Archive of Our Own

They’re sixteen hours into a twenty-four hour shift and it’s been blessedly quiet. 

Those shifts happen sometimes. LA’s a big city and obviously there are emergencies going on, but nothing major has happened in the 118’s vicinity for the day. They’d gone on a few calls the night before, but for the most part Bobby has been keeping them all occupied with different chores around the firehouse. Clean the grill, mop the floor, tidy up the locker room...the types of chores that they do anyway but without the time to really make it all shine. Eddie's spent the better part of the morning organizing the fridge, throwing out all the spoiled food and forgotten leftovers. 

It’s huge—it has to be to keep everyone at the 118 fed—so he’s the last one still working on his chore when the others meander up to the top landing and collapse on the couches. They’re close enough to the kitchen that he feels included in the group dynamic, but far enough away that he feels like he’s eavesdropping a little. Like at times they forget he’s there, throwing out expired yogurt and grimacing at the unidentifiable contents of mystery tupperware. 

“—I don’t think I ever saw my mom so mad at me,” Chimney is saying, laughing loudly. “Just imagine: me and Kevin, seventeen-years-old, standing on her front porch with two cops on either side of us at three o’clock in the morning. I promise you, that was the last time either of us ever tried to get in on the art of graffiti.” 

From where he’s bent over in front of the fridge, Eddie has a perfect vantage to see the way Bobby’s chuckling at the story in that restrained type of way where he doesn’t want to admit he finds their antics amusing. Hen has none of his reticence, and she’s letting out bright, joyous laughter that fills the space. And Buck—Buck has that eager puppy dog look on his face that tells Eddie he’s got a story he wants to share.  

“I can do you one better,” Buck promises, leaning forward from where he’s been lounging on the couch. He launches into a dramatic story, his hands moving at a breakneck pace as he uses them like exclamation points. The story is good—Eddie’s heard it before but that doesn’t keep him from laughing all the same. Buck loves to tell this story: of when he was a recent college dropout, just nineteen, and bumming around the country. Doing the thing nineteen-year-olds do and partying, when after one too many he went to lean against the wall behind him, only to discover at the worst possible moment that he was standing at the top of a flight of stairs. 

Buck’s laughing, loudly, his arm cradling his belly as he does. “You should have seen me—dazed and sprawled across the bottom of these stairs. Suddenly everyone’s rushing up to take care of me and I’m just—oh man, apparently I was just so fucking polite? Like, introducing everyone to each other and earnestly refusing a trip to the hospital but telling them they were just so nice to offer. It took another hour for someone sober to get me to the ER and figure out I’d literally broken my face by shattering my orbital floor.” 

Chim and Hen let out gasps at the appropriate moments, their laughter matching Buck’s, and Eddie’s grinning as he throws out a moldy peach. But from the corner of his eye he can see Bobby and the way he’s laughing but not quite as hard, his eyebrows furrowed in pinched confusion. 

It makes Eddie tense—it always makes Eddie tense when Bobby gets that look on his face—and he stops what he’s doing to watch. Buck is wiping a tear from his left eye (the very one he broke) as Hen and Chim are goodnaturedly teasing him about his klutziness. But Bobby interrupts the fun by asking, his tone carefully controlled, “What’d your parents say when they heard about that adventure?” 

Buck barely registers the question, his hand waving the words away as though they’re nothing but a pest. He answers, quickly, “Nothing, I never told ‘em.” 

Before Bobby or anyone can really latch onto that answer, Buck is pouncing on the lull in the conversation to tell another story Eddie’s already heard. This one is about the time in high school when he and his friends got caught drinking on private property and had to escape through the woods to avoid getting arrested. Eddie’s sure the real event was nowhere near as dramatic as Buck makes it out to be, but he’s so good at weaving a story—at ratcheting up the tension and holding the audience in his thrall until he drops a bomb in the middle of a sentence that sends everyone into gales of laughter. 

Too good maybe, because Eddie’s never thought to ask Bobby’s question before. What’d Buck’s parents have to say? Nothing, apparently. Nothing because he never told them. Nothing because they never knew. Nothing because they never found out about their nineteen-year-old kid alone in a hospital room in Milwaukee on a freezing January night with a broken face. Buck makes it out to be all laughter and sunshine, but Eddie has to wonder—had he never considered these questions because Buck is just that good at telling a story or because Eddie wasn’t really listening? He’s seen Buck scared, and he’s heard Buck recount those stories after the fact too: the way he and Chris sometimes talk about playing I Spy on the top of a firetruck in the middle of a tsunami, as though it were just another game, when Eddie knows the truth. When he remembers the haunted expression on his best friend’s face as he held Chris’s glasses in trembling hands and apologized to Eddie over and over again in a wrecked voice. 

His parents weren’t there after he’d crushed his leg, either. Or after the scare with his pulmonary embolism. Or the tsunami. They were nowhere to be found—just a couple of people Buck or Maddie occasionally reference, casually, when telling a story if they’re somewhat relevant to the plot. But they’re never central to any of Buck’s stories. Never present characters in Buck’s re-telling of his childhood. 

He wonders if Buck had been scared that night in Milwaukee. If he’d needed his parents then, but didn’t know how to ask. Eddie doesn’t know much about the Buckley parents’, but he vows in that moment as he ducks his head back into the fridge that he’s going to get to the bottom of this. 

An hour or so after Buck’s wrapped up his stories their shift turns into one from hell, where they’re hopping from emergency to emergency without even getting the chance to stop by the fire station for a moment’s respite. Buck thrives under the excitement, the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. He’s so focused on what comes next that he doesn’t bother to question why Eddie’s a little quiet in the ladder truck, or why he seems to be staring at him in the moments they’re not talking. He throws Eddie a big grin instead. 

The shift continues on that way, messy and chaotic, but over the next few hours Eddie seems to loosen up. By the time they’re back at the firehouse packing up their belongings in the locker room, hair still damp from the showers they took to get rid of the soot, Buck figures whatever was bothering him is long gone. He heads home without another thought.

Eddie forgets about it for a few days. 

It’s not that he doesn’t care. He does. Obviously he does. Those close to him might even say he cares too much. 

(Sometimes, in the dark of the night, Eddie worries if they’re right. If he’s too invested in this other person who doesn’t have any reason to stay. Who could, if he wanted, choose to leave at a moment’s notice and never look back—a thought that scares Eddie because it makes him ache to reach out and never let go. Which scares him all the more because he’s never been that person, never been the one to desperately cling to someone else and beg for them to stay.) 

It’s Friday night and they’re at Eddie’s house hanging out as they’re wont to do these days, when Chris breaks a glass. It’s entirely by accident, and it’s not like Eddie’s not used to handling broken glass in their day to day job, but Buck’s reaction is instant. Before Eddie can stand from his seat, Buck’s pressing forward in three big steps, his large hands reaching out to lift Chris from beneath his armpits, barefoot and a little scared, pulling the small boy close to his chest. 

He gets Eddie’s son away from the mess and deposits him on the couch gently, his hands roaming over Chris’s arms and legs as he asks, “Are you okay, buddy? Are you hurt anywhere?” 

Chris is nodding his head sheepishly, a little shy under so much attention and excitement. He lifts his foot for Buck to examine what looks like the tiniest sliver of a cut from where a piece of glass must have hit him. He darts his head around Buck to catch Eddie’s gaze from across the room with wide, sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” 

“It’s okay, superman,” Eddie says, rushing to sweep up the glass and get it all cleared away so he can comfort his son. 

But Buck’s already there—his arm stretched out to cup Chris’s cheek in his hand. He’s dropped down to his haunches, still holding Chris’s foot in his other hand, as his voice grows earnest and he whispers, “Hey, hey buddy, it’s okay. Who cares about the glass? And don’t ever be sorry for getting hurt. Your daddy and I just want you to be okay, and want to help you if anything ever happens to you. Okay?”

Chris nods his head, his eyes wide as he stares up at Buck, who smiles softly at him and says, “Let me take a look at your foot, okay buddy? You did the right thing telling us about it.” 

Eddie sucks his breath through his teeth, stunned at how good it feels to hear Buck talk about the two of them taking care of Chris. Your daddy and I, he said, like they were partners, co-parents, working together to comfort their child. 

It doesn’t take long to get everything cleared up, and Eddie gets a chance to inspect the wound before Buck has slathered it in Neosporin and a Mickey Mouse band aid. It’s barely a cut, but Buck’s tender care has Chris grinning widely again, laughing even, and before long he’s allowing Buck to tuck him into bed. Eddie watches from the doorway as Buck reads the next chapter of the Magic Tree House book Chris has been working through, his voice shifting as he reads aloud the dialogue for each character. 

Thirty minutes later Buck and Eddie are lazing on the couch together, cold beers in their grasp, when Eddie says, “You were really good with Chris tonight.” 

Buck takes a sip of his beer, his cheeks flushing a pretty pink as he arches an eyebrow at Eddie. He asks, a soft smile tugging at his lips, “Yeah? You think so?” 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says easily. “You got him away from the glass, got him to tell you where it hurt, got him to calm down before he realized he was scared. You’re so good, Buck.” 

He watches as the other man raises and drops a shoulder nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal. He always does that, Eddie’s noticed. Pretends like his contributions don’t matter. Buck says dryly, “Yeah, I just, y’know, I want Chris to know he can tell you if he’s hurt or anything. Not keep secrets.” 

And that’s when Eddie remembers the other day. Buck’s stories, and his easy dismissal of his parents’ role in his life. 

“Did you keep secrets?”

“Huh?” Buck asks, confused. 

