Archive of Our Own

Buck has always had a slight obsession with tight knit, big families.

He remembers asking his friends how their Christmas dinners went, how birthdays were. Did all their family come? How did dinner go? Who was running around the house? He’d sit there, chin propped on his fist, taking in every last detail and moment so that maybe he too could feel that one day.

Family time with the Buckley’s didn’t exist in that way. It was stunted conversations, mourning that he didn’t understand until recently, dinners hidden away in Maddie’s room while they listened to whatever band she was into at the time. And then Doug came, and it was Buck on his own. Tucked away in his own room or out finding something to do that would get his family to notice him again.

So, Buck’s always been curious about how big families worked. He’s always dreamed about them, longed for them.

At first the 118 didn’t fill that need. He was the new guy, he was a little shit who’d take the truck and then pull stupid, heroic moves on calls to compensate. He wasn’t in with Hen and Chim yet, just another probie that would leave before graduation, and Bobby saw him as a project, someone he needed to get in line before he hurt himself or someone else.

And then something shifted. Slaps on the back were reassuring, not disappointed. Eyerolls were fond, not annoyed. He was let into inside jokes, he was invited to cook outs, he became part of their lives as much as they became part of his. That dynamic shift gave Buck access to what he’d always dreamed of: a big, bustling, chaotic family that cared for him and wanted him there.

But none of that could have prepared him for the California-based Diaz family. Large, complicated, but so so loving. Sometimes it made Buck’s heart hurt as he watched from the sidelines. It made him a little jealous. Of Chris because he so badly wanted to have that, and then of Eddie because he also wanted aunts and uncles to love and care for him. He reeled that green-eyed monster in, stomped it down inside him, because while he wishes he had that, he’s so glad Chris has to go through what he did.

Then, there came a time where Buck was no longer outside looking in. It was wonderful, it was heartbreaking, it was so much that sometimes Buck had to turn little pieces of himself off so he didn’t cry in the middle of Isabel Diaz’s living room because an aunt he has no relation to told him she was proud of him.

Their dynamic was something he didn’t understand at first. It was humor and a dash of bullying all tied together with familial love in the form of nicknames. Buck’s had many names that tie him to different moments of his life, but never in the way that the Diazes did.

He was Evan Buckley: Reckless, loved only by Maddie, his heart so empty he did anything to fill it.

Then, he became Buck Buckley, the name he usually resides in: Carefully impulsive, heart half full.

He had those two names to go by, one he hated and one he felt at home in. And then, the Diaz family turned the concept of names, of who he could be, on its head. And Buck, never having a family who did nicknames the way they do, Buck could only hold on and try not crumble at the sheer sight of being loved.

The first time it happens, Buck doesn’t pay much mind to it.

It’s Christopher’s birthday and Isabel pulled Eddie’s arm until he agreed to let her cook, threatening him with death if he bought pizzas for Chris’ birthday.

It’s not Buck’s first time going to Abuela's house, not by a long shot. But when he makes a right turn and sees the street lined with mostly unfamiliar cars, large trucks parked half on the curb, he suddenly feels nervous. He doesn’t see the familiar sedans and SUVs from his 118 family, and something about going into Eddie’s abuela’s house that’s full of Eddie’s family, drops a stone into his stomach. The hand he has wrapped around the steering wheel sweats, and instead of parallel parking in a spot he knows he can fit in, Buck parks two blocks down to give himself an excuse to take his time getting to the house.

Buck puts the Jeep in park, picks up his phone and taps the screen, waking it up. There’s already a text from Eddie asking where he’s at, another from Chris that’s just a picture of his cake, packed away in the stuffed fridge. It puts a smile on Buck’s lips and subsides the nerves, just a little because the two most important people at the party want him there. It’s not enough to make him jump out of the vehicle and into Abuela’s house, because when he looks down the street at the house, he feels like he’s frozen to his seat.

Taking in a deep breath, Buck forces himself to unbuckle his belt, grab Chris’ present from the passenger footwell, and open the door. He gets one foot out on the running board before the nerves hit him again. It’s aggravating, being nervous about what feels like nothing, but getting angry at himself now won’t help anyone.

Buck pushes himself out of the jeep, the door still open behind him. He’s aware that the walk to the house should take him one minute, tops. He’s got long legs and a fast stride from having to keep up with speed walking king Eddie. But the moment his feet touch the curb, the moment he can smell carne asada, it’s like his legs turn to cement. Buck stands outside his jeep, the door wide open and Chris’ present in hand, and stares at the yellowing grass in front of him.

It’s literally just Eddie’s family, is what he tries to reason with himself, he’s not a guest in Eddie’s house and he’s well aware that extends to Abuela and Pepa’s houses too. But the problem is there isn’t a “just” when it comes to Eddie. Not when Buck wears his heart on his sleeve, when he wants to make the best first impression, when he wants the people that make up the core members of Eddie’s family to like him.

So, he stares at the yellowing grass. He adjusts his grip on the twine handles of the gift bag, and squares his shoulders just a little. With a shut of the Jeep door behind him and a click on the fob to lock it, he steps over the grass and onto the sidewalk. It takes him another handful of moments to get his brain in check, and he’s proud of himself when he only stops once, two houses down, to force his heart to not beat out of his chest.

The gate leading to the house is open. There’s blue and green balloons tied to the posts, streamers woven through the chainlink. He can hear joyful shouting and music coming from the backyard, can smell the delicious scent of meat and corn, and with one more breath he steps into the property line.

Buck stares at the open front door and then looks over at the side of the house he knows would take him right to the back yard. He’s usually with Eddie when he comes over and follows his lead, to go in through the front door or around the side of the house. He’s conflicted on which path to take (Is going through the side too familiar? What if Eddie’s inside? Should he call or would that make him a weirdo?) when a man rounds the corner, car keys in hand like he was going to grab something.

