Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Coming back home feels unusual for more reasons than Eddie can immediately process.

The first is simply that Christopher is there with him, his son easily slipping back into the comfort of his own surroundings, heading straight to his room, and throwing himself onto his bed with an ease that makes Eddie smile. 

Eddie can’t fault him for wanting to sink into it, he feels the same relief himself and it hasn’t even been a full week since he was sat on that plane to Dallas next to Ava. 

The second thing is that Buck doesn’t stay long after they return. He hugs Christopher tightly, gives Eddie’s shoulder a reassuring pat and tells him to call if he needs anything, and then makes his way out. 

That part shouldn’t feel odd. Buck has his own life, his own place, and naturally he heads back to it. What unsettles Eddie is the way he has to resists the urge to ask him not to go. 

They spend plenty of time together under normal circumstances both in and outside of work. But five days of constant proximity to him had been different.

He didn’t know how much he wanted it to always be like that until it was over. 

He wants Buck’s presence in every part of his home. He wants his kitchen to be Buck’s kitchen, his shower to be Buck’s shower, his closet to hold Buck’s clothes. He wants the scent of Buck’s shampoo on his pillow, Buck’s belongings scattered across the floor, to find Buck’s toothbrush next to his own. 

He wants all the small reminders that someone else belongs here too. 

The wanting itself feels new, unsettling in its intensity, but not unwelcome.

Maybe because Eddie understands what he wants now, and with that clarity comes the recognition of what he knows still needs to be done. He knows he has to keep working on himself, he has to find better ways to cope with the weight of everything he’s been carrying, he needs to repair the fractures in his relationship with Chris. 

He has to keep moving forward until he becomes someone who can stand beside Buck without hesitation.

It all feels so obvious to him now. 

The last strange thing about being home is the calm that settles over him. It feels almost wrong to feel peace after weeks of upheaval and days of constant emotion, after more tears than he’s ever allowed himself before, after decisions that have severed ties with his parents and overturned the story he thought he knew about himself. 

He is wrung out, worn down, aware that the work ahead will be long and unpredictable, but beneath it all there is relief.

He doesn’t feel diminished by what has been lost. He doesn’t feel empty in the absence of what he has let go. What he feels instead is the weight of possibility. 

That this is not an ending—but a beginning.

It feels like the first day of who he is becoming.

The following week unravels into a complicated stretch of responsibilities and emotions, with Eddie forced to juggle the practicalities of Christopher returning to Los Angeles, as well as everything that has been happening in his life. 

He has to contact Christopher’s school in El Paso, request his transcripts, and then navigate the process of enrolling him in the school he’ll be attending now that he is back in California. 

At the same time, he goes to see Bobby to ask for a few more days off before coming back to work. Bobby tells him he didn’t need to show up in person, that a phone call would have been enough, but Eddie has always found it difficult to ask for things that require leniency or compassion, especially when it’s something for himself rather than for someone else.

When he had requested time off to go to Texas, he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind, he had been scattered and desperate, asking almost blindly because he didn’t know what else to do. He’d been unable to see that it wasn’t selfish but necessary. 

This feels different. 

Probably because he is asking with a less clouded mind, because he wants the space to make sure both he and Christopher are settled before he takes on the responsibility of the job again, and because he finally understands that needing that time doesn’t make him weak.

The days he carves out for himself are not wasted. He uses them to start searching for a therapist, someone who can address the layers of what he is carrying—family trauma, questions of self-worth, and the confusion of his sexuality. 

He knows it will cost him, that this time it won’t be arranged through the VA or the LAFD like before, but he also recognises that the last time he tried therapy he hadn’t been ready to invest in it, not the way he wants to now. 

This time he wants to engage fully, because he wants to get better rather than just finding a way to survive. 

He has things he wants now. 

He has goals. 

The search isn’t simple, trying to find someone qualified who can hold all those threads together and who falls within the boundaries of his insurance is a challenge, but after several phone calls and patient persistence, he manages to find someone who seems like a fit. 

He books his first appointment with a little dread, but the feeling he feels most of all is pride. 

The most important thing he does with his time though… is Eddie spends time with his kid. 

Once the school paperwork is in order, they decide that Christopher won’t start until the following week either, which leaves them with several unhurried days together. 

Christopher doesn’t resist the idea. If anything, he seems to crave the time with Eddie as much as Eddie does. They spend hours painting and reorganising his room, shifting it into a space that reflects who Christopher is now. 

Even though Chris had only been away for a few months, Eddie can see that something in his son has shifted, that he has grown in many little ways, maybe simply because children change quickly, or maybe because the distance helped Christopher to figure out pieces of himself while Eddie wasn’t there.

Eddie doesn’t know the answer. 

Either way, they move furniture, sort through belongings, and talk. 

They talk a lot.

The conversations mostly revolve around Christopher—how he’s feeling, what the time away meant to him, and how he’s adjusting now that things are different again. 

Eddie adds his own truths in small doses, telling his son how much he missed him, explaining as best he can why things with Kim happened the way they did, and admitting that he intends to start working on himself. 

But he keeps certain things back. 

He doesn’t mention Julian or his parents, and he doesn’t bring up his feelings for Buck.

Those are things Eddie knows he has to untangle privately, before he can share them with anyone else.

But by the time Christopher starts back at school and Eddie returns to work, everything feels a little easier and closer to their new normal.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Has enough time passed?

Hi, Eddie. 

I don’t want to bother you if you’re not ready, but I just can’t stop thinking about you and everything that happened while you were here. 

I hope you’re doing okay. 

I’m thinking of you and sending out positive vibes. 

I’m here when you’re ready. 

Lots of love, 

Emilia 

P.S. Is it crazy to say I miss you? I feel crazy. We only talked for a week.

His first therapy session comes two weeks after they return from Texas. He finishes a shift, pushes himself through a run to clear the noise from his head, and then drives to the office with nerves rolling around in his stomach. 

He wants this. He wants to start putting himself back together, but the thought of spilling everything to a stranger still feels completely unnatural. 

It’s like having something stuck in his eye, as much as he knows that the only way to get it out is to poke at it until he finds relief, it doesn’t change the fact that it feels all kinds of wrong to jab yourself in the eye.

The office surprises him. It doesn’t look like a place designed to analyse people, it looks lived in, warm, a space with books on the shelves and soft lamps instead of fluorescent light.

When he sits down, he pulls a cushion from the corner of the couch and hugs it against his chest. It takes him a moment to even notice what he’s doing, it definitely not something he would normally do. He figures the therapist probably has some psychological explanation ready to explain why he did it, something about defence mechanisms or shielding himself subconsciously without realising. 

The man across from him introduces himself as Dr. Deacon, though he tells Eddie to call him Mike. He’s a little older, maybe ten years, and he carries himself with a calm steadiness that reminds him a little of Bobby. He has kind eyes and a quiet kind of patience, but he is also the sort of grounded authority that makes it clear he won’t let Eddie sit and waste the hour.

The first session is mostly questions, the broad brushstrokes of his life, the heavy things he’s hoping to tackle. 

Eddie answers honestly. 

Though he knows there’s no way to cover everything in one sitting, it still feels good to make a start, like opening the curtains on the parts of himself he’s kept shut for so long and finally let the light in. 

When he walks out, he doesn’t feel lighter exactly, and he definitely doesn’t feel fixed, but he hadn’t really expected to. What he feels instead is the faintest shift in his chest and the possibility that maybe this time he’s ready to do the work.

And that feels like it’s enough for now.

Eddie had put off seeing his sisters while he was in Texas. By the time everything came crashing down with his parents, he felt wrung out and like he had nothing left to give.

He thinks that Sophia and Adriana deserve to hear this from a version of him that can speak about it without breaking apart. And now that he’s had a little time away from it all, and he feels less raw and angry, he feels ready to talk about it with them.

So he asks if they can do a group call. 

They settle on FaceTime. 

Eddie sits on the couch in his living room with a beer in his hand, his iPad propped up on the coffee table. 

The house is quiet with Christopher spending the night at a friend’s place, apparently disappearing for a couple of months and then coming back has made him the most popular kid in school. It feels like lately all Eddie has been doing is picking his kid up from friends houses or having his living room filled with the sound of teenage boys and video games. 

Tonight, though, it’s just him.

When the call connects, his screen fills with the grinning faces of his sisters and Eddie can’t help but smile back.

He’s always loved being a big brother, being the one who got to look out for them. 

Siblings share something with you, that no one else possibly can—the same roots, the same foundation. 

His sisters might not have had the weight of their parent’s expectations like he did, but they definitely had to fight their own battles with them. No one else but these two amazing women will ever know or understand what it was like to grow up in their home. They all carry their scars because of it, they all love each other fiercely in spite of it. 

“Hey,” Eddie greets them.

“Oh, he’s smiling, it must not be bad news,” Sophia teases. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“You don’t know that yet. Just because he smiled doesn’t mean you win,” Adriana counters, rolling her eyes.

Eddie shakes his head, already fighting a laugh. “Maybe it’s good and bad news. Who wins then?” 

“Me,” Sophia says, leaning back in her chair and mimicking counting money, like she’s already collected her winnings.

“No, me,” Adriana says, pointing at herself. “Because bad news is worse than good news, and I bet it was bad news.”

“You’re not even going to win,” Sophia fires back. “He looks… normal. He looks like he’s just been on a run.”

What?

Is that an insult? It felt like an insult.

Eddie looks down at himself, he’s just wearing a sweatshirt and shorts. 

“I didn’t even run today,” Eddie says confused, and takes a pull from his beer.

“Then it’s the beer. You’ve got that I’ve had half a bottle and I’m mellow look,” Sophia corrects herself, tilting her head at the screen.

“Half a bottle?” Eddie arches a brow, and raises his beer. 

“Fine, two sips,” she amends, smirking when he huffs a laugh. “Still counts.”

For a few minutes, it’s easy between them. They trade jabs, slipping into that old rhythm where sarcasm stands in for affection and they all understand the code. Eddie is grateful for the buffer and the comfort of being seen in a way that doesn’t take any effort.

But then Adriana leans closer to her camera, squinting at him like she’s cutting through his act. “Okay, so… why the group call? What’s going on?”

“Can’t I just want to talk to my sisters?” Eddie says, though even as the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s stalling and dragging out the inevitable in a way that feels almost childish. 

As much as he tells himself it would be easier to just get it over with, he sort of wants to keep holding onto these last few minutes where nothing has changed yet, where Sophia and Adriana still believe they are fully related. 

Before half is added in front of brother. 