“From your parents,” he says. His fingers feel slick from the condensation where he’s holding the glass bottle. He’s staring at his best friend's face and wondering if he’s crossing a boundary he shouldn’t. “You mentioned at the firehouse you didn’t tell them about your broken face, and...you know.” 

He wants to say more—how he didn’t see them around in the past year. How he hasn’t heard Buck talk about their reactions to the blood clots or anything else. But he shuts his mouth and waits for Buck to explain. 

Buck waves at him. “I dunno if I’d call that keeping secrets. It would have just freaked them out. They were far away, it was late, they couldn’t do anything—I didn’t want to scare them.” 

“But you were scared, right?” he asks, because he knows Buck. To his core. And he knows in the depths of his soul that everything couldn’t have been as easy going as Buck was making it out to be. 

He shrugs again. This time a little more stiffly. A little less casually. His voice sounds strained when he says, “I dunno, man, I didn’t want to bother them. It’s no big deal.” 

“I just—” Eddie bites off his words, frustrated that nothing is coming out the way he wants it too. He tries again. “You’re just so good with Chris, man. And I don’t know anything about your parents, but what I’ve gathered from everything you have and haven’t said, they just don’t sound like…” 

He feels like he’s reaching for the words and they’re on the tip of his tongue but he knows—he knows—if he says them it’ll be a bridge too far. That Buck will bolt and Eddie doesn’t want that. 

Buck shakes his head vehemently, turning from where he’s sitting on the couch so that he’s facing Eddie directly. “They’re good people, okay? We get along. But…we don’t, y’know, talk about things? Not things that matter. That’s not our relationship.” 

“But they’re your parents.”

It’s a world of difference from his own experiences. His parents may not be perfect but they were there, constantly, sending texts with articles about child care and recommendations for events they saw happening in LA that they thought Eddie might be interested in. His inbox is full of emails from his parents, links to webpages they wanted him to look at, scanned copies of pictures they’d dug out of the attic, recipes they thought Chris might enjoy. 

They weren’t perfect, and fuck, sometimes they made Eddie so god damn angry. They knew just how to hurt him. But even though they hadn’t liked her, even though they disagreed with Eddie constantly, the moment Eddie told them Shannon died they’d jumped on a plane that very same night. They were there, no questions asked. 

If he’d broken his face as a dumb kid, they would have been there. If he’d crushed his leg as an adult, they’d be by his side. He’d want them there. 

“Yeah, and I love them,” Buck says. It sounds like he’s trying to reassure Eddie of this fact. Like he desperately needs Eddie to believe him. Eddie wants to but he doesn’t quite know how, not with all the stories Buck’s been telling. “But I don’t want to worry them or stress them out. And they’re on the other side of the country, so it’s not like they can do anything most of the time—it’s just better to leave it be.”

He can’t hold his tongue anymore. “But they didn’t come when you crushed your leg.” 

The effect is instantaneous. Buck’s jaw audibly clicks shut, his gaze growing distant as he turns away from Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah, well.” He starts and stops, taking another swig of his beer as he stares resolutely at the black screen of the television. “I didn’t really talk to them about it. I mean, they knew it happened—I think every single person in my mom’s book club sent her the news stories about it for weeks after—but it just. I don’t know, by the time I could talk to them, it was like it was already over. What were they going to do? Drop everything and fly to LA?” 

“I mean—yes? Yes, that’s what parents do. I would do that for Christopher in a heartbeat.” 

You would do that for Chris too, Eddie wants to say, but he swallows the words down and stares at the man opposite him.  

At that, Buck’s gaze brightens. He smiles, wide, at Eddie and lets out a small chuckle. “Well, yeah, but Chris is a kid and you guys—you’re close, you’re practically inseparable. But my parents and I? It’s not like that.” 

Eddie stares. “Bobby would drop everything for May and Harry—for you too.” 

“Bobby’s Bobby,” Buck says, rolling his eyes. “That’s different.” 

It’s not that different. Not really, not to Eddie. He’s sure if they asked Bobby he wouldn’t think it was different either. But Eddie is starting to get a clearer picture of Buck’s family dynamic, and he’s sure that’s the linchpin to understanding all of this. 

Eddie’s next words are more careful, his voice hesitant as he tip toes across the minefield. “They didn’t come to LA when Maddie…everything with Doug.” 

“That’s Maddie’s business,” Buck says, simply. Definitively. With no room for an argument. “I don’t know what she told them.” 

“But I just—Buck, the bomb. The blood clots. The tsunami.” His hand swings out in an expansive gesture of all the shit Buck’s been through, and without a second's hesitation he’s dropping his hand onto Buck’s shoulder. He squeezes, as though trying to remind himself that Buck is okay. “Christ, you’ve been through so much and I’ve never even met them.” 

There’s a beat as Buck stares at where Eddie is touching him. He drags his gaze up to meet Eddie’s eyes and he feels like he’s been burned, his cheeks heating up, but he doesn’t drop his hand. Just the opposite, he tightens his grip on Buck’s shoulder. Holds him in place as though that will keep him from running away. 

Buck is forceful as he speaks. “And that’s fine. I know you don’t get it—but it works for us. I’m not…I feel like you think they’re bad people, and they’re not. They’d be here if I needed them. But I don’t, so why make a fuss?” 

“Jesus, because you’re their child!” Eddie is furious he even has to explain this. “They shouldn’t have to wait to be asked!” 

“Eddie.” Buck shrugs out of his grasp and lets out this sigh as though he doesn’t understand how they got on this topic in the first place. He sounds thoroughly exhausted, every line of his body falling in on itself as he places his beer on the coffee table and stares imploringly at Eddie. “I get that my family situation isn’t like yours, but it’s not a big deal. Growing up, we just weren’t that kind of family. When I had a problem, my parents weren’t the first people I turned too. I went to Maddie or—or my coach or my friends when I had issues. I usually sorted it out without them, and that’s okay.” 

“But—“

Buck holds up a hand. “Look, we have a standing phone call every few weeks, and if something were to happen to them, Maddie and I would be there. And if Maddie or I asked for them, they’d be here. But we do okay over the distance. I’ve got Maddie and the 118 and you and Chris.”

He says it so confidently. And Eddie’s breath hitches as he realizes the distinction Buck’s made—that he’s not just a part of the 118, part of their found family, but that he’s separate from them. Different. He wonders if Buck hears the contrast he’s made with his words, if it makes him think of that day all those months ago in the firehouse, when Buck was worried about everyone forgetting each other. How Eddie had promised it wouldn’t happen to them, to the team, only to watch Buck’s face fall as he didn’t quite believe him—and then he’d promised that it wouldn’t happen to them, Buck and Eddie. 

If Buck notices the way Eddie’s holding his breath, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches out to pat Eddie’s hand where it’s fallen on the couch between them and promises, “I love my parents, I do, but I do okay without them.” 

Buck changes the topic then, diving into a conversation about Chris’s science fair project, and Eddie lets him. He doesn’t know how else to talk about this—how else he can explain how different Buck’s life is to his own. Instead he leans back into the couch and nods along with Buck’s words, letting them wash over him, trying not to to think about how the thought of Buck alone hurts.

Later, the coffee table littered with a couple of drained beer bottles, Buck can feel himself sinking into the couch. Eddie is still sitting across from him, his face carefully blank. Buck grins at him. 

“I think I should start paying you rent, man,” he says happily, rubbing the back of his head against the couch cushion he’s lounging on. “I spend enough time here.” 

Eddie laughs softly, shakes his head, and says, “You know you’re always welcome here.” 

“That’s good,” he says. “Since I definitely take you up on the offer often enough.” 

A moment passes and then Eddie is standing from the couch asking, “You remember where all the blankets are and everything?” 

“Yeah man, I’ve got it. Don’t worry about me.” He tips his head back on the armrest and gives Eddie a lazy smile. 

But Eddie is staring down at him, his expression thoughtful. He reaches out his hand and brushes Buck’s hair back gently off his forehead. His hand stays there for a moment, their gazes locked, and Eddie says, quietly, “I always worry about you.” 

Before Buck can react, Eddie’s pulling his hand away and moving to clear up their empty bottles. Buck, his chest tight, doesn’t say anything about the exchange, and instead stands up to help Eddie clean. 

They move on. 

It’s the only real option. Buck is perfectly happy with the status quo—his parents are nebulous people, living a life apart from him halfway across the country, and he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. And Eddie...tries to ignore it. 

Tries not to think about how the thought makes his chest ache. 

Because Buck—Buck has this big heart and he gives it away, easily, to every person he meets. The barista at the corner coffee shop, the man who needs to be pried out of his car with the jaws of life, the 118, everyone. He has this open smile, this bright, inviting soul, and Eddie knows that if Christopher ever needed Buck, he would be there. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He deserves to know the same is true for him. That there are people who would drop everything at a moment’s notice to be by his side and support him. His parents should have shown that to him, but since they couldn’t, it’ll have to be up to Eddie. 

He doesn’t have to wait long to prove it to Buck. 

They’re out on a call in the middle of the night and it’s storming. One of those heavy, late November LA storms when the rain is fat and the sky is tumultuous and the thunder is echoing. It chills Eddie to the bone as they’re wading out into the chaos of a ten car pileup on the Santa Monica Freeway. An eighteen wheeler is tilting precariously on its side, held in place by the few cars trapped beneath while the drivers are screaming for help, their terror at the possibility of being crushed palpable in the night sky. Everything is sirens and screaming and the rhythmic beat of the rain against the tarmac. Eddie has to wipe his glove across his face, his cheeks soaked and freezing. 

All in all, it’s not the worst call they’ve ever been on. The conditions are less than ideal, but nothing’s on fire. There’s no radiation burning hot white near them, poisoning Bobby. The road isn’t crumbling out from under their boots. It’s a perfectly ordinary call for the 118 where everything goes right and they manage to save everyone. 