They stare at each other for a moment. The man looks about his age, button down tucked into faded bootcut jeans. He’s probably confused, Buck realizes, as to why there’s a random guy standing in the yard. Buck, staring at the man with wide eyes, is just as confused as to why there’s a man interrupting his very public crisis.

The man breaks the silence, keys jingling in his hands when he motions behind himself, “You here for the party?”

Buck nods once and clears his throat, forcing himself to use his damn words, “Yeah,” he lifts the gift bag a little, “I’m Eddie’s friend, Buck.”

When Buck says his name the man’s entire face changes. He smiles, wide and giddy, and a teasing glint comes to his eyes. He steps forward, and pulls Buck into a hug, clapping his back before leaning back to look Buck over, “Ah, Buck! I’m Eduardo, Eddie’s cousin.”

Buck wasn’t expecting the hug, he is a stranger to this man after all, but it lifts some of the anxiety that was living in the base of his stomach. He settles for gripping Eduardo’s elbow, letting himself smile for the first time since he turned down the street, “Nice to meet you, do they call you Eddie too?”

Eduardo laughs, letting Buck go and nodding with his head to follow him, “Nah, ‘Eduardo’s are ‘Lalo’s. So you can call me Lalo, only my mom calls me Eduardo.” Lalo dramatically shudders, like the thought of his mom calling him by his full name is frightening.

“Lalo,” Buck tests the name out, keeping in step with him as they walk between the house and the gate, “noted.”

The backyard is an organized chaos. Kids are running, people surround the barbecue pit with beers in their hands, others sit around fold out tables of various shapes, some on actual chairs while others make use of the tops of coolers. Buck automatically searches the faces for Eddie and Chris, he knows he needs to be respectful and introduce himself to everyone else, but he’s got his priorities.

He finds Chris under a tree close to the house, watching as a dinosaur shaped piñata is carefully rigged to a branch. Following the bright orange nylon rope, Buck’s eyes land on Eddie, on the roof of Abuela’s house, yelling something at the teenager in the tree who adjusts the piñata accordingly. Eddie looks like something out of a dream, in a nicer button down and brown jeans stretched over his thighs where he’s on one knee, the boots he wears on a daily basis poke out of the hem.

“Eddie,” Lalo yells, stopping just below where Eddie’s squatting on the roof, “tu güero is here!”

Family members whoop at the comment, looking from Lalo, to Eddie, and then at Buck. Buck never took Spanish in school, he’s decent enough at it to help people on a call if he needs to, but Buck never learned the slang. In Peru he interacted with American tourists, hung out with other Americans, he never needed any language but English. Buck’s pretty sure he’s missing some context, but Lalo’s words don’t sound mean, so he just shrugs and watches Eddie.

Eddie frowns for a moment, gloved hands still holding on to the rope, but then he looks two feet behind Lalo and the frown leaves for an embarrassed smile, “Cabrón,” Eddie shouts down at his cousin, earning laughs from spectating family, before saying, loud enough that everyone can heart but with such softness that it almost make Buck’s knees weak: “Hey, Buck.”

Lalo laughs and slaps his shoulder like Buck’s in on a joke, and Buck’s just excited to be involved because he grins, one hand coming to his hip, “Eds, I don’t think that’s regulation.” He points to the roof, the rope, the random kid in the tree. It’s teasing, but Buck knows that’s the vibe going on.

“Yeah,” Lalo sing-songs, “Eds what about regulation?”

“Fire marshal's going to dock you,” He’s grinning like an idiot, egged on by Lalo who nudges him in the side encouragingly, obviously excited with the prospect of teasing Eddie, “don’t make me pull my clipboard out.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, it’s fond and annoyed at the same time, there’s a little flush on his face and Buck can’t tell whether it’s from the sun or the chorus of ‘ooo’s from his family, “What the fire marshal doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Buck feels two small arms wrap around him from the side, forcing him to look away from Eddie. He smiles down at Chris, his love struck idiotic grin turning fond, “If it isn’t the birthday boy!”

“Hi Buck,” Chris looks up at him still holding on to his waist, “what took you so long?”

“Traffic,” Buck says instead of delving through the crisis that still lives in his chest, he kneels himself down a little, pulling Chris into a side hug, “were you the one to get your dad on the roof?”

Chris shakes his head, peering over Buck's arms to try and get a look into the gift bag, “No, that was Lalo. Even I know that’s not in regulation.”

“Guilty,” Lalo says with a shrug when Buck looks up at him, “he’s literally a professional at this rope climbing shit.”

Buck hears the impact of someone carefully jumping off the roof, the soft grunt, and then Eddie’s next to Lalo, “Yeah Buck,” Eddie takes off his gloves, wiping his forehead with a little huff, “I’m a professional.” It’s Eddie’s turn to grin, and he looks so fucking good Buck has to flick his eyes away with the guise of looking down at Chris.

“When your dad hurts his back,” Buck tells Chris, mock-serious, letting Chris go from his hug, “and is complaining to us about it, remind him that he said he’s a professional.”

Chris and Lalo laugh, but Eddie snorts. It’s rude and loud, and it lights Buck’s chest up, “When my back hurts I’ll be sure to have you waiting on me hand and foot.” Eddie opens his arms, offering, and Buck shakes his head a little before stepping into them.

It’s a short hug, maybe a few seconds, but Buck catalogs every point of contact to save for later. He can feel Eddie’s hand come to his side, thumb pressing just under his ribs. Eddie’s other arm goes around his shoulders, pulling him in close. He can smell the cologne Eddie saves for special occasions, the sweat from being outside, mixed with the smoke from the grill Buck hopes Eddie had nothing to do with. He’s all too aware of the bag still in his hand, preventing him from resting it along the planes of Eddie’s back, but he compensates with his other hand, holding on to Eddie’s body for a moment before they both let go.

