Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was one of those shifts where time dragged its heels and the coffee brewed slower just to spite them. If there was an opposite curse to the one that gave you the shift from Hell if you whispered ‘quiet’… Buck was pretty sure that was what had its unrelenting claws wrapped around today.

A shift from deeper Hell - and Eddie, apparently bored out of his damn mind, had chosen violence.

Not literal violence, no, not yet. But all day, he had made it his personal mission to dismantle every last shred of sanity Buck had left. Psychologically. Tactically. Thrillingly.

So, naturally, Buck had decided to meet him right there in the trenches. Full commitment. No survivors.

It was like a time warp had swallowed them whole and spat them back out into their early days – back when Eddie was the stone-faced new guy with arms sculpted by the gods and a temper that matched Buck’s own, and Buck had been the reckless golden retriever with a death wish and a permanent smirk. They’d circled each other like wolves then. Out for blood.

Now?

Okay, yeah… honestly, nothing was that much different. Aside from the sex, of course.

But this time, they knew exactly where to sink their teeth.

The insults had started early, before breakfast. Something about Buck’s inability to operate the toaster without somehow turning it into a minor explosion. Eddie had walked past with his protein shake and said, “Should’ve come with a manual. Like your entire personality.”

Buck had glared at him through the smoke. “You mean the ‘how to be human’ manual you keep under your pillow for nightly reference?”

It had only escalated from there.

By noon, they were fully engaged in psychological warfare. Eddie had hidden his favourite mug – the one with the tiny cartoon fire truck and a chipped rim that fit perfectly against his mouth. He retaliated by stuffing Eddie’s tactical gloves in the freezer and replacing them with two left ones, neither of which were his size.

Then Eddie had slipped in behind him mid-task – just as he’d been dutifully rolling up hoses – and without a word, unhooked the ones he’d just finished, dragging them leisurely across the bay floor like a smug little gremlin with a death wish. Then smirked over his shoulder with that dark-eyed gleam of challenge.

Buck, not to outdone, waited until Eddie was detailing the rig, headphones in, back turned, and accidentally tripped over the stepladder as he was reaching to buff the top. “Whoops,” he’d said unapologetically while he gripped Eddie’s thighs to steady him (and maybe dug his fingers in the exact spot he knew he’d left a bruise last night) as the ladder wobbled precariously, and Eddie had turned a glare on him so beautifully pissed off that Buck almost did it again to just see how much further his face could twist. Then he shrugged innocently, taunting: Gravity builds character.

They were monsters. Perfect, mutually destructive monsters.

But now, everything was different.

Because now, there was a game to it. A rhythm. Flirtation flickering beneath the hostility like heated lightning. Their war was laced with a dangerous intimacy, a crackling energy that they both leaned into with reckless devotion.

He brushed his hands over Eddie’s waist as he slipped past him in the kitchen and slung an insult that unravelled into an argument that had Bobby banning them to opposite sides of the station for half an hour. And don’t even get him started on the eye contact. Always dipping down to lips, jawlines, the pulses thundering under the skin, beating perfect, inviting rhythms in their necks. They tracked every flex of muscle, every curve, every glimpse of collarbone and exposed skin in the locker room.

Through that ever-present psychic tether, the chaos was turned up to eleven. Every thought about what they wanted to do to each other on full display – uncensored, filthy things. There were half-serious, half-joking propositions about sneaking into the same shower stall, bullshitting excuses to escape to the roof or storage closet to make out like teenagers and see who would have to stop first (which only happened twice…three – okay, maybe four times but who was counting? ... Buck. He definitely was, because he was winning that one).

Every gym session was an exercise in restraint, both of them stalking each other like predators who knew exactly where to bite. Buck had nearly dropped a dumbbell when Eddie bent over to pick up a towel and thought: Eyes up, big boy. Or down. Either works.

They were cursed.

Beautifully, deliciously cursed.

They still had the heat, the adrenaline, the violence of passion. But the insults – the dickheads and bastards and are you actually this fucking stupid or is it performance art – shifted. Softened. Not in volume, but in weight. There was affection in them now, buried just beneath the surface like treasure in the dirt.

Eddie would mock Buck’s constant need for validation, his bottomless well of abandonment issues, and Buck would tear into his repression, his need for control, the emotional vault he kept buried six feet under. But it wasn’t cruel. It was familiar. Trusting. It was knowing – every insult laced with the depth of understanding only someone who had crawled inside your psyche could wield.

An ‘I see you’ wrapped in ‘I’m still not going anywhere’.

They pulled each other down into hell with precision now, but they knew the path back. They’d already paved it together. Hand in hand, teeth bared. Faced the flames together.

There was no line anymore. No boundary to cross, no threshold left unbreeched. Whatever tether of professionalism or distance once held them apart had long since burned to ash – scorched in the heat of shared glances, bruised hips, and silent confessions.

What remained in its place was something wild and personal. A thing without a name that couldn’t be contained in a box, or even a definition, too sacred for rules.

Because this thing between them – this battlefield turned sanctuary – it was a home now.

They’d been living in it, laying the floorboards with chaos and cackling in the face of sanity. Papered the walls with old arguments and uncovered truths, furnished it with tension and laughter and the kind of knowing that stripped a man bare. They’d planted themselves in it, roots deep and tangled, refusing to be pried loose.

They knew each other in the rawest sense. In the sharp edges and soft underbellies, the fractures no one else could see, the weight of past ghosts and the fault lines of their fears.

They drowned together, sometimes willingly, sometimes not. But always, always, they found a way to reach for the shore – even if it was only by gripping each other’s collarbones and dragging themselves breathless back to land.

From Buck’s seat on the sofa, he could feel Eddie’s gaze scorching into the side of his face like a laser, and when he turned to snap something vile across the common room, Eddie’s grin was already forming – slow, sharp, and smug.

The rest of the 118 had been watching them all day – heads swivelling back and forth, eyes wide, expressions ranging from horror to intrigue to someone needs to call HR.

When Bobby had essentially put Eddie in time out (for an incident that Buck definitely instigated through the bond, so Eddie had absolutely nothing to convince Bobby he was innocent), Buck smirked and leaned back against the rig.

He locked his eyes on his target. Your turn, sweetheart.

Eddie, from across the bay, still being chewed out by their captain, grinned like a wolf.

The war would continue. And it would be glorious.

By dinner time, they’d finally calmed down enough for Bobby to stop watching them like they might explode. They’d kept the majority of their conversations to the telepathic bond, fallen into a world of their own where Buck had almost forgotten about the rest of the 118.

He wandered into the loft, the low hum of conversation in the background and the scent of garlic and spice thickening the air. He caught sight of Eddie in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and forearms dusted with seasoning, marinating the chicken with surgical precision. A slow smirk tugged at Buck’s mouth as he leaned across the island and snatched an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Looks like I’m on a diet today,” he said, biting into it with a crunch. “Don’t want to risk whatever food poisoning you’re about to give us.”

“Maybe you should try eating sweets and chocolate for a year,” Eddie muttered, brow already furrowed. “See if it sweetens your personality enough to be likable.”

“I’m plenty likable.” He hummed, exaggerated in his thoughtfulness. “It’s you with the stick up your ass. I don’t think you’d know joy if it whacked you over the back of the head with a sledgehammer.”

“Uh oh, round 47!” Chimney’s voice floated in from the other side of the loft. “Hen – where’s my popcorn?”

She didn’t look up from her phone. “We’re literally having dinner in an hour.”

“And our favourite show is on early!”

She tipped her head to peer over the back of the sofa. Buck didn’t need to look to know she was watching them like a scientist observing particularly unstable chemicals about to combust.

“Fight, fight, fight,” Chimney chanted under his breath, tiny fist-pumps accompanying each word.

We should start charging performance fees, Buck mused, taking another bite.

“You don’t need to get any fuller of yourself.” Eddie bit, scowling at the chicken. I hate cooking – screw Bobby’s ‘skills bootcamp’ shit. “Your God complex leaks out of your pores.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You know there’s research that proves your constant insults are just projections of your own issues. So, who’s the one with a God complex, Mr Silver Star?”

You need to –

I’ve got it, Eddie snapped back, working the chicken harder, fingers tensing around the meat, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes when he flicked them up to Buck, shaded slightly by his loose hair.

Pins and needles shot through Buck’s fingertips at that look, a subtle shiver slithering down his spine.

Watching me marinate chicken doing it for you? Eddie teased.

No. He threw himself onto one of the stools at the island before he did something stupid, flashes of Eddie in his kitchen, splayed out over the counter resurfacing in his mind. Watching you does.

Hmm. Eddie returned his attention to the chicken. Gotta say, I’d prefer this chicken to be your ass. So perfect. So round. So thick. Tastes better too.

He stood by his previous statement.

Eddie was a dangerous, dangerous man.

He swallowed and tapped the apple against the counter, leaning one elbow on the edge and trying to look as casual as possible.

“Defense mechanisms,” he continued, and his voice came out indifferent and a little snarky, thank fuck. “Avoiding accountability, check. Emotional repression, double check. Attempting to maintain a sense of superiority –”

“Oh, like you do with your weird posturing and peacocking around the station?”

“See?” He pointed at him with his apple. “Insecure. Classic misdirection. Accuse me of being arrogant to distract from your own inferiority complex.”

“My first day here you aggressively bench pressed while trying to drill a hole in my head with your eyes,” Eddie deadpanned.

“I was working out –”

“Then you scowled and threw a hissy fit when –”

“No, no – Hen, let them go,” Chimney whispered harshly, gripping her arm. “This is getting good.”

“It wasn’t a hissy fit,” Buck snapped, sitting straighter in the stool, shoulders drawing back. “It was –”

“Not to mention the time you almost threw your back out trying to carry more oxygen tanks than me.” Eddie worked the chicken harder, slapping it against the counter, locking their gazes. “Peacocking.”

“I was –”

“Peacocking.”

Stop interr –

-upting you? Eddie smirked. What are you gonna do about it?

Heat simmered underneath Buck’s skin, eyes tracking the movement of Eddie’s Adam’s apple, the way Eddie’s pulse beat softly against his neck where Buck knew he was most sensitive. The place that dragged the filthiest most depraved sounds from the depths of his throat.

“For the last time,” he hissed, fists clenching against the urge to slam Eddie against the fridge and fuck that brattiness out of him. “I –”

“All you’re missing is the colourful feathers, maybe I should glue some to your turnouts.”

“I do not peacock!” he snapped, throwing his arm out, exasperated. “You just think you’re so much better than everyone that if someone so much as shows competence you feel threatened.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Who’s projecting now?”

Oh, you fucker. Buck shot off the stool, slamming his apple on the counter.

Come on, Buckley, Eddie taunted with a sinful lick of his lips. You’re too easy.

Fuck you.

That’s the plan.

He huffed, crossing his arms. “You know, the chicken would taste better if you –”

“No.”

“You –”

“No.”

“I –”

“No.”

“Edd-”

“I’m cooking,” Eddie challenged, giving him the most infuriating, condescending look that lit his nerves on fire. “You get what I give you.”

So, that’s how he wanted to play. Fine.

“Just saying,” he snapped, scowl twisting deep onto his face. “I think you –”

“Your opinion matters as much as the parental attention you clearly never got,” Eddie scoffed.

“Woah,” Hen shot to her feet, voice low. “Eddie, that’s –”

“You’re calling me neglected?” Buck bit out, crossing his arms, barely even registering the movement in his peripheral vision. “Please. You act like having emotions is a goddamn security risk.”

I can’t decide if I wanna fuck you or be fucked by you.