Three days later Buck calls out sick. 

Eddie sees the signs creeping in as the days pass—the stuffy nose, the creaky voice, the tired eyes. He’s not surprised at all when one of the guys from another shift shows up, Bobby at his side explaining that Buck’s feeling a little under the weather. Eddie fires off a text to Buck immediately and isn’t surprised (again) when he doesn’t get an immediate response. It doesn’t take him long to formulate a plan, his fingers moving fast as he sends off a couple other texts to get things started.

The shift is long and grueling without Buck’s cheer, and Eddie spends most of it counting down the hours until he can bolt out the door. He doesn’t even take his usual shower when it comes time to leave, choosing instead to swipe his duffel bag from his locker and duck out of the firehouse in record time. 

He’s unlocking Buck’s door and letting himself and Chris into the apartment within the hour. 

Tucked under his arm he’s got a pot full of Abuela’s pozole, a Walgreens bag full of tissues and throat lozenges, and a stack of family friendly DVDs. It doesn’t take too much time to get Chris settled on the couch and get the pot set up on the oven and before long Eddie is creeping up the stairs to the loft where he finds Buck. 

Poor, miserable Buck is sprawled out across the duvet on his stomach in a sweat soaked t-shirt and boxer briefs, his curls laying flat against his forehead. He looks small. Helpless. 

“Hey,” he whispers, making his way around the other side of the bed so that he can reach out and shake Buck’s shoulder. His skin feels cold and clammy to the touch. “Buck, buddy, wake up.” 

He watches fondly as Buck’s eyelids flicker open, confusion etched into his expression. He squints up at Eddie, his eyebrows adorably furrowed and slurs, “Ed’ie? What're you doin’?” 

“Takin’ care of you,” he whispers, pulling Buck up into a seated position. He tugs at the damp white shirt and encourages Buck to lift his arms. “C’mon buddy, let’s get you into the shower.” 

Eddie’s thought of this before. It’d be impossible not to. (At least, that’s what Eddie tells himself.) Buck’s scorching hot, and Eddie’s not blind. But in all of his considerations, he never thought it’d be like this. Buck, docile and rank with day old sweat, leaning the full weight of his body against Eddie’s side with Chris downstairs watching Pixar movies. 

He strips Buck efficiently, using all of his skills as a dad to get the job done, throwing Buck’s dirty clothes into his hamper in the corner of the room. He maneuvers them both into the bathroom, perching a naked Buck on the edge of the bathtub while turning on the water and adjusting the temperature. He crowds Buck until the other man is stepping into the shower, the spray hitting him in the face. That seems to shock Buck out of his stupor and he sputters, blinks rapidly, and then seems to realize that Eddie is standing just outside the glass door. 

“Wha’ the fuck, man?” 

Eddie clicks his tongue. “You good to shower alone? I’ve got Chris downstairs and some of Abuela’s soup when you’re ready, but I can stay and help out if needed.” 

He doesn’t know why he offers that. 

(That’s not true—he does—and Eddie’s not 100% sure how he wants Buck to answer). 

Buck blinks at him, owlishly, his blue eyes wide. His face is red and Eddie’s not clear if it’s from the shower steam or the fever or the fact that he’s standing there stark naked in front of a fully clothed Eddie. He nods, silently, and Eddie grins at him. 

“Call out to me if you need me,” he says, stepping out of the bathroom. “I’m going to lay out some clean clothes for you and go get that soup ready.” 

Fifteen minutes later Eddie’s standing at the kitchen stove carefully stirring the pozole when he hears a sniffle coming from behind him. He turns around and finds Buck, fresh faced with wet curls, wearing a clean t-shirt and sweatpants. He still looks exhausted, his shoulders slumped as he comes to sit on a bar stool, but he gives Eddie a sleepy, tender smile and rests his elbow on the kitchen island while tucking his fist beneath his chin. 

Eddie crosses the space between them with his hand raised, pressing the back of his fingers to Buck’s forehead. He feels warm, but nothing dire and Eddie passes over the glass of cool water he’d already prepared. “How’re you feeling, man?” 

Buck lets out a wet laugh. “Like death warmed over.” 

“Buck!” Chris cries at the sound of his favorite person’s voice. He lets out an excited squeal, pushing himself off the couch and crossing the living space as quickly as he can. 

“Whoa, buddy,” Buck croaks, trying not to laugh before it sets him on a minor coughing fit. “Slow down. Are you here to help your dad take care of me?” 

Chris is nodding enthusiastically, his curls bouncing as his head goes up and down. “Yeah! Daddy asked Abuela to make you pozole 'nd since I was hanging out with her today, I got to help make it! I measured out the spices ‘nd everything.” 

“Pozole! That sounds delicious,” Buck says, covering his mouth as he coughs. “I’ll have to thank your Abuela for being so good to me. Tell me more!” 

Eddie watches the two of them, the way Chris is leaning forward on his crutches not touching Buck but getting as close as possible, how Buck is watching his son with laser focus. The other man is listening with rapture, his eyes bright with mirth as Chris explains everything that went into making the soup. He knows Buck is exhausted, that his body probably aches and he’ll sleep for another ten hours when they usher him back upstairs after he’s eaten, but for this small window of time it’s like his whole world is made up only of Christopher. It’s so sweet it makes Eddie’s teeth ache. 

Soon the pozole is ready and Eddie is preparing a bowl for each of them. The kitchen is filled with the comforting, everyday noises of a family eating a meal together—the sound of spoons knocking against the side of the bowls, of Christopher slurping the broth loudly, of Eddie and Buck chuckling at Chris’s wild stories about his week at school. Sometimes, when Chris’s attention has turned away from them and towards the meal in front of him, Eddie and Buck share a look over his head. 

It’s small, and private, and soft. They do this sometimes—not just around Christopher, in the comfort of their homes, but out and about at the firehouse and while responding to emergencies. There’ll be a moment, someone will say something, and Eddie’s first instinct is to always seek Buck out and catch his gaze. 

He wants to keep sharing these looks with Buck forever. 

When their meal is done and Eddie is clearing their bowls, he nods towards the TV and says to Chris, “Buddy, why don’t you go back to your movie? I’m gonna put your Buck to bed.” 

“‘Kay,” he says, standing from his stool and grinning at them both, tilting his head to the side as he stares up at the other man. “Feel better, Buck. I love you.” 

Eddie turns towards the sink, his back facing the both of them, but he hears the way Buck’s breath catches in his throat. There’s the briefest moment of hesitation, and then he hears Buck croak, “I love you too, superman.” 

The hot water is running over his hands as he washes the bowls, the sound of Christopher’s footsteps drifting further away until Eddie can hear the movie start playing again. He doesn’t turn to acknowledge Buck—knows the other man is sitting there, dumbfounded at the open adoration of Eddie’s nine-year-old son. 

Privately, he doesn’t know why Buck’s so shocked. 

Chris imprinted on him the moment they met: that night after the earthquake when Eddie’s truck was out of gas and his heart was beating out of his chest, and Buck offered to drive him to the school. He’d wrapped Chris up in his arms in that hallway and didn’t put him down until he was buckling him into the back of Buck’s Jeep. 

Eddie had been prepared to facilitate the briefest of conversations between Buck and Chris—no matter how much Buck said he loved kids, Eddie knew what to expect. Adults, especially guys, could handle about five minutes of a kid who wasn’t theirs before they were finished with the exchange. And Eddie had to be extra careful with Chris; there were already so many cruel people in the world, and Eddie was constantly worried about the challenges his beautiful boy might have to face. He didn’t have the patience or tolerance to deal with some asshole making his kid feel unwanted. 

It turned out Eddie didn’t have anything to be concerned about. Not when it came to Buck. Instead of putting the car in drive and taking them home immediately, he’d turned in his seat to face Chris. He’d introduced himself seriously, holding his hand out for his son to shake and praised Chris on what an awesome dad he had. Chris took an immediate liking to him (as he does to anyone who compliments Eddie) which only grew in consideration as Buck asked if he’d been okay at school, if he’d been scared, if he wanted Eddie to sit in the backseat with him. He didn’t make it sound like any answer would be wrong or embarrassing—when Chris seemed to hem and haw at the options, Buck was quick to explain that he’d been scared at work and that Eddie had made him feel safer. 

They’d barely known each other then. He’d been at the 118 for about a week, just long enough for Buck to get over himself and decide he liked Eddie. Yet there he was, treating his kid as an equal and extolling Eddie’s virtues in front of Chris. Calling him a hero and talking about how he’d single handedly saved that woman—Ali—from getting hurt. 

(He’d said it like that—“getting hurt”—like he understood not to talk about death or dying in front of a little boy who might have already been scared and didn’t need to think about his dad in such a precarious situation. Eddie was used to cutting glances at his family, reminding them to censor their language around his kid, but Buck did it instinctively, without any guidance.) 

Chris had hung on every word of Buck’s that night. When they finally got on the road, some kids music channel playing on the radio that Eddie didn’t even know existed, Buck had glanced over at him and asked in a whisper, that Chris wouldn’t hear over the music, if Eddie’d be okay with them cutting through a drive-through for dinner. He glanced at Chris in the rearview mirror and explained to Eddie, slyly, that a McFlurry wouldn’t be the worst way to end the day. 

When Eddie acquiesced and Buck announced their new destination to Chris, his kid had cheered and Buck had laughed and Eddie had smiled. For hours. That day had been tense and terrifying and anxiety-inducing, but that night was the first time LA felt like home. 

So no. Eddie’s not surprised to hear his kid tell Buck he loves him. 