Lalo appears between them, smiling wide, and Eddie pushes him away until Lalo walks off laughing with his entire chest.

“Finish setting it up with me?” Eddie nods at the tree, the teenager sitting in it looking completely unimpressed.

Chris is already moving toward the tree before Buck can get a word out, like ‘hey, shouldn’t I go say hi to Abuela and Pepa before anything else?’, dragging him there by the hand. Eddie shrugs like what can he do? And follows behind them.

All the tension, anxiety, nerves that hid themselves in Buck’s bones melt away. He’s got the gift still in one hand, Chris’ hand in his other, and on his shoulder Eddie’s hand rests as both of them explain the mechanics of the piñata rigging and why Eddie absolutely had to get on the roof to achieve it.

Buck, being tugged by a now eleven year old, can’t help but wonder what had him so caught up to begin with. This is Eddie and Chris, and this is their family. He’s had a place with them since he dropped Chris off here the first time, since he invited Abuela to the station without Eddie knowing. They’re not going to suddenly ostracize him or make him feel like the outsider he kinda actually is just because it’s a party and not a laid back meal.

Buck lets a little smile settle on his lips, stopping in front of the tree, “I see the merits of getting on the roof, though I still would have written you up.”

“Thank god you’re not a fire marshal anymore and we’re not on the clock then, huh?” Eddie squeezes his shoulder, before waving the teenager in the tree down, “Now get your ass up there so this can be the best piñata in LA.”

The second time it happens Buck notices because Eddie notices, and if Buck is attuned to anything it’s to the minute and minuscule things that signal an Eddie mood change.

They’re at Abuelas again. Winter’s setting into LA, and according to Eddie the moment there’s a chill in the air dried peppers and hominy are weaponized to get the entire family into Abuela’s house. So, it’s not a huge party but it is an occasion, one that Buck is happy to be part of.

He was advised not to wear white, light colors, or anything that requires careful cleaning by Eddie, Chris, and Lalo (Because now Lalo and Buck text, usually it’s memes or Lalo sending Buck clips of Pequeños Gigantes to try and get Buck to cry.

He also found out what ‘güero’ means, unsure how to spell it he asked Eddie and Eddie laughed then told him it meant white man, but there’s more affection behind it, in this case, than the translation offers. It made Buck’s heart flutter a little, and every time he sees Lalo he preens a little at being called güero, affectionately.) So Buck’s wearing an old crewneck, it’s a little tight in the shoulders where he’s bulked a bit, but it’s soft and a blue-grey that may or may not make his eyes pop.

Eventually they’re all seated around the kitchen table, steaming bowls of red broth, tender pork shoulder and hominy, loaded with shredded cabbage, sliced radish, onion, and cilantro, steam in front of them. Someone passes around a bottle of dried oregano, to his left a tia distributes toastadas from a very loud bag.

Buck blames the cramped table for the reason he lets his knee rest against Eddie’s where they’re seated next to each other. Eddie’s knee gently shakes, a nervous tick that Buck finds slightly comforting. Across from him Chris happily dips a broken tostada shell into the broth, and next to him Eddie passes the shaker bottle of dried oregano.

“It gives it a good flavor,” Eddie says, bottle still extended, “promise it doesn’t taste like a weird pasta sauce.”

“Only you would compare this to pasta sauce,” Pepa says, shaking her head, “it’s good.”

“The lack of faith, it’s not like I wasn’t going to try itt,” Buck takes the bottle, the cap’s already off, so he shakes what he thinks a good amount is into his bowl. He looks up at Eddie, then at Pepa, both of them give him the okay to stop. He looks at the tia next to him, he’s pretty sure her name is Liz, “Oregano?”

“Hell yes,” She takes the bottle from him, pausing as she looks around the spread of people eating and passing around various food items, “do you have napkins over next to you?”

Buck looks around his bowl, then next to Eddie and Pepa, “I don’t, um-”

“Ojitos,” Pepa motions to him with her hand, “there’s some on top of the fridge in the kitchen, would you bring them?”

Next to him Eddie’s knee stops shaking, the spoon half way to his mouth loses all the cabbage and onion. Buck realizes after a moment that he is Ojitos, and blinks, “Bring what?”

Pepa shakes her head fondly, like how she did with Eddie moments before, “Napkins, they’re on top of the fridge.”

“Got it, no problem,” Buck pretends to ignore Eddie’s stock still form next to him as he pushes his chair out and moves toward the kitchen. He hears Eddie hiss Pepa under his breath, and it takes everything in Buck not to turn around and catch the flush that is probably spreading up Eddie’s neck.

It’s thankfully empty when Buck steps in, and he rounds the corner enough to not be completely visible by Eddie’s family as he pulls out his phone to type ojitos into the Safari search bar. The first search result is a Bad Bunny song and he scrolls past that, clicking on the first translation page he sees.

Buck has to bite back a smile when he sees the translation. It dawns on him why Eddie froze, and he has to bite back that smile too. Buck thinks Eddie’s eyes are the nicest he’s seen, he can stare into them any day. The same probably goes for Eddie, and Pepa, being Eddie’s favorite tia and confidant, probably knows that very well. If there’s a pep in Buck’s step after that, sue him.

Not wanting to spend too much time in the kitchen, Buck grabs a roll of napkins and makes his way back to the table. He can hear Eddie clear his throat, signaling an end to the conversation, and everyone at the table is suddenly very interested in their bowls.