He doesn’t believe that his relationship with them will change because of the truth. He’s known them their whole lives, he knows their patterns, their strengths, their flaws. 

Sophia is only a year and a half younger than him, she has always been quick to tease, confident enough to needle at him with the same jokes she used as a teenager. She’s sharp, but she also feels things deeply, and of the two of them, she’s the one he worries will take the news to heart.

On the other hand, Adriana has always looked at him with a kind of admiration, the lingering effect of being the younger sister whose big brother left home when she was still in middle school. Even though she’s reaching the end of her twenties now, there are moments when it still feels as if she’s waiting for him to acknowledge her as a fully grown woman—which he already does, even if she doesn’t always believe it. Adriana has a sharp tongue and a quick wit, often throwing out comments designed to shock, but when it comes to Eddie there’s a restraint in her, a certain guardedness he has never quite been able to understand. 

She carries herself with a toughness that is different from Sophia’s openness, not better or worse, just another shape of strength, and Eddie has never believed one sister’s softness or steel made her more capable than the other. 

To him, they are simply strong in their own distinct ways.

So, what worries him isn’t losing them. 

It’s the possibility that this truth could drive a wedge between them and their parents, that Sophia and Adriana might turn their anger on the people who raised them.

Eddie doesn’t want that. 

He doesn’t want to recruit them into a fight he’s already walked away from.

None of this is simple, no matter how ready he feels to tell them about it. 

“No,” Adriana shakes her head, smirking as she leans back. “There’s a reason for this round table meeting, Arthur. Out with it.”

Eddie exhales slowly, elbows digging into his knees as he glances at them both. He manages a small smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

“Is someone pregnant?” Sophia cuts in, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“No,” Eddie snorts. “Nothing like that.”

“I had to ask. Surprise pregnancies are kind of your brand.”

“Once,” Eddie groans, rolling his eyes. “And shh… This is serious.”

That gets their attention. 

Their expressions shift almost in unison, the kind of shared look that makes their resemblance more striking, worry etched across their faces.

He hates that look. 

Eddie steadies himself, drawing in a deep breath. “Last month, a friend and I did one of those DNA testing kits.”

“Buck?” Sophia interrupts again, raising her brow even higher this time. 

“Why does that matter?” Eddie asks, frowning.

“It just does,” she says, shrugging like it’s obvious.

“Yes, it was Buck,” Eddie admits. “Anyway, we sent them in, and a couple weeks later the results came back. Mine had results that I didn’t expect.”

“What? Are we not really Mexican?” Adriana tilts her head, trying to lighten the moment. 

“No, we’re still Mexican,” Eddie lets out a small laugh. “All of us are. It’s just… I’m not—” He pauses, clears his throat, and forces himself to say it cleanly so there’s no room for misinterpretation.

“Dad isn’t my biological father.”

There’s a long pause after he says it, heavy enough that Eddie can feel it sear through his skin and settle in his bones.

Sophia’s mouth opens like she’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. She presses her lips together instead, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed tightly, her expression shuttered in a way that stings.

Adriana leans forward, her brows pulling together, her voice steady even as her words tumble out quickly. “Wait, what do you mean? How do you know that? Did the test actually say it? Like… are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “The test matched me with someone else… someone who’s my biological father.” He hesitates, watching their faces. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

Adriana tilts her head, studying him carefully, her tone softening. “Are you okay?”

It’s such a simple question, but it knocks something loose in him, because he isn’t really sure how to answer. He does feel better than he did when he first found out, but better doesn’t mean okay. 

“I’m getting there,” Eddie say finally, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been talking to someone, trying to work through it. It’s a lot, but I don’t want you two to think I’m falling apart, because I’m not.”

Not anymore, anyway.

Sophia still hasn’t said anything, her jaw tight, her eyes glistening like she’s trying to swallow something down, and Eddie hates that he’s the reason she looks like that.

“So what happens now? Did you reach out to him? Do you even want to?” Adriana asks.

Eddie exhales through his nose, giving a small shrug. “I met him a couple of weeks ago. It was… complicated. I’m still figuring out what I want from it all.”

“That’s crazy,” Adriana whispers, more to herself than her siblings.

Eddie glances at Sophia again, almost willing her to meet his eyes. “You okay, Soph?”

She finally looks up, and even through the screen, he can feel the hurt radiating off her. “Do they know? Have you asked them?”

He knew this was coming.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods slowly. “They know. They all knew. All three of them.”

Sophia’s breath catches, her words stumbling as though they’re too heavy to push out. “Eddie, I’m—” she swallows, her voice breaking, wet with the threat of tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” he says gently, rolling his eyes in the way he always does when he wants to make her smile. “None of that. Don’t be sorry. I’m okay. It doesn’t change how I feel about any of you, or how I feel about myself.”

Not the full truth yet.

But he’s getting there. 

Sophia shakes her head, disbelief etched across her face. “They lied to you for thirty years, Eddie. That’s… that’s awful. You deserved better than that.”

Eddie slumps back against the couch cushions. “Yeah, it was awful,” he admits. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend it didn’t knock me sideways, because it did. But I can’t change it, Soph. I can only deal with it, and try to move on.”

“I don’t get it,” Sophia presses the heel of her hand against her cheek, swiping quickly at a tear. “Why would they keep something like that from you? From us?”

Before Eddie can answer, Adriana leans forward. “Because it was easier this way. Because it was cleaner to pretend nothing happened than to admit the truth. That’s who they are.” She shrugs. “Right?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he nods, grimacing. “They didn’t want to complicate things. They wanted me to be his kid, so that’s what I was. End of story.”

“But it’s not the end of the story,” Sophia says. “You know now, and it matters, Eddie. You matter. The truth matters.”

He gives her a tired smile. “I know, and I’m trying to hold onto that. I just don’t want you two thinking this is yours to fix. This isn’t your fight.”

“Maybe not,” Adriana narrows her eyes at him in a way that makes him feel like she can see more than he wanted her to. “But we’re in it whether you like it or not. You don’t get to drop something like this and then tell us to stay out of it.”

Sophia nods faintly in agreement. 

Eddie feels that familiar swell in his chest, that comes from loving his sisters so much it hurts.

“I’m mad at them, Eddie,” Sophia says, the tears she’s been holding back spill over, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m mad that they thought they could lie to you, and just get away with it. Like you wouldn’t ever find out, like it wouldn’t matter if you did.”

“I get it, believe me I get it,” Eddie swallows, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m right there. But I don’t want you to carry this for me. It’s not your problem.”

“Yes, it is,” she shoots back immediately. “You’re my brother, and they lied to you. That makes it my problem.”

Adriana leans back, folding her arms, her expression sharp. “She’s not wrong, Eddie. They might have lied to you directly, but by extension, they lied to all of us. They built a whole version of our family on a secret.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He shakes his head slowly, letting out a bitter laugh. “I’ve been running circles in my head with it for weeks. But I can’t keep living in that anger. It’ll eat me alive if I do.”

Abuela’s words echo back at him. 

Be sad, be angry… but don’t become the hurt. That would be such a waste when I see so much of your future waiting for you.

Sophia looks at him, her eyes wide and pained. “So what, you’re just… forgiving them?”

“Not forgiving,” Eddie says, his tone firmer now. “Just choosing not to let it take everything from me. I can’t go back and change what happened, and I’m not gonna let it poison what I have left.”

Adriana studies him for a long moment, then nods slightly, like she understands even if she doesn’t fully agree. “So what do you need from us?”

Eddie glances between them, his sisters who are hurting because of him, because of something he didn’t ask for but still ended up dragging into their lives.

He clears his throat. “I just need you both to still see me the same way. That’s all. I need to know I’m still your brother.”

“You’ll always be our brother, Eddie,” Sophia doesn’t hesitate. “Always. Nothing changes that.”

“Exactly,” Adriana nods at Sophia’s words, her face softening even as she straightens in her chair. “You’re our brother, end of story. It doesn’t matter what a lab result says, or what they tried to cover up. You’re still you. We’re still yours and you’re still ours.”

Eddie feels the tension in his chest ease, that knot of fear unraveling.

Ours. 

And they are his.  

“Although…” Adriana says, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “This does explain why you can’t cook. Maybe the other guy passed that down. Because no way did Mom’s side give you those terrible skills.”

Eddie groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Seriously?”

“She’s got a point, Eddie,” Sophia laughs, nodding in agreement. “You burn toast. Who burns toast?”

“I don’t burn toast,” Eddie argues, though the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. 

“Uh-huh,” Adriana says, grinning now. “And the chicken, the one that was somehow raw and overcooked at the same time?”

Eddie shakes his head, but he’s laughing too. This is what he needed—not just their reassurance, but the reminder that nothing between them has really changed.

“Is now a good time to mention that my biological father is actually a chef?” Eddie tells them.

“No fucking way,” Adriana’s head snaps up, eyes wide before she bursts out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Wait… seriously? A chef?” Sophia covers her mouth trying to hide a giggle.

“I swear,” Eddie says, holding his hands up.

“That is poetic. The universe really gave you the short end of that stick, huh? Those cooking skills you have are by your own hand,” Adriana teases still laughing. 

“Pretty much,” Eddie agrees.

Sophia leans in a little, curiosity softening her expression. “So… will you tell us about him?”

Eddie breath stutters for a second, but then he smiles, “Yeah. I will.” 

And he does.

Eddie’s routine no longer feels repetitive. 

It is repetitive. 

He still wakes up, showers, gets dressed, and heads to work. 

But Christopher is home now. 

The presence of his kid resets the rhythm of his days so that even the smallest moments, the ones that for the last few months have made his home feel too quiet and endless, now carry purpose.

It’s three in the afternoon, and Eddie is sitting at the dining table in the firehouse, deciding that it’s as good a place as any to work on the assignment Mike has given him. 

He has homework.

He feels a little ridiculous calling it homework—he’s a grown man who left school more than fifteen years ago—and yet avoiding it makes him feel even sillier, like he’s no better than Christopher when he drags his feet about finishing maths problems and needs to be reminded again and again to just get on with it.

The exercise itself is straightforward enough. 

He has to write a letter to his fifteen-year-old self. 

A boy that doesn’t know that his dad isn’t his dad, that doesn’t know that he isn’t built wrong, that doesn’t know that it’s okay to think other boys are cute, that doesn’t believe that he is enough.

What surprises him is how quickly, even before putting anything down on paper, he feels himself bristling on behalf of that boy. It’s like some protective instinct has been triggered by simply thinking about what he has ahead of him. 