“You cry at dog food commercials and imprint on anyone who asks how your day is.” Eddie matched his posture, folding his arms, voice dry. “Is that supposed to be better?”

Isn’t it cute how you think you still have a say in it?

His entire body was on fire. Torn between that familiar drive of lust and anger. This was a dare. A challenge. One that he wouldn’t back away from no matter how much his knees wanted to kiss the floor as he let Eddie fist his hair and order him around, desperately trying to come up with another retort.

“Coming from the guy who locked his heart in a box next to his dog tags and called it character development,” he scoffed. “Do they even have a therapist with enough experience for your issues?”

Keep talking, and we’ll see who’s begging by the end of this, he bit back.

A slow, sharp, predatory grin curled onto Eddie’s lips. The air between them snapped tight, heated and alive, as they stared each other down. Exhilaration crackled under Buck’s skin, his pulse high and erratic. God, it was intoxicating.

“What?” he prodded. “Got no comeback?”

“I don’t need one.” Eddie tilted his head. “I already won.”

And then, low and teasing, Buck felt the brush of Eddie’s voice in his mind. Maybe you should take a cold shower.

He didn’t give Eddie the satisfaction of looking down, already knowing he’d made damn well sure no one could see anything when they’d first started this. Instead, he let his own, wicked grin creep onto his face.

Come with me.

Their eyes locked, and whatever simmered between them burned a little hotter until Bobby broke the tension with a cheerful greeting and asked how dinner was coming along.

“About to put it in the oven now,” Eddie answered, pulling the tray closer and grabbing the oven gloves.

From a few feet away, Chimney whispered, “What the fuck?”

Hen cast him a sideways glance before tracking Buck’s movement across the loft to the sofas. “Seconded.”

When dinner was ready, the loft hummed with low conversation and clinking cutlery as the 118 gathered around the table. Buck sank into his usual seat diagonal to Bobby, shoulders loosening, the tension in his spine easing as the scent of roasted garlic and lemon-thyme chicken wrapped around him like a warm coat.

He took his first bite – and froze.

Eyes wide, mouth full, he glanced across the table to where Eddie was already watching him, fork lazily twirling between his fingers. He tried to keep his face neutral, but the fork paused halfway to his mouth as the flavours hit him properly. Juicy, seasoned, tender. Perfectly cooked.

Shit.

Eddie’s grin was smug and slow. “What?” he asked, tone breezy. “You impressed?”

“No.” He scowled, reaching for his water. “It’s bland. Could’ve used more seasoning.”

Lies. Filthy, burning lies. Because damn this was good. If he hadn’t watched Eddie marinating the chicken himself, he’d have accused someone else of sneaking in and cooking. Where the hell was this skill when he made us breakfast?

Hen hummed happily beside him. “This is really good, Eddie.”

Chimney nodded so enthusiastically Buck was surprised his head didn’t detach. “You’ve definitely improved. This is, like, road-diner-tier stuff.”

“Chim’s right,” Bobby chimed in with a smile. “You’ve come a long way – I’m impressed.”

Buck chewed slowly, watching as Eddie looked down at his plate and gave a small, bashful smile, pushing the food around his plate before he muttered a quiet, “Thanks.”

The crinkles by Eddie’s eyes. The slight pink in his ears. The way his mouth twitched with quiet pride. Buck stared, drank it all in, chewing automatically, trying not to look as thunderstruck as he felt.

A moment later, Eddie stabbed another piece of chicken, and his thoughts floated through, low and a little sheepish: I should hope it’s good. I didn’t practice and almost burn my house down for nothing.

Then, his eyes flicked up with a pointed, Shut up.

Buck grinned, stabbing a forkful of vegetables. You practiced?

Can’t have you cooking for me and Chris all the time, can I? Eddie replied with a small shrug, pretending to focus on his plate.

His heart stuttered. Then raced. A thrill climbed up his spine, lighting every nerve with that quiet, giddy kind of affection. That Eddie sees me in his and Chris’ future kind of affection.

He bit back the wide smile that wanted to form. That’s a huge turn-on, you know.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. Me practising cooking for you, or me wanting to take turns in family meals?

He hummed, dragging his finger around the rim of his water glass. Both, he thought, raising it to his lips. How fast do you think I could get you off under this table?

Faster than you could explain the sounds I’d make to Bobby.

He choked on his water, doubling forward, coughing and spluttering, throat on fire. Eddie grinned, stabbed another bite, and lifted it to his mouth as Chimney thumped Buck’s back.

“Woah, Buckley. You okay?” Chimney asked, eyes wide.

He held up a hand, still hacking. “Fine,” he rasped. “Wrong hole.”

Bobby and Hen both turned, concern etched on their faces. Buck waved them off again, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

You take it so well, though. Eddie chewed calmly, completely neutral, eyes dancing. Might have to put that talent to use tonight. See how many times I can remind you that nothing about you is off-limits.

You think you’re so funny, don’t you, Buck thought, glaring at him through the watery haze.

Yes, Eddie replied, serene.

Then, because the universe had perfect comedic timing, the alarm blared, loud and sharp through the station. Dispatch’s voice crackled through the comms: Partial structural collapse. Residential apartment building, mid-renovation.

Everyone moved. Chairs scraped, cutlery clattered. Bobby called orders as they shoved away from the table. Buck was still wiping water from his chin as he followed the others to the trucks. Eddie slid into the far corner of the rig like usual, and Buck sank into his.

I kinda wish we could sit together without drawing attention to it, he thought, glancing up.

We’ll find a way. Eddie’s eyes met Buck’s, and he smiled: soft, secret, like a quiet breath between them. Let me cook for you this weekend? You and Chris could watch that nature documentary you said he’d like.

His chest went warm. Like sun on cold stone, like honey behind his ribs. He tucked his chin and smiled faintly, casting his gaze out of the window. I’d like that.

The siren wailed, the truck surged forward, and the city blurred by. Somewhere beneath the tension of the call, beneath the urgency they were driving into, Buck let himself onto that one small warmth: Eddie, cooking dinner. Chris watching something with his chin tucked into Buck’s side. A quiet weekend that felt like home.

And maybe, just maybe, Buck wouldn’t be so afraid of domesticity anymore.

Now…about that talent of yours…

You’re evil.

The third flight of stairs groaned beneath their boots as Buck and Eddie ascended, breath misting faintly in the thick dust-laced air. The building shivered every few seconds, the structural instability like a pulse beneath their feet, subtle but insistent. Buck adjusted the strap on his go-bag and felt the weight of the rope gear bite into his shoulder with every step.

“Dispatch said she’s somewhere on this floor,” Eddie said beside him, voice low but sharp with focus. “Arm’s trapped, can’t get out.”

“Do we have a room number?”

Eddie shook his head, lips pressed in a thin line. “I take this side?” He cocked his head right.

He nodded, already turning left. “Yell if anything shifts.”

“You too,” Eddie called after him.

The corridor ahead was a ruin of cracking drywall and exposed beams, the floor beginning to sag under their boots. The spiderweb of fractures on the ceiling stretched down the walls like veins beneath the skin of something long dead. Dust floated lazily in the beam of his flashlight, a slow snow in dead air.

He moved carefully, his boots whispering over splintered linoleum as he called, “LAFD! Marianne, are you there?”

Silence answered him at first, only the low creaks of the unstable structure groaning around him. Then –

“I’m here! I’m here!” Her soft cry, trembling but urgent, drifted from a room halfway down the corridor.

He picked up the pace, pulse hammering as he came to a door that hung askew on its hinges. The room beyond it looked like a paper model caving in under pressure: floor sagging at the centre, wall supports visibly bowed. They were right above the construction zone – the very heart of the collapse.

He hovered at the threshold. Ten feet in. That’s all. She was pale with panic, her left arm pinned beneath a fallen cabinet. She was breathing, alert. Reach her, grab her, pull her out. In and out. It would hold.

It had to hold.

He braced to rush forward and then halted as memory struck him. Eddie’s hands gripping him tightly, hard and shaking. The fear in his voice, raw as he snapped: Stop risking your life like it doesn’t matter.

His breath caught in his throat.

He turned on his heel and shouted, “Eddie!”

But Eddie was already there, boots thudding back down the corridor from the opposite direction, brows furrowed. “Tell me.”

He pointed toward the room. “She’s right there. Ten feet, maybe less.”

Eddie leaned to glance inside. We’re right above the collapse zone.

“Centre might not hold two people,” Buck said quickly, urgency leaping into his voice. We need to get her. I need to do something.

Send in a line? Eddie frowned. She can’t…what about…

Buck’s mind raced, gears grinding. His gaze darted through the room, eyes scanning for something, anything.

Window. A clear shot to the exterior.

Eddie met his eyes. Let’s go.

They pivoted, boots pounding the corridor, back toward the stairwell. Buck keyed his radio with one hand. “Dispatch, let the caller know we’re coming in through the window. Cap, we’re gonna have to rappel down – east side, apartment 421.”

“Copy that,” Bobby’s voice called back, clam and clipped. “You heard him, clear the area for rappel rescue.”

Their boots hammered upward, onto the fourth floor. The building shuddered again, a low groan that reverberated through the beams like a warning growl. Eddie’s thoughts filtered into Buck’s mind as they climbed: Stairs are the most stable. We anchor to the banister.

Catch. He threw the rope to him.

Eddie snatched it mid-air, already moving to loop it through the railing’s support posts. The metal groaned in protest but held as he clipped the carabiner through with practised hands. Buck moved past him, kicking through the right apartment door – empty, cleared during primary search – and scanned the layout.

“Room’s solid,” he called over his shoulder.

From the bag, he grabbed the harness. When he turned to clip Eddie in, however, Eddie’s hand caught his wrist, firm and unwavering.

“You held me,” he said, voice low, eyes locked on Buck’s. “Now it’s my turn.”

Buck froze, brows furrowing. “Eddie –”

“You can still be the guy who dives in,” he interrupted, softer this time, a thread of emotion riding under the steel. “But I’m here to make sure you come back out.”

The words lodged somewhere under Buck’s ribs. A pressure that was neither pain nor comfort, but something fiercer, more rooted. The knowledge that Eddie meant it. That Eddie had always meant it.

He nodded once, swallowing the swell in his throat. “Okay,” he murmured, and allowed himself to be strapped in.

As Eddie checked the gear one last time, he couldn’t stop watching him. The way his hands didn’t tremble, the way he leaned into responsibility without fanfare, without ego. The weight of him, not just physically, but as a presence, tethering Buck back to solid ground.

He adjusted the tension on the rope, checked his clips, and together they moved to the window, the world outside shimmering with dust and distant sirens. In a few minutes, he would rappel down, Eddie on belay, and they would bring her out.

But in this moment, he stood still, breath caught somewhere between danger and devotion, knowing with brutal clarity: he wasn’t alone in his impulsive, crazy ideas anymore, because Eddie would always be the one waiting to pull him free.

As Eddie pulled the glass pane free from the window frame, setting it carefully to the side, Buck brought his radio to his mouth, keyed it with a gloved finger, and asked, “We’re all set, Cap. You ready?”

Bobby’s voice crackled back: “We’re waiting for you.”

He gave a sharp nod, eyes already on the open frame, the street below, the rope in Eddie’s steady hand. “Copy,” he said. “Going down now.”

Eddie crouched, his gloved hands grasping the rope. No hesitation, no fumbling – just the calm, grounded presence Buck had come to rely on over a year of calls, close saves, and split-second decisions. He turned back to the window, gripping the Halligan in one hand, the window punch tucked into his pocket, his heartbeat settling into rhythm with every breath.