“So,” Lalo claps his hands together, “anyone catch that Rams game?”

(Later, when they’re full and sleepy, Chris and his cousins napping on Abuela’s bed, Eddie and Buck squeezed on the couch with three other full grown adults, Buck rolls his head to look at Eddie.

“Eddie,” he whispers, not wanting to be heard over the evening news, “hey, Eds.”

Eddie hums, peeling open his eyes like he just finished a 24 hour shift, “What?”

“Ojitos?” Buck asks, his grin is stupid and sleepy and so in love he finds himself disgusting.

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles, blushing just a little, “being smug isn’t a cute look.”

“All of my looks are cute,” Buck points out, “anyone would agree with me on that.”

Eddie looks up at the ceiling like he’s wondering what he did in a past life that got him stuck with Buck, “Ojitos,” Eddie says, it’s a little teasing but Buck’s breath still catches, “stop being smug and take a nap.”

When Buck’s back in his apartment later, laid across his couch watching his billionth TikTok, his phone buzzes in hand. The picture comes first from Eddie, it’s of the two of them. Heads back, mouths open, in a post-pozole coma on the couch. It’s a completely unappealing, unflattering photo, Buck knows that. But, Eddie’s ankle is crossed over Buck’s shin, and Buck’s hand is resting on Eddie’s chest. They look so domestic, so comfortable, like they nap like this every Sunday.

The text follows, simply: mis ojitos.

If Buck saves the picture, screenshots the text, and has to yell into a throw pillow to get out pent up longing and loving for the ridiculous man that is Eddie Diaz, that’s between him, god, and Hildy.)

They’re a fresh couple the third time it happens, going on a handful of weeks after they got their heads out of their asses.

(It was Eddie who made the first move, but Buck maintains that he was planning on doing something the same day, Eddie just beat him to the finish line. It was a week after the mis ojitos text that they never talked about.

Buck went back home with Eddie after a half day shift, it was early morning, the sky still purple with the parting night. He was in the kitchen, freshly showered, mixing eggs in a bowl with milk to make omelets. Chris was in the bathroom getting ready for school, the morning news was on the TV, it was such a familiar sound and experience that Buck thought nothing of the shift in the air.

So, he’s scrambling eggs, thinking about what veggies and meat are in the fridge to fold in later. And then two hands come to his hips, light and tentative, like they don’t know if they’re allowed to be there. And he feels Eddie’s forehead rest against the back of his neck where it meets his spine.

“Hey Buck,” Eddie says, quiet, the murmur of the meteorologist and the clank of Chris in the bathroom almost louder than his voice.

Buck relaxes back into Eddie, fork slowly moving through the eggs, “Yeah?”

“I love you,” Eddie’s voice is determined, but still soft like he doesn’t want to break anything, “I’m in love with you.”

The fork doesn’t drop into the mixture, Buck doesn’t tense, he doesn’t freak out. His stomach flutters, his heart beats faster, but he smiles looking at the bubbles in the eggs where he definitely over mixed them, “Yeah?”

Eddie hums in response, not saying anything more, but his fingers are flexing on Buck’s hips like he wants to pull away and Buck really can’t have that.

“Well,” Buck lets the fork fall in, he can figure out breakfast later, and turns himself in Eddie’s hold, noticing how easily he could kiss his forehead like this, “I’m pretty in love with you too.”

Eddie’s lips part, like he’s surprised, like Buck somehow concealed all his feelings for the past god knows how long. It’s his turn to say, “Yeah?”

And Buck nods, pressing his lips to Eddie’s forehead because Eddie is, in fact, the perfect height for that.)

Pepa’s house is bustling, it’s someone’s birthday and Buck honestly can’t remember who because the moment he walked in Liz said “Ojitos, take Flaco’s baby” and passed him a very small, very swaddled baby, before disappearing outside.

Eddie just shrugs a ‘what can you do’ shrug, claps Buck on the shoulder and navigates the house with Chris, leaving Buck standing in the hallway with a sleeping baby wrapped tightly in sage green.

Buck’s used to handling babies, Jee loves sleeping in his arms and he’s often handed a baby during calls, so he takes it with stride and settles in the corner of the empty couch with the swaddle. The baby babbles, but otherwise doesn’t cry, and Buck gently rearranges her so she’s tucked into his shoulder, a hand supporting her back and her bottom.

Being alone in a Diaz household that’s not Eddies doesn’t scare Buck as much as it used to. He doesn’t feel the need to impress everyone, he doesn’t worry that someone’s going to question his being there. He would say he feels more at home here than his parents home, but he feels that way at a packed, delayed airport gate. What he does feel is that he’s just as comfortable here as he would be in 118 communal spaces. There’s no nerves or anxiety, no worry when he no longer has eyes on Eddie’s back, just the thought that Eddie’s family loves and accepts him. Enough that they pass off a baby to him and trust that he’ll take care of it.

“Los Bukis!” Pepa’s husband yells as he walks in the living room, he notices the baby in Buck’s arms and cringes, sheepishly asking, “Is that Flaco’s?”

Buck smiles down at the swaddle, it should be gross to feel the baby’s drool through his shirt, but it’s endearing, “Yeah, Liz passed her off to me.”

Pepa’s husband settles in the corner of the couch, he’s got a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, and a pig shaped cookie in the other, “You do so well with babies, Bukis,” he sighs, wistful, “you have any younger brothers or sisters?”

“Nah,” Buck shakes his head gently, not wanting to disturb the baby, “I’ve just always liked babies, ya know. They’re small, and don’t know the world yet. It's our job to be the best version of ourselves for them even if we’re not their parents.”

The nod from Pepa’s husband is sage, like Buck just dropped some wisdom in his lap that he needs to absorb, “Christopher loves you, you know, since day one.”