He feels angry about the lies, resentful about the shame, and almost tender when he considers just how little that younger version of himself understood about his own identity. 

That kid should never have carried the burden of impossible expectations simply because he happened to be born first and happened to be male. He should never have been denied the truth about his parentage. He should never have been left believing that he would never measure up.

And yet, if he can recognise that so clearly about his younger self, then why is it so hard to extend the same fairness to the man he is now?

He knows he’s not a bad person. He has made mistakes, but mistakes do not make him inherently flawed. 

He tries to live with decency, to treat people with compassion, to act in ways that matter. Yes, he can be selfish, but sometimes self-preservation demands that. 

He walks into danger nearly every day for the sake of strangers, and while that doesn’t make him a saint, it does speak to the value he places on human life. 

So why is it so difficult to place that same value on his own?

He deserves gentleness. He deserves space. He deserves forgiveness. 

He deserves love.

The realisation leaves him slightly unsteady, like he’s uncovered something without meaning to. 

He hasn’t even started writing, but he can already feel something shifting, a knot loosening that he didn’t even know how to pick at before this very moment. 

Surely his homework can’t be that effective?

Maybe he’s not paying Mike enough?

He’s only been attending therapy for three weeks, and until now the sessions have left him exhausted, frustrated, and worn down. 

But this moment feels different. 

This moment feels like progress. 

Eddie smiles to himself, because for the first time, it feels like he might actually be getting somewhere.

“What are you smiling about?”

Eddie looks up and finds Buck standing close in front of him, balancing too many things in his arms at once. He’s got a mug in one hand, something in the other, and a bottle of water tucked under his arm. 

One by one, he sets everything down on the table in front of Eddie. First the steaming mug, then an apple and a chocolate chip protein bar, and finally the bottle of water.

It’s the sort of thing Buck does often. 

He doesn’t ask what Eddie wants, instead he simply provides choices—something warm, something cold, something light, and something filling—like he’s thought through every possible preference and decided Eddie deserves the option of all of them.

It’s also important to note that he didn’t ask for anything in the first place.

There’s something about Buck caring for him so matter of factly, that makes butterflies swarm his tummy.

“Thanks,” Eddie says quietly, wrapping his hands around the mug and inhaling the bitter scent of coffee.

“Careful, it might still be hot,” Buck says as he sits down opposite him, his expression remaining casually observant.

Things between them has been different lately, not strained exactly, but… charged. It’s complicated in a way that he assumes has everything to do with Eddie nearly kissing Buck in the motel room in Dallas, and the reason why it didn’t happen having absolutely nothing to do with either of them lacking the desire to. 

They both know what they want, and that knowledge has been hanging between them like an unspoken agreement. 

It isn’t painful, but it does mean that nearly every exchange feels layered, that even the smallest comments feel like they have deeper meanings behind them. 

Last week, when Eddie rediscovered an old leather jacket buried in his closet and wore it to the station, Buck had looked him over slowly and then he told him that he looked good. 

The words weren’t unusual, Buck compliments him all the time, but the tone was new—low and carrying a note that Eddie hadn’t heard before, but wanted to chase the second he heard it. 

His heart had jumped, his pulse had spiked, and instead of pulling away from the possibility, he’d found himself wanting more of it. 

He’s worn the jacket every day since, and if he lingers a little longer in front of the mirror before leaving for work, that’s his secret and something he will never admit to anyone.  

He won’t say it out loud, but the truth is simple—he wants Buck’s attention now.

Not the attention he’s use too from Buck, this new kind that makes his blood run hot.

He wants to be the reason Buck’s gaze lingers, and compliments fall into the space between them.

He wants to be the person Buck desires, wants to catch that flicker of recognition in his eyes, because it makes him feel good in a way he has never really let himself have before. 

It’s nice to feel acknowledged, noticed, wanted.

He’s never been someone who enjoys being the centre of attention, but when it comes to Buck, he finds himself craving it, almost desperate for it.

“So, what’s got you smiling?” Buck asks again, pulling Eddie back from his thoughts.

Eddie glances at the notebook in front of him, the page still completely blank. 

He hasn’t told anyone about Mike yet. 

Not because he’s ashamed, but because he wanted to see if he could make some progress before sharing it. 

He feels like he has now. 

“I’m working on an assignment for therapy,” he says, shifting slightly and taking a careful sip of his drink before setting the mug back down.

“You never said you were seeing Frank again,” Buck replies, raising an eyebrow. “That’s good, after everything.”

“It’s not Frank,” Eddie shakes his head. “It’s a different therapist. He’s more… specialised.”

“Family stuff?” Buck asks gently.

“Some of it,” Eddie nods, watching as Buck tilts his head, clearly tempted to probe further, but then visibly deciding against it.

The Eddie of the past would have taken the reprieve, grateful for the chance to avoid more explanation. 

But he isn’t hiding anymore. 

He wants Buck to know.

“He specialises with a lot of things, but the main focus for me has been family trauma, self-worth, and…” Eddie swallows, “…sexuality and identity.”

He half expects the words to trip him up, to rush out in a tumble, but instead he hears himself speak them clearly, not even a stutter.

“Oh.” Buck blinks, and for a second he looks completely caught off guard. 

Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the subject itself or the openness with which he said it that shocks Buck.

“Mmh,” Eddie hums.

“I didn’t know you…” Buck starts, then cuts himself off. 

The silence that follows is almost comical—Buck rarely runs out of words, rarely leaves a thought unfinished.

“I think I might be gay,” Eddie says, surprising even himself, some part of him must have decided there’s no point in circling around it anymore and didn’t let the rest of him know. 

Buck wets his lips, his gaze dropping to his hands, before he pulls them tight to his chest. “You think?” he asks carefully.

Eddie ponders the question for a moment. 

The truth is that he doesn’t know for certain yet, not in a way that feels fully defined. 

So far in therapy his sexuality is something that he and Mike have only brushed against, the main focus has been on his family—the secrets that were kept from him, the weight of those revelations, and how all of it has shaped the way he treats himself.

Even without diving into all of it, the one thing he knows with absolute certainty is that he is in love with Buck. 

So… he’s not straight.

Because the way his chest goes tight when he thinks about him, the way he imagines a future at his side, living a life he actually wants filled with a kind of intimacy he’s never craved before… 

That is not the imagination of a straight man. 

What he hasn’t figured out yet is whether those feelings are only because Buck is Buck, or because Buck is a man and this is the first time Eddie has ever allowed himself to want that before.

He’s turned it over in his head endlessly, picking apart his past with a fine tooth comb, and the truth remains slippery. 

He knows he never loved Marisol. He knows he never loved Ana. He knows that none of the women he’s been with have ever made him feel the way Buck does. 

But he also knows that he really did love Shannon, he still does in a lot of ways. Maybe that love belongs more to Christopher, maybe it’s bound up in grief and the permanence of loss rather than romance. 

He can’t quite untangle it all.

He wants to know for certain, but he isn’t there yet. 

Part of all the work he’s been doing on himself, every hard conversation, every piece of self-reflection, has been about learning to give himself grace. 

He’s so tired of pretending he has all the answers when the truth is that he doesn’t.

He just isn’t there yet. 

But he’s beginning to understand that there’s no shame in letting himself take his time to get there. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says finally. “ I don’t know yet.”

Buck gives him a small, almost soft smile.

It’s Eddie’s favourite one. 

Buck is always smiling—it’s just part of who he is—his face rarely falls into expressions of disinterest or boredom like it does for most people.

But Eddie knows better. 

Not all of Buck’s smiles mean happiness. 

There are different shades to them, ones that don’t reach his eyes, subtle shifts that only someone who really knows him can see.

This one is different. It’s gentle and private, tinted with the faintest rosy flush across his cheeks, like it belongs only to Eddie.

“But you know for sure that you’re not straight?” Buck asks carefully.

“Definitely not straight,” Eddie answers, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that surprises even him.

Buck bites down on his lip, looks away briefly, then back again. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” he says quietly. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

For always loving me.

For saying you’re proud of me. 

For being patient with me.

Dear Younger Me,

This feels unbelievably stupid. I don’t even know why I’m doing it, except my therapist said it will help and I guess I’m doing this thing where I try now. 

For you. And for me. 

For the kid I once was and for the kid I brought into the world too.

Here’s the truth, Buddy. 

Things aren’t as simple as what you think. 

The man you call Dad isn’t your biological father. That secret is going to gut you and make you question everything when it comes out. 

You’ll wonder if you really belong in your family, if you were ever even wanted or if you were just some kind of mistake.

But listen to me.

You are not a mistake. 

You are more than their lies. 

Because blood doesn’t decide your worth. 

You do.

You’ll spend a lot of years trying to be perfect, trying to be the son they wanted, the man they expected, the soldier who never falters. 

You’ll burn yourself down in the process, and I wish more than anything that I could spare you from that but I can’t. 

What I can tell you is that all the pressure and silence won’t break you forever.

You’ll have a son and he will be the best thing that ever happens to you. You’ll look at him and see the proof that you’re good, even when you can’t convince yourself it’s there. You’ll raise him the way you wish someone had raised you… with love that isn’t conditional.

You are going to fall in love with someone. Don’t freak out, but it won’t look the way you thought love was supposed to look, and it won’t feel the way anyone else tried to tell you it will feel. 

It’s better. 

His name is Buck. He’s stubborn and loyal and beautiful and impossible not to care about. He will see parts of you no one else ever has and he will think all of them are okay just as they are. 

You’ll fight it, you’ll deny it, but when you finally let yourself want him, it’ll feel like breathing for the first time.

You’re not broken, you just have pieces missing, and when he finally comes along, he’ll make you feel whole.

I wish you could know that there is nothing wrong with you. 

Not for who you love, not for how much you feel, not for all the things that were kept hidden from you, not for the ways you’re still learning to be yourself even after you think you should have it all figured out.

I can’t rewrite what happens to you. 

But I can tell you this… We’re still here.

You’re not defective or unlovable or incapable of love.

I promise you, you are enough.

You have a hell of a ride in front of you, but I think it might be worth it.

Good luck.

Love from, 

You Me Older you 

Eddie 

Mike thought the letter he wrote was good. He said Eddie had really leaned into the assignment, that he’d gone deeper than most people were willing to. 

That it was honest, raw, and brave.

Eddie hadn’t felt brave writing it.  

If anything he just felt exposed. 

But he couldn’t deny it had helped. 

He let himself be vulnerable without flinching, without patching the cracks over to make it seem all seem better.

