddie. “The sandwiches were good, I promise.”
“I’m sorry too, Buck. I looked it up after and you were right. I shouldn’t have just assumed I knew how to make them.”
The shift stays boring through the night, allowing them to get a decent amount of sleep. Buck and Eddie leave together in the morning. They stop at the store on the way to Eddie’s to pick up everything needed for their dinner. Hoagie rolls and skirt steak. Buck opts for provolone cheese because that's how Maddie taught him to order.
They take their typical after work nap, even though they could have gone without. The afternoon is spent doing laundry and other chores around the house until Chris gets home.
~*~
Buck’s at the stove. The pan sizzling, full of oil and his thin sliced steak.
“Okay, Chris, now the proper way to order this if you want onions is to say wit. And if you don’t want the onion, you say witout.”
“I want mine witout.”
“Good. The truck I went to only had the option for onions. None of the fancy peppers or mushrooms or other vegetables. The guy running it had a lot of opinions on it. If it wasn’t busy, he’d tell me about growing up in his dad’s sandwich shop and the rival shops.”
When the meat is almost done, Buck adds slices of provolone letting it sit a moment to get melty before transferring it onto the bread he’s toasted.
“Eddie, wit or witout?”
“Make mine wit, unless you don’t want to kiss me with onion breath.”
“Gross, dad!”
“Great, I’ll make both of ours wit.” The onions have already been caramelized so they’re ready to add to the sandwiches.
It’s only a few more minutes until the sandwiches are all done and the three of them are sitting around the kitchen table.
They dig in and Buck’s surprised by how the nostalgia hits him. He hadn’t expected to get this close. But part of him is back, sitting at the rickety picnic tables, the smell of sauteing beef and onions wafting from the truck, mixing with the exhaust of the generator. Eddie softly moaning into a bite of his Philly cheesesteak brings him back to the present.
“Good?”
“Don’t tell Bobby, but this is the best sandwich I’ve ever had.”