#boddie

So I had cut 2400 words of the first date between now formerly Father Eddie and Bobby out of the original fic because it took sooooo long and was killing the flow of what was supposed to be basically the epilogue. I forgot I had finished this, so I should post things I finish. You can read it all here on AO3, and here's a snippet:

Dinner's nice. It's pretty good, actually, considering Eddie had kind of picked a place at random. He's still getting used to being allowed to be a member of society, so he's not great at picking restaurants and stuff yet. He'd belonged to the church since he was almost eighteen, really, because he had known where he was headed the second he started school. So he feels a little like he doesn't know how to be a real adult yet. The only comfort is that, based on what he's heard from Shannon and a few other people, neither does anyone else.

Sitting across from Bobby, he wonders if he feels like that sometimes. Eddie knows the guy's got a complex inner life, there's a lot going on, a lot that was held back, but he wonders if he feels like he's faking it, too.

“What?” Bobby asks, twirling some noodles around his chopsticks.

“Nothing,” Eddie says, feeling his face get hot. At Bobby's expectant look, he sighs. “I just wondered if you ever feel like you're not really a grown up.”

Bobby scoffs. “Constantly. I look around trying to find the person in charge and realize that's me on a weekly basis.”

Eddie feels a wave of relief and laughs. “Well, that makes me feel better. I, uh, kind of feel like I’m floundering here.”

“Nah,” Bobby says, settling back in his chair with a smile. “You picked a good restaurant, you look good, and we've been talking non-stop for like an hour and a half.”

Eddie almost asks when the last time was he was on a date and realizes that would be really stupid and insensitive if it was his wife. “So my second date odds—”

“Are great,” Bobby says, his eyes sweeping over Eddie consideringly, making him feel stripped down. “Really great.”

His heart flutters in his chest, and he scoops a soup dumpling onto his spoon to give himself something else to focus on. “Good.”

He very nearly ends up with broth down his chin, which is embarrassing, but Bobby's smile doesn't falter. He just sips some of his tea and goes back to eating noodles.

I've been meaning to post this for a while and then I think I got severe depression and anxiety? Can't remember. But it's Father Eddie/Bobby set just after Bobby moves to LA. Eddie is a little older than canon, he's about thirty. The fic is 11.7k words, so it is not being posted on here. Please proceed to AO3 for your kind of unhealthy Catholic guilt situationship needs, but here's a preview:

Bobby's been in Los Angeles for a few months before his feet point him to church. He knows he should've gone sooner, but he's been settling in and getting used to the new house and his new crew and his new empty life.

The church is closer to the station than his apartment, because he spends more time at the station anyway. He walks into a somewhat empty service for the Ascension, which isn't the most popular Holy Day anyway. Most of the attendees are older people, probably the types who still long for the old Latin Mass.

He takes a seat near the middle, and he waits for the service to start.

It's good, as far as a low attendance Holy Day service goes. Bobby enjoys the ritual of church, even if he feels like an imposter standing in a house of God as a murderer and drunk.

He doesn't confess, but he takes the body and blood of Christ, opting for the juice over the wine. And it helps.

The priest is an older man, genial and small and too reminiscent of Father Jerry from when he was a kid. He'd loved Father Jerry, but he couldn't look him in the eye and tell him what had brought him to Los Angeles. He can't do it with this man either.

“I'll see you Sunday, Father,” Bobby says.

“Oh, I'm just standing in this week. Father Edmundo—Eddie—picked up a nasty flu when he was at a nursing home,” he says, squeezing Bobby's shoulder with a smile. “But if you ever want to hear an old man ramble again, I teach theology at Loyola. Have a good evening, Captain.”

“You, too, Father,” he says, smiling and leaving.

He still feels like an imposter, but his feet feel a little lighter. The book in his pocket still weighs him down.

He works Friday, gets off work Saturday morning, and goes to his apartment, waving off invites to drinks from Han, Wilson, and Kinard. Bobby doesn't pass his time the way he used to—there's no drinking or pills to make the time blur, no kids to take to parks or games, no wife to run errands for, no one to sit with on a couch and spend time with. He sits, he watches television, he prays, he considers walking to the liquor store down the road, he reads the few names he's added to the list, he recites the ones he's responsible for killing, and he goes to bed.

He's almost looking forward to Sunday Mass, even though the guilt settles on him the second the church comes into view.

There's more people there, still not a ton, but there's a surprising amount of younger people. Mostly women. He doesn't have a lot of time to contemplate why before he sees him.

Father Edmundo—Eddie—is a kid. He's maybe just finished seminary school. When he smiles at the congregation, his eyes crinkle attractively and he shows off perfect teeth. A movie star priest in Los Angeles.