After putting away the final dish, he turns back around to find Buck watching him beneath his dark eyelashes. His nose is still red from where he’s been sniffling and he looks so tired, but there’s something to his gaze. Something heavy and important that makes Eddie’s stomach go hot. 

“C’mon,” he says, stepping closer to Buck and waving him off the stool. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

He moves to wrap his arm around Buck’s waist even though there’s no real reason to believe that he shouldn’t be able to walk up the stairs to the loft by himself. Buck goes easily, pressing himself against Eddie’s side as they shuffle across the apartment and up the stairs slowly. Eddie’s fingers are digging into his waist, his skin hot underneath the cotton shirt. 

When they reach the foot of the bed Eddie lowers Buck to the mattress slowly, and he can’t help but be reminded of doing the same thing with Shannon. Of dragging his hands up her sides and draping her across the blanket, her hair spilling across the pillows as she looked up at him through lidded eyes. Of how she’d reached out to him, her hands cradling his face and pulling it to hers, their bodies pressing together from head to toe. He’s never been with a man, doesn’t know how it might be different, where she was soft that a man might be firm. But he wants to know. He wants so much. 

“Eddie.” 

Startled, he blinks and finds Buck staring up at him, not unlike the way Shannon watched him. Hungrily. Eddie flushes and drops his hands away, pulling back from Buck. His side feels strangely cold where it’s no longer pressed up against Buck. 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, glancing around the room. He spots the Walgreens bag from earlier and gestures to it. “I got you some more provisions in case you need any more tissues or anything. Chris and I are going to hang out for another hour or so—let him finish the movie, y’know, and in case you need anything from us.” 

“Eddie.” 

When Buck doesn’t say anything else, just continues to stare up at Eddie, he asks, “You good? I can get you a glass of water.” 

Instead, Buck parts his lips and says again, “Eddie.” 

“What?” he asks.

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t know when that happened—if he’s been talking in a whisper this entire time, or if his voice has steadily dropped to match Buck’s. He’s been in Buck’s room before, has thrown those covers off of Buck without hesitation, and earlier he’d stripped the man of his clothes without stopping to think of what he was doing. But now, the apartment dark as the sun has set outside, the only noise the sound of Chris’s movie filtering up into the loft, Eddie feels like he’s intruding on something. Like he shouldn’t be here, in this moment, in this space, where Buck is at his most vulnerable. 

Buck is gazing up at him, his expression tender, and he asks, his voice rough from the cold, “Why’d you come here tonight?” 

It’s not what he was expecting Buck to ask, but he’ll take it. The answer’s simple and it comes to Eddie as easy as breathing. “You’re family.” 

“But—” Buck makes a noise in the back of this throat, like he’s trying to stop himself from talking. He shakes his head instead and says, “But you must have had other plans? This can’t be how you wanted to spend your night after a twenty-four hour shift.” 

His mouth twitches as he tries to suppress a laugh. 

“I’d drop everything in a heartbeat for you if you needed me,” he says, and wonders if Buck is thinking about their conversation from a week ago—if he hears the echo in Eddie’s words. 

Buck’s face is carefully blank as he stares up at him with parted lips. Not wanting to push, Eddie steps forward and presses a gentle kiss to Buck’s temple, hot beneath Eddie’s lips. He stays there a moment and whispers, his mouth moving against Buck’s skin, “Get some sleep.” 

And then he’s turning and walking down the stairs before Buck can say anything to stop him. 

Buck lays back on the bed, his pillows soft beneath his head, and he stares at the space Eddie just vacated. His room feels emptier without Eddie in it, but at least he can hear the quiet sounds of Chris’ movie. He knows that they’re down there, the two of them, some of his favorite people in the world, camped out on his couch and watching the movie together. He’s sure that Eddie has his arm wrapped around his son, that Chris is pressed up to his side with his head cushioned on Eddie’s chest. 

Chris is just on the cusp of the age where he’s not going to want to cuddle anymore. Carla had whispered that fact to him surreptitiously while Eddie and Chris were wrapped up in each other once, and the thought still made Buck’s chest tighten. 

He wants so much for Chris—wants him to grow up happy and healthy, wants him to find something he’s passionate about and have every door open to him. But sometimes, in the quiet of the dark like this, Buck can admit, at least to himself, how he’s not quite ready for Chris to grow up just yet. How he loves the way the nine-year-old boy likes to wiggle onto his lap and pull out a book for them to read together or throws open his arms for a big hug whenever Buck walks through the door. 

Moments ago Eddie had gazed down at Buck and whispered the word family and lit up every nerve inside Buck’s body. To hear Eddie say those words, to learn that he wasn’t alone in feeling like this was important, the connection they shared. He’s never had that before, not really. 

He wishes he felt well enough to go downstairs and curl up on the couch with the two of them, his boys, but he can already feel his eyelids getting heavy, his body pulling him into slumber. As he closes his eyes he can hear two laughs carrying up into his bedroom and slipping into his dreams. 

They don’t talk about it afterwards. Eddie and Chris return a number of times over that long weekend while Buck is sick. His fever gets worse before it gets better, and Eddie plies him with soup and medicine and soft touches that they don’t acknowledge or address. But every now and then there’s a moment when the air grows thick between them and Buck gazes up at him and Eddie wonders if maybe they could be more. 

If maybe he was allowed to have that. 

Once Buck is better they return to their daily lives, to the easy camaraderie and partnership that they’ve built up. They knock shoulders when walking beside each other and share amused looks from across the fire house and spend their nights off together, hanging out with his kid. 

It’s not what Eddie expected his life to be when he was back in Afghanistan dreaming of a better future. Back when he’d still believed that he and Shannon would make things work, that the arguments were just a happenstance of the distance and the shoddy quality of their video calls. His imagined future had been filled with Shannon and her bright yellow dresses, with Chris and his laughter, with the three of them in Texas living in perpetual summer. That’s what he remembered about those nights at war—his dreams were nothing but summer heat. 

Now she’s gone, and it still aches but not quite as much. It still cuts him sometimes, when he spots a woman with dark hair in a summer dress from across the way, or when Chris tilts his head in just the same way she did. She lives in a million different fleeting moments in Eddie’s life, and he cherishes them, loves her always, but he knows now that even if she’d stayed—if she’d lived—he’d still be here. 

Next to Buck. 

Two months after that weekend when Buck was sick, it’s the middle of January. Christmas came and went; this year, both Eddie and Buck were off and got to spend it with Christopher. Eddie had asked if Buck wanted to spend it with Maddie instead, but the blond had shaken his head resolutely and explained that he figured it’d be nice to let Maddie and Chim have a final holiday together before his niece was born. 

Which, as it were, was happening today. 

Chim had called everyone from the 118 in a panic. Eddie could hear Maddie in the background gently reminding her partner that she was a former nurse and he was a paramedic and everything would be fine. None of that helped. Chim was still a mess as he begged everyone to meet them at the hospital. Eddie gave his son the option to spend the day with Pepa, but Chris had been quick to ask to join the team at the hospital. So Eddie helped him pack his bag full of coloring pencils and books and toys to keep him occupied during the long wait. 

Buck’s already pacing the length of the waiting room when they arrive, the anxious furrow of his brow smoothing as soon as he sees Christopher. 

“Hey buddy!” he cries, dropping to one knee so that he can hug Chris. “Are you here to meet my baby niece?” 

Chris’ eyes are big behind his glasses, his lips parting in shock as he asks excitedly, “Is she already here?” 

A smile spreads across Buck’s face, and he holds his hands out from his sides to gesture to the waiting room. “Not just yet bud. We’re gonna have to hang out here for a little while before we can meet her.” 

Eddie smiles watching the exchange occur and glances around the room to take in his surroundings—Chim is missing, presumably because he’s with Maddie in the hospital room, but Hen and Karen are sitting to the side talking to each other. It doesn’t look like they brought Denny or Nia with them, but they smile and wave at him when they spot him. Athena is sitting beside Hen, engrossed in their conversation, and nods at him in greeting. Besides them is Albert talking with the Lees, who Eddie met at Maddie’s baby shower, and they look excited to be sitting there, included in Chim’s big day. 

Something about the set up feels off to Eddie and he doesn’t figure out why until he finishes glancing around the room and finds Bobby standing beside a water cooler talking to an unknown older couple. 

They look nondescript, a husband and wife standing side by side. He’s fit with stark white hair and dressed smart—nothing too fancy, but a pressed pair of khakis and a maroon polo with a tweed jacket. She’s trim in a pair of dark slacks and a fitted grey knit sweater atop a starched white collared shirt. His hand is on her back and she’s turned towards him as they both smile up at Bobby. They don’t look distressed, so they can’t be here for anything too upsetting. 

Eddie’s sure that Bobby’s just making small talk with some other hospital visitors when the man turns and says, “Evan, you didn’t tell me your captain was from the midwest! We were practically neighbors.” 

He watches as Buck glances away from Chris and back to the man. He grins. “I wouldn’t exactly call Minnesota and Pennsylvania neighbors, Dad.” 

Buck’s parents. 

Eddie doesn’t know why he’s surprised—even though Buck hadn’t given him a heads up, their daughter is giving birth to their first grandchild. It makes complete sense that they’d be here. Eddie could remember what it had been like the day Christopher was born, how the waiting room had been filled with both his and Shannon’s family. 

And once he knows what to look for, Eddie can see the family resemblance—the man has Buck’s brow, and the woman has his nose, both of them with the same warm brown eyes as Maddie. Bizarrely, Eddie wonders which of them has the genetics that lead to Buck’s blue eyes. 

They look kind. 