It was uncomfortable as fuck, but he was proud of himself for doing it.

The only problem with writing something that personal, is that it wasn’t exactly meant for anyone else’s eyes. 

Not when it was filled with secrets.

“What does half of this even mean?” His son throws the notebook onto the table, and it skids along the surface, pages flapping open right to the letter.

Eddie is halfway through his breakfast, he’d just been minding his own business, waiting for Christopher to join him. 

He stares down at the book like it’s ticking down, a bomb he forgot he left armed.

He has no idea which part Christopher is even talking about. It could really be anything, almost every word of that letter is dangerous in its own way.

Is it the part about being a bastard affair baby? 

The part about Buck, about Eddie being in love with the man who’s not only saved both of their lives, but who’s become part of their family, and is one of Christopher’s favourite people in the world?

Maybe it’s simply the fact that Eddie apparently dislikes himself so much he has to write to the kid he used to be just to remember he’s worth a damn?

All of it together?

Any of it would be enough to upset Christopher. 

Eddie doesn’t even know where to start.

“Chris—” Eddie starts, but it comes out too sharp, too defensive. He forces himself to breathe, to ease the edge out of his voice. “Hey, sit down. Please.”

“No.” Christopher replies firmly. He jabs a finger toward the notebook on the table. “All of that—” his voice wavers, frustration pulling at it, “you’ve just done it again, you’ve—” He stops himself, his lips pressing together, and gives a small shake of his head. “I’ve got to get to school.”

“Christopher,” Eddie says quietly. “We don’t have to leave yet. We should talk about this.”

“Just forget it, I don’t want to talk about it. And you clearly don’t either, since you haven’t said anything. So… can we just go?”

Eddie bites down on the inside of his cheek, staring at his son. Every instinct tells him not to let it go, to press, to make Christopher sit down and talk it through right now before it festers into something worse.

The last time he gave Christopher space, he let him go to Texas, let him shut him out. 

But Eddie can see that Christopher is hurt and angry right now, maybe this isn’t the right time to try and explain all of this to him. 

Eddie exhales, and nods once. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Okay. We’ll leave it for now.”

Christopher hesitates, like he’s waiting for the catch, and Eddie forces himself to keep his voice calm when he proves his kid right. “But we are going to talk about it.”

Christopher doesn’t answer right away, but the flicker in his eyes says he heard, and he’s taking in what Eddie is saying. He nods toward the door. “We’re gonna be late.”

No they’re not. 

They don’t normally leave for another half an hour. 

But Eddie isn’t going to fight him on it right now. 

“Okay.”

Eddie doesn’t have a shift, so he spends most of the morning moving through chores that don’t really need doing, tidying things that are already in order, making lists for groceries that could wait another day, anything to try and occupy himself, even though his mind keeps circling back to the same problem. 

How is he even supposed to explain all of this to Christopher?

He never wanted anyone to read the letter. 

He didn’t even want Mike to read it, and yet he’d forced himself to hand it over because that was the point of the exercise.

It’s how he gets better. 

Christopher finding it feels like the absolute worst outcome. This isn’t how Eddie wanted his son to learn the things he’s been burying. He wanted time, he wanted space to untangle it all first. He was working on it, he was trying, and now it feels like that effort has been ripped out of his hands.

He wonders if he’s no better than his own parents, slipping into the same patterns of lies and half truths, hiding things from the one person who deserves his honesty most.

By the time he drives to the store, his head is already heavy, and what should be a quick errand turns into a drawn out distraction. 

He wanders through the aisles, misses items, circles back again, spends too long standing still as if maybe hesitation will help him figure this out. 

He ends up staring at the endless rows of cereal, debating if giving in to something overly sweet could act as a peace offering or if he should stick to the usual plain Cheerios. 

How did he fuck everything up again so quickly? 

Things were better. Christopher has been happy since he came home, it felt like life was smoothing out again, like all the rough was softening. 

Now he has managed to make his son feel hurt and isolated… again.

“Eddie?”

The sound of his name jolts him out of his thoughts, his body twitching in surprise. He turns and finds himself staring at a man whose face is vaguely familiar, though for a few beats Eddie cannot place him. 

He meets so many people at work—fleeting interactions, names and faces he tries to remember but rarely does—and the recognition lingers without context.

“Josh,” the man says quickly, patting his chest. “You probably don’t recognise me without a screaming baby. You helped me with my son Oscar, last month.”

And suddenly it clicks. 

The frantic father blaming himself too harshly, the tiny boy red faced and miserable, four months and sixteen days old if Eddie remembers correctly. 

Maybe if Oscar had been there now, Eddie would have remembered the man sooner.

“Right,” Eddie nods. “Sorry. How are you both? How’s Oscar doing?”

“We’re good,” Josh says, smiling with a touch of awkwardness as he rubs the back of his neck. “That paracetamol you told me to buy worked wonders. But honestly, the advice you gave me… that was even better.”

Advice? 

Eddie frowns. 

He doesn’t remember giving advice. 

What he does remembers is the pounding in his own head, and the way everything felt close to breaking apart.

Josh continues, dipping into a more earnest tone now. “I’m glad I ran into you because I wanted to say thank you… for not judging me, for just being kind. I really needed to hear it that day, that I didn’t need to be perfect, I just needed to try my best. I’ve been repeating that to myself since then, and it’s helped more than you probably realise.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that.

He just stands there like an idiot, holding a box of fruit loops he doesn’t remember picking up, staring at this man who is looking at him like he made a difference.

It stings because Josh is repeating his own words back to him, and they are very ones Eddie can’t seem to apply to himself.

He thinks about Christopher, about the look on his son’s face when he threw the notebook down in front of him, about the betrayal in his eyes, and it twists in Eddie’s chest. 

He wants so badly to believe what Josh is saying, to accept that effort matters more than being perfect, but right now it feels hollow. 

Because if trying is enough, then why does it never feel that way?

“You’re welcome,” Eddie forces himself to smile.

“Us dads are just doing our best, right? We’ve gotta stick together,” Josh says, giving a little wave of his hand. “It’s our first time too. We’ve got this… or at least, you know, we’re figuring it out.”

We’ve got this. 

“Yeah,” Eddie replies slowly, testing the words, but then he nods more firmly. “Yeah, we do.”

Because what is he going to do instead? 

Keep pretending everything is fine and keep lying to his kid? No. 

Let Christopher wander around feeling lost and alone? Absolutely not. 

Send him packing back to Texas as if that will fix anything? Over his dead fucking body.

He has to fix this. 

Maybe they really do have it.

In their own imperfect ways, fumbling through late nights and hard days, trying and failing and trying again.

Always trying again. 

It’s not about always having the answer and never making mistakes—it’s about showing up, about being there, about keeping at it even when you feel like you’re falling short.

He mind drifts to Christopher and the way he walked straight into his arm when he saw him standing in his bedroom back in El Paso. 

Despite everything, despite the missteps and the secrets, Eddie is still the person Christopher comes back to, and maybe that counts for something.

So he smiles back at Josh, and it’s not forced this time, but small and real. “We’ve got this.”

”yeah, we do.”

”I’ve, uh, I’ve gotta go, Josh,” Eddie stumbles, reaching out and patting his arm. “See you around.”

He leaves the cart behind without a second thought—it hardly had anything in it anyway—and heads straight for the car, his mind already made up by the time he pulls out of the parking lot. 

The drive to Christopher’s school feels both too quick and too long, every red light giving him a second to reconsider but never enough to change his mind.

At the front desk, the receptionist looks puzzled when he says he’s there to pick up his son for an appointment. 

Eddie pastes on a polite smile and lies through his teeth. “I’m so sorry, I thought I sent an email about it.”

The wait is awkward, and when Christopher finally comes into the office he looks annoyed, eyebrows drawn tight, lips pressed in a line. 

He doesn’t call Eddie out in front of the staff though, and Eddie is grateful for that small grace.

Once they’re in the car, Christopher immediately turns toward the window and slumps against the door, his whole posture radiating teenage discontent. 

Eddie watches him for a moment before a smile pulls at his mouth. Despite feeling awful about everything, there’s something soft in the sight of his kid navigating this stage of life, all attitude and eye rolls and silent protests.

“Wanna go to the beach?” Eddie asks lightly.

“Not really,” Christopher mutters without looking at him.

“Hm. Too bad,” Eddie replies with a shrug, starting the car before Christopher can argue.

It’s not a particularly sunny day, but it isn’t unpleasant either. 

November has brought a mild coolness to the air, the kind that doesn’t chill but instead makes the warmth of the sun feel welcome.

They haven’t said much since leaving the car, but sitting side by side in the sand with the ocean spread out before them seems to have eased some of the tension weighing on Christopher, his posture a little less rigid now. 

Eddie doesn’t push. 

He knows better than to force it. 

So, he waits, watching his son out of the corner of his eye, reading the thoughts that are written across his face even in profile.

“I’m angry,” Christopher says at last.

“Why?” Eddie asks, not because he doesn’t think the anger is justified, but because he wants to hear the words from him directly, to understand how he is processing it.

Christopher hesitates, his fingers dragging through the sand in front of him, giving himself something to focus on. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Eddie knows the only thing he really has left is the truth. 

“Because I wasn’t ready,” he admits softly, eyes fixed forward on the waves swallowing the shoreline. “I’m still trying to work it all out myself, and I wasn’t ready to share it with you yet.”

Christopher shifts beside him, his tone confused now rather than sharp. “I don’t really get what I was even reading… does it mean that abuelo isn’t your dad?”

“Yeah, that’s what it meant,” Eddie says quietly. “He’s not my dad.”

The words seem to ignite a fresh wave of frustration in his son. “How could you not tell me that?” 

“Because I only just found out,” Eddie explains quickly, wishing he could take some of the sting away, but knowing there’s no easy way to soften it.

Christopher’s face falls, he looks devastated, and Eddie feels his heart literally break in half at the sight. 

“You said it hurt you in the letter,” Christopher murmurs, eyes dropping to the sand. “So you’re feeling all of that right now?”

Eddie swallows hard. He doesn’t want this sort of weight pressing on Christopher’s shoulders. 

This isn’t Christopher’s burden to carry, and Eddie knows he has to be careful not to make it one.

“Can I speak for a moment, be completely honest with you?” Eddie asks. 

Christopher nods, waiting for him to continue.

Eddie gives himself a second to breathe, to steady the words before they tumble out, and then he turns to face his son fully because he needs Christopher to understand every part of what he’s saying.