When he gets in line to take the host, he meets warm brown eyes and realizes he cannot confess to this man.

“The body of Christ,” Father Eddie says, holding the wafer above Bobby's tongue, and Bobby closes his eyes.

“Amen,” he responds just before it's pressed down.

He goes for the grape juice instead and sits in the pew, wondering if there's another church closer to his apartment.

After the service, there's quite the line to talk to the priest. Bobby's glad for it, glad he won't have a way to make a fool of himself. Father Eddie's eyes find his over the head of an elderly woman who's gesturing to a young woman beside her, and he smiles at Bobby.

The Boddthena Peace Treaty of 2025 is now in effect.

#boddie canon S9

#edthenas can suck eggs

(I have had a massive headache so I will be going back to smut fills shortly BUT this has been in my inbox and patience is to be rewarded. 😌 Though the war...the war is done.)

“So I have nothing to repent for?” Bobby asks disbelievingly.

“You hit anyone? Manipulate anyone? Assault anyone? Kick any puppies or old ladies?”

“No.”

“Then you're fine,” he says. “Go forth and live your life.”

Bobby smiles. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you might not be a very good priest.”

“You would not be the first person to say that, believe me.”

“No, I believe it,” Bobby teases, and Father Eddie laughs. “You sure you're not working for the other side?”

“Mm, I might be. Depending on which one you're referring to. But I just don't see any reason to throw yourself on the pyre because you don't want to tell people about your personal tragedies or that you feel terrible enough about it to want to drink sometimes. I commend you for your strength in the face of unimaginable pain. My only hope is that you're not shouldering that burden alone.”

“Well, I'm talking to you, aren't I?”

There's another flash of teeth, and Bobby wishes they weren't having this conversation with a screen between them. “You are. I'm honored. And happy to help shoulder any burdens you might have.”

Bobby's hands flex on his thighs. “I'm not really sure how to leave this without being given anything to do as penance.”

There's a creak, a couple of steps, another creak, and then the door to Bobby's side opens. Father Eddie is silhouetted by the gentle light in the church, and he's smiling at Bobby.

“Come on out and rejoin the world,” he says, stepping aside.

He doesn't move far enough away, and Bobby almost brushes against him. He feels himself slow as he does, and there's no way Father Eddie isn't looking at his lips.

“Father—”

“Just Eddie,” the priest reminds him.

“Eddie,” he corrects, “are you—”

There's the sound of a door opening, soft chatter, and Father Eddie steps back smoothly, greeting the altar boys with smiles and asking about a basketball game.

Mass is about forgiveness of the sinner within and in the world around them. When Bobby steps up for Communion, Father Eddie smiles.

“Body of Christ,” he murmurs.

“Amen,” Bobby replies, and the thumb presses the wafer to his tongue.

–

He's not early the next week, because he's coming off an extra shift and had worked for two days straight. He'd slept heavily in the bunk room for a few hours, showered, changed into his only clean clothes—an LAFD t-shirt and his spare uniform pants—and went to church.

He sits near the back, barely keeps his head up through service, and he shuffles through the Communion line half-dead.

Father Eddie’s brows raise momentarily, and he opens his mouth as if to say something else before quickly saying, “The body of Christ.”

“Amen,” Bobby replies, and the side of a finger brushes his chin.

After the service, Father Eddie excuses himself from the small crowd and makes a beeline for Bobby.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his hand curling around his elbow as he leads him away from the pews.

“Tired,” Bobby mumbles. He's led through a door and then another, and he frowns. “Why are we in the sacristy?”

“Because,” Father Eddie says, removing his green chasuble, “I wanted to make sure you were—I don't know how else to say it.”

“I'm not drunk,” Bobby says as the priest unties his alb and pulls it over his head. “The B-shift captain ate bad sushi, so I'm coming off a forty-eight.”

“Oh, thank God,” he says, hanging the garments up and turning to face him. “I almost—if you'd reached for the wine, I was going to lose my shit.”

Bobby blinks at him. “Are you allowed to say any of that?”

“Priests can swear,” he says almost defensively. “Well, that's up for debate. There's a whole thing about Sirach translations that was a debate I got into in college that almost got me failed out of a course.”

“You blasphemed.”

“No, I meant that,” Father Eddie says, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms over his chest with a smile. “I'm thanking God for your continued sobriety. He'll appreciate the credit.”

Bobby feels a wave of fondness for the other man at that. “Thank you for checking. I'm—I don't know that I can ever say I'm fine, but I'm as close as I get these days. I should get out of your hair, you have a whole line of people waiting for you.”