It’s not what Eddie expected. Even after everything Buck told him that night all those months ago on his couch, as Buck swore up and down that his parents were good people, he’d imagined they would look stern. Or mean. Yet here they are chatting amicably with Bobby and passing jokes back and forth with Buck. They’re here. Standing in the hospital room with them, waiting for their granddaughter to be born, and Eddie—

Eddie’s mad. 

It doesn’t seem fair to him that they’d travel this far for the good stuff, but not the bad. That they’d show up for Maddie’s delivery but not for her recovery from her shitty abusive husband. That they’d stand in this waiting room, laughing with Bobby, when they hadn’t been standing there, hearts racing with terror, when Buck had been wheeled in there time and again—after the ladder truck, and the pulmonary embolism, and all the times before when Eddie hadn’t even known him. When he’d broken his face falling down a flight of stairs as a dumb, drunk kid and had to sort it all out on his own because his parents weren’t with him. 

Somewhere in the back of his brain Eddie knows that this is different—they’d had advance notice about Maddie and the baby, had time to buy tickets and make plans, that sometimes Buck hadn’t even bothered to give them a heads up when he was in pain. But Eddie doesn’t have it in him to be fair to these strangers. They’d taught Buck that it was up to him to ask for their support, instead of just giving it, instead of just being there at a moment’s notice because he was their child and they loved him. 

He’s still staring at them when Chris tugs at his sleeve. Eddie drags his attention away from the couple and smiles down at his son, his hand reaching out to comb through his curls. “What’s up, Chris?” 

“Daddy, who are those people talkin’ to Bobby?” he asks, because of course he does. He’s a curious kid and they’re strangers, but they know Buck and Bobby and that’s all Chris really needs to know to become interested. 

Buck—beautiful, kind Buck—overhears them and turns towards Chris. He grins and explains, “These are my parents! Mom, Dad, this is my very best friend Christopher Diaz, and that’s his dad Eddie. He’s not as cool, but I guess we like him just fine.” 

He winks at Eddie and Chris, and Eddie plasters a grin on his face as he steps forward with his son. He watches as Buck’s parents let their gaze flicker down to Chris, briefly, their attention settling on his crutches for just a second too long not to be noticed before they return to his face. The man smiles, broadly, and holds out a hand for Eddie to shake. His grip is firm as he says, “Nice to meet you, son! I’m James and this is my wife, Linda.” 

Buck’s mom—Linda—gives him a kind smile and holds out her own hand for his. It’s not quite a shake, just a gentle hold as she looks at him. “It’s so nice to meet Evan’s friends.” 

“You too,” he says stiffly, baring his teeth in a grimace. 

They don’t say hi to Chris. 

It’s the exact opposite of when Buck first met Chris—the way he’d made Chris feel included in the conversation immediately, how he’d held Chris’ gaze and made him feel seen. This, the way they’ve dismissed him, is exactly what Eddie had been afraid of that night. He doesn’t think they’re being malicious (knows, unfortunately all too intimately, what it looks like when people are sneering at his son or judging their family for any number of imagined defects), but it’s clear they don’t care about his kid or have any intention of paying him any mind. 

It’s so subtle and commonplace, that nobody else really seems to notice. Bobby is grinning, happy to boast about Buck’s achievements to a willing audience, while the others are distracted by their own conversations. But Eddie notices, and so does Chris. He looks...lost, not entirely sure what to make of these people who don’t even spare him a glance. 

Buck notices too. 

He’s got a frown on his face, thinking, and Eddie watches as his brows furrow and he catches his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. Nobody else really pays attention as Bobby and James start to fall back into their conversation, but then Buck is stepping forward and swooping Chris into his arms. He’s holding him at eye level, and he grins, shark-like, at his parents before turning his attention back to Chris. 

“Let’s show my dad that handshake we’ve been perfecting, yeah buddy? Dad, check this out—Chris is gonna be stronger than me one day,” he says, encouraging Chris to hold his hand out for James to shake. 

With practiced ease, Buck slips Chris’s crutches off of his arms to free up his hands and offers them to Eddie to hold. He does it so smoothly, it’s as though he’s been doing it forever. 

Eddie tries to school his features, sure that he’s staring adoringly at his two favorite people in the world. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see how Linda is watching him, her gaze flickering between Eddie and her son. Her expression doesn’t change and Eddie doesn’t know what that means—can’t tell if he’s been assessed and found wanting or not. 

James makes pleasant small talk with Chris, even pulls a laugh out of him, but it’s clear he’s finished with the interaction after a few minutes. Buck switches targets to his mother, and she’s more taken with Chris but not for much longer. After a short while she’s drifting back to James’s side, back to the adult conversation he’s holding with Bobby. 

By this point Chris has been assured of their kindness by the small talk, and Eddie thanks God for Buck’s quick thinking. By now they no longer hold any real significance in Chris’s head—they’re two new people he’s met, but they’re not strangers who ignored him, or worse. Chris shifts in Buck’s arms and asks to be put down, promising to draw a picture for the new baby as he sets up shop at the low coffee table in the middle of the room covered in age-old magazines. 

After Eddie helps Chris get settled, he sidles up next to Buck and says, carefully, “So, you didn’t mention your parents were in town.” 

Buck glances at him. “They got here like a week ago. We had dinner their first night in town but this is the first I’m seeing of them since. They’ve been helping Maddie and Chim get everything ready for the baby.”

“I didn’t know they ever came out to LA,” Eddie mutters, and it’s petty of him. Small. But he’s staring at these two strangers across the room and can’t help but compare them to Chim’s father, halfway across the world and uninvolved in either of his son’s lives. 

The thing is, watching them, Eddie can’t help but think how he should know these people. The parents of his best friend, the closest thing he has to a partner, and they’re literal strangers to him. James and Linda Buckley of Pennsylvania, with familiar features and ironed clothes and not much else. Buck’s met Eddie’s parents, has had phone conversations with them when they FaceTime Chris and he’s hanging around. He knows that Buck has their numbers, that sometimes he texts them photos of Chris when they hang out together. Eddie, on the other hand, can’t remember a time he was ever in the room when Buck was on the phone with his parents. 

Buck tilts his head towards Eddie and gives him a knowing look. He explains, “Maddie asked them to.” 

Because he has to know he turns to Buck to watch the man’s face and asks, “Would they have come if she hadn’t?” 

There’s a moment where Buck parts his lips to answer, and Eddie watches as his gaze is locked on his parents, how his eyebrows draw together. He presses his lips into a thin line and shrugs, shaking his head at the same time. He’s not sure if Buck is saying no or simply refusing to answer. 

He doesn’t push for more, instead leaning closer to Buck and pressing their shoulders together. He asks if Buck is excited about meeting his new niece and watches as the other man’s eyes brighten, how his whole demeanor changes at the mere mention of his niece who’s only hours from being welcomed into the world. Buck’s quick to answer, explaining how Maddie and Chim have refused to tell anyone what names they’re considering—Eddie, of course, already knows this, having also worked alongside Chim for the past nine months—but he lets Buck ramble. 

It’s nice. Comforting in all the ways Buck always is. They stand together, talking, occasionally asking Chris about his drawing, but otherwise just waiting. Existing in companionable (relative) silence together. 

James and Linda never make their way over to talk to them. 

Maybe, if Eddie is being kind, he might hazard to guess that they’re being polite. Trying to make small talk with the other people in the room and not appear to be ignoring everyone else in favor of their son. They already know Buck—Evan, as they call him—and want to get to know their daughter and partner’s friends and coworkers. But Eddie finds it hard to be kind to them, even in the privacy of his own mind. 

That’s how they pass the next few hours, until finally Chim is walking through the waiting room doors, a giant, proud smile spread across his face. 

“Who wants to be the first to meet Fiona Buckley-Han?” he asks, joy radiating off of him. 

And suddenly there's a beautiful little girl to welcome into the world and Eddie doesn’t care about anything except for the look of total adoration that fills Buck’s eyes. 

Buck is the first one through the door, tripping over his own two feet to rush to Maddie’s side. She is propped up on the hospital bed by half a dozen pillows, her hair a sweaty mess and her face flush from exertion. But she’s smiling, blindingly, and in her arms is the most beautiful sight in the world: Fiona. 

“Hey,” he whispers, the idea of speaking any louder impossible to imagine. He crosses the room in four steps and then comes to a stop beside her bed. His hand shoots out, and he brushes Maddie’s hair away from her forehead as his other hand comes up to cup the back of Fiona’s head. It is so small beneath his fingers—he’s held too many babies on the job to count, but she feels different. Tinier. Bigger, at the same time, because she matters so much more to him at this moment and all the moments to come. His niece. He can’t seem to decide where he wants to look, his sister or Fiona, and so instead settles to let his gaze bounce between the two. 

Maddie smiles up at him and says, her voice fond and exhausted, “Hi Uncle Buck.” 

“Oh man, Uncle Buck,” Eddie says from behind them. “That sounds good, doesn’t it, Christopher?” 

Buck looks over his shoulder, having momentarily forgotten that Eddie and Chris had agreed to come in with him—Mom and Dad had been caught up in a conversation with Athena and had waved him on, telling him they’d be by in a few. Eddie and Chris are hovering by the door; Eddie is watching them with soft eyes while Chris looks apprehensive, even downright nervous, though he nods at Eddie’s question. 

A smile tugs at his lips and Buck pulls his hand away from his sister so as to hold it out for Chris. “C’mon buddy, come say hello to Fiona.” 

Chris takes his time crossing the room, his gaze locked on the baby girl in Maddie’s arms until he is pressed flush against Buck’s side. Eddie follows behind him. Chris’ eyes are big and his jaw has dropped a little. He tilts his head all the way back so that he can stare up at Buck and says, awed, “She’s so little.” 