Buck’s heart swells because he does know but hearing it from someone that’s not Chris himself or Eddie is so validating Buck doesn’t know what to do with the feelings, “Thanks,” Buck says, because saying ‘I know’ feels self centered, “I love that kid a lot.”

“My sobrino,” Pepa’s husband starts, resting his cookie on the rim of his mug, “Eddie, he does too. Love you.”

For that Buck does say, “I know,” and it’s gooey, it’s too honest, and Buck has to rub the baby’s back before does something silly like yelling about his love from the roof of Pepa’s house.

“Good,” he grins, picking his cookie back up, “got any cool fire stories?”

Buck’s in the middle of dramatically explaining how they had to calm some bees down before they could put out a fire at an apiary when Pepa’s husband breaks out in song.

“Cómo fui a enamorarme de ti?” He sings, clutching a fist to his heart, cookie long eaten, “Si yo sabía que no era bueno,” he brings his hand out, looking through his outstretched fingers to the ceiling, “cuando en tus ojos me vi, supe que ya no--”

Buck’s brain momentarily pauses, he tries to connect his story with the random outburst, when he looks over to where Pepa’s husband is grinning, like a kid caught in trouble.

“Tio,” Eddie sighs, hands on his hips, “why?”

Pepa’s husband brings his hands up, placating, “Buck is Los Bukis,” he shrugs like it’s a nickname everyone calls Buck by and not one Buck heard for the first time today, “and,” he continues, hands still up, “every time that song comes on I think of you two cabrónes.”

“Los Bukis?” Buck asks, feeling left a little left out of the loop.

“A group from the 80s,” Pepa’s husband says, “your name just reminds me of them.” He shrugs, relaxing to take a sip of his coffee.

Buck looks over at Eddie who settles on the coffee table across from him, Buck’s not sure how Eddie doesn’t break it with his weight, “And the lyrics?”

“Basically ‘Why did I fall in love with you? I knew it wouldn’t be good,’” Eddie blushes a little, waving a hand around like it doesn’t matter, “it goes on to say that when I saw myself in your eyes I knew I didn’t own my soul anymore.”

“See,” Pepa’s husband interjects, “it’s you and Ojitos.”

“I thought I was Los Bukis now?” Buck shifts the baby, looking over at Pepa’s husband.

He shrugs a shoulder, “You’re Los Bukis to me, Ojitos to some, Buck to others.” He takes a sip of his coffee, sighing, “We contain multitudes, Bukis.”

Buck forces himself to blink and not stare at Pepa’s husband like he has three heads and ten eyes. He is not going to have a psychological crisis while cradling Flaco’s baby, on Pepa’s couch, during the birthday party of someone whose name he doesn’t remember. He’s especially not going to have a crisis over the fact that Pepa’s husband said that Buck’s allowed to be more than Buck. Within this logic, he doesn’t have to live within the binary of Evan Buckley or Buck Buckley. He can be Buck, güero, Ojitos, Los Bukis, he can be all of those at once and none of them. And maybe one day, he can find it in himself to be a newer, brighter, better version of Evan. He doesn’t have to pick one and stick with it forever, he can take the names with him, put them on when he wants to, and take them off when they don’t fit.

It’s not something he’s ever thought of before, and he doesn’t know what to do with it now that it’s in his head.

Eddie sighs, breaking Buck out of the crisis he was not about to have, “Tio, were you reading Walt Whitman again?”

“He just has a way with words,” He sighs.

It’s much later in the evening. Buck and Eddie are laying in their bed (and it is theirs now, since Buck ended his lease fifteen minutes after Eddie asked him to move in), Buck’s staring up at the ceiling, and Eddie’s got his head pillowed on Buck’s shoulder.

“Eds,” Buck says quietly, watching the blades of the ceiling fan, “I like that your family gives me nicknames.”

Eddie adjusts his head, cheek against Buck’s sternum now, “It means they really like you,” Eddie’s voice is thick with sleep and Buck can feel it rumble where his hand is against Eddie’s back, “not just anyone gets a nickname, you know.”

Buck pulls Eddie in closer, effectively pulling the other man mostly on top of him. He’s a little heavy, but the pressure is grounding, “I like them too.” Because Buck does, he really, really does.

“‘M glad,” Eddie presses a kiss to his throat, “g’night, babe.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

The fourth time it happens Buck notices only because it’s flung right at him.

This is never how he intended to formally meet Adriana and Sophia. Buck isn’t sure what idea he had in his head for meeting Eddie’s sisters, but it’s not at two in the morning in a hospital room while he’s bleary eyed and there’s still soot in his hair.

He looks at the doorway when both come to a stop, pausing, like they aren’t sure if they can go in their brother’s room. He knows how they look from pictures around Eddie’s house and the Instagram posts he sees because they followed each other, but seeing them in the flesh is like a shock to his core. The Diaz family is large, unwieldy, and complicated. Without Eddie to help him navigate it, especially the Texas side, he’s left flailing.

Buck rises from the uncomfortable recliner, blanket slipping off his body and to the floor, “Adriana, Sophia,” he says, his mouth opens and closes twice before he motions them in, “come in, Eddie’s sleeping.”

They both take tentative steps in the room, they’ve got backpacks on and dark circles under their eyes. They probably came straight from LAX to the hospital, worried out of their mind about their brother.

“How is he?” Sophia asks, she’s the first to step up to the bed, opposite Buck, opposite in every way it feels like.

“He’s,” Buck sighs, running a hand through his hair, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s done that over and over again since he sat next to Eddie in the ambulance, he wouldn’t be able to with the dirt and soot and sweat, “ultimately, he’s okay.”