He climbed up onto the sill, boots scraping against the concrete, balancing with a slight sway against the pressure of his gear. Wind brushed against his face, sharp with the scent of dust and sunbaked stone. Below, the crews stood waiting, helmets tilted upward, gear at the ready.

He shifted his weight and locked his gaze with Eddie’s.

Thank you, he thought, the words brushing gently through the bond between them, quiet but full.

Eddie gave him a firm nod. I’ve got your back.

He stepped off the ledge.

The line held tight, and the harness bit across his hips in a way that had once made him tense but now simply reminded him: Eddie was up there. And Eddie would never let him fall.

The side of the building blurred in his peripheral vision, cement and brick flashing past as he descended with sharp, controlled movements. When his boots hit the outer windowsill of apartment 421, he caught his balance against the frame, muscles braced, and angled his body to peer inside. From here, he couldn’t see Marianne, not clearly – just the chaos of a sagging floor, the shadow of the cabinet, a limp arm.

He reached for his radio again. “This is 118, Firefighter Buckley,” he said. “I’m outside apartment 421. Waiting on confirmation to breach.”

There was a moment’s pause, then Linda answered, “Caller is covering her face. You are clear for breach.”

“Copy. Going in.”

He reached up, window punch in hand, and pressed it gently to the glass. He angled the tool precisely and clicked it.

Pop.

The glass fractured in a spiderweb before shattering, but the break was tight, controlled. He used the Halligan next, punching through the rest of it with a slow, deliberate motion, scattering shards to the floor without sending any flying. A few larger pieces crunched beneath his boot as he stepped inside.

The dry and stagnant air pressed in immediately, stinking of plaster dust and drywall. The floor creaked dangerously beneath his weight, but he kept to the edge, distributing his steps carefully. Marianne was curled awkwardly a few feet away, arm thrown over her face, hair matted with sweat and grit.

“Hi, Marianne,” he called gently, keeping his voice low but clear. “I’m Buck. You can uncover your face now.”

She turned slightly, just enough to peek at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks streaked with grime and tears.

He crouched beside her, brushing small shards of glass from her arms with gentle fingers. “How bad does your arm hurt?”

She gave a shuddering breath, voice rasping. “I can still move my fingers, if that’s what you mean.”

He smiled, soft and reassuring. “That’s a good sign.” His eyes swept over the cabinet pinning her down. “Alright, I’m gonna lift this off you, okay? It might shift a little, but I’ve got you.”

She nodded, teeth clenched.

He braced himself, hands sliding beneath the edge of the cabinet. It was heavier than it looked, probably dense wood, but he set his jaw and heaved slowly, drawing on his legs and core to avoid tipping forward. The floor groaned beneath him, warning, but held.

Marianne yelped as she pulled her arm free, clutching it against her chest and curling forward. Her breath hitched as she sat upright, wincing.

“You did great,” he said, lowering the cabinet with careful control until it settled with a muffled thud. “Alright. I’m gonna get you strapped in, and then we’re heading back out the window.”

She whipped her head to it. “Down…the side of the building?”

“You’re in good hands, I promise. This harness’ll keep you safe.” He pulled the spare harness from his belt loop. “And I’ll have you the entire way.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

He helped her to her feet slowly, steady her with a hand at her waist. Then slipped the harness over her legs and shoulders, tightening the straps with a firm, practiced hand. She trembled under his grip but didn’t flinch away. The floor let out another long, low creak.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, guiding her toward the open frame, then keyed his radio. “We’re coming out.”

Eddie’s voice came through, a grounding note even through the static. “Copy that.”

Buck moved into position, checking her harness, re-checking the anchor line Eddie had set. He held his arm out, and Marianne reached for him, wrapping her good arm tightly around his shoulders, clutching her injured one to her chest.

“Just don’t look down,” he said, voice light, reassuring. “You’re strapped in, and I do this all that time.”

She gave weak, almost hysterical laugh. “You’re crazy.”

He chuckled, breath ghosting across her temple as he tightened his grip. “Alright. Easy now.”

And with that, he stepped back out the window.

The rope held. Eddie held. Buck felt the slight tension and release through every movement – the careful calibration of weight, the friction of rope sliding through gloved hands above. He lowered them slowly, hand by hand, boot by boot, inch by inch, keeping them steady.

Marianne pressed her face into his shoulder, trembling but silent. Below, the firefighters were already moving, arms out, ready to catch her when they landed.

The building loomed above them a crumbling skeleton, its top stories sagging inward like a chest losing air. But Buck wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about the woman holding onto him, about the rope tethered to the man above, and about the unwavering trust running between them all like a lifeline.

This was his place in the world.

The moment Buck’s boots solid ground, the tension in his shoulders began to bleed out, bit by bit. Around him, the scene buzzed with motion: radios crackling, the hum of conversation, the rustle of gear and boots shifting across debris-dusted pavement. The firefighters who’d been waiting below moved swiftly, unclipping Marianne from the harness and guiding her with gentleness toward the waiting paramedics.

He exhaled slowly, a thread of relief curling low in his chest. He reached down and unhooked his own harness, then looked. Eddie was still at the window, one boot braced on the sill, gloved hand resting casually against the frame. His figure was silhouetted by the harsh sun, dark against the fractured bones of the building.

“You’re clear to come down, Diaz,” he radioed.

Eddie stepped up onto the ledge and made his descent with a calm, confident rhythm. Buck kept his eyes on him the whole way down. Watching him like this, mid-air and moving with that natural, efficient grace, twisted something warm in Buck’s gut. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was affection. It was definitely both.

Eddie landed beside him with a small thud, boots hitting the pavement lightly. His grin was quick and a little crooked, the kind of smile that felt like it belonged just to him.

Without needing to, Buck stepped forward, hands already reaching for the buckles on Eddie’s harness.

“I’ve got it,” Eddie murmured, but didn’t move away.

“I know,” he replied, voice soft as he began unclipping him anyway. I just need to touch you.

Okay.

Eddie’s breath ghosted across his face, barely a brush of warmth in the cooler air, but enough to make the hairs on the back of Buck’s neck rise. Their eyes met, and everything else faded – the bustle of the scene, the fire crew moving behind them, even the shouting of radio chatter. For just a breath, it was quiet.

Just them.

Buck felt it like a pulse beneath his skin: the steady, unshakable rhythm of trust, and something gentler than relief, deeper than pride. He felt Eddie’s thought flicker through the bond like the softest touch:

You didn’t run in.

His lips twisted, his fingers brushing Eddie’s hip one last time before falling away. Only because of you, he thought back. Then, smirking, he added, I’m a good listener.

Eddie lifted a single eyebrow.

He grinned wider, barely holding back a laugh. Okay, okay, he amended. I’m learning. It helps that you put up a pretty good argument.

A quiet chuckle escaped Eddie’s throat, low and warm. Buck soaked in it like sunlight.

“Good job, you two,” Bobby said, voice cutting in from just behind them.

Buck recoiled, the invisible thread between him and Eddie stretching thin. Hen and Chimney followed close behind with matching grins. Hen crossed her arms and cocked her head with mock suspicion.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “You didn’t try to kick through the window all dramatic movie style.”

He huffed out a laugh, hitching a thumb toward Eddie. “Yeah, I don’t think this one would be too happy about that.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as he turned to walk off, pulling at the strap of his glove. “You’ve got a real talent for turning a death wish into a personality trait,” he said over his shoulder.

Buck’s grin widened, shameless. He called after him, “Careful! You’re one sarcastic quip away from accidentally admitting you care.”

Eddie lifted his middle finger high in the air as he kept walking.

Buck laughed under his breath, and when he turned around, Hen, Chimney, and Bobby were all staring at him with identical, perfectly flat expressions.

He looked between them, wide-eyed and innocent. “What?”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Hen muttered.

Bobby just shook his head. “Come on, we’ve still got work to do.”

The late afternoon sun poured through the living room window, painting everything in a golden wash – the soft curve of the couch, the scatter of crayons and glue sticks across the coffee table, and the gentle mess that always came with life when Chris was in creative mode. Eddie sat back against the couch cushions, socked feet planted on the floor, his arms draped over the backrest as he watched his son hunched over the scrapbook, utterly focused.

Chris didn’t look up as he extended his hand expectantly. “Glue.”

“Yes, sir.” He leaned forward with a grin, plucking the purple glue stick from the cluttered table and placing it firmly into his son’s open hand like they were passing off medical instruments mid-surgery.

Chris uncapped it and carefully smeared a line across the back of the next photo before pressing it into the decorated page with delicate care. It was the one of the feather they’d found caught in the tree branch – delicate, white with a streak of grey down the centre, framed by sunlit green leaves.

Eddie reached for the next set of photos on the coffee table, flipping through them with a soft chuckle. Four in a row were of that damn squirrel: first scavenging for nuts, second turning its tiny head when he’d snapped the twig, then blurry and mid-motion, and the last was a close-up of its face and outstretched paws as it attacked. He groaned, rubbing his temple, but the corners of his mouth lifted despite himself.

“At least we got it,” he muttered, imagining the developer in the photo lab laughing their ass off while processing this little rodent’s modelling session.

Chris took one look and burst into laughter: loud and uninhibited, the kind that lit up his whole face and made his shoulders shake. He immediately began doodling a storyboard around them with a green marker: detailing Eddie’s demise, complete with speech bubbles and little arrows showing movement. Eddie watched, warmth spreading through his chest like a slow burn. Every ridiculous, blurry photo and almost being mauled by it had been worth it for that laugh.

His fingers lingered on the last two photographs on the table.

The first was the one of Chris and Buck holding their hands up to frame a heart around the lilypad. The second was the three of them on the bench at the end of the day, shoulder to shoulder, smiling into the camera like they’d always belonged that way. Like something about the world had clicked into place.

It had been two weeks since the scavenger hunt. Eddie had gotten the digital files days ago, but nothing compared to holding the real, physical prints in his hands: the glossy finish catching the light, the image of Buck’s bright blue eyes and unguarded happiness doing things to Eddie’s chest he still didn’t know how to name without sounding stupid or completely lovesick.

He swallowed and hummed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Last ones, bud,” he said, handing them over.

Chris took them carefully, turning them over like they were something precious. But then he paused.

Eddie tilted his head. “You okay, mijo?”

Chris looked up at him, eyes wide behind his glasses, soft and always full of curiosity. “Is Buck your boyfriend?”

He froze for a second, lips parting, then exhaled slowly and folded his hands between his knees, grounding himself. “What makes you ask that?”

Chris shrugged, turning the photos in his lap like they were puzzle pieces. “He comes out with us. And he’s been here a lot more.”

Eddie’s brows knit slightly, more concerned about the reason behind the question than the question itself. “Does that…bother you?”

“No!” Chris shook his head frantically. “I love Buck. He’s the best.”

Relief sank deep into his muscles as he nodded. “Okay. Good. I –”

“You’re a lot happier when he’s around,” Chris said plainly, voice quiet but sure.

Eddie’s heart gave a hard, unexpected jolt. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, fingers catching briefly in the collar of his t-shirt. “Yeah,” he admitted after a moment, voice softer than before. “He makes me happy.”

The undeniable truth.

He didn’t know exactly when it had changed. Maybe it had happened so gradually it was impossible to pin down – not a switch flipped, but a slow unravelling, a long fall that had started months ago and never stopped.

He had hated him at first; somehow, Buck had managed to get under his skin and in his head, and Eddie hadn't exactly welcomed him with open arms. Had been unsure how to deal with someone who burned so brightly, who cared so recklessly. Now? He had both arms wrapped firmly around him and never wanted to let him go.

Chris’ voice brought him back. “So…is he your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, mijo.” He smiled, tenderness and warmth replacing everything else in his chest like a heartbeat. “He is.”