“I know, right?” Buck asks, laughing. He squats so that he’s level with Chris, his hand still stroking the peach fuzz on Fiona’s crown. “You know, I bet your dad could tell you some stories about when you were this little.” 

Chris looks aghast. “I was not!” 

Eddie laughs. He smiles ruefully at Maddie and then directs his attention to his son. He says, “You were too. Remind me later and I’ll tell you all about the day you were born.” 

For a moment Chris looks like he’s ready to argue the statement again, but then Fiona shuffles ever so slightly in her sleep and his attention zeroes in on her again. He peers over the side of the bed and asks, his voice hushed, “Can I touch her?” 

Maddie smiles down at him, lovingly, and angles her body so that Chris can reach them better. She says, “Of course. Just be extra careful, okay? She’s so little and this is her first sleep ever.” 

At that, Chris looks apprehensive again and almost takes a step back, but then Buck is there, guiding his hand out to Fiona. Together they lay their hands gently against her belly, hidden beneath the hospital blanket wrapped around her. Buck keeps his hand on top of Chris’, letting the boy experience the moment. He watches as Chris’ eyes grow bigger and he turns excitedly to grin at Buck. 

“Maybe when Maddie takes Fiona home we can go over to visit and you can hold her,” Buck whispers conspiratorially. “Would you like that?” 

Chris nods his head eagerly and then, after a moment, seems to remember something. He withdraws his hand and then is reaching into his backpack before pulling out a piece of paper. He holds it out to Maddie triumphantly and says, “I almost forgot! I drew this for you and the baby—I mean, Fiona, but she wasn’t Fiona when I drew her so I didn’t know that.” 

Buck watches as tears spring to Maddie’s eyes, her emotions probably haywire after the flood of hormones from giving birth. Buck has no such excuse, and surreptitiously tries to wipe away the few tears that have threatened to spill from his eyes. 

Eddie’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes, gently, and Buck knows that Eddie saw—that he knows Buck is crying over his sister and Chris sharing a moment with his new niece and it should be embarrassing except it’s not. Instead, Buck only feels totally known at this moment. He wishes they could stay like this forever. 

Later, standing outside of the hospital in the parking garage with Chris asleep in his arms and Buck leaning against his truck, Eddie’s about to invite Buck back to their place when he spots a familiar couple walking towards them. For whatever reason, his immediate instinct is to shut his mouth. Buck notices them and stands up, his arms uncrossing and falling absently to his sides. He smiles pleasantly at his parents, like they’re strangers, and waves them over. 

James takes the initiative, and says, “Evan! We just wanted to come over and say good night. Eddie, it was a pleasure to meet you and your son today.” 

Eddie smiles at him because he doesn’t know what else to do. Buck glances between his parents and asks, his expression eager, “What time will you be at the hospital tomorrow? I can bring coffee and pastries if it’s in the morning.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about us, honey,” Linda says, her hand reaching out across the divide to rest, featherlight, atop Buck’s wrist. “Your father and I are going to do a little sightseeing tomorrow, so who knows if we’ll get back to the hospital.” 

Eddie squints at them and can’t stop himself from saying, his voice tight, “Huh. I don’t think you could have kept my parents away from the hospital after Christopher was born.” 

If they catch his meaning they don’t let on. Instead, they laugh politely and turn back to Buck. James asks, “Are we going to see you before we leave LA Sunday?” 

Buck’s shoulders drop slightly. He glances between his parents and Eddie, and asks, “I—are you leaving so soon? I thought you were staying in town for another week.” 

“Your father and I decided to change our flights when your sister went into labor,” Linda explains, her attention diverted by the keys she’s clearly trying to find in the bottom of her purse. “You know how your father and I are around babies—it’s not really our taste. I’m sure your sister and Howard will be happy to have us out of their hair!” 

James grins at his wife. “Your old man needs a full night’s sleep these days. We’ll be out of here before Madeline’s out of the hospital.” 

“Right,” Buck says. He drags his tongue across his bottom lip and refuses to meet Eddie’s gaze. “Right, yeah, of course. Uh, sure. We can grab dinner tomorrow? Unless you have an early flight the next morning, then I guess we could grab lunch instead.” 

They stand there, the five of them, as Buck and his parents work out a plan for when they’ll see each other to say goodbye. Buck, who is usually game to throw a party or engineer an entire event, seems oddly restrained in the whole planning session. He offers a handful of restaurants based on where his parents are planning on acting as tourists but otherwise lets them make all the decisions. 

Linda’s gaze darts between them, and then she’s stepping forward to rest her hand on Eddie’s arm. He startles under her touch and tries not to look too put off by her forwardness. She smiles, primly, and asks, “Are you free tomorrow, Eddie? You’re welcome to join us.” 

“Oh, I don’t think—” Buck starts. 

“Sure,” Eddie interrupts. “That sounds great.” 

Linda’s smile seems strained—or maybe that’s just Eddie’s imagination—but James looks pleased. He claps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, jostling Chris in the process and waking the boy up. “Wonderful! We’ll see you two tomorrow.” 

Two, Eddie notes thinly, unsurprised that the invitation didn’t extend to his son who’s blinking up at him drowsily. He nods his agreement to them and gets into the ordeal of putting a sleepy, clingy Chris into the truck while Buck says his goodbyes. When Eddie’s finally closing the door and turning around, he sees the Buckleys have left with only Buck remaining. 

His hands are shoved deep into his front pockets, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. He says, scuffing the asphalt beneath their feet, “You didn’t have to say yes.” 

“You want me to cancel?” Eddie asks. He’s not sure Linda would be opposed to that idea. “I can if you want, but it’d be nice to get to know your parents. I didn’t get a chance to really talk to them today and if they’re already planning on leaving town…” 

Buck makes a face at that, forcing out an awkward laugh. “You don’t have to be so judgy, Diaz, damn.” 

“I can be a little judgy,” Eddie says. He glances around the parking garage but doesn’t see anyone of note. He pitches his next words a little low, “They just don’t seem all that invested in parenthood. Theirs, or anyone else’s.” 

Buck’s eyes soften a little as he shrugs, lamely. “You heard them. It’s not to their taste or whatever.” 

There’s a beat and Eddie watches as Buck’s gaze flickers to the back of Chris’s head visible through the car window. He takes a step into Eddie’s space and presses a hand to his side. Eddie tries not to react to Buck’s touch, his nerves on fire where Buck’s fingers are digging into his waist through his t-shirt. Buck says, “I’m sorry they tried to ignore Chris. It was a shitty thing to do.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, because there’s nothing else he can really say about it. His cheeks feel flush as he catches Buck’s gaze. He’s earnest as he says, “But you made them pay attention to him and treat him with respect. You didn’t even let Chris realize what was going on when you took them to task. You’re a great parent, Buck.” 

“Parent?” Buck repeats, dumbfounded, his own cheeks heating up. He looks a little dazed by the suggestion. “I’m not a parent.” 

Eddie shrugs, following Buck’s lead and stepping closer into his space. He reaches up and traces his fingers across the script of Buck’s tattoo. He watches his fingers follow the swoops and curves of the words, feels how Buck shivers beneath his touch, until he lifts his gaze and catches Buck’s. He says, “You’re as good as. Don’t tell me you don’t know that.” 

“I–I mean,” Buck says, stuttering over his words as the blush spreads across his ears. “I’ve always—I mean, you know how much I care about Chris.” 

“I do,” Eddie says. He aches to take another step closer, to close the distance between them. Something inside of Eddie tells him Buck would welcome the advance—the other man is staring down at him, his blue eyes startlingly wide. “I know you love him like he’s your own.” 

He can see Buck’s Adam’s apple swallow hard, watches as his lips start to part and his breathing comes out fast. He longs to lean forward, to capture Buck’s mouth with his own, but before he can work up the courage he hears the clicking of a door opening behind him, and then the sound of a familiar voice.

“Daaad! Are we going? Is Buck coming home with us?” 

For a brief second Eddie leans forward and presses his forehead to Buck’s, just long enough for them both to feel the other’s breath ghost their lips. Then he’s pulling away from him and turning back to Chris, a smile spread across his face. 

“Yeah, buddy, we’re leaving right now. Buck, are you following us in your Jeep?” 

He watches as Buck blinks, as though trying to make sense of what just happened between them. After a moment, a slow, languid smile spreads across his face as he turns to Chris. “You bet, bud. I’ll be right behind you.” 

Then, before Eddie can say anything else, Buck is darting away to his Jeep and shouting out, “I’ll grab pizza! See you at home!” 

Home. The fact that Buck calls it that fills him with such warmth, he doesn’t even bother to point out they have leftovers in the fridge. 

Buck is nervous. 

Has been nervous for the last fifteen hours since he and Eddie had made these lunch plans with his parents. It has nothing to do with Mom and Dad—Buck’s sure they’ll be friendly, maybe even charming. He knows Eddie isn’t their biggest fan, but for all their apparent disinterest in being parents, they love to meet people and make friends, love to wine and dine someone over a meal and exchange stories and life experiences and opinions. Buck’s been told by a number of people how nice and kind and entertaining his parents are—hell, even Bobby had texted the night before to say it was great meeting them. So he’s not worried about them, not at all. 

It’s Eddie. Specifically, it’s Buck’s feelings for Eddie. 

He’s known, okay, that he cared for Eddie more than was typical of an average best friend. He knows it’s not entirely normal to feel more at home in another man’s house than in his own apartment, knows that there have been times when he’s thought of Eddie and Chris as family and not just in the found family type of way that he thinks of the 118. He remembers the way Bobby and the rest of the team had looked at him that night in the pouring rain when the world had turned sideways and Eddie had been lost to them thirty feet beneath the mud. How their faces had reminded him of the way they look at loved ones on the scene—like that woman whose fiancé had died after falling in the escalator. With sorrow and sympathy for the grief they were about to go through. He’d been Eddie’s loved one that night, the person they’d felt the need to comfort and reassure when it looked like there was no hope. When he’d been ready to start digging through the muck and sludge with nothing but his bare hands. 