“You weren’t supposed to see that letter,” Eddie begins quietly. “I shouldn’t have left it where you could find it, and I’m really sorry that you read it. But the reason you weren’t meant to read it isn’t because I was never going to tell you… it’s because I wasn’t ready for you to know. You’re my son, and I love you more than anything, and every instinct I have is to protect you from pain whenever I can. This was hidden from me, and the way I found out broke something inside me that I haven’t fixed yet. 

I’ve been going to therapy, that’s the whole reason I even wrote the letter in the first place. I’ve been trying to make myself stronger so that when I sat here and explained all of this to you, I would have answers for you. But the truth is, I don’t have all of them yet. Learning that your abuelo isn’t my dad, has really broken parts of me, Christopher. It’s made me question almost everything about who I am, and I don’t know how to put that into words without passing some of that pain on to you. I’m only just learning that I don’t deserve to carry all of that that, so you definitely don’t deserve to carry it either.”

The silence that follows is long and almost suffocating. But Eddie endures it, he gives Christopher time to absorb what he just said, and interpret it however he needs to. 

“Are Abuelo and Abuela the ones that hurt you?” Christopher asks quietly. 

Eddie closes his eyes, lowering his head. 

He doesn’t want to lie, but he also doesn’t want to hand his son a reason to be angry with people he loves. 

Christopher deserves the relationship he has with his grandparents, because no matter how complicated things are, they love him, and he loves them.

But when Eddie looks up, Christopher’s expression isn’t one of confusion or sadness—it’s expectant, like he already knows the truth but wants Eddie to confirm it. 

Maybe Eddie’s not really protecting Christopher at all. 

Maybe he’s really been protecting his parents.

“Yes,” Eddie says finally.

“They knew and didn’t tell you?” Christopher presses.

“Yes.”

“That’s what you and abuela were fighting about? That’s why you came to bring me home?”

“Yes.”

Christopher hesitates for a moment, then asks with startling directness, “Are you in love with Buck?”

Eddie can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Yes. But that has nothing to do with your grandparents.”

“You put that in the letter too,” Christopher says with a shrug, looking down at the sand again. “I’ll be honest, that was the least surprising part of the it.” He’s quiet for a beat before glancing up again. “Did you used to feel like a mistake? Or do you still feel that way?”

Shit.

Truthfully, Eddie doesn’t really remember every line of what he wrote, but he does remember telling his younger self he wasn’t a mistake. 

He didn’t write that because it’s something he’s ever really felt, his wounds are quieter and more ordinary. A running sense of not being good enough, not clever enough, not tough enough 

It was the revelation of the circumstances of his birth that has lead to him writing that. 

His mother had gotten pregnant during an affair, and with that came the clear implication that he’d been an accident, something unplanned and unwanted.

A mistake.

Hearing his fourteen-year-old son ask the question so directly feels like being smacked right across the face. 

If Mike’s next homework assignment was that he had to tell Christopher every time he thinks something cruel about himself, and try to justify it out loud—he thinks he’d never have a bad thought about himself again. 

He never, ever wants his son to inherit that kind of self-loathing.

“No,” Eddie says. “I don’t feel that way. Because if there’s no me, then there’s no you, and I think the world would be a pretty lousy place without us in it.”

Christopher rolls his eyes. “You’re so lame.”

Eddie grins.

They sit for a while, watching the tide pull back and roll forward, over and over again.

Everything seems to calm. 

“The beach reminds me of your mom,” Eddie says eventually.

As Christopher has grown older, talking about Shannon has become both easier and harder. The whole mess with Kim made it more complicated, but neither of them flinches now when they say her name.

“Which is strange, because we never really came to the beach until she came back,” Eddie adds thoughtfully.

“Do you miss her?” Christopher asks.

“Of course I do.”

“Would you still be in love with Buck if she was alive?”

Eddie hesitates, and Christopher notices. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he says with a sigh. “I wouldn’t be hurt if the answer is yes.”

“The answer is yes,” Eddie replies carefully. “I was only hesitating because the next question I’d have to ask myself… I don’t know if I can answer it.”

“What’s the next question?” Christopher tilts his head.

“If I loved your mom the same way I love Buck.”

“Probably not,” Christopher says without pause.

Eddie lets out a short laugh, both at the ease with which his son answers and the truth behind the words. 

He’s spent weeks wrestling with that exact thought, but Christopher delivers it like it’s obvious, like it’s not something to agonise over.

“Why do you say that?” Eddie asks.

“Because the harder answer is always harder to admit,” Christopher explains simply. “If the answer was yes, you’d say so. But you don’t… and that’s harder to live with.”

“When did you get so wise?” Eddie teases, nudging him lightly.

“I’ve always been wise. You just don’t tell me anything, so I never get to prove it.”

Probably true.

“Does this mean you’re gay?” Christopher asks confused, his nose scrunching.

“I don’t know,” Eddie admits honestly. “I’m still figuring that out.”

“Are you going to tell Buck you love him?”

“It’s not the right time yet.”

“Seriously? You’ve had more than enough time, you met him when I was like seven. That’s half my life, dad. Don’t be so lame.”

Eddie laughs. “It wouldn’t bother you if I told him?”

“No.”

“What if we dated?”

“Would I have to see it?” Christopher asks with a hint of disgust, then bursts out laughing. “I was about to say it’d be like watching my parents kiss—but you are my parents.” He cackles at his own joke.

Eddie laughs too, shaking his head. “It really wouldn’t bother you?”

“Buck’s my last chance at siblings,” Christopher says with a grin. “Otherwise I’m sort of worried you’ll die alone.”

“Wow. Brutal, kid,” Eddie mutters, though his heart feels lighter.

“You deserve to be happy,” Christopher shrugs. “Buck already makes you happy, so if you were together, you’d be even happier. And I think you’d make him really happy too.”

He makes it sound so simple. 

Maybe it is.

“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly, a little wistfully. “I think we would be happy.”

“Can I ask you something else?” Christopher asks.

“Of course.”

“Are you going to forgive Abuela and Abuelo?”

“Do you think I should?” Eddie replies carefully.

Christopher takes his time before answering. “I think I wouldn’t like it if you talked to me the way they talk to you. I think that’s why I called them that day—because I was mad at you, and they always seem mad at you too.”

“That makes sense. I’m sorry you felt like that, Buddy,” Eddie says gently. 

“I’m sorry I called them.”

Eddie reaches over and pats his leg, trying to give him a little reassurance, and they share a quiet moment that says more than either of them could put into words.

“To answer your question, I don’t think my relationship with them can be fixed right now, or even any time soon. But that doesn’t mean you can’t keep loving them, or talking to them. I would never take that from you.”

“I don’t like how they treat you, Dad.”

“Your relationship with them isn’t about me.”

“No,” Christopher says steadily. “But my relationship with them is about me. And even though you didn’t want me to read that letter, I did, and I don’t know how to forgive people who made you feel that way. It hurts me to know that people I trust, have hurt my dad like that.”

“Chris—”

“No, just listen,” Christopher interrupts, shifting so he’s squarely facing Eddie. “I’m not a kid anymore,” Eddie valiantly disagrees, “I get things more than you think I do, and you don’t have to smile through stuff or pretend you’re fine when you’re not. That letter… it was the closest I’ve ever felt to you, because for once you weren’t hiding anything from me. And yeah, it made me angry, because it felt like you’d been keeping things from me, but it also felt real. There was good mixed in with the bad, and I could tell all the bad stuff was because of them. And I don’t forgive them for making you feel like that.”

Eddie feels the tightness in his chest grow, his eyes stinging with an onslaught of emotion he can’t hold back.

“You’re protective of me because you’re my dad,” Christopher continues, softer now, “and I’m protective of you too, because you’re my dad. I don’t like when people hurt my dad.”

Eddie swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat, but he manages a smile. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a bodyguard before.”

“Well, you’ve got one now,” Christopher smirks, nudging him with his shoulder. “But you should know my rates are pretty high.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie raises a brow. “What’s it gonna cost me?”

“Eleven o’clock bedtime,” Christopher says immediately, his grin wide. “Every night. No exceptions.”

Eddie snorts, the heaviness loosening as he shakes his head. “Ten forty-five.”

“Eleven fifteen,” Christopher counters, eyes gleaming.

“I don’t know,” Eddie muses, pretending to think it over. “With that kind of cockiness, I might just knock it down to nine thirty.”

Christopher groans dramatically, then laughs. “Ten forty-five is good.”

“I bet,” Eddie mutters, but the smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

Christopher grins at him, the tension between them finally breaking. 

Christopher leans back looking out at the ocean, and Eddie watches him, the tension that had sat like a stone between them finally gone. 

Eddie doesn’t need to be perfect. 

He doesn’t need to have every answer or say every word perfectly. 

He just has to keep trying, keep showing up, keep loving his kid the best he can.

And Eddie thinks they’re going to be okay.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Fresh start?

Hi Emilia,

Happy 26th Birthday!!

When I turned 26, I joined my firehouse.

It was one of the best and hardest years of my life, because it was also the year I lost my wife, Shannon.

I don’t share that to say your 26th year will be anything like mine, but looking back, I think it was the first time I really felt like an adult.

Which probably sounds strange, considering I’d already been to war and I had been raising Christopher for seven years by then. 

But something about making the choice to become a firefighter and finally stepping into it, made my life feel like it was finally my own.

I hope today is a good one for you, and that you take time to celebrate.

Wish Max a happy birthday from me too.

I’d like to think this email can be the first of many between us?

Sending love,

Eddie

P.S. It’s not crazy. I really miss you too.

Christmas is less than a week away, and with that comes the usual increase in calls that all revolve, in one way or another, around the same thing—the difficulty of people trying, and often failing, to spend time together.

They get called out to domestic arguments that escalate, office parties where too much alcohol and too little sense mix badly, and shopping centres so crowded that even a small fall leads to chaos.

This time, the 118 is dispatched to an Airbnb where a family dispute has spilled onto the porch, resulting in a man slipping and hurting himself in the middle of a shouting match. 

By the time they arrive, the police are already there, attempting to work out what exactly happened and why the argument is still going strong.

Hen and Chimney are quick to assess the patient, who is sitting upright and talking clearly enough to prove he isn’t in any immediate danger, while Eddie stands beside Buck, both of them more or less relegated to playing spectator as two women continue to hurl words back and forth.

“Why did you even come if you’re so disgusted by me?” the younger woman demands.

“You’re our daughter, we want what’s best for you,” the older one replies.

“No you don’t, Mom,” the girl fires back. “You want what’s best for you. So just leave, and don’t come back next time.”