Chris looked down at the two photos in his lap again, then up at Eddie with his face already lit with the next idea. “So, he’ll be around even more now I know?”

“If you’re okay with it.”

Chris nodded again, this time even more eagerly. “Can I frame these?” he asked, holding up the two pictures.

Eddie leaned over, pressing a kiss to his hair as his hand rested lightly on his shoulder. His voice was quiet but sure, thick with affection.

“Of course, buddy. We’ll find the perfect spot.”

And he meant it – not just about the frames.

About everything.

“I’d say it’s nice to see you both again,” Delilah said, her voice calm but cautious, “but I imagine you’re pretty upset with me.”

Eddie shifted on his feet, the floor creaking faintly beneath his weight. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, fingers curled tight around the seams like he could anchor himself with tension alone. Buck’s arm brushed lightly against his own – a subtle point of contact that should have grounded him. It didn’t.

There was a pit in his stomach that had been twisting tighter and tighter since Amelia had shown up at the firehouse that morning, standing in front of the truck bay in her oversized coat, wild curls frizzed out in the damp air, voice bright as she said, “I found her.”

Her mother.

Delilah.

The witch.

The one who started all of this.

And now, standing in the middle of her shop again – breathing in that same musty blend of dried lavender, sandalwood, and something faintly metallic in the burning incense – Eddie could barely keep himself from walking right back out.

“Not really.” Buck offered her a polite, open smile. “We understand why you went into hiding.”

Eddie frowned. His eyes slid sideways to Buck’s profile, calm, composed, and kind. How is he okay with this?

Buck’s head tilted slightly, eyebrows drawn together as he turned to glance at him. What?

Nothing. He clenched his jaw, eyes darting away, heat pricking at the back of his neck.

He tightened his mental grip on the walls around his thoughts, trying to keep his emotions from leaking out into the space between them.

Of course, Buck wouldn’t be upset about this. He had been trying to figure out how to undo it for months. Because Eddie had snapped at him. Because Eddie had made it clear how much he hated the connection – the violation of privacy, the constant background hum of Buck in his head, the lack of control.

Eddie hadn’t exactly been quiet about that.

But things had changed. He had changed.

A long time ago. Maybe around the time Buck had stayed up researching protection wards all night, reading in his head, and Eddie had listened to his voice to help him fall asleep after a rough call. Or when they started making each other laugh without speaking aloud. When they’d learned each other’s secrets and held each other through the fires they brought. Or maybe it was the smaller things: Buck’s thoughts drifting through when they made dinner, a constant stream of music trivia and ridiculous questions about the universe, or the way they could silently plan their next move on a call with one flick of the mind.

Even without the link, they would work like that. Seamless, effortless, completely in sync. They’d proven that time and time again before they were dusted with the powder and deep into their hatred.

But…

It had grown familiar. Safe.

Comforting.

He didn’t know how to tell Buck that he didn’t want it to end. That he liked it – liked having Buck in his head. Having him see every unfiltered part of him, having something so intimate with him, having this secret connection that no one else could touch.

Wasn’t sure what would hurt more: saying that out loud, or hearing Buck still wanted it gone.

Delilah nodded, the bangles on her wrist jangling softly as she leaned back against the cluttered counter. “Well,” she said, her voice smoothing into something lighter, “it’s not every day someone comes into my shop who can break through my wards.”

“Yeah, we had no idea until Amelia told us.” Buck laughed. “Then called us ignorant.”

Delilah’s grin cracked wide, warm and crinkled with age, and she reached up to push back the curtain of frizzy grey hair that had fallen into her face. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement. “She’s got a mouth on her, that one.”

“She does,” Buck agreed. “But she was right. We had no idea about any of it.”

“It might take a while to reverse it. I’ll need Amelia’s help.” Delilah’s expression turned a little more serious, more measured. “It’s very old, very strong magic. Bound tightly.”

Eddie nodded numbly, but his eyes drifted away from her, away from the two of them, and landed on the shelves lining the walls of the shop. Crystals glimmered in the scattered bowls under yellow-toned lighting. Singing bowls sat stacked beside rune stones. A deck of tarot cards lay spread, the Tower card face-up like a cruel mockery. The scent of sage mixed with the dusty warmth of timeworn wood and old secrets.

Five and a half months ago, Eddie had stood in this exact aisle.

Five and a half months ago, Buck had waved a stupid, glittery crystal in his face, grinning like an idiot.

Five and a half months ago, Eddie hadn’t wanted him near.

And then the magic hit.

He could still remember the way the room tilted, the invisible snap that he’d thought was just because he’d inhaled a concerning amount of powder but had actually connected his thoughts to Buck’s like a taut wire between tin cans.

He hadn’t realised, in that moment, that everything would change. Their rhythm, their partnership – even their friendship.

And now, standing here with Delilah murmuring about reversal, all he could feel was a strange, rising bitterness.

He should have felt relieved.

He used to want this undone.

But he didn’t anymore.

He didn’t want to lose the bond. Didn’t want to lose Buck.

The Buck who took up permanent residence in his mind like a sunbeam that refused to fade, who made things brighter even on the darkest of days.

And now, with the possibility of separation finally in front of them, Eddie felt sick. Like he was watching something fragile slip through his fingers.

Buck’s physical voice filtered in beside him, steady and bright, but it sounded far away.

Delilah was saying something again, something about spell matrices and the reversal process, but he wasn’t listening anymore. He just stared down at a small obsidian pendant swinging gently on a chain and tried not to think about what it would feel like to wake up without Buck in his mind.

To lose the quiet hum that had become home.

To lose the thing that tied them together so closely it felt like breath.

And maybe he didn’t have the right to want to keep it.

But deep down, in the hollowed, quiet space where words didn’t reach –

He did.

He wanted to keep it.

He wanted to keep Buck.

Eds…Eddie…Eddie!

It tore through the haze in his head like a lightning strike, sharp and urgent. His breath caught as his head snapped toward the sound, and suddenly the rest of the room came into focus.

The shop was silent. Completely silent.

The tick of a clock behind the counter thudded into the quiet like a drumbeat. Incense smoke curled idly in the air, but he couldn’t breathe it in – couldn’t breathe at all.

Buck stood in front of him, his hand curled firmly but gently around Eddie’s forearm. His blue eyes were wide, alive with a million questions and emotions. And Eddie’s heart stuttered hard in his chest.

He heard.

Panic flared behind his ribs. Heat crawled up the back of his neck. He tried to step back, to duck his head and disappear into the floor, but Buck’s grip tightened, not in warning, but in reassurance, in a silent ‘don’t go’.

Then Buck’s voice cut straight through his thoughts, calm but trembling with disbelief: You want to keep it?

His throat closed up, stomach twisting with nausea and fear. But the truth – God, the truth – unravelled from his chest anyway, dragging behind it all the mess he’d been trying to keep hidden.

I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose you –

Eddie, I –

But I don’t deserve to say –

Eds, I don’t –

That after everything I –

Eddie, sweetheart, shut up, will you?

He clenched his jaw, mentally recoiling and slamming the walls up on his spiral. He closed his eyes, forcing air into his lungs, swallowing everything that threatened to come up.

I’m sorry, he thought, quieter now, trying to pull away. We should just get it done with. I –

But Buck didn’t let go. Instead, he dug his fingers into his forearm with quiet insistence and leaned in slightly, like he could keep Eddie from spiralling just by being closer. And he could. God help him, even when he was panicking over Buck’s reaction, Buck could still calm him down.

Buck’s eyes locked onto his like a crosshair – unflinching, firm, achingly sincere.

I don’t want to get rid of it either.

His heart skipped once. Then again. The grip he had on his own control loosened as the air seemed to rush out of the room, leaving him breathless and dizzy.

You…don’t?

Buck’s lips parted slightly, his gaze still fixed. Of course, I don’t. This…this thing – we – he trailed off, unable to find the words. But his silence filled in the rest anyway, raw and unguarded.

Eddie swallowed hard, caught in those storm-blue eyes. He could see everything in them: hope, fear, the weight of months spent wondering if the other felt the same.

Buck was holding his breath too.

We can… Buck said slowly. It’s always an option for the future. If…if you change your mind.

I won’t, he thought instantly, the words instinctual and electric. I never will.

Buck inhaled sharply, like he hadn’t expected to hear that. His hand twitched, lifting toward Eddie’s face, toward the line of his jaw, his cheek, but stopped mid-air, hesitating. Eddie wanted nothing more than for him to touch him.

He didn’t.

But he didn’t need to. The intent was enough to light him up from the inside.

Buck’s lips were parted in a silent exhale. His face flushed with emotion, and Eddie could see the exact moment Buck let himself believe it.

Eddie’s own fingers trembled as he flexed them at his side. His gaze drifted slowly over Buck’s face, taking in the familiar constellation of features: his flushed cheeks, the faint lines by his eyes, the slope of his nose, the soft, plump lips and the slight curve of his mouth. He landed on his birthmark, the one he’d memorised the exact pattern of months ago without realising.

Then he met his eyes again with a newfound confidence. Buck…I don’t want to sever the link.

Buck’s free hand twitched again, then stilled. The air between them thickened, humming. A beat passed, heavy and warm.

Okay, he replied, steady and sure. Okay.

Then, clearing his throat and slowly turning toward Delilah, he said, “Is there…is there a way we can keep it?”

Eddie flinched, suddenly remembering where they were – remembering they weren’t alone. He glanced toward Delilah with a faint jolt of shock, like waking from a dream. She was watching them with a patient calm, hands folded atop an inventory log on the counter, the barest hint of a smile on her lips and something ancient and deep in her gaze.

Like she’d seen this before. Like she’d known.

Buck rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and added, “I could…I don’t know, maybe there’s a way we could repay you for it?”

Money, maybe, or I could offer to help out around the shop in my spare time…

Eddie’s lips twitched faintly. He looked back at Buck with a warmth that curled in his chest like firelight. That’s a good idea. You’d love that.

Buck blinked, surprised. You think so?

Yeah.

And he meant it. The image of Buck rearranging crystals, sorting books, scribbling notes into that little worn journal of his – it settled over his mind like a blanket. So right. So him.

Delilah shifted, her rings catching the low light as she leaned in, still quiet, still watching. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. His heart was pounding too fast, too loud. His emotions crashed over each other like waves: anxiety and guilt slamming into affection and wonder.

And something deeper beneath it.

Love.

Oh, he thought helplessly, eyes locked on Buck’s fingers around his arm.

There it was.

Right there in the centre of his chest, like it had been waiting for him to finally catch up.

He felt lightheaded with the rush of it – like standing too close to a flame but not wanting to step away.

Buck was still watching him. Dropping his grip but brushing their hands together. Still within reach.

And Eddie didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to lose this – any of it.

He might not have deserved it, but he’d fight to keep it now.

To keep Buck.

He cleared his throat, hoping it sounded casual and not like he was trying to dislodge the word love from the tightest part of his chest. His fingers flexed at his side, nerves dancing along his skin, and he was grateful – deeply, profoundly grateful – that emotions weren’t transferred across the bond. Grateful that…that word hadn’t slipped through his thoughts.

Not yet.

He wasn’t ready to say it.

Not here, not now, not in the middle of Delilah’s cluttered little magic shop with her knowing eyes and her altar of incense and flickering candles. He’d say it when he’d processed it. When it was just the two of them – just him, and Buck, and a quiet moment where he could hold it gently in his hands and say it with the intention it deserved.

So instead, he swallowed and turned toward Delilah, finally meeting her eyes for the first time since everything had shifted. “Is that possible?” he asked.