“Most of them want to talk about the fundraiser for the new choir robes or try to get me to come over for lunch after Mass,” he says, pushing off from the edge of the desk and stepping toward Bobby. “But I should let you go home and get some sleep. You live far?”

“Not very,” Bobby says, and the priest hums. “I can get home from here okay.”

“Good,” he says, standing in front of Bobby. “Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you.”

“No,” Bobby agrees, and he gets that feeling in his belly and chest he's gotten before. He's very sure the other man is looking at his mouth. “Father—”

“Service is over.”

“Just Eddie,” he says, which earns him a smile, “how long have you been doing this?”

“Couple years,” he replies, shrugging. “But I just moved here from Texas.”

That surprises Bobby. “You're a pretty progressive guy for a Texas priest. Maybe I'm stereotyping.”

“You are,” he agrees easily with a flash of perfect teeth when he grins briefly. “And you're not. I wasn't very popular at my last parish.”

“Kind of have a hard time imagining you not being popular,” Bobby says, tilting his head.

“I'm not supposed to indulge in flattery,” the priest says, ducking his head with a smile. “But thank you.”

When he looks up, Bobby feels like he's closer somehow. The air is charged between them, and he needs to leave and go to sleep.

Instead, he's not sure who leans in first, but he's kissing the other man. He's got a palm over the hinge of his jaw and a full lip between his teeth, and it's a terrible idea.

He's kissing a priest.

Bobby steps back, and it takes a second for the other man's eyes to open. He doesn't look shocked or unhappy, it's quite the opposite.

“I'm—I’m sorry,” Bobby says, turning and grabbing the doorknob.

“Bobby—”

“I'm sorry,” he repeats, because he is.

He can't ruin anyone else's life, he can't drag someone down into the depths with him.

He opens the door and leaves as quickly as he can without arousing the suspicion of anyone still in the church. People gossip, especially church folks, and him hightailing it out of the sacristy would make life difficult for Father Eddie. Bobby's already done enough damage.

I am thriving. I owe you my life

#boddiecanon

HAVE SOME MORE, BECAUSE IT'S WEIRDLY WHAT I'VE BEEN POKING AT THE MOST IN MY WIP FOLDER:

He's working the next Sunday and the next and the next. The program is that on the third Sunday, there's a call that an older man fainted and fell at Saint Thomas. Bobby, Chimney, Hen, and Tommy roll in to help, though it's really Chimney and Hen’s show. He and Tommy are there as backup and because there was a warning that a couple of parishioners were also feeling faint. It's a hot day, and people tend to not bring water bottles to church. 

Father Eddie is sitting with the man who'd fallen, holding a folded towel to his head and talking quietly with him. Tommy asks if any of the remaining parishioners are feeling unwell, and a woman raises her hand. 

“I got it,” Tommy mutters to him, and Bobby nods. 

As Chimney and Hen take over and get a rundown of events from the priest, Bobby checks over a young man who's looking pale. Apparently, though, it's the sight of blood that's getting to him. 

“Let's get you some fresh air,” Bobby says, and the man's family member, an older woman, takes his arm and leads him toward the doors. “If you start feeling dizzy, take a seat and call one of us over.”

When he turns back to the crowd, Father Eddie is standing in front of him. They're almost eye-level, and Bobby smiles tightly at the man.

“Didn't think I'd see you here again,” Father Eddie says, smiling and reaching out a hand. “I'm Eddie.”

“Bobby,” he replies, shaking the outstretched hand. “I've been working.”

“I see that,” he comments, looking over Bobby's uniform. “Well, if you do come back for service, it'll be good to know we have a firefighter in the crowd. Unless you work every Sunday.”

“No, not the next few,” he says unthinkingly.

Father Eddie smiles, and it hits like a knee to the gut. “Well, I hope to see you. Not just in case there's an emergency, of course.”

Priests are, in Bobby's experience, crotchety or genial. Father Eddie is definitely friendly, but there's something to it that feeds the inappropriate squirming in Bobby's belly.

“Cap? We're ready to move him,” Hen says. 

“See you Sunday?” Father Eddie says, like it's a date instead of Mass. 

“See you Sunday,” Bobby confirms. 

On their way out, Tommy glances back a couple times. 

“What?” Bobby asks.

“That guy's a priest?” Tommy mutters, and Bobby laughs when Tommy's cheeks get pink.

He's not old enough or blind enough to miss the way Tommy's eyes lingered on Sal, the way they still linger on Chimney from time-to-time, or the way he tries really hard to look some men in the eye. But Tommy's recently out of a relationship with a woman, and Bobby expects he'll figure it out in his own time if he hasn't already.