“Okay?” Adriana says, her voice is quiet but it’s full of shock, Buck isn’t sure if it’s at him or the situation, “He’s in a hospital bed, he had surgery, how is that okay?”

Buck doesn’t let himself get upset that this is the worst they’ve seen their brother. Not when dozens of feet of dirt fell on him and he almost died, not when he got shot and almost died, but now. When Eddie did not almost die, but did fall through a floor and a rusty piece of broken rebar slashed his calve open through his gear. He doesn’t know why they answered the emergency contact calls now and not before, but Buck has to push those thoughts away. The thoughts are just present because he’s tired, stressed, and so filthy he thinks the water is going to run black when he gets the chance to shower. These are not fully awake, thinking with most of his brain, thoughts.

“He’s had worse,” Buck settles on, “the surgery went fine, he’s just got a bunch of stitches in his leg.”

“Edmundo,” Adriana gently rests her hand on his knee, she’s either content with Buck’s answer or done with the conversation, “you need to take care of yourself.”

Sophia looks around the room like she’s waiting for other people to appear, “And Christoper?”

His stomach flips, he knows how Eddie’s parents feel about Eddie raising Chris, he doesn’t want to get into that while Eddie’s unconscious, “With Pepa, until I can get him later.”

Sophia and Adriana eye him, like they’re trying to decide their opinion of him from this bleary, two AM moment. Something must assure them of him, because both relax. Taking off their backpacks and leaving them in the corner of the room, literally and metaphorically leaving their baggage at the door. They stand in silence at Eddie’s bed, all of them unsure in their own way.

After a few moments a nurse wheels a cart in, the universe sending someone in to cut through the weird tension, “Buck,” she says, cheery for the situation and too familiar with him and Eddie, “are these Eddie’s sisters?”

“Sophia Diaz,” she extends a hand to the nurse, “middle sister.” Adriana does the same, making an acquaintance with the nurse.

“Tamara,” she greets back, pulling down the keyboard where the computer is attached to the wall. She types something in before pausing, “hey, Buck, why don’t you go shower while Eddie’s sisters are here? Bet he’d like to wake up to a clean face.”

Buck doesn’t mean to hesitate, both of the women in front of him have known Eddie longer than he has. They know his ins and outs, stories from a childhood he doesn't really like to talk about, they’re his blood. In the eyes of the law, they’ve got more right to be in this room than he does. But, but, he knows Eddie. Not the forced-macho Eddie that was pushed out of him in Texas, not the one that fakes smiles on FaceTime calls when his mom or dad come on, not the superficial and otherwise fake version of himself he feels the need to put on for his family.

Adriana senses his hesitancy, and she offers him a small smile. An olive branch. “I promise to call you if anything happens.”

He looks at Adriana, to Sophia, then at Tamara who mouths ‘I’ve got him’, and forces himself to take a breath. Buck leans down and gently kisses Eddie’s forehead, promising him with the press of lips that he’ll be back soon, and steps away from his bed.

“They’ve got some scrubs for you up at the nurse’s station,” Tamara tells him as he passes by her, “use the hospital showers, you’re basically one of us.”

Buck smiles at her, the first smile he’s had in hours, “Thanks, be right back.”

His shower is quick, not because he doesn’t think Eddie’s sisters can take care of him, but because he doesn’t want Eddie to wake up in a room with two of the most complicated relationships in his life. Buck knows Eddie wrestles with not blaming his sisters for the role he had to take on and then blaming them for letting Helena and Ramon treat him like he can’t take care of his own son. Buck’s more than well versed in how confusing and contradicting familial dynamics can be, which is why he scrubs his skin raw, forces the soot out of his hair, and basically sprints back to Eddie’s room.

“I’m fine, Sophia.” Eddie’s voice is loud, strong, coming out of his room. At first Buck is relieved, Eddie’s awake, and then he realizes Eddie’s awake and alone with his sisters and all his relief flies out the window.

Buck steps into the threshold of the room, taking in the scene. Eddie is propped up in his bed, Sophia is standing where Buck was before on his right, and Adriana is leaning against one of the counters. They all have a frown on their face, the same dip between their eyebrows, and their arms crossed. In this moment, they look so alike that Buck has to tell his brain they’re in a sibling-spat, and he should not find it endearing.

“I’ve had a lot worse than this.” Eddie’s firm when he says it, he’s so focused on being upset that he doesn’t notice Buck standing in the doorway with a trash bag of dirty uniform clothes.

“Manchas said the same thing!” Sophia yells, her voice filling the room, “This should not be your baseline for what’s okay.”

“Manchas,” Eddie’s voice is full of anger and confusion, “do you mean Buck?”

Buck blinks, “Me?”

Eddie’s head turns to the door so quick Buck’s worried for a moment that they’d have to call the nurse in for whiplash, his eyes soften before he looks back to his sister, “Apologize, Sophia.”

Sophia’s hand comes up to her mouth, she looks between Buck and Eddie, then at Adriana who raises her hands, “I didn’t mean to say that. Buck, I--”

Buck steps into the room, trash bag crinkling against his leg, “What does it mean?”

There’s another sibling look. Eddie’s adorably pissed, probably a little high on morphine. Adriana raises her eyebrow, probably asking to be left out of this. And Sophia looks like she’d rather be the one in the hospital bed.

“Yeah, Phia,” Eddie’s chin juts out, he uses the nickname like a weapon, “what does it mean?”

Sophia clears her throat, looking over at Buck, “Like, um, spot, stain, blemish.” She gestures at her own eye, “Because of, you know.”