Back then he hadn’t known—not really. Back then, he’d just thought Eddie was important to him because they were friends, best friends. Because Eddie was the first person to ever really see him, to know what he needed. 

But since then—since Red, since Abby and the train, since the weekend lost to cold medicine and Eddie’s care—Buck’s slowly but surely come to realize that his feelings are anything but platonic. 

He’s in love with Eddie. 

Has been, probably, since long before he realized it. Probably all the way back to that morning after the tsunami, when Buck had been drowning again, only this time in the depths of his own misery, sure that he had ruined everything. His life, his career, his friendships. But then there was Eddie: Christopher by his side and an earnest expression on his face as he swore that there was nobody in the world he trusted with his son more. 

Chris has always felt part Buck’s—always, what a strange word. Buck hasn’t known Chris for all his life, had only entered into it by happenstance a little over three years ago. At the time he’d told Eddie he’d loved kids, but looking back Buck can’t think of ever loving one as much as he loves Christopher. They’d had an instant connection and it had only grown after the tsunami, this kid who loved with his entire heart and made Buck feel whole. 

He’d never said anything about his feelings, didn’t feel like it was his place. Eddie was Chris’s dad, and Shannon had been his mom. Buck had always assumed he was just...Eddie’s best friend. The fun uncle, maybe. 

But then last night Eddie had stared at him under the dim lighting in that parking garage and called him a parent. 

He’s been reeling ever since. 

Buck’s doing his best to hide it as the four of them follow the waiter to their table, the restaurant just a touch too fancy for his own liking (there are white tablecloths and smooth jazz playing on low and dim mood lighting that makes Buck feel like he time traveled between the bright afternoon outside into the twilight indoors). He’d tossed out the restaurant name as a possibility after remembering that Maddie had liked it and he hadn’t been surprised when Mom and Dad had latched onto it. He suspects he and Eddie would have been more comfortable grabbing a burger at a bar. 

They’ve just settled down at the table, the menus splayed out in front of each of them, and his parents have ordered a bottle of wine to share even though he would have preferred a beer when Eddie’s phone starts to ring. He tosses them all a smile and apologizes, stepping away from the table for a moment to take the call. 

“I’m glad we were able to do this,” Dad says, reaching across the table to pat Buck’s arm. “It’s been a while since we last saw you! When was the last time you were out in Pennsylvania?” 

“Oh, uh,” Buck says, thinking hard. “I dunno, probably before I entered the fire academy. So, four years ago maybe?” 

Mom nods, flashing him a smile and turning to Dad. “Yes, you remember honey, Buck was in town the summer of 2016. We did that tasting at the winery you love so much.” 

Dad is nodding, agreeing, when Buck’s attention is diverted as Eddie stumbles back to the table. He looks panicked, his eyes wild, as he catches Buck’s gaze and shakes his head. “I am—fuck, I am so sorry, I’m going to have to leave.” 

Buck is instantly worried, his heart racing as he leans forward across the table, longing to reach out and take hold of Eddie’s hand. “Eddie, man, what’s wrong?” 

“Chris—” he watches as Eddie’s gaze flits towards his parents for a half second before settling back on Buck. “My son—he was playing with his cousins and he fell or—or, God, I don’t know, Buck, it sounds like he might have broken his wrist. Pepa—Abuela—they’re both with him, but I gotta go. I’m sorry.” 

His mouth is running a mile a minute, tripping over his words as he digs through his pockets for his keys. He turns to Buck’s parents, remorse plain on his face as he holds out his trembling hand for Dad to shake. “I am—again, apologies, this—it was really nice meeting you, I wish I could stay but I have to go.” 

Mom raises from her seat and gives Eddie a small hug, fleeting and light like a bird, and waves at him. “Go, go, we understand. I hope everything’s okay.” 

“Eddie—” Buck says, anxious, pushing back his chair and moving to stand with him. His mouth is already falling open, the words poised on the tip of his tongue: I’m coming too. 

Eddie holds up a hand. He looks frantic still, but there’s a determined set to his brow. He shakes his head, his feet already taking him back towards the doors they’d entered, and says firmly, “No, Buck, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it—stay here with your parents. I’ll update you later.” 

He turns his back and is out the doors in record time. 

Buck is still hovering, half out of his chair, when his mother turns to him and says, “Oh dear, I hope his son is okay. It’s not fun to have a broken bone at that age.” 

Dad is nodding along in agreement, already perusing the menu again, and says, “Evan broke his elbow when he was around that age, didn’t he? God, do you remember?” 

“You didn’t tell us you’d tripped and fallen until the next morning!” Mom laughs, gazing up at Buck. He feels how her eyes pin him down, as he slowly forces himself to sit in his chair. “We were so scared taking you to the hospital. You’ll tell us how his son is doing when you hear from him, won’t you?” 

Buck nods, but he’s not really looking at them. Instead he’s still staring at the space Eddie had just been standing, his mind filling in the gaps as he recalls Eddie’s panicked expression, and then he’s thinking back to the night before. To Eddie standing in front of him in a different setting, smiling softly at him, calling him a parent. To Chris. 

Their boy who’s in the hospital, probably terrified and in pain and desperately needing his parents. 

It’s like his body is on auto-pilot, but Buck is suddenly rising from his seat again. His hands are already reaching into his pocket, his fingers curling around his keys and his phone, a mental checklist forming in his mind’s eye. He has to call Pepa—figure out what hospital they’re at, what room number—has to pay for parking at the lot they’d found. Considers, briefly, if he has time to stop by the house to grab Chris one of his stuffed animals for comfort but immediately dismisses the plan, uninterested in anything that will keep him away from his kid’s bedside even a moment longer. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, the set of his mouth rueful. “I shouldn’t have let Eddie go alone—I have to go.” 

His dad doesn’t raise his head, merely turns over the menu to read the back, and says, “Don’t be ridiculous, Evan. Sit back down.” 

He stares, a little dumbfounded, and watches as his mother’s eyes dart around the restaurant, her gaze tracking everyone who’s staring at them. Her fingers are tracing the rim of the water glass in front of her, the condensation dripping down the side of the stem. He knows, instinctively, that she is embarrassed—by Eddie, by him, for causing a scene by walking into a restaurant only to dart out mere moments later. She’ll apologize to the waiter in a few minutes, over explain the situation, and give a tittering little laugh to hide just how uncomfortable she is. 

She stares up at him and says, her tone on the edge of scolding, “You’re being silly. I’m sure your friend can handle everything just fine on his own. You’re having lunch with your parents.” 

“Chris needs me,” he says plainly. 

“You’re not his father,” Dad says. “I think I’ll have the seared tuna over kimchi fried rice. That sounds good, doesn’t it? Says here it comes with a fried egg.” 

Mom looks over at him and touches Dad’s hand. “Maybe ask if they can poach the egg, dear. You know what your doctor says.” 

Buck is staring at them, his parents, and for the first time in a long while he is reminded of why he doesn’t tell them things. It’s not anything they’re doing on purpose, but they’re dismissive to his concerns and his feelings. If it intrudes on their plans or their view of the world, they simply ignore it and move on. And he’s known, his entire life, when to keep his mouth shut because there are things they don’t want to hear. Learned how to assess his situation and decide if it was worth telling them, if they would even care. 

He tries to force himself to breathe, slowly, the same way he does when he’s on a call and his adrenaline is too hopped up. He tilts his head up to stare at the exposed brick behind his parents’ heads, to take in the artwork that’s covering the walls, his eyes dragging over the colors without any real recognition of their shapes. 

“I’ve been in Christopher’s life for three years now,” he says carefully, enunciating his words. “I love that kid, we’re family—I’m all in. So I’m gonna go.” 

Once again, his parents dismiss him.

Not quite as readily. This time, Dad actually looks up from the menu and Mom gazes up at him, but he can see that they don’t really hear what he’s saying. Mom is wearing a pinched smile, her delicately manicured eyebrows drawing together as she tucks her hair behind her ear, while Dad’s mouth is set in a firm line. 

She says, “Really, Evan, sit down. Let’s order our lunch—I think we can split a goat cheese salad for the table. You can check in on your friend afterwards.”

Buck is still staring at her, wide-eyed, as she crinkles her nose in distaste and asks, “Besides, how close can you really be to a child that’s not your own?” 

It hurts to hear her say that. 

“You know, when the tsunami happened, you guys didn’t ask for any details.” 

His voice is strained, his gaze far away. He’s thinking about that moment, standing at the edge of the pier and looking out at the water receding, at the flash of understanding that had washed over him like a bucket of ice cold water. How he’d had only a moment, an instant, to sweep Christopher into his arms and book it—not entirely sure where he could run, how he thought they could outrun a tsunami, but he’d still tried. Had tossed that beautiful, wonderful kid into the carnival booth and dove after him as the wave crashed down on them. And then suddenly he was choking, drowning, and all he could think of was that he needed to be by Chris’s side. 

Mom sniffs. “You said you were near the pier. I assumed on duty?” 

“I was with Chris,” he says, his words clipped. “I was still recovering after the ladder truck bombing and I was...depressed, really, I wanted to be at work. Eddie showed up that morning and asked me to spend the day with Christopher. So I took Chris to the pier and we had this perfect day until suddenly there was a fucking tsunami crashing down on us.” 

His parents' brown eyes are wide, their expressions a twin set of horror. He never wanted to tell them about this, never wanted to see their reactions. 