”We just think it’s time for this experiment to be over now,” the mom shouts. “It’s been three years, Ava Marie.”

”It’s not an experiment. It’s my fucking life.” The daughter snaps back. She waves her hand dismissively, then walks away. 

Eddie’s eyes track her as she turns and looks around at everyone watching, and he has to do a double take—because holy shit—he knows her. 

The girl arguing in a Christmas sweater and novelty antlers with bells attached that continue to jingle as she throws back jabs at her mother, is none other than Ava. 

Lesbian Oprah.

She notices him at almost the same time as he notices her, tilting her head before recognition flashes across her face. 

Her eyes go wide, embarrassment colouring her cheeks, and the unmistakable trace of sorrow tells Eddie she’s not just caught in an argument. 

She’s hurting.

Without hesitating, Eddie strides over to her. 

“What do you need?” he asks in a whisper.

“Of course you’re a fireman,” Ava mutters, and rolls her eyes. “Can you arrest my mom?”

“Unfortunately I’ve got as much authority as you do on that front,” Eddie grins. “And we prefer firefighter, not fireman.”

“Oh my god, your big boy is one too,” she says, nodding toward Buck. 

Eddie glances over and sees Buck watching them intently, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. Ava wiggles her fingers in a mocking little wave, that only makes Buck look more baffled.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks again, bringing her focus back to him.

“Nope,” Ava answers bluntly. She grins and it’s quick and bright, the kind that people wear to disguise how much they are actually hurting. “Thought when they said they wanted to see me for Christmas it meant things were getting better. But you heard her. I’m a disgrace.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says softly. 

“Not your fault.” She shrugs, then perks up with a nosiness that feels familiar. “So, how did your whole messy thing go with your bio dad?”

It’s almost admirable, that even when she’s clearly upset she’s still digging for gossip.

“Not good, but not bad either,” he admits.

With some distance from his trip to Dallas and more hours of therapy with Mike, Eddie has been able to find a measure of closure. 

He still can’t bring himself to forgive his parents, but he has managed to let go of his hurt toward Julian. 

While he knows he isn’t ready yet, he hopes that next year will give him enough courage to reach out and try again with his biological father.

“You don’t sound all that upset,” Ava notes.

“I’m not,” Eddie replies simply. “And besides, I’m working right now. I’m hardly going to break down in tears in the middle of a call. But I really am doing a lot better now.”

“Have you told him you want to live inside him yet?” Ava says, jerking her chin in Buck’s direction.

“Ava.” Eddie’s teeth clench around her name.

“What? I’m being disowned again, give me something good.”

Eddie falls back on the reason he once heard from Buck. “It’s not the right time.”

“Please,” Ava scoffs. “He looks two seconds away from combusting just from you talking to me, and the two of us are gayer than Pride. It’s Christmas, get yourself the one gift you actually want and tell him.”

Great.

Now she’s lesbian Santa.

“Shouldn’t you go check that your dad is okay?” Eddie deflects.

“He barely fell. He just wanted my mom to stop yelling,” Ava says with a snort. “So what’s actually holding you back? Because if it’s really this whole ‘it’s not the right time’ excuse, then please tell me when exactly would be the right time? He obviously feels the same.”

Eddie doesn’t answer, mostly because he doesn’t know how to.

“That’s what I thought,” Ava says smugly. 

“Every conversation I have with you gives me a headache,” he mutters.

“Thanks, I’ve been told I have that effect on people.”

“How’s your girlfriend?” Eddie deflects, hoping to steer them onto safer ground.

“Oh, she was like two relationships ago.” Ava waves a hand dismissively. “I’m thinking of marrying myself now. You know, like Sue Sylvester.”

Eddie has no idea what that means, but he nods politely anyway, and wishes her all the best.

“Did you know her?” Buck asks as Eddie climbs back into the truck, sliding into the seat in front of him.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, buckling in. “That’s Ava. The girl I sat next to on the flight to Dallas.”

Buck frowns for a moment, running the name through his head, and then his eyes go wide. “Wait. The one who said I was cute?”

Eddie lets out a short laugh. “That’s the one.”

Buck blinks, replaying the argument they’d just witnessed, his head tilting. “But her mom was losing it, and… so she is queer? And you’re sure she actually thought—”

“Speaking of the flight to Dallas,” Eddie cuts in smoothly, “how’s Judith and the knitting going?”

“Crochet,” Buck groans and grabs his headphones, sliding them over his ears. “You know it’s crochet.”

Eddie smirks. 

He does. That’s the point.

“And for your information,” Buck continues, “I think Judith is avoiding me. She still hasn’t sent over her family’s Christmas chocolate fudge recipe like she promised.”

“Damn,” Eddie clicks his tongue, enjoying himself. “Guess you’re not as deep in her circle of trust as you thought.”

“Mean,” Buck pouts, leaning back in his seat. “Maybe I’ll just find some random recipe online. Who needs Judith anyway?”

Buck pulls out his phone, clearly scrolling for recipes, and Eddie just can’t help it sometimes. 

He watches him.

The way Buck’s mouth pulls down when he pouts, the way his brow furrows with this ridiculous level of focus over something as simple as Christmas candy. 

I love him. I love him. I love him. 

It’s stupid and endearing and so perfectly Buck that Eddie feels that now too familiar flutter in his belly. 

Ava’s voice flashes back in his head. 

If it’s really this whole ‘it’s not the right time’ excuse, then please tell me when exactly would be the right time?

He obviously feels the same.

And Eddie realises with a jolt that she’s right… it isn’t about it being the wrong time anymore. 

That’s just the excuse he’s been clinging to.

Every minute he sits here, laughing at Buck’s dramatics and swallowing everything he feels, he’s not being careful anymore, he’s not listening to what Buck said in the motel, he’s…

Wasting time. Wasting chances. 

Every day he spends biting his tongue, pretending the feelings don’t burn through him every second they’re together, is a day he’s not living the life he actually wants. 

A day lost.

And what if one day, Buck stops waiting for him to get his shit together. 

That thought curls sharp in his heart, heavier than anything he’s carried on the job, heavier even than the lies he grew up under. 

He doesn’t want to look back and realise he let complacency steal it all from him.

Across from him, Buck brightens suddenly, triumphant and completely oblivious to Eddie’s inner turmoil. “Okay, fuck it. I’ll need to do this on my laptop, not my phone. Then I’m spending tomorrow making fudge.”

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Eddie smiles, small and soft, but the ache doesn’t ease. 

If anything, it only makes the choice clearer. 

He can’t keep wasting time. 

“You’ll help me right?” Buck asks. 

“Of course.”

“Are you letting Chris go to that Christmas gaming party?" 

“You mean my son's excuse to spend hours in front of the television with his friends over the holidays, masked as a Christmas party? Yeah, it’s tomorrow. He’ll have square eyes when he’s returned to me the next day.” 

“Okay, grandpa,” Buck balances his head on his fist, closing his eyes and snores loudly like an old man. Then he peeks his eyes back open, and grins at him. “You should take the win, we can have loads of fun without Chris. I’ll grab the ingredients once we finish, and then I’ll come over to yours. We can make care packages for everyone. Oh, we can take some to the food bank. This is great. Fudge and giving.”

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Eddie thinks about everything that just happened on the way back to the station.

Buck.

Ava.

Fudge.

Somehow it all loops together in his head, and by the time they’re back, Eddie’s thoughts take an unexpected turn towards Julian. 

Maybe he’d have a recipe. 

Maybe he even has a killer fudge recipe tucked away somewhere.

Lately, Eddie’s been emailing Emilia back. 

They’ve been trying to figure out what it means to be siblings when you missed each other’s entire lives. 

And boy, can she talk. 

Once he gave her the green light, the floodgates opened, her emails are now pages long, each one stacked with so much information and so many questions it takes Eddie half an hour just to respond back.

But there are lines they haven’t crossed.

Julian. 

Of course, Eddie just hasn’t been ready to get into much about his biological father. 

And they’ve stuck to emailing one another, even thought they each have one another’s phone numbers. 

No texting. No phone calls. No FaceTimes. 

Just email.

Could he just… message her out of the blue about fudge? 

It feels stupid. He doesn’t actually know what kind of chef Julian is—maybe he never touches desserts, maybe fudge is the furthest thing from his wheelhouse. 

But maybe this could be an opening. 

A way of quietly saying it’s okay to talk about Julian again.

And if it also gets Buck what he wants… well, that feels worth it in Eddie’s eyes. 

So Eddie types, quick and awkward, before he can talk himself out of it. 

Eddie:
Hi. This is probably a long shot, but does Julian have a recipe for fudge? Even better if it involves chocolate?
No worries if not
Hope winter break is going well🎄

He forgets about it almost immediately, it’s easy to do the deeper they get into the evening. It gets busy after 7pm with seemingly endless calls. 

When things slow down enough for rest, he doesn’t think to check his phone, instead falling face first into his bunk.

He doesn’t noticed she replied until 4am, when they are back in the rig on their way back to the station, after a call involving a drunk driving Santa that crashed into a palm tree. 

Only in Los Angeles. 

Emilia replied hours ago.

Emilia:
I’ll have to ask him and get back to you!

Emilia:
He has two fudge recipes, and one is chocolate!! 🥳🎅🏻
[attached: two photos of handwritten pages. One of a classic fudge, the other  a recipe for chocolate marshmallow fudge.]

Eddie grins, reaching over to whack Buck’s shoulder. Buck has his eyes closed dozing, which is an absolutely terrible idea anyway. He’ll just be cranky when Eddie has to wake him once they are back at the station, so Eddie doesn’t feel so bad stopping him from entering any kind of real sleep.

“Hm?” Buck hums groggily.

Eddie hands him the phone. It takes a second, but once Buck pieces it together, he looks up at Eddie with wide eyes.

“I thought you weren’t ready to talk about Julian with Emilia yet?”

“You wanted a recipe,” Eddie shrugs. “I thought he might have one.”

“You did this for me?”

It’s such a simple question, but the way Buck asks it so earnestly makes Eddie’s heart race. 

Usually it’s Eddie in disbelief because Buck is the one always doing things for him, always reaching, always giving. 

But this time, it’s Eddie. 

And yeah, it’s so fucking stupid, because it’s about fudge of all things.

But it’s also not.

Because it’s something he did just for Buck. Something small but also sweet and intentional. 

Something a partner would do.

Something that proves that maybe he could be the kind of match Buck deserves.

“Yeah.”