Buck is aware that this is a hospital. He’s aware that his reaction would be different had he gotten more than two hours of sleep within the last sixteen, but the idea of Sophia calling him stain because of his birthmark. The thought of her saying it so casually that she probably calls him that to other people, not meaning any harm or malice, much like the Flaco he met weeks ago, makes him burst out laughing. He laughs so hard he’s bent over, trash bag touching the ground, other hand on his knee, and no sounds are coming out. It’s just gasps of air and his shoulders shaking.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Buck says when he recovers, looking back up at the stunned expression across the Diaz siblings' faces, “that’s really funny.”

“I think you need to apologize,” Eddie’s not letting it go, his expression is back to pouty as he stares down Sophia.

“Sweetheart,” Buck leaves the bag of his clothes next to the door, out of the nurses’ way, he goes to Eddie’s left side, gently pushing his hair back with one hand, “it’s fine. It’s like,” he looks back up at the sister, they look like a mixture of fond and ready to tease, “like I’m part of the family now, right? The more mean the nickname, the more familiar we are with each other?”

Adriana shrugs a shoulder, “You were part of the family before Sophia started calling you Mancha, but yeah, you’re one of us now.”

And Buck could cry. He could curl up on the cold, dirty linoleum floor of the hospital right now and sob into his knees.

Eddie must notice the shift in his mood because he clumsily grabs at his hand, kissing the back of it, “You’re a Diaz, whether you like it or not babe.”

“Yeah?” He looks down at Eddie who’s traded a pout for a sappy smile, eyes hooded over with fatigue and drugs.

“Yes,” Sophia cuts through the sap, “but that doesn’t change the fact that Eddie is an idiot and needs to take better care of himself.”

Buck tunes out the conversation, too in his feelings to be of any use to Eddie or his sisters. Instead he holds Eddie’s hands with a goofy smile on his face, because he’s a Diaz now. Whether he likes it or not, like Eddie said.

And Buck, well Buck needs to make that official. If he scrolls through different wedding band options online and creates a group chat with Lalo and Chim titled Operation Ring Size, take that up with his overeager personality.

And then, there’s the one time Eddie’s family calls Buck Evan.

Buck hasn’t been this nervous turning down Abuela’s street since Chris’ eleventh birthday. It’s been a little over a year since then, and between that party and this day Buck hasn’t felt those nerves in or around Abeula’s house. Instead he’s felt loved, cared for, wanted, by Eddie and his family. Through little acts like making him arroz con leche to take to work, bringing him oil to shine the plastic trim above his Jeep wheels, letting him give advice to the cousin with curly hair. Then through larger things like including him in family photos, offering him the role of announcer on lotería nights, and calling him by nicknames that signal affection, and warmth, and everything Buck could ever want from a family.

In his stomach butterflies are erupting, in his pocket a ringlet of metal is burning, and Buck’s hands are shaking so much he needs to park before he causes an accident.

Like before, pushing himself out of the Jeep and toward Abuela’s is a feat. This time it’s not because he’s going into Eddie’s family’s house without him, it’s because he’s going into Eddie’s family’s house without him with the intention of making it officially their family’s house. He’s going into the house ready to ask Abuela if he can marry Eddie not because he has to ask her as matriarch, but because he wants to because she’s one of the most important people in Eddie’s life.

(Buck asked Chris a week ago. He took him to the aquarium while Eddie was at work, and while they stood in the dark hall that kept the jellyfish he quietly asked “how would you feel if I asked your dad to marry me?” and Chris replied, a little confused by so so wise, his face tinted blue from the tank, “good, but I’m already legally yours, why do you need to marry him?” and if Buck shed a little tear, that’s between him and the jellyfish and they don’t have eyes.)

With a little self-hype momentum, Buck pushes himself out of the Jeep and on to the now bright green grass. Unlike before, he doesn’t hesitate before he closes the door behind him and walks the short distance to Abuela’s house. He forces himself to wipe his sweaty palms on his hands, to talk a couple deep breaths, but he doesn’t stop until he reaches the front door.

Buck knocks twice, knuckles against chipping paint, before using the key she gave him months ago and pushing the door open himself, “Abuela?” He can hear the TV on in the living room, it’s almost noon which means she’s finishing up Como Dice El Dicho.

“Acá!” Abuela’s voice comes out of the living room, like he expected, and he takes one more breath before closing the front door behind him.

She’s settled into the couch, one foot up on the coffee table like she does when she’s comfortable, remote still in her hand from when she last changed the channel, “Ojitos,” she smiles at him, patting the cushion next to her with the remote, “come sit, it’s good to see you.”

Buck wipes his hands again, rounding the couch from behind so he doesn’t block her view, and settles into the couch. They sit in silence for a moment, Abuela concentrated on a plot Buck can’t follow and Buck concentrated on little lines of panic that Abuela can’t follow. It’s companionable, two of them breathing with each other, before the show goes to commercial and Abuela turns to face him.

“Eddie and Chris?” Abuela asks, raising a penciled in eyebrow.

“Work and school, I uh,” Buck swallows back the nerves, fiddles with the ring in the pocket of his jacket and says, “I actually have something to talk to you about.”

Abuela nods once, muting the tv, bringing the leg that was on the coffee table under her to face him. She rests a gentle hand on his forearm, offering him one of the softest smiles he’s experienced, “What’s on your mind? I can feel how stressed you are from here.”

Buck lets himself laugh a little, release some of the nerves from his body, and pulls his hand out of his pocket. The metal is warm against his skin where it’s been next to his body since this morning. He looks at Abuela as he opens his hand, letting her see what rests in his palm, “I wanted to ask for Eddie’s hand. I know I don’t need to, but you’re important. To him, to me, and it would mean a lot of you gave us your blessing.”

“Evan,” Abuela’s voice is surprised, wide eyes looking from the band to Buck’s face, and the back down at the band, “I would love nothing more than for you to marry my Eddito.”