He presses on. “I—I lost that kid, I did, he was missing for hours and I searched this whole godforsaken city and when he finally found us—because he did, he found us not the other way around—all he remembered was that I’d saved him first. That we’d huddled up on that ladder truck together, scared out of our goddamn minds, and played I Spy.” 

Distantly, Buck is aware that his cheeks are wet. He knows, intuitively, that means he’s crying but it doesn’t feel real. He’s sure there are strangers watching, maybe some can even overhear him, but now that the words have started to pour out he cannot stop them. He doesn’t know how he ever did. 

“He doesn’t remember me looking away, doesn’t remember how I got distracted trying to help other people and he fell into the water—to him, all that matters is that I was there. So I’m going to be there for him today. Because he needs me, and I need to be there for him. Even if he doesn’t ask for me by name.” 

There’s a moment, and then his breath hitches, and he says, wrecked, “He’s my kid. You both need to accept that.” 

Mom looks shocked, and Dad shakes his head, confused. His voice is adamant. “He’s your friend’s child, Evan. Don’t be absurd.” 

“He’s mine. And—and maybe Eddie’s mine too. We haven’t—I mean, this is new but—” he’s floundering now, his gaze anywhere but on them, his parents. He thinks of last night, of Eddie’s forehead pressed to his, of that moment before anything could have happened. He wets his lips with his tongue. “But—I want him to be.” 

Stunned, his mother starts, “Evan—”

“You know my name is Buck,” he interrupts. “People call me Buck, they have since I was a kid. You know that.” 

They did. Know that. But Buck remembers in that moment that he didn’t tell them—that they weren’t a part of that decision. He’d picked it up at the start of ninth grade when all the boys were swapping nicknames in gym class and it was the first time he’d ever had one, so he’d embraced it, readily, telling all of his teachers and classmates to call him Buck. A few weeks later, his parents had come home from a Back to School function humiliated, demanding to know if he’d changed his name without telling them—they’d apparently brushed off at least three different teachers who had wanted to talk about “their son, Buck” before Mom and Dad had caught on to what had happened. 

Mom is looking at him now, a flush spread across her cheeks as her eyes dart between him and the waiter, awkwardly standing near the table pretending not to overhear. She says, barely louder than a whisper, “We’re just worried about you, hon. You seem...you’re too involved with this man, you’re calling his child your own. We barely even know him.” 

He glances between the two of them and says, “We’ve gone through the past twenty-eight years not being involved in each other’s lives, why should we start now?” 

“Wait—” Dad starts. 

Buck is already walking away from the table, his thumb punching the passcode into his phone. He waves at them, flashes a sad smile, and says, “Have a safe flight home. I’m going to go where I’m needed.” 

He takes a few steps further when he stalls, turns back to them after a moment’s hesitation. They’re sitting at the table, both staring up at him a little horrified by what has just happened, and Buck feels nothing but pity for them. His parents who he loves but doesn’t understand. 

He says, his voice kind and gentle because it is the only way he knows how to tell them the truth, “You know Mom, the reason I didn’t tell you I broke my elbow right away when I was 10 is because you guys were playing bridge with the neighbors. And even then, I didn’t think I could tell you I’d been hurt. Not when I was sure you’d be more annoyed about your plans being interrupted than you would be worried about me.” 

“Evan!” his dad says, shocked. “That’s not fair. Apologize to your mother.” 

His mom looks just as dismayed, hurt even, as her hand flutters up to her chest and rests there delicately. She is staring at him with Maddie’s doe eyes, wet and devastated as she whispers, a tremor in her voice, “How could you say something like that? We love you—if we’d known you were hurt we would have dropped everything to take care of you.” 

“You say that,” Buck says slowly, his gaze tracking between the two of them, these strangers who raised him at a distance and loved him in their own unknowable way. “And maybe it’s true. But I never believed it, and you never showed it.” 

“Evan!” 

He’s not sure which of them sounds more outraged, more hurt. It doesn’t matter. Not now, not while Chris needs him. He waves goodbye at them and hurries out the restaurant to be with his kid. 

Eddie is in the hallway, his entire body weight leaning against the wall, his forehead pressed to the metal frame of the door leading into Chris’s room. The doctor has only just stepped away after talking to him, and Eddie feels like he might fall in on himself from the relief of having all that weight lifted off of him. Chris is going to be okay, he’s going to be okay, and that’s all Eddie can tell himself, this repeated mantra as he tries not to let the past hour get the best of him. 

“Eddie!” 

His head shoots up and Buck is coming down the hallway, his arms held out away from his sides. He is crossing the distance between them quickly, until he is right up in Eddie’s space, his hands shooting out to grip Eddie’s forearms. 

“Eddie, how’s Chris? Is he okay? Can I see him?” 

It’s not on purpose, but Eddie feels himself collapse against Buck, the relief instant at seeing him here. Buck’s response is immediate as he gathers him up into his arms and pulls Eddie against his chest. He drops a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head and holds him tight, Eddie’s cheek pressed against the hollow of Buck’s neck. 

His voice is soothing as he whispers, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. Right? What did the doctors say?”

Eddie nods and presses his face against Buck’s neck. He says, his voice muffled, “Y—yeah, the doctor said he’s good. He fractured his wrist and they’re keeping him under observation for a few hours to make sure he didn’t get a concussion when he hit his head, but they think he’s fine. They’re finishing up his cast now.” 

“Hey, that’s good,” Buck exclaims, his arms tightening around Eddie. He can feel himself sink even further against Buck, letting the other man bear up the brunt of his weight. He hadn’t realized when he’d left the restaurant how desperately he’d wanted Buck to come with him.  

Wait, the restaurant—

“What are you doing here?” he asks, pulling away from Buck’s arms and looking up at him. “I thought—what about your parents? When I left you hadn’t even ordered lunch yet, how’d you get here so fast?” 

Buck is stroking his arms as though to soothe him, his lips quirking up into a smile. “I bailed. I’ll apologize to them later. I couldn’t just stay there knowing Chris was in the hospital.” 

His smile falters for a moment, then his expression grows somber. He is gazing at Eddie with serious eyes as he says, “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have let you leave the restaurant alone.”

“What—?” Eddie starts, confused. “No, wait, you bailed? I told you to stay, why are you apologizing?” 

Buck looks at him, evenly, his head tilting just a little to the side. The bright fluorescent hospital lighting makes his birthmark appear stark against his pale skin. “Yeah, but, that’s our kid in there. He needed me.” 

He doesn’t know what he expected Buck to say but this—

This was exactly the right thing. 

He stares up at him, this man, this man who just called Christopher their kid, and he knows he’s a goner. That there’s nothing left to deny, even to himself, because he’s in love with this man. With Buck, and his gorgeous, open smile, and his big heart that is full of love for other people, but especially for his kid. Their kid. 

“You know,” he says slowly, lifting his gaze to watch Buck from beneath his eyelashes. His lips pull into a half-smile. “Dropping everything at a moment’s notice—that’s a real parent thing to do.” 

Buck grins at him, his smile brilliant. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told.” 

And he could say more. It would be easy to keep talking—Eddie feels like he could talk to Buck forever—but in this moment he’s done with words. They’ve gotten them this far, but right now he wants only one thing. 

Buck seems to agree with him. 

They both shuffle a little closer, their bodies already pressed against each other, Eddie’s thigh now slotted between Buck’s legs. Eddie’s hands curl around Buck’s hips, his fingers pressing tight enough to leave small petal-shaped bruises. There is a moment when they stare at each other, Buck’s blue eyes blown wide open, and Eddie watches as Buck’s gaze flickers down to his lips for a split second. He does the same, taking in the sight of Buck’s plump, pink lips. 

He doesn’t know who moves first. But suddenly Buck is lowering his head and slanting his mouth across Eddie’s, and they are kissing. His hands reach up to cradle Eddie’s face, his fingers tracing his jaw before his thumb is pressing against Eddie’s chin, guiding his mouth open even wider so that he can take the kiss deeper. His stubble—stubble, what a revelation—is rough against Eddie’s skin. He groans, low and rough, the sound escaping his lips and getting lost in Buck’s mouth, as he shifts their hips so their bodies are pressed flush together. The kiss makes Eddie’s legs quake, his chest ache, as his stomach turns hot at Buck’s touch. 

Eddie breaks the kiss to drop his head to Buck’s shoulder, his breath shallow, distantly aware of the fact that they’re standing in a hospital corridor. Anybody could walk by them. Buck drops a kiss to his temple, his fingers moving from his jaw to the back of his neck, getting caught up in the ends of Eddie’s hair. 

Buck steps away from the embrace, his hand reaching out to catch Eddie’s before he can stumble from the loss of support. He tugs him in the direction of the closed door beside them, tilting his head to the side. 

“C’mon,” he says, his voice rough with unsaid emotion, his gaze soft. “Let’s go check on Chris.” 

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat as he nods, and then he’s allowing Buck to drag him into the room until they’re both sitting in uncomfortable hospital chairs, side by side, their fingers interlaced, as Chris shows off his new cast, his excitement at Buck’s presence palpable in the air as they smile down at him. It is everything he didn’t know he was allowed to have, this man who loves their child as his own, and it is beautiful. 

Buck knows he’ll have to call his parents later, smooth over the mess he’d left at the restaurant. He’s both dreading and looking forward to it—he thinks, maybe, this will be the start of something new. A path forward in his relationship with his parents that will look fundamentally different from the silence of their past. 

But for now, he’s not worried about them. For now, he’s in this moment, in this hospital room, smiling at his kid and holding Eddie’s hand. He’s overwhelmed by the knowledge that there’s nowhere he’d rather be than here with his family. 

He raises Eddie’s hand and brings it to his lips, presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles, and smiles.