Buck nudges his knee against Eddie’s, a bashful smile flickering on his face in the glow of passing streetlights. “Thanks.”

“Anything for you.”

And it’s the truth—Eddie would do anything. 

No matter how small, no matter how ridiculous. 

If it puts that smile on Buck’s face, it would always be worth it.

Something hilarious about Buck is that after all the times they’ve cooked or baked together, he still acts shocked when Eddie doesn’t lift a finger.

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t want to help. 

It’s not that he’s lazy, either. 

It’s that the second he so much as looks at a spatula, dares to weigh something on the scale, or even shifts in the kitchen while Buck is mid-process… the atmosphere changes.

Buck huffs if Eddie takes too long with a step. He glares if Eddie spills a grain of sugar on the counter. He groans like he’s watching someone commit a crime against humanity if Eddie stirs in the wrong direction.

The man is a tyrant.

And the worst part is how valid and justified his reaction is.

Because Eddie really is that bad in the kitchen. 

It doesn’t matter how hard he tries, disaster follows.

So now Eddie’s simply doesn’t even attempt to help. He plant himself on the counter, keep his hands to himself, listens to the Christmas playlist in the background, and watches while Buck does his thing.

Which is to say… he does everything.

Buck’s already got three trays of fudge cooling in Eddie’s fridge. Because apparently—to Eddie’s surprise—fudge takes no time at all to make. 

And now, instead of calling it a day like a sane person, Buck has happily moved on to making gingerbread people.

Which, for the record, Eddie already made (sat and watched) with Buck last week at the Wilson’s with Chris, Denny, Mara, and Jee-Yun.

Buck hums to himself as he rolls out the dough, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He cuts out a gingerbread man and sets it very carefully on the tray.

“You know,” Eddie says, just to poke at him, “you’re giving that little guy way too much respect. It’s dough, not a patient.”

“And yet, if I don’t give him respect, he’ll come out looking like a shark bite victim instead of a perfect little gingerbread man,” Buck doesn’t look up. “Would you like a tray full of amputees?”

“Might make things more exciting.”

“Oh yeah?” Finally Buck glances over, his eyebrow arched. “Am I boring you? Would you like me to juggle while I do everything?”

“Maybe,” Eddie deadpans, and Buck shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.

Eddie chuckles, but he doesn’t press, instead he lets himself really look at Buck. The way he moves around Eddie’s kitchen like he belongs there. The strength in his arms when he kneads the dough, the solid shape of his shoulders beneath his shirt, the curve of his back when he leans over the counter.

Eddie’s seen plenty of bodies in his life, but none of them have ever made him feel like he does when he watches Buck move. He’s never looked at a woman and wanted the way he wants Buck. Never had his fingers ache with the urge to touch, to stay close, to imagine a whole future wrapped up in someone else.

Buck moves to the sink to rinses his hands off, grabbing a dish towel to dry them, then he snaps it once in Eddie’s direction.

Eddie scowls. “Don’t start.”

Buck grins, leaning his hip against the counter, and slings the towel over his shoulder. 

Damn. 

“What? I can’t help it if you look like you’re about to fall asleep over there.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie mutters. 

He’s not. He’s burning.

“Sure,” Buck teases, head tilted, eyes glinting. “You’ve been staring at me for ten minutes straight. Should I be flattered, Eddie?”

Eddie blinks, caught out, and heat crawls up the back of his neck. “I wasn’t—”

“Uh-huh,” Buck drawls, clearly enjoying himself. “You were totally checking me out. Don’t worry, I’d check me out too if I were you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, trying to play it off, but God, it’s unfair—how Buck can be so effortless, so loose, so completely at ease—while Eddie’s face goes red, and his stomach twists with the undeniable truth of it.

He was staring.

Buck laughs at his silence, then goes to the oven to pull out the first load of cookies.

Eddie just sits there, completely undone, pulse thudding in his throat. Buck made it seem like a joke, like harmless banter, but to Eddie knows it’s not. 

It’s dangerous. 

It’s standing on the edge of something he’s wanted for longer than he’s willing to admit, and now nothing is stopping him from jumping off.

Would Buck think that baking cookies with Feliz Navidad playing in the background is  the right time? 

Is that romantic?

It’s still crazy to him, to recognise that he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at Buck.

Not Shannon, not any woman, not anyone.

He’s never felt his body thrum with want from just watching someone move around a kitchen, never wanted to close the distance so badly that it physically hurt to stay still.

So he swallows hard, looks away, and hopes Buck can’t see how red his ears have gone.

He clearly fails.

Buck moves past him to place the new cookies in to the oven, but he doesn’t just pass, he brushes against him in a way that he think both him and Buck know is completely unnecessary.

His hand settles briefly, on Eddie’s thigh to get past. Just a touch, just a second too long to be nothing.

Eddie forgets how to breathe.

But then Buck just moves away, tray in hand, a smug little smirk tugging at his mouth. “Man, you take up a lot of space for someone not even baking.”

Eddie swallows, trying to find his voice. “Maybe your just to big for my kitchen.”

Buck finally puts the cookies in the oven, turns back to him and tilts his head, eyes flicking around the room before they settle back on Eddie. “Or maybe I just need… someone who doesn’t distract me while I’m trying to work.”

Eddie looks away, but not before he catches the playful glint in Buck’s eyes.

The problem with all the new flirting they seem to be doing, is how much Eddie likes it. 

He wants Buck brushing against him, wants the weight of his hand on his leg, he wants the easy way he moves into Eddie’s space.

It doesn’t scare him anymore. 

It settles him instead.

It’s a want that feels more honest than anything else.

“Distracting?” Eddie finally manages, his voice rougher than he means.

Buck just grins. “The worst.”

Eddie’s heart is hammering in his chest, every beat loud enough he swears Buck could hear it if he tried.

He can feel himself slipping, composure unraveling thread by thread.

And then the playlist shifts, the speakers filling with All I Want for Christmas Is You. 

The opening notes are so on the nose it almost makes him laugh, but instead it steals the air from his lungs.

Because suddenly it doesn’t feel like coincidence. It feels like the universe is giving him a sign he doesn’t even believe in.

Because this is all he wants.

And for one dizzy second, he lets himself believe it’s destiny.

“Stop it,” Eddie whispers, his voice frayed.

“Stop what?” Buck steps closer.

Eddie stares, his mouth dry, tongue heavy. Words feel dangerous, like if he tries to name what’s happening, he’ll lose the fragile hold he has on himself.

“Stop what, Eddie?” Buck repeats, softer this time, moving even closer. 

Too close.

Come closer. 

Eddie clears his throat, then pushes off the counter, needing the ground beneath his feet. He doesn’t want to tower over Buck, doesn’t want any imbalance. 

If he’s finally going to do this, they have to be on par, level, even. 

Buck doesn’t step back. He holds his ground, which means Eddie has no choice but to close the last sliver of space himself. Their chests almost touching, Buck’s eyes angled down at him now, and Eddie can feel the heat radiating between them like it’s alive.

“Think you’re the one who’s gotta stop now,” Buck whispers, and the weight of it nearly buckles Eddie at the knees.

He doesn’t want to stop. 

God, he never wants to stop again.

He licks his lips without thinking, and Buck’s gaze tracks the movement. It’s cliché, something out of every bad romance Eddie’s ever pretended not to watch, but it breaks him anyway. 

The tension is unbearable, pressing in from all sides, leaving him nowhere to go but forward.

“Is now the right time?” Eddie hears himself ask, raw and quiet and so goddamn vulnerable, like he’s handing over every piece of himself.

Buck’s breath stutters. His eyes blaze. And then, before Eddie can regret the question, before he can even start to overthink… 

Buck kisses him.

The world tilts. Something inside Eddie cracks wide open, fierce and blinding and new.

And in that moment, Eddie swears he’s born again.

Buck kisses him like it’s the only thing he’s been waiting for, like he’s been holding back just as long, and the force of it nearly knocks Eddie off his feet.

Buck moves one hand to his hip, the other to the back of his neck, guiding him backward until Eddie feels the edge of the counter dig into his back. Buck’s body follows, crowding into his space, boxing him in so there’s nowhere else to go.

It’s electric. 

Every inch of him feels lit up, like his nerves don’t know how to handle this much input all at once. Buck’s mouth on his, Buck’s fingers brushing through his hair, Buck’s chest pressed firmly against his own.

Eddie fists his hand in Buck’s shirt, trying to get him even closer, as his heart roars in his chest.

Eddie has thought about this. 

God, Eddie has dreamed about this.

But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. It’s fire in his veins, thunder in his chest, something wild breaking loose inside him he doesn’t recognise.

For so long he’s held it all in, shoved his wants down so deep where they could only burn him. But now it’s all coming up at once, and he feels like he might split apart under the pressure of it.

Because this is Buck.

This is the man he trusts with his son, with his life, with his everything. 

And he’s kissing him back, tasting him, letting himself want without shame. 

It’s too much, and not nearly enough.

The explosion inside him is blinding. 

It’s relief and terror, joy and hunger, want and rapture, all tangled together. It feels like falling and flying at the same time, like his entire life has been leading here, to this kitchen, this moment, this kiss.

Then Buck pulls back—eyes dazed, chest heaving, lips shiny. 

Eddie doesn’t know if he’d ever have been able to gain the strength to do it himself. 

Buck doesn’t move far, just enough to breathe, just enough to look at him with eyes burning like he’s seeing something worth memorising.

Eddie, on the other hand, is sure he’s never looked worse. 

He feels wrecked, undone, flustered to the point of combustion. He feels like he’s one second away from clawing his way out of his own skin.

All he wants is to drag Buck back in, taste him again, take more, give more.

Hell, he wants to rip his own beating heart straight out of his chest and hand it to Buck, let him feast upon it until there’s nothing left of him. 

Buck stares at him, and he looks like he doesn’t even know why he stopped. 

Confused by his own restraint and completely lost for words.

Seeing Buck stumble is what snaps Eddie out of his own frenzy, and before he can stop himself, before he can even think, the words break free.

“I’m in love with you.”

He never said he was elegant. 

It’s just floats around them, naked and reckless.

Buck blinks, startled, almost like Eddie physically shoved him. 

But then he gives him a little laugh, one that sounds so soft and disbelieving. He rests his forehead against Eddie’s and the world steadies.

“Promise?” Buck whispers.

“I promise,” Eddie breathes back. 

Buck’s lips curve, small and sure. “Then I think I’m in love with you too.”

Eddie huffs out a shaky laugh of his own, thinking of that conversation they had weeks ago about therapy, about the truth he’d been circling.

