can you write something with buddie being exes
I can give you a sneak peek at a WIP with buddie having a relationship (of sorts) in the past. It’s actually an au that I’m pretty excited about.
TW for all things murder investigation. I’ve been binge-watching Criminal Minds lately, so that’s where my head is at right now.
I have many, many complicated/messy/angry feelings about religion and how people use it all to justify their bullshit. I feel like that’s an appropriate warning to put up here because I am not subtle about how I use all of that in this fic.
~~~
It’s bad enough that the call came in the middle of the night, and that he’s right in the middle of what was supposed to be several worry-free days off. The tension hanging thick and heavy in the air is palpable and Eddie can’t help the dread that settles in his chest as he steps from his car into the cool night air.
A misty rain clings to his skin and wets the wild strands of his hair that he didn’t bother to fix between scrambling into a wrinkled suit and apologizing again and again to an exhausted, less than happy Pepa.
The flashing lights all around do nothing to help the budding headache behind his eyes. He can see a tent set up over the scene, an attempt to protect any and all evidence from the thick, foreboding clouds covering up any trace of stars overhead.
And a part of Eddie already knows what he’ll see when he ducks around the yellow tape.
Athena wouldn’t call him in on a scheduled weekend off unless it was absolutely necessary. The grave look on her face as he draws nearer only confirms his suspicions.
“I’ve got a couple of rookies getting coffee,” she says by way of greeting, resting her hands on the thick belt at her waist.
Eddie gives her a grateful nod but it doesn’t make him feel much better. Coffee this soon can only mean that they’re in for a long night. His eyes catch on Hen crouched low to the ground as he scans the alley, a feat made easier by the floodlights aimed directly at the body laid out right in the center of it all.
One look is enough to confirm his silent fear.
“Fuck.”
Athena hums in agreement, falling into step with him as he draws nearer to the perfectly posed form of a nude young man. His arms are crossed over his chest and his face is almost serene in death. If it weren’t for the single clean stab wound through the heart that’s nearly hidden by his arms, one could almost fool themselves into thinking he’s sleeping.
Just like all the others, he’s clean of all blood.
And if they were to turn him over, Eddie knows what they would find on his back. Two crudely cut yet neatly stitched vertical wounds on either side of his spine, level with his shoulder blades.
And as if that’s not enough evidence of exactly what they’re dealing with, Eddie seeks out and easily finds the last piece of the puzzle that he needs. The painted words on the wall, spelling out the same verse he’s read time and time again.
IN THE SAME WAY, I TELL YOU, THERE IS REJOICING IN THE PRESENCE OF THE ANGELS OF GOD OVER ONE SINNER WHO REPENTS
“It’s him, right?” he hears one beat cop say to another as he approaches the body. “It’s the Angelmaker?”
Eddie sees Athena tense up in the corner of his eye and he knows that he won’t have to be the one to lay down the law about using that fucking name that the media delighted in repeating over and over again, becoming more and more frenzied with each body that appeared.
The coverage slowly trickled away into nothing when the killings stopped and an entire city began to breathe again, daring to hope that whoever did it all was gone for good.
Eddie knew better.
This exact moment was inevitable.
“Any good news for me?” he asks.
Hen heaves out a sigh before looking up at him with a dim expression that didn’t fit her at all. But he understands. Anyone who was around for the first string of murders understands.
“Everything fits,” Hen says, lowering her gaze down to the body. “But this is new.”
She reaches out and gently tugs at the silver chain around the man’s neck with gloved fingers, letting them see the simple cross pendant. Hen is right. They haven’t seen a necklace like this on any of the bodies before. It might mean that they’re dealing with a copycat, except that the words on the wall were the one thing that they managed to keep out of the media.
“His back?” Eddie asks.
Hen gives him another quick glance just to nod her head.
“I really hoped he was dead,” she mutters, and only Eddie and Athena are close enough to hear the barely restrained fury in her words.
Eddie slips his hands into the pockets of his pants to hide how they curl into fists.
“You know what you have to do,” Athena says.
He knows.
He’s been trying his best not think about it, but he knows.
“He needs to know that this son of a bitch is back,” Athena continues, as if she has to convince him.
As if he hasn’t been working himself up to it from the second he got that phone call.
“I can do it,” Hen says, rising to her feet.
Her eyes are fixed on Eddie, wide and concerned behind her glasses. As much as he appreciates the offer, he knows that he can’t accept.
“It should be me,” Eddie says with a shake of his head, already pulling his phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Athena gives him an approving look. It would be just as easy for her to call. It’s impossible to forget that she is still deeply entangled in the lives of the 118 while his single connection was severed a long time ago.
Turning away from the scene, Eddie focuses on scrolling through his contacts as he makes his way back out of the alley. He hesitates when he finds what he’s looking for, his thumb hovering over the contact button for nearly a minute as his mind spins with all of the ways he can break this news to someone he hasn’t spoken to in well over a year.
Knowing that this will be a hellish conversation no matter how much he tries to plan it out, Eddie selects the number and watches his phone light up with Evan Buckley’s name.
Holding his breath, he brings the phone up to his ear and listens to it ring and ring and ring. Eddie prepares himself for what he might say if he’s sent to voicemail, even though he knows damn well that Buck never checks it. He’s so distracted by the possibility that he almost doesn’t notice when the ringing cuts off.
He hears a familiar, trembling exhale on the other end of the phone.
Then...
“Eddie?”
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