She hummed, drumming her long fingers against the countertop. Her stacked bracelets clicked and chimed against one another in a rhythm that felt oddly like a countdown.

“Amelia said you were the one pushing for this the hardest.”

He winced, heat creeping along the back of his neck and into his ears. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice low. “I was.”

She titled her head. “What changed?”

His eyes flicked to the old brass clock above the shelves of herb jars and apothecary bottles. He was hyper aware of Buck standing beside him – of the subtle heat radiating off him, the casual brush of his fingers against the back of his palm, and the weight of their earlier exchange still heavy in the space between them.

“We…settled our differences,” he said, clearing his throat again and trying not to think about exactly how they’d done that.

Delilah’s lips curved. “I bet you did.”

The vibration of Buck’s low laugh made him want to melt into the floorboards. He felt the colour crawl up his neck and into his face, reddening his cheeks.

“The team doesn’t know,” he muttered, glancing at the floor.

Her eyebrow arched. “About the bond, or about you two?”

Buck answered easily, “Both.”

She nodded, her movements smooth and unhurried, like everything had already unfolded exactly the way she thought it would. Her earrings swayed as she leaned forward on the counter. “You understand what it entails?” she asked. “You’re going to keep hearing everything. Things are going to slip through that you might not want. It’s not all secret conniving and silent flirting.”

Eddie grinned despite himself and tilted his head toward Buck. “I think we’ll manage.”

Buck grinned right back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’ve hated each other for a year, and he still wants to date me. I think he secretly loves it.”

Eddie felt his stomach do a slow, traitorous flip. He exhaled through his nose, fighting the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. There was something about the way Buck said it – so casual, like it was a done deal, like he was the sure thing – that settled in his bones like gravity.

Delilah was smiling too now. A soft, knowing one that hinted she’d seen centuries of foolish men fall into quiet, helpless love and knew exactly what this was.

She inclined her head. “Very well.”

Eddie’s eyes snapped up. “Wait – really?”

She nodded again, her fingers laced together. “It saves me a lot of work trying to reverse it. And besides –” she gestured vaguely toward them, toward the invisible thread buzzing gently between their minds. “Magic like this is often misused. It’s nice to see it doing what it’s intended to do.”

Buck furrowed his brow. “And what’s that?”

She tapped her nose. “I think you both know.”

Eddie’s shoulders slumped, relief crashing over him like a warm tide. He let out a breath and turned toward Buck, their arms still brushing. Then, he reached out, slid his fingers down, and laced their hands together.

The weight of Buck’s hand, solid, warm, calloused and familiar, made his heart clench. Their fingers slotted together with an ease that shouldn’t have startled him, but did. He was always surprised by now natural this felt. Like Buck had always been meant to fit beside him. Like they’d been circling this inevitability since they met.

Ask her about working here, he prompted, low and gentle in the space between their minds.

Buck’s hand tightened instinctively around his, like he was anchoring himself; Eddie watched the way Buck’s throat bobbed as he cleared it.

“I could help out around the shop,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “As a way to thank you.”

Delilah barked a laugh, rasping like a dry match catching flame. “Boy,” she said, “you don’t know the slightest thing about magic.”

He smiled wider, more confident. “I’m a fast learner.”

Delilah studied him then – and Eddie swore she was peeling back skin and reading his soul. Her eyes narrowed, glittering with something just shy of mischief. Then she ducked under the counter and pulled out a small card, sliding it across the worn wood.

“Amelia was right about you.”

Buck’s brows lifted high, startled. “What?”

Delilah just smiled, gentle and cryptic. “Take care of each other.”

Eddie could feel the swell of emotion behind him. Could feel the words Buck wanted to say but couldn’t quite get past his lips. So, he squeezed Buck’s hand tighter and offered his own quiet promise in the bond between them:

Always.

The clang of the dumbbells echoed off the gym walls as Buck exhaled through the final rep, muscles burning, skin slick with sweat. He let the weights drop onto the rubber mat with a satisfying thud and reached for his towel, dragging it across the back of his neck. His chest rose and fell, the adrenaline of exertion slowly giving way to a more familiar hum – not just in his body, but in his mind.

He caught the steady murmur of Eddie’s thoughts spilling through the bond like gentle static from a half-tuned radio – clear enough that he could make out the rhythm, the warmth behind them. Chris’ parents’ evening, shit, did I already book that? I need to buy more of those cookies Buck and Chris like – oh that reminds me…tea tonight. I could cook pasta, maybe. A lasagne – is that pushing it with my skills, though? This damn stain won’t come out no matter how hard I scrub.

Buck smiled as he leaned forward on the bench, elbows resting on his knees. There was something oddly soothing about it – the mundane stream of Eddie’s consciousness filling his head like a private podcast. Domestic Eddie. Soft, ordinary, completely unaware that Buck would listen to him think for the rest of his life and never get bored.

He drank deeply from his water bottle, letting the cold wash away the heat in his throat and chest, but it couldn’t cool the flush of feeling that lingered: the residual high from five days ago in Delilah’s shop, when everything changed. Again.

When he’d heard Eddie think it.

Not just that he wanted to keep the bond: Buck had suspected that. Hoped it. But the words Eddie hadn’t meant to share, the ones that slipped through when he was trying to shut his thoughts down…those had left Buck stunned.

I don’t want to lose you.

I like having you in my head.

He had felt those words like impact wounds. They’d hit him harder than any fall or fire ever had.

And even now, as he moved through the station, showering and dressing, still brushing droplets of water from his ears, those words echoed in him. A low, steady warmth that curled around his ribs.

He pulled on his uniform shirt, rolling his shoulders as the cool fabric slid over his skin, then layered his LAFD hoodie on top. There was a chill in the station today, not that he could feel anything clearly. His body was hot and jittery, his thoughts too tangled with the sensation of someone else brushing up against the inside of his head.

He knew the moment Eddie’s gaze locked on him. It came with a change in tempo – like a spotlight suddenly turned inward. His heart gave a half-stuttered beat, and when he did glance up, there Eddie was, crouched by the engine with a rag in hand, polishing chrome like it owed him something.

Their eyes met.

Buck raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a teasing smirk, and thought deliberately, You enjoyed the show.

Not a question.

The proof had already slipped through the cracks of Eddie’s inner monologue: a little too much focus on Buck’s biceps, or the roll of his hips, the curve of his ass during squats, or the way his back arched as he racked the barbell. Eddie hadn’t meant to leak that into the bond. But oh, he had.

Eddie don’t look embarrassed. He looked hungry. Famished.

His eyes dragged up Buck’s body with deliberate slowness, and Buck felt every pass of that gaze like a physical thing, like fingers dragging along his skin. From where he crouched, Eddie licked his lips and thought – raw, unfiltered –

Wear that shirt again and I’ll bite straight through it. Buttons, seams, everything. Then mark you up so bad you’ll have to explain teeth patterns to a dermatologist.

Buck choked.

Actually choked – on nothing, air or desire, maybe both – and fumbled with the cuff of his sleeve. A rush of heat surged from his chest to his throat, his cheeks flaming red as he turned away so fast he nearly ran into the lockers.

Jesus, Eddie.

He could barely breathe.

The bond buzzed again – playful, dark, Eddie – and Buck felt every inch of his skin tighten with awareness. I’m going to tear into you while you’re crying underneath me begging for more.

Eddie’s lips twitched with that smug smirk, and Buck yanked at his hoodie’s collar, pulling it higher like it might protect him from what was happening to his sanity.

Hen rounded the corner toward the bay, adjusting the settings on a medical device he couldn’t even identify in that moment, and he bolted toward her like a lifeline.

“Hen!” he called, voice too high and too sudden, “do we have an extra jacket I can borrow?”

She blinked up at him and furrowed her brows. “You’re wearing a hoodie.”

Eddie’s voice slipped through the bond, thick with promise:

Nothing will stop me.

Buck opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried not to look like he was seconds away from spontaneous combustion. “It’s not…enough,” he managed weakly. It doesn’t feel safe anymore.

You could weld yourself into a metal box and I’d carve into it with my fingers until I got to you.

He squeezed his eyes shut and willed his body to behave. His knees felt loose, his pulse thrumming in his throat like a warning bell. He wanted – fuck, he wanted – but there were rules. There were coworkers. There was the station.

He couldn’t give in. Not yet. Not here.

But Eddie’s stare burned. The air between them sparked like kindling.

And Buck knew, with a kind of delicious certainty that nearly undid him:

There would be no walking away unmarked.

The bell above the door jingled, a sharp little chime that cut through the thick scent of dragon’s blood incense curling in the air like lazy smoke. Buck stepped into the shop, backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie slightly damp from the rain outside, and paused on the threshold, breathing in deep.

God, he loved that smell now. Warm, smoky, a little spicy: like heat and earth and old leather. He’d bought a pack the last time he was here and burned half of it in his apartment that same night, trying to recreate the magic of the shop. Though nothing quite matched the way it clung here: soaked into the floorboards, the hanging herbs, the velvet curtains that swayed even when there was no wind.

“Delilah!” he called, voice bright. “Guess who’s back and ready to break something!”

Her voice floated from somewhere behind the bead curtain. “You break anything, I’m breaking you.”

He grinned. “So, you missed me.”

“Like a rash.”

He wiped his feet, out of guilt more than anything, on the doormat that comedically read ‘Enter With Intention…Or Leave With Warts’, then made his way inside, fingers already itching to pick something up. The shop glowed in its usual half-light, the glow of enchanted glass and witchfire casting uneven shadows on walls lined with oddities – bones, bells, glimmering jars, old tomes, and a crystal orb that blinked at him.

“I brought muffins,” he offered, holding up the bag.

“Bribery won’t save you when you knock over the salt wards again.”

“That was one time!”

“And I’m still scraping powdered basil out of my runes,” she muttered as she emerged from behind the curtain, sleeves pushed to her elbows, silver rings glittering on her fingers and her mouth already twitching with a smirk.

His grin deepened, shaking the muffins. “They’re freshly baked this morning. Special order.”

“Unless they’re warded against chaos, they won’t save you.”

“Good to see you too, boss.” He tossed her the bag, which she caught one-handed without breaking stride.

“The prodigious disaster returns,” she said, peering into the bag.

“I prefer ‘disaster assistant’,” he corrected helpfully, swinging his backpack off and dropping it behind the counter.

She raised one unimpressed eyebrow. “Disaster apprentice, if you keep pushing your luck.”

“I can work with that.” He beamed, bouncing on his feet. “Where’d you want me, boss?”

She looked him over with a vaguely exasperated sigh and waved a hand toward the front shelves. “Dust the jars. Only the jars. And don’t touch the blue one.”

“Still prophetic hiccups?”

“Now with added hallucinations.”

He saluted with a flourish and Delilah immediately slapped a feather duster into his hand.

“Less flair. More focus.”

“Yes, boss.”

He gripped the feather duster tightly and made his way over, careful as he moved between shelves, tiny, labelled boxes, and more candles than he could count. Sunlight filtered through the foggy shop windows, catching dust motes and making them dance like suspended stars. He picked up a particularly sparkly bottle with a curled-up, sleeping beetle inside and whispered, “You’re cool. You’re safe. You’re not blue.”

Every now and then he paused to stare too long at something – like a tiny statue that shimmered as if it were breathing, or a book titled Flesh, Bone, and Fortune: A Beginner’s Guide to Moonbinding.

“Delilah,” he called over his shoulder for the fourth time in ten minutes, “what’s this one do?”

“Death,” she replied flatly, not even glancing up from her counter.

He jerked his hand back from the small vial like it had burned him and his elbow clipped the shelf behind him. A soft crack echoed through the store.