I think I might be gay.

“You think?”

“Mm.” Buck grins, and it’s devastating how beautiful he is. “No, I’m positive.” His voice gentles, his smile softens. “I love you, Eddie. I love you so much.”

Something tender and fragile blooms in his chest. He echoes back Buck’s question because it’s all he can do, because he needs Buck to be sure. “Promise?”

Buck’s answer comes without hesitation, warm and steady with reassurance. “I promise.”

The words settle between them, and Eddie feels something inside him give way, the last lock on a door finally breaking open.

And then Buck leans in again, soft lips pressed against his own. It’s not desperate this time, not all teeth and hunger… it’s gentler, slower, reverent. 

Buck’s lips brush Eddie’s with a gentleness that makes Eddie ache worse than any fire, any bullet, any wound he’s ever endured.

Eddie’s hand trembles as it cups Buck’s jaw, and he kisses him back like he’s learning the shape of his own forever.

The way this kiss deepens is a completely different to the last—it’s not about taking, it’s about giving. About putting every piece of the promise they just made into something tangible, something they can both feel pressed between them.

When they finally part, Buck stays close, his nose brushing against Eddie’s. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispers, his eyes fluttering shut.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, his thumb stroking along Buck’s cheek. “Me too.”

And in the quiet of the kitchen, with the faint sound of Christmas music still playing in the background and the smell of sugar and spice hanging in the air, Eddie knows this is just the beginning of something wonderful.

One Year Later

So Eddie is gay.

No hesitation. No maybe. 

No think about it.

Exploring his sexuality with Buck hasn’t just been an answer… it’s been the clearest confirmation of his life. 

Nothing has ever slotted into place this easily before, because Eddie knows that with Buck, there’s no act to put on, no walls to hold up, no second guessing to be had. 

It’s simple. 

It’s him. 

It’s who he is, and what he wants.

And Buck seems perfectly happy to remind him, again and again, night after night, just how completely and unapologetically gay Eddie really is.

It’s been a year since that perfect afternoon in Eddie’s kitchen when they finally collided, and with Christmas rolling around again, they have more than enough reason to celebrate.

Namely… Buck on one knee. Eddie with tears in his eyes. Eddie’s own half baked proposal slipping away, barely worth mentioning in the face of Buck’s beaming smile. The quiet acknowledgments of the best year of Eddie’s life, the love wrapped around them like a second skin, and a ring that Eddie once thought he’d never want to feel the weight of on his finger again.

Eddie didn’t want an engagement party. But Buck did, and Eddie is a sucker for anything that Buck wants.

So here they are—celebrating on their one year anniversary, which Eddie suspected was exactly why Buck had proposed at the beginning of December in the first place.

Bobby and Athena offer to host at their new, finally rebuilt home, a place risen from the ashes, standing large and beautiful once again. 

The party is a gift from their friends. Eddie didn’t have much to do with planning, but he knows Buck would rather combust than not contribute, so he’s been sneaking in help where he can.

The whole thing feels like too much the second they walk through the front door. Eddie has never been one for attention—even if it’s only from their closest friends and family. 

“Is this not too much?” he mutters in Buck ear, tugging at his hand as their friends whistle and clap.

“I’m just preparing you for our wedding, because that’s going to be double the spectacle,” Buck teases, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “Now smile, Baby. I’ve got Hen filming and Ravi on photos.”

Once the party finds its rhythm, it’s easier for him to enjoy himself. Buck never lets go of his hand as they move between conversations, and it’s hard to be anything but happy when the whole reason they’re here is because Eddie gets to marry his best friend.

An hour or so  in, Buck tugs him toward the front door, dragging him outside to the porch.

“Buck,” Eddie laughs, letting himself be pulled along. “I really don’t think this is the time.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. That’s not why I brought you out here,” Buck says, rolling his eyes—before crowding Eddie against a wall, his mouth hot and playful against Eddie’s neck. “Though it is a good idea,” he murmurs, planting a string of kisses that make Eddie tilt his head without protest.

“The party’s for us,” Eddie manages, his laugh turning breathless as Buck’s tongue traces his skin. “People are gonna notice if we disappear.”

“Let them, besides…” Buck teases, planting soft kisses up his neck, before nipping at his ear. “…I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie says breathlessly. “Better than the last one?”

“No jewellery this time. But I think you’ll like it.”

Then Buck kisses him.

“What is it?” Eddie asks against his mouth.

“Edmundo Diaz, you whore.”

Eddie freezes. 

What the fuck?

He shoves Buck back just in time to see Emilia wearing the smuggest grin Eddie’s ever seen.

And she’s not alone. 

Julian is standing there too, looking everywhere but at Eddie. Max is beside him with his own fiancée Sasha, all of them watching like they’ve stumbled into a soap opera.

Eddie has never been more embarrassed in his life.

He grabs Buck’s arm and yanks him in close, keeping his voice low. “You decided to go full Dracula on my neck right before surprising me with my father?”

Buck only laughs harder, his shoulders shaking like this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

Asshole. 

“It’s not funny,” Eddie mutters, his face growing hotter.

“You’re not exactly being very polite right now, Eddie,” Emilia drawls, moving closer.

Eddie sticks his tongue out at her childishly, but he can’t help the grin that slips through as he pulls her into a hug, relief and affection overriding the mortification.

While Eddie does have family members scattered throughout the party, like his Abuela who has been back in California for a couple of months now, after everything that came to light, she’s decided to keep her distance from his father. His tia Pepa is here as well, along with a whole group of cousins who were able to come celebrate his engagement.

Eddie had still been admittedly really disappointed when Adriana and Sophia couldn’t make the trip for the party, because he had wanted his sisters here to balance out the fact that Buck’s parents were already in town for Christmas, and so were able to attend. 

Eddie is still happily no-contact with his own parents. 

The absence will always sting a little, but with the loss had come something unexpected. 

The Cruzes.

They talk a lot now. 

They’ve built something out of nothing, and for Eddie that feels monumental. 

He and Emilia speak almost every day, and while Max is more busy, the bond between them has grown steadily over the past year. 

But the real surprise has been Julian. 

Julian is everything Eddie never realised he was missing. 

He makes time for Eddie whenever he asks, he virtually joined therapy sessions over video call with Eddie and Mike to work on their past and help them build on their future, he FaceTimes him every Sunday without fail and teaches him how to cook with a patience that even Buck doesn’t even have for him. 

Julian and Christopher have their own relationship now, they call and message even when Eddie isn’t around. And that simple fact is enough to completely undo him if he thinks about it too hard.

Over the summer, Emilia and Julian came to Los Angeles, and Eddie had shown them his world. They saw the city, shared meals, met his friends, even visited the station. 

Then just last month, Eddie, Buck, and Christopher spent a weekend in Dallas, so Christopher could finally meet Julian in person and Eddie could finally meet Max properly. 

It’s why Eddie hadn’t invited them tonight—he had wanted to, but he hadn’t wanted to presume, not after already seeing them so recently and with Christmas only days away it felt rude to spring it on them. 

“How much are you hating all the attention at this party?” Emilia asks, pulling back just enough to study him.

Eddie rolls his eyes and pulls away, moving on to greet Max, hugging him briefly. 

“Honestly, he’s been handling pretty well,” Buck decides to answer for him, grinning like the devil. “I’ve been very impressed by how good he’s been.”

“I’m not a dog,” Eddie says flatly, moving to Sasha and offering her a warm smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Not a dog,” Buck concedes, “but he does expect treats for good behavior.”

Eddie rolls his eyes again but doesn’t argue, because then Julian is in front of him, and Eddie pulls him in tight. 

Julian’s arms are firm and grounding around him, and Eddie exhales against his shoulder, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to having a parent who cares for him this easily, this openly, this without condition.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Eddie says softly, pulling back just enough to look at him.

“I can’t believe Buck told us you didn’t think we’d want to come,” Julian replies, his hand firm on Eddie’s arm, the gentle squeeze leaving no room for doubt.

Eddie noticed that the others have drifted a little further away, giving them space without making it obvious, as if everyone knew instinctively this was a moment that belonged to the two of them.

“It’s a lot to ask from you,” Eddie admits after a pause. “Christmas is in three days.”

“You’re engaged to your Elizabeth. That only happens once, Eddie,” Julian smiles softly. “We wouldn’t dream of missing it. We love you, kid. That’s what family does.”

The word family lands heavily, heavier than he was prepared for even after a year of trying to accept all that he has gained. He blinks quickly, willing himself not to get choked up at his own party.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to hearing that,” Eddie admits.

Julian gives his arm another squeeze, undeterred by the confession. “Then we’ll just keep saying it until you do.”

Eddie clears his throat, glancing away, and looks at Buck standing in the doorway in conversation with his siblings.

He’s pretending not to be watching but is failing miserably, and when he notices Eddie looking at him, he just grins back, wide and unashamed. 

It makes Eddie want to roll his eyes for a third time and kiss him in the same breath.

Julian follows his gaze and chuckles. “He really loves you, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says dazed. “He really does.”

“And you love him.”

Theres no question in Julian’s tone, just easy certainty. Eddie nods anyway, because it feels important to say it out loud now. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

Julian’s expression softens in a way that Eddie still can’t wrap his head around—a parent looking at him with pride, without any conditions or expectation. 

He’s not sure it will ever not floor him. 

“Good,” Julian says. “Then you’ve got everything that matters.”

Eddie can’t argue him on that. 

He does have everything. 

He has worked hard for it, forcing himself to push open doors he once stood frozen in front of, facing truths about himself he never thought he’d be brave enough to acknowledge, and fighting battles with ghosts that used to hold him down until he believed he would never be free.

He brought his son back home where he belongs, he put in the work to become the man he wanted to be, he let himself accept a family that reached for him even when he thought he didn’t deserve it, and against every fear he carries, he found the love of his life waiting for him all along.

He isn’t perfect, but he tries. 

He isn’t unlovable, Buck challenges that idea and proves him wrong every single day.

“You coming in?” Eddie asks quietly, glancing back at his father.

“Right behind you,” Julian nods.

Eddie strides forward towards Buck, who is already reaching out his hand, the way he always has, never any doubt that Eddie will take it.

And he does. 

Together they step back inside, back to the noise and warmth and family, back to the celebration that is theirs to claim. 

Here’s to family and friendship, to survival and second chances.

Here’s to losing your way and finding it again, to patience, to honesty, to becoming who you were always meant to be.

Here’s to love that feels like coming home.

Here’s to Buck and Eddie.