The cabinet doors are open or partially shut and mostly empty because almost every dish Eddie owns is scattered across the counters and the kitchen table and the dishwasher is already running, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect because there are still dirty dishes…all over the place. And that’s before the half-filled muffin tins and the empty boxes of muffin mix and the mixing bowls and the half finished containers of milk and eggs that must have gone into all the muffins but which are definitely no longer fit for human consumption if they’ve been out on a counter in LA during this weather for longer than ten seconds.

And then there’s Eddie with his back to the door, washing dishes with—

“Are those frog-shaped dish gloves?” Buck asks.

There’s no way Eddie hadn’t known he was there, but he still startles like Buck’s caught him mid deep-thought.

“Uh,” Eddie says, looking down at his hands, which are definitely clad in bright green gloves to match his soap holder, and then doesn’t confirm or deny. “Sorry for the mess.”

“Hey, I don’t mind,” Buck says. “Besides, it’s not like you made it, right?”

“It’s still my fault,” Eddie points out, which…

Buck shrugs and when the dishwasher beeps a second later, he opens it, dodges the cloud of steam, and starts putting the stuff away. They don’t talk for a while, just cleaning in companionable silence, while Buck loads the dishes Eddie hands him into the dishwasher.

When all that’s left is foodstuffs rather than dishes, Buck grabs one of the muffins and unpeels it as Eddie puts the rest into a Tupperware. Buck stuffs the thing whole into his mouth and instantly regrets it when it goes claggy and gluey, with just a hint of bad aftertaste like maybe the milk had already kind of been off by the time it went into the batter.

“Huh,” Buck says.

“What?” Eddie asks, trying to stuff a few more of the things into the Tupperware.

“I didn’t know you could fuck up muffins from a box that badly,” Buck says. He considers just spitting it out, but perseveres and immediately washes it down with about a gallon of water.

Eddie watches him with a frown and picks up one of the muffins himself.

“I wouldn’t,” Buck warns, but Eddie ignores him. Unlike Buck, he takes a sensible bite of it, but he still makes a face of instant regret.

“These should just—” he starts, and Buck grabs the garbage from under the sink while Eddie tips the awful muffins into it.

And then they clean out the fridge, which they probably should’ve done first because anything that was in it and truly perishable had not survived the week and Buck’s honestly a little shocked that Ana hadn’t thrown all of it out already, but, well, maybe there’s something in there about clinging to things you know aren’t working. Or, maybe it’s just gross and she didn’t want to deal with it, which Buck gets but also does not get at all.

“You know, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Buck says when they’ve gotten all of the dead food out of the house. “I’m a little concerned about her roadmap.”

Eddie snorts and then searches Buck’s face for a second. They’ve been cleaning long enough that it’s afternoon now, and the beers Buck had brought have been in the fridge long enough to be cold, and Eddie hands him one while they lean against the counters in the delightfully fresh-smelling and clean kitchen.

“I thought you were on Ana’s side,” Eddie says quietly.

Buck recoils. “Dude, no? I’m on your side, always. Even if sometimes that means telling you to pull your head out of your ass. I mean, yeah, I empathise with her, because I’ve been there and it—”

He’s been there, he’s been the person in a relationship holding onto it as tightly as he can when it’s been about as effectual as a lapdog pulling on its owner’s sock to try and keep them from going to work in the morning. He’s been there, he was there with Abby, and he’s…

There’s a reason he’s at Eddie’s house instead of at home.

Eddie’s foot taps against his and startles Buck out of his unpleasant realisations. “Buck?”

“I’m good,” Buck says. “But I’m on your side, you know that, right?”

Eddie’s smile is a little slow and almost a little shy, but it warms Buck from the inside out, which is nice. It’s also the first time Eddie’s smiled since Buck’s come over.

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie says.

“Good,” Buck says, using some of the beer to swallow down the lump in his throat, and then reaching for the fridge. “Okay, let’s figure out what survived and see if we can’t cobble together something that looks like a late lunch.”