Delilah closed her eyes and sighed. “What broke?”

“Nothing critical!” He rushed to steady the shelf. “I think the moonstone bowl tried to bite me.”

“That’s not nothing.”

He cursed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, minor crack. Barely a flesh wound.”

She appeared next to him in a flash and grabbed the cracked moonstone bowl from the shelf, inspecting the damage like a stern museum curator. Then she smirked, shaking her head. “I’m going to bind every one of your fingers if you don’t slow down.”

“I could work with stumps,” he joked.

“Disaster.” She rolled her eyes and headed back toward the counter. “Absolute disaster.”

Buck, trailing behind her, leaned on the counter, chin resting on his hands, watching as she muttered something and flicked a pinch of silver powder onto the crack. It hissed faintly, sealing before his eyes.

“How’d you learn all this?” he asked, voice quieting without him meaning it to. “Like…all of it. The wards, the sigils, the moving energy stuff?”

“You listen better when your mouth’s shut,” she replied without heat, her focus still on the bowl.

He raised both hands in surrender and held his breath for a few seconds, giving her the space.

“I learned the same way you’re trying to,” she eventually said, glancing up then, lips twitching. “Curiosity. Hunger. And a lot of patience.” She gave him a meaningful look. “Which you don’t have.”

“Not true,” he argued. “I waited two whole days to come back and ask more questions.”

Delilah snorted. “You were texting Amelia every six hours. She forwarded me the messages. My favourite was ‘do you think the crystal with the tiny eye inside is watching me shower’.”

Buck flushed, fingers messing with the small keychains beside the register. “In my defence…it was blinking.”

She hummed, placing the bowl on the shelf behind her, far away from Buck. “The only way to learn is through practice. Years of it. No shortcuts.”

“I’m trying,” he murmured. “Seriously.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Trying not to shatter things?”

“Well, trying to learn.” He shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Trying to understand magic. What Amelia saw in me.”

She paused. Her bracelets clinked as she folded her arms, studying him. “She says a lot of things.”

“No, like – about me. You said she was right about something. And if it’s about me not taking this seriously or being ignorant, I swear that’s not true.” His eyes widened as he rolled his shoulders back and started gesticulating with his hands. “I tried a reversal spell once. On me and Eddie. When we couldn’t find you. But I did weeks of research, I didn’t just throw myself into it, I promise - even ask Eddie. I bought all the right things, warded my apartment beforehand and followed the instructions to a T.”

Delilah’s gaze sharpened, eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“Didn’t work, obviously,” he answered honestly with a shrug, animated now. “But there was this gold thread, floating in the air. I felt it, like electricity under my skin, you know? And then it flashed, and I swear something happened – I thought I did it right, but… my bowl cracked clean in half.”

He was rambling now words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop, eyes shining as he continued twisting a small mushroom keyring between his fingers. “I was so sure it was going to work. There was this…pressure, and it even went silent for like a brief moment until we heard each other’s thoughts again. I just – maybe I wasn’t strong enough, magic wise? Or maybe I wasn’t tuned enough to Eddie’s energy or –”

“Buck.”

He blinked, pinning his mouth shut to stop the word vomit. “Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks red. “I talk a lot when I’m excited or trying to figure something out.”

Delilah chuckled under her breath and reached beneath the counter. She brought out a small, leather-bound book, worn at the edges, a tiny, embossed sigil on the front, and slid it across the surface.

“This isn’t a spellbook. It’s a primer,” she clarified with a sharp eyebrow raise. “Foundational work. Basics. Don’t skip ahead.”

His eyes widened like she’d just handed him a key to a palace. His fingers hovered over it like he was afraid it might vanish. “Wait – this is – ? Are you – ?”

“Unofficial lessons,” she said dryly. “Very unofficial. You mess up, I deny everything.”

He reached out, reverent, hands brushing the old leather. It was warm. Solid. Real.

“Thank you,” he whispered, then grinned up at her, voice louder as he added, “I won’t mess it up.”

“You will. Constantly.” She grinned now, fully, a crinkle at the edge of her eyes. “But you’ll learn. Because underneath all that chaos, you’re actually listening.”

“Of course, I am. I’m a great listener.”

Delilah gave him a long look. “You’ve got the hunger. You’ve got the fire. You’ve even got the nerve. Just…take your time, Buck. You’re not in a race.”

He nodded, still awestruck, clutching the little book like it held the answers to the universe.

Delilah turned, then added as she walked away, voice casual but tinged with fondness, “Welcome to your first real lesson, disaster assistant. Time to learn how to cleanse crystals.”

Buck just grinned, his heart full and buzzing, the smell of dragon’s blood thick in his lungs as he followed her, mouthing the words again to himself.

Disaster assistant.

Hell yeah, he was.

Eddie leaned over the kitchen island, both hands cradling the warm ceramic mug between his palms, the scent of chamomile rising in gentle curls toward his face. The heat soaked into his skin as he took a slow sip, letting it settle low in his chest where it eased the tension he didn’t even realise he’d been holding.

Across the loft, Buck was in the middle of another story – arms flying through the air with the kind of enthusiasm that could crack the sky open. His voice bounced off the station walls, a rhythm of excitement that grew louder with every hand gesture, every shift of his weight. He stood in front of the couch like it was a stage he’d never meant to take but now couldn’t leave, eyes bright, cheeks flushed from talking too fast and too much.

“…and then she tells me, ‘Buck, if that potion explodes, I’m making you clean it with a cursed toothbrush’, and I swear I didn’t even touch it yet! But I’ve been upgraded to stacking shelves and inventory taking now!”

Hen was perched casually on the back of the sofa, one leg tucked up, the other braced on the floor, chin tilted as she raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “And she lets you touch stuff?”

Buck’s grin stretched wider: the kind that made Eddie’s stomach flutter, the kind that deepened the dimples in both cheeks and lit Buck up like the damn sun. “She calls me her disaster assistant.”

Chimney barked a laugh beside her, arms crossed. “That’s not the compliment you think it is, man.”

Bobby, leaning back in one of the mismatched chairs at the table, smiled behind his mug. “Leave him alone, Chim. He used to be a disaster in the kitchen too – and look where he is now.”

“Thank you, Bobby!” Buck threw out a hand in his direction like a dramatic award show presenter. “Finally, someone who sees the vision.”

The team’s laughter rippled through the loft like a soft wave. Eddie took another sip of his tea, but his attention didn’t stray. His gaze stayed locked on Buck, devouring the way his curls flopped over his forehead as he shifted on his feet, how the gold lighting above them caught in the blue of his eyes, how the sleeves of his hoodie were pushed to the elbows and hands kept talking even when his mouth paused.

He’d already heard all of this: Buck had come over after his shift at Whisperlight Curiosities and given him and Chris the full play-by-play while chopping vegetables for dinner. Had filled his house with crystals and hanging protection wards and taught him how to cleanse them. But it didn’t matter. Eddie could listen to him talk about anything, over and over.

Because there was something magnetic about Buck when he got like this: caught up in something he loved. The way he threw himself into the unknown with the same fearlessness he brought to fires and broken buildings, how he laughed when something exploded (sometimes literally), and how he wanted to understand, not just witness.

He was learning now – unofficially, chaotically – but it fit perfectly. It gave Buck something to chase, something new to dive into. And Eddie was lucky enough to watch him shine.

Hen and Chimney exchanged a look before Chimney leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “So, what was the powder?”

Buck blinked. “What powder?”

“The one you two got hit with.” Hen pointed her chin toward Eddie, grinning. “Back when we were called to the shop.”

“Oh.” Buck waved his hand airily, already moving back into rhythm. “Just an activant. Useless on its own, really.”

Chimney frowned. “You two have been acting weird ever since that call.”

Shit, Buck faltered.

Eddie’s fingers curled tighter around the mug. The heat seeped into his bones as he lowered his gaze to the steam drifting up, letting the silence cover him while he reached gently through the bond: say something about our protection.

He felt Buck shift in his mind, hesitation skimming the surface. You sure?

Yeah, he replied, calm and grounded. No big deal. It’s not entirely a lie. I think it did link along with our thoughts.

“We, uh…” Buck glanced over at him, lips twitching slightly. “We didn’t know it at first, but me and Eddie already had protection magic.”

All heads turned. Bobby’s eyebrows rose as his eyes flicked between them. “What?”

Buck lifted his arm, showing off the twin black bands inked around his forearm, proud as anything. “My tattoos. And Eddie’s pendant.”

He reached up instinctively, fingers brushing the familiar weight beneath his shirt. He’d fully accepted it now, didn’t really have a choice after everything that had happened, and everything he was learning through Buck about magic.

“They’re both forms of protection,” Buck continued, a little more relaxed now he had an excuse. “The powder just made it stronger. That’s what Delilah said, anyway.”

Hen blinked, turning to Chimney. “She did say, ‘that’s going to be interesting’.”

Chimney scratched his chin. “So, she must’ve known you already had magic.”

Buck nodded, and his smile slipped back into place, that easy, glowing curve of lips that Eddie had grown addicted to seeing.

Hen and Chimney shared another silent glance, eyebrows moving, lips mouthing words, and then Chimney pointed a finger. “That’s how you got through the barrier at the fountain!”

“And the magical fire with illusions!” Buck’s whole face lit up again. “You should’ve seen it!”

Eddie exhaled, letting his shoulders relax as he took a long sip of his tea, the warmth sliding down his throat and spreading through his chest. His gaze lingered, as always, on Buck as he spoke like he’d been born to tell stories, arms wide, eyes alive.

And maybe he had been – born for this. For wonder. For curiosity. For light.

He couldn’t look away, and he didn’t even try.

Buck belonged there, right in the centre of it all. Not just at Whisperlight Curiosities, not just with magic humming under his skin, but here – among people who loved him, in the life he’d helped build. And every time he lit up like that, Eddie felt something inside himself reach out, greedy for it, selfish in the way he wanted to keep that light close.

He took Buck in and thought, no wonder magic clings him.

The loft echoed with laughter again, and Eddie smiled quietly into his mug, letting it warm his lips.

God, I’m so in love with him.

Across the room, Buck froze. His hands, mid-gesture, stilled in the air like they’d been caught in a spell. His mouth hung slightly open, a syllable lingering unspoken, cut off halfway through, eyes locked – burning – on Eddie with stunning, unblinking focus. Like someone had unplugged his brain.

The team didn’t notice at first. Chimney was still chucking softly, Hen shaking her head. Bobby lifted his mug for another sip of coffee.

But Eddie saw it instantly – saw the way Buck’s shoulders had gone rigid, how his expression flickered with something that looked a hell of a lot like wonder, then fear, then a slowly dawning understanding that wrapped tight around Eddie’s ribs like a vice.

He nearly dropped his mug.

The ceramic clinked against his teeth as he fumbled it back down onto the island, slamming it harder than he meant to. Tea sloshed violently over the rim and splattered across the countertop, hot droplets splashing onto his wrist, but he barely flinched.

Buck was still staring at him. Straight into his soul.

Panic rose, hot and sharp in his chest.

Shit. Shit. I had a plan. Fuck, no. Not like this.

He pushed back so fast the stool legs scraped harshly against the floor. He bolted from the island like it might explode, heart hammering in his chest loud enough to drown out everything else.

He caught snippets – Bobby saying, “You okay, Buck?”

Buck’s voice, distant and dazed: “Yeah…yeah, just…forgot how to talk.”

He was already down the stairs, feet pounding each one, hands curling into fists at his sides. His heart was rattling around like a live wire in his chest, breath shallow as he turned a corner and ducked into the bay, pretending to check the rig but barely able to see it through the fog in his brain.