“Really?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to be thick with emotion, it’s not like he thought she was going to say no, but thinking and knowing are two different things.

She brings both hands to his face, holding him gently not like he’s glass but like he’s precious porcelain, “You have been part of this family since the day you came to the hospital with Edmundo when I broke my hip. Chris loves you, we love you, but more importantly Eddie loves you.” She looks away for a moment, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears, “I don’t know that I’ve seen Eddie happier than when he’s with you. He’s gone through so much and you’ve been by his side the entire time, because of that you have always been part of this family,” she smiles down at the ring, a single tear escaping when she meets Buck’s eyes, “but now you’ll officially be Evan Buckley-Diaz.”

Tears have been slipping out of Buck’s eyes since Abuela cupped his face, but with Abuela calling him a Diaz, a little hiccup escapes too. For so long he’s hated who Evan was, who Evan represented and tied him to. Evan was spare parts, Evan wasn’t good enough, Evan needed to be hurt to be loved. And then he tried ‘Buck’ on, and Buck was a better version of himself. It was one who held down a job, who created lasting relationships, who had a group of people that loved him despite and in spite of everything. Then he met the Diazes, and he became Güero, Ojitos, Bukis, and Manchas. He was no longer an outsider looking in, he never had to ask and daydream about how packed thanksgiving dinners operated, he never had to hurt himself to be given care and told that he was worth it. And now, the idea that he can be all of the good that Buck brought, all of the loving that the Diaz nicknames gave him, but can also be Evan too? It cracks down Buck’s core in a way he never expected, and all he can do is be held to Abeula’s shoulder while he cries unreasonably loud because he feels whole again.

Abuela, either expecting it or not minding the reaction, rubs his back and gently sways him through it until he pulls back and rubs at his eyes, a little sheepish, “Thank you,” Buck says, not just for her holding him but for everything else he can’t name, “I can’t wait to be a Diaz.”

She smiles, it’s soft, “You’ve always been a Diaz, Ojitos.”

Later, after Eddie’s showered and fed, after Chris is tucked in and asks to watch a clip of How It’s Made before bed, Buck holds the ring in the palm of his hand.

Eddie’s laying on his back, sleepy around the edges but not yet ready for sleep, blinking up at the ceiling fan. Buck’s laying on his side, one hand tucked under the pillow, and the other guarding the ring against his chest. He watches Eddie’s profile in the dim light from the bedside table, the way his lashes flutter, the glow of his skin in the warm light. He wants to kiss the mark under his eye, trace the bridge of his nose, and press the flat of his hand to the stubble on his cheek, but he doesn’t.

“Hey, Eds,” Buck breaks the silence, hoping his voice isn’t as shaky as he feels, “open your left hand for me.”

Eddie smiles a little, turning a little so his back is to the far wall, and opens his hand, always ready to entertain Buck, “I hope you haven’t been holding a frog or some shit from the backyard.”

Buck laughs, it’s more of a bark, and he cuts it off short so he doesn’t wake Chris up. It settles his nerves and he doesn’t let himself hesitate when he drops the ring in Eddie’s hand, not giving him time to process before he says: “Marry me?”

The sleep seems to leave Eddie’s body the moment the three syllables leave Buck’s lips. He gapes down at the ring, looking completely surprised like this isn’t the next logical step in their relationship. Like their relationship hadn’t abandoned all logical steps when Buck was written into Eddie’s will.

Buck, for his part, doesn’t rush Eddie. He doesn’t freak out that Eddie’s been silent the last moment or two, he doesn’t push himself up into a seated position, he just watches Eddie’s brown eyes stare at the gold band like he’s never seen one before until he blinks and looks up at Buck.

“Yes,” Eddie says, nodding vigorously, “yeah, yes, I’ll marry you.”

Buck bites his lip for a moment, grounding himself so he doesn’t float away, “Yeah?”

Eddie pushes the ring back into his palm, “Yes, now put it on me you asshole.”

This time Buck can’t cut off the bark of his laughter. With shaky fingers he takes the ring and slides it on to Eddie’s finger. It looks perfect there, glinting in the light of their bedroom, flush against his skin, and they both stare at it in silence.

“I love you,” Eddie says, looking up at Buck, with his newly ringed-hand he gently pulls Buck in by the chin, pressing an off-center kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then another to the center, “I’m gonna be Edmundo Buckley-Diaz,” Eddie laughs into his mouth, pressing their foreheads together, “and you’re going to be Evan “Buck” Buckley-Diaz.”

Buck grins so wide their teeth almost touch, “And Chris will be Christopher Buckley-Diaz.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes, like it hit him again, “we’re going to be husbands.”

Butterflies erupt, but this time they’re not full of nerves or anxiety, they’re full of excitement, “Husbands,” Buck echos.

(Later, Eddie sends a photo of his left hand to the massive family group chat.

Abuela is the first to respond with three yellow heart emojis.

Lalo is next, with a you did it güero!!!! because Lalo and Chim were the ones to figure out Eddie’s ring size, how? Buck doesn’t know and he’s not sure he wants to.

Sophia is the first from the Diaz sisters, she sends a heart with an arrow followed by, I guess it’s Mancha Buckley Diaz now huh? and Adriana replies to it with no manches Mancha!

The next morning they get a video from Pepa’s husband and Pepa, they can be seen singing a combination of three Los Buki’s songs. Both of them look like they’ve been crying, some of the verses are followed by hiccups of emotions.

Chris looks at the ring and pretends to roll his eyes, but he hugs Buck extra tight and asks if they can look at the band under his microscope later.

None of them text the 118 or Maddie, it’s Saturday, Hen invited everyone over for brisket later, and they want to see their family’s reaction in real time.)