Fuck. So stupid. So fucking stupid.

His thoughts spun out in every direction like sparks from a snapped wire.

He had a plan. He had a plan. He’d been waiting for the right moment. He’d been careful, keeping his thoughts measured, muffled, tuned down, redirecting them, reciting recipes he was practising with Buck just to drown out how his heart ached every time Buck looked at him with those eyes like they already knew.

Two weeks of playing it safe.

Gone in a blink.

Because Buck had smiled too wide, and Eddie had felt his heart tip over the edge and hadn’t slammed the door on it fast enough.

Now? Now he was scrambling. Praying Buck wouldn’t –

No, too late. He heard it.

All of it.

Even this.

Fuck.

He braced both hands on the rig, trying to catch his breath, forehead dropping to the cool metal of the side panel.

What the hell do I do now?

Buck hadn’t moved.

Not an inch.

He stood in the centre of the loft like his feet had fused to the floor, arms frozen mid-air, fingers curled just slightly inward as if they could still hold the moment he’d dropped.

His heart thundered against his ribs. His mouth was dry. His brain – short-circuited.

He stared at the mug Eddie had left on the kitchen island, steam still rising gently from the rim, the imprint of his hands still ghosting on the ceramic.

God, I’m so in love with him.

That sentence played on a loop through his skull, over and over, like a spell that refused to fade.

Buck felt it.

Not just heard it, but felt it – like sunlight behind his sternum, like the weight of something too precious to touch all at once. That thread of emotion had slammed into him with the force of a wave, cresting high with warmth, vulnerability, and something so unmistakably Eddie that it knocked the breath from his lungs.

All he was doing was talking. Laughing. Rambling about activants and Delilah and magical components.

And then – Eddie…

He wanted to move – to chase after him, to grab him, pull him aside, press him up against the nearest wall and kiss him until the words weren’t terrifying anymore.

But he couldn’t.

His body wouldn’t respond. His brain wouldn’t line up the pieces fast enough to follow.

Eddie had loved him – for two weeks?

Two weeks of game nights with Chris, coffee pickups, playful arguments and sex, teasing in the gym, lingering smiles across bunk beds.

Two weeks of hiding this.

How the hell had Eddie managed to keep it buried with their minds linked? Buck hadn’t noticed anything. Not one stray word, not one thought slipping through. Not even inventory lists. Just the mundane stuff like weather updates, the low hum of Eddie’s breathing on sleepless nights, the flirting, the recipes they’d been learning together.

The recipes.

He hadn’t been reciting them to practice or remind himself – he’d been trying to protect himself.

And Buck…

God, Buck didn’t know whether to scream or melt.

Eddie had been protecting him from his own feelings, holding them close like they were sacred – like he couldn’t risk sharing them.

And Buck understood. Because now they were out, and Eddie had run like the floor had given way beneath his feet.

A hand landed gently on his shoulder.

He blinked, breath catching, and turned to find Bobby looking at him with quiet concern. “Buck?”

He swallowed, throat tight. “Yeah. I’m…I’m good.”

Hen and Chimney were watching him. Concerned, but not pressing.

“Where were we?” He cleared his throat, blinking hard. “Wards, right?”

Hen tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing, but nodded.

He nodded back, shakily. “Right. Yeah. Wards. So…”

But his mind didn’t move past the loop:

God, I’m so in love with him.

And all Buck could think was:

Say it again.

Eddie sat on the bench in the locker room, his elbows braced against his legs, hands clasped tight between them. His head rested against the cool metal of the lockers behind him, the ridged edges biting lightly into the back of his skull as he tried to take a deep breath.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. Somewhere in the bay, someone dropped something metal, the clang reverberating through the floor and up into his spine. But he didn’t move.

He kept seeing it.

Six months ago. Dragging Buck in here by the arm, seething with anger and feeling like he was going crazy, the echo of his voice clinging to his skin like sweat. Buck had stood there, hair wild, eyes lit up, and told him, deadpan: we have telepathic communication.

God. That felt like another lifetime now.

He swallowed, eyes shut tight. The memory twisted around his chest like a snake constricting around its prey. He knocked his head lightly back against the locker once, then again. Not hard enough to bruise, but just enough to jolt something loose.

It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. You were going to tell him soon anyway.

But it didn’t feel fine.

He didn’t want it to go this way – bleeding out in a moment of weakness, his truth flung raw into Buck’s mind like shrapnel instead of offered with care.

He’d had a plan. A moment. Something soft. Some evening with quiet smiles and golden light, where he could look at Buck, hold him so close, so gently, and give him the last piece of himself. Where he could say it out loud. Bare. Honest. Whole.

But now…Buck knew.

And the world felt off-kilter.

He rubbed his face hard with both hands, his skin warm and dry under his palms, lashes brushing against his cheeks as he tried to scrub the vulnerability out of his bones.

The locker room door creaked open.

His spine stiffened. Shoulders tensed. His hands stilled on his face.

Then, softly, too softly, came Buck’s voice: “Eddie?”

His fingers curled slightly into his forehead. Fuck.

Then, like a current of warmth down his spine, Buck’s thoughts slipped into his mind:

Eddie, please don’t run from me.

Fuck. It hit – deep in his ribs, curling under his sternum, striking the exactly place he’d tried to protect.

That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair.

Then Buck added, quieter, a wry little laugh tucked in his voice, “Running’s my thing, you know.”

Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut tighter, throat tight. He didn’t answer, didn’t move. But he could tell – Buck hadn’t come closer. He hadn’t crossed the space between them. He couldn’t feel the heat of him, couldn’t sense the shadow of his body or the shift of air near his skin.

Buck was giving him space.

He exhaled, low and ragged. I had a plan.

I know, Buck replied, quiet and steady.

He dragged in another breath, then let it out, slow. Can we…can you pretend you didn’t hear that?

There was a pause. A hesitation. A single beat of stillness where he felt Buck about to speak.

“Eds –”

He shook his head immediately, eyes still shut. Please, Buck.

When he opened them, Buck was standing there with his back pressed against the closed door, arms behind him like he was physically holding himself in place.

His eyes were soft.

Kind. Open. Gentle in a way that made his stomach flip and a hundred tiny butterflies flutter inside his chest.

“I just…” he rasped, voice hoarse, “not yet. At least until I’m ready to say it out loud.”

Buck didn’t argue. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t look disappointed.

He just nodded, slow and understanding, and said, “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.”

Eddie’s hands were still trembling. A lump had taken up residence in his throat, stubborn and hot.

But then Buck’s thoughts drifted gently through: I can wait.

He nodded stiffly, glancing down at his fingers. Still there. Still real.

Buck tilted his head, a crooked grin blooming on his face. “Do you want me to start an argument so we can go back to hating each other and obscenely grind against each other and make out on the roof?”

A startled laugh escaped his lips, half shock, half relief, his chest loosening with it. He clasped his hands together as the pressure in his ribs eased.

Raising an eyebrow, he smirked. “You gonna break first?”

Buck’s grin twisted into something devilish, his eyes flashing with something Eddie had come to learn meant dangerous, dangerous things. His voice was low, velvet-smooth and soaked in promise. “Only if you’re brave enough to handle what happens after.”

And just like that, the shaking stopped. His breath evened. His heart slowed – just a little, the fear replaced with Buck. He stood from the bench slowly, step by step, walking toward him with deliberate calm.

He leaned in close, checking that no one could see them through the glass walls, breath brushing Buck’s skin as he ghosted his lips over Buck’s ear, teeth catching the lobe gently.

“Try not to look too wrecked in front of the team,” he whispered, teasing and smug.

Buck made a soft, low groan that Eddie felt in his chest.

“Worry about that yourself,” Buck murmured back, hot and sinful, “when I tell you everything I’m going to do to you tonight.”

Eddie chuckled, rich and warm, and reached behind Buck to open the door. The second it clicked, Buck stumbled backward into the bay, catching himself just before crashing into the laundry bin.

Eddie sauntered past, one eyebrow raised, the smirk full-force now. “Keep up, Buckley.”

And if his heart was still pounding in his chest? At least it was pounding in rhythm with Buck’s.

They made their way up to the loft, the chatter around the dining table warm, the kind that filled the air like steam off a good meal – laughter, clinking cutlery. Bobby was telling a story only half-finished before Hen jumped in to correct the details. Eddie sat stiffy, posture too careful, fork absently shifting food around on his plate.

Can’t believe I did that, he thought absentmindedly.

Buck’s boot nudged his ankle, light and deliberate. You’re terrible at keeping secrets, Diaz.

Eddie narrowed his eyes at him. Shut up.

Buck’s tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip, his eyes bright with challenge, voice all sugar and sin: Make me.

Eddie stabbed a piece of broccoli with more force than necessary and thought, later, with enough heat behind it to make Buck grin wider.

Now…about what I want to do to you.

Oh, Eddie was so screwed.

Buck jolted awake like he’d been yanked from the depths of dark water, gasping as his body surged upright. His heart thundered in his chest, wild and erratic, the sound of it crowding his ears. Sweat clung in a sheen across his brow, his t-shirt twisted around him like it had fought his dreams. He scrubbed his hands roughly over his face, trying to banish the residual panic lodged deep in his chest.

He struck his arm out to reach blindly for his phone on the nightstand, fumbling it twice before finally unlocking the screen with shaking fingers and tapping Eddie’s name.

It rang once. Twice.

By the forth, his pulse was a scream behind his ribs.

“Are you okay?” he asked the moment Eddie answered.

There was a pause, and then the soft rustle of sheets carried through the speaker, like wind brushing cotton.

“Eddie?” he asked again, already pushing the covers off his legs. “I can’t hear your thoughts from here.”

A beat. Then Eddie’s breath, stuttered and shallow. His voice was cracked open and low when he said, “Can you come over?”

His bare feet hit the floor. “Of course. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Eddie didn’t reply, but he didn’t expect him to.

He thumbed the phone to speaker, setting it gently back on the nightstand as he flicked on the lamp. Warm amber light bathed the room, chasing away the shadows still clinging to the corners. He grabbed the first pair of sweats he found and yanked them on, followed by a clean, soft t-shirt and a pair of mismatched socks.

As he pulled the second sock on, he asked, “Do you want me to stay on the line?”

Silence.

He exhaled slowly, picked up his phone, and flicked the lamp back off. The harsh white beam of the torch guided him downstairs. He moved on instinct now – slipping into his shoes, grabbing his keys – until he was standing at his front door, phone balanced in his palm.

“Eds, baby?” His voice dropped, gentle, careful. “You there?”

A broken breath sounded through the line. “Yeah. I just…”

He nodded like Eddie could see him. “I’m on my way. Can you take a couple deep breaths for me?”

He heard Eddie do just that, soft inhales and unsteady exhales filling the silence, as he stepped out into the chill of his apartment building at night. The air was sharp, cutting through the sweat still cooling on his skin. He jogged down the stairs to his Jeep, hands already on autopilot as he started the engine and turned toward Eddie’s street.

The drive was quiet except for Buck’s voice: low reassurances, rhythmic words, grounding instructions. Eddie followed them. Buck could feel it, somehow, through the bond stretched thin but steady.

When he pulled onto Eddie’s street, he took the phone off the dash and pressed it to his ear. “Can you open the door?”

“Under the plant pot,” Eddie murmured.

The porch light flicked on as he jogged over. He crouched, fingers brushing damp ceramic before curling around the cool metal of the key hidden beneath. He stood, key clutched tight, and said, “Okay. I’m hanging up now, but I’m here.”

The line clicked off.

He unlocked the door with a soft twist and slipped inside, locking it again behind him. The house was dim, cast in silver shadows from the streetlight filtering through the windows. It smelled like cedar and warm cotton, familiar in a way that settled his shoulders a little.

Breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay, Eddie’s voice called softly.

He toed his shoes off and padded to the kitchen, setting the key on the counter. His socked feet barely made a sound against the tile. After he grabbed a clean glass from the cupboard, the low rush of water filling it at the tap drowned out the humming of the fridge. The details kept his hands moving, gave his brain something to cling to.

Holding his phone torch low, he moved like a ghost through the corridor, checking Christopher’s room on the way to make sure he was okay, until he reached Eddie’s bedroom door. He knocked twice, just knuckles against wood, before gently pushing it open.

Eds? He thought, soft as breath.

I’m here, came the quiet response. Fragile, but real.

He stepped in, crossing the threshold like it was sacred ground. He made his way toward the lump curled in the bed, the blankets drawn up to Eddie’s ears. The torch light caught the warm brown of Eddie’s hair, mussed and damp at the temples.

Buck crouched beside the bed and set the phone on the nightstand, face-down so the torch spilled a gentle halo of light across the comforter. It illuminated the outline of Eddie’s face: drawn, eyes shadowed, lashes casting dark arcs against his cheekbones. He looked young like this. Raw.

He reached out slowly, like any sudden movement might shatter the fragile quiet stretched between them. His hand found Eddie’s cheek, his palm warm against skin that still felt cool and clammy from sweat. He cupped it gently, his thumb brushing in slow, grounding sweeps across the high curve of Eddie’s cheekbone.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered, voice barely audible above the hush of their breathing.

Eddie sighed into the touch like he’d been waiting for it all night. The tense line between his brows loosened, just a fraction, the furrow that had etched itself into his face smoothing out.

You’re here, Eddie whispered, the words brushing into Buck’s mind like the softest exhale.

Buck’s lips tilted into a small, aching smile. You need me. Of course I’m here.

He shifted, propping himself more securely on one knee beside the bed, careful not to disturb the blankets too much. With his free, he held out the glass of water, thinking gently, Take a drink for me.

Eddie’s lashes fluttered, dark against his skin, damp at the edges. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the low light, and then focused on Buck like he was the only solid thing in the room. The moment their gazes met, Buck felt his chest lurch, his smile tugging wider, deeper, something raw behind it.

There you are.

Eddie let out a soft huff of a laugh through his nose. With a slow effort, he pushed himself up onto one elbow. Buck’s hand slipped from his face as Eddie reached for the glass, his fingers, warm and a little shaky, brushing against his.

Thank you.

Buck nodded, watching him drink, then took the glass back, setting it down with a muted clink. He glanced back and asked aloud, barely above a whisper, “Do you need anything else?”

Eddie’s answer was a thought like a pull straight to his heart. Hold me.

Without hesitation, he climbed up onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he crawled in behind Eddie. He slipped his arm carefully under his head, cradling him there, settling in. Eddie rolled toward him immediately, tucking himself into Buck’s side where he belonged, two puzzle pieces worn smooth by repetition.

Eddie’s head found its place on Buck’s chest, his arm draping over Buck’s waist. Buck pulled him in, threading his fingers through Eddie’s hair, gentle and steady.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”

Eddie hummed, a low, content sound that vibrated against Buck’s sternum – and curled tighter into the embrace like he was trying to memorise the shape of it.

He’s so perfect, drifted through the bond, quietly, like a secret.

Buck’s heart skipped a beat as Eddie nuzzled into him, his cheek brushing the top of Eddie’s head. He sank back into the pillows, holding him tighter.

Time melted.

For a while, there was nothing but breath – Eddie’s slowly syncing to his, their limbs tangled in quiet comfort. Buck kept running his fingers through Eddie’s hair, catching on soft tangles and gently easing them loose. Every now and then, he scratched lightly at his scalp, earning a few deep sighs of contentment as Eddie all but melted into him, bone-deep tired but safe.

Then, like a pebble dropped into still water:

Open the top drawer.

Buck stilled. What?

The top drawer, Eddie repeated, calmer now, but insistent.

“Okay,” he whispered aloud, then, “Sorry,” as he leaned back over Eddie, accidentally squashing him a little with the reach, tugging the drawer open.

The paper.

Buck’s fingers brushed through the tucked objects until he found it and pulled it free, grabbing his phone along the way. The torch beam lit the folded page with its creases and soft edges.

This is the letter you saw in my dreams.

His fingers tightened around it. Are you sure?

Eddie’s nod was a subtle movement against his chest, a faint brush that said yes without words.

Buck sank back, propping himself up against the headboard and angling the light. The handwriting was neat, but not polished, the lines slightly off-centre, a few letters crooked, as though they’d been drawn with shaking hands.

As he read the first lines, his throat closed.

His name was Greggs, Eddie whispered. He died on impact.

His breath left him slowly, and Eddie’s body sank with it. The letter spoke softly from the page – a woman’s voice narrating a story. She talked about Greggs like he was still present in the house. She spoke of the letters he’d written home, the way he’d talked about Eddie – always with respect, always with gratitude. How much it had meant to the family to have a proper burial. How her kids kept the photo of him and their father from their training days in their bedrooms.

All because of Eddie.

And yet –

I didn’t even save him.

Buck’s fingers shook as he lowered the letter to the bed. He didn’t try to fill the silence. There wasn’t a fix, no answer big enough to hold that kind of guilt. So, he said nothing – just reached for Eddie again, wrapping his arm around him and holding on.

Eddie’s fingers started tracing along his side, aimless patterns that tickled faintly through the cotton of his shirt.

I used to blame myself for it, Eddie admitted. Hated that letter. Didn’t know how they could be so grateful when all I’d done was pull his body from the fire.

“Eds…” he whispered, his voice caught somewhere in the back of his throat.

Eddie shrugged, his head shifting as he lifted it just enough to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. His breath was warm against Buck’s skin, soft and gentle. Eddie tugged Buck’s hand free, his fingers curling around it and bringing it to his mouth. Butterflies erupted in Buck’s stomach as Eddie pressed a smooth, open lipped kiss to the inside of his wrist.

I’m okay, promise, he said, twisting Buck’s hand and dragging his lips across his knuckles. Sometimes it just comes back.

Buck turned toward him fully, gathering him close, his hand cradling the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair once more. He pressed Eddie’s face to his neck, like he could shield him from the weight of the world.

“I wish I could do something,” he murmured, voice cracking with the ache of it. I wish I could take it all away.

This helps, Eddie replied, simple and true. You always help.

He bent his head, lips brushing the crown of Eddie’s hair.

“I’m right here.”

He stayed like that, holding Eddie tight to his chest, arms curled around him as the heaviness in Eddie’s limbs gave way to sleep. His breathing slowed. Evened out.

And still, Buck held him, long into the quiet.

Buck sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the mid-morning sun casting long, bright rectangles across the rug. A lopsided Lego tower stood in front of him like a tiny leaning monument to perseverance and chaos. His fingers worked carefully, trying to wedge a stubborn block back into place without toppling the rest of the fragile structure.

Across from him, Chris let out a bright peal of laughter that made his chest warm. The boy ducked beneath the coffee table with a grunt and came back up triumphantly, a handful of scattered Lego pieces clutched in one hand.

“That dragon of yours is too powerful,” Buck said with a mock-serious shake of his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Chris beamed, plopping the handful beside the tower, then picked up the red dragon they’d been working on. Its head had detached somewhere mid-battle and now rolled across the rug with theatrical finality. “Maybe we should just superglue them,” he suggested with a shrug, trying to line the head back up with the jagged neck joint.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Then we couldn’t give them extreme makeovers like Dennis.” He tipped his chin toward the TV, where their last Franken-creature – a fire-breathing dragon with a lion’s body and a tail made out of a helicopter rotor – sat proudly watching over the living room like a guardian of all misfit toys.

Chris followed his gaze and nodded sagely. “True,” he said with a little smirk, the kind that was all Eddie, the same conniving nature an exact copy. They pressed the final pieces into place together, and the tower stood a little taller, a little wobblier, but intact.

From down the hallway, the shower shut off with a soft metallic thunk, followed by the sound of wet feet padding across the floorboards, and then the soft thud of a door closing. Buck’s ears twitched at it instinctively, something warm stirring in his chest at the simple domesticity of it all.

Earlier that morning, he and Eddie had shared sleepy morning kisses: soft presses of lips that were more breath than contact, just the ghost of closeness. Buck had followed it with another, placed at Eddie’s temple, a quiet I’ve-got-you sort of kiss, just as they heard Chris’ shuffling footsteps.

“I’ll handle it,” he had whispered, hands brushing gently down Eddie’s arms. “You take your time.”

Eddie’s fingers had caught his jaw in both hands, cradling it with reverence, pulling him back in – a slow, grounding kiss that had sent a glowing heat curling through his stomach, straight to his heart.

“Thank you,” Eddie had murmured against his lips, pressing their foreheads together.

And then, just as he slid out of bed, Buck had caught a soft, unguarded ‘I love you’ echoing in the back of his mind.

He hadn’t said anything - pretended not to have heard it. Had somehow managed to move without fumbling or faltering, just let it settle in his chest like sunlight on stone, warming him all the way through. Then he’d slipped through the door and Chris had yelled his name, barrelling into him like a whirlwind in socks. He’d barely managed to brace himself before they both went stumbling with laughter.

Now, with Chris laughing beside him and the Legos creaking in protest as they added yet another piece, Buck let that memory stretch through him like warm taffy, tender and unhurried.

Eddie appeared in the doorway a moment later, hair still damp and mussed from the towel, a few strands clinging to his forehead. He wore soft, loose pants and a t-shirt that clung slightly to his damp skin, outlining his figure: strong and solid, and somehow impossibly gentle. His smile was wide and easy, the kind that made Buck’s knees go weak even when he was already sitting.

“Who’s winning?” Eddie asked, voice low and warm.

Buck opened his mouth to respond, but something about the way Eddie was looking at him made the words evaporate. He watched the soft flick of Eddie’s gaze – from Chris to Buck, and back again – and felt the air catch in his lungs.

He wanted to kiss him so badly, but didn’t know what the rules were around Chris.

Eddie’s smile softened and he crossed the room with that quiet, deliberate grace he always had, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath his bare feet. He leaned down, one hand cupping Buck’s cheek with familiar warmth, and slotted their lips together.

Buck’s breath hitched, the kiss catching him off guard and then settling like honey in his veins. His cheeks flushed pink, heat blooming beneath the skin as Eddie pulled away. His lips tingled, burning against the cool air that brushed them.

Chris giggled beside them, holding up the dragon with its head now securely fastened. “Buck broke my dragon.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “I did not! I was defending my people!”

Eddie hummed, fingers sliding through Buck’s curls, slow and affectionate. He leaned into the touch before he could stop himself, eyelids fluttering half-closed.

You okay? He asked silently, reaching out through the bond like a hand offered in the dark.

I’m perfect, Eddie replied, soft and full of quiet conviction. Thank you.

You don’t have to thank me, he murmured. I’ll be your blanket any day.

Eddie chuckled softly, scratching his scalp, nails hitting the perfect spot.

Chris piped up from beside them, stacking another brick on their creation. “Dad breaks stuff too. I’m used to it.”

Buck burst out laughing, reaching over to help him attach the wheels to a horse. “I feel so seen.”

“Hey,” Eddie said in mock offense, plopping down beside them, one arm sliding across Buck’s waist. “I’m a very responsible builder.”

He leaned into his side, smile still tugging at his lips, the warmth of Eddie beside him wrapping around his ribs like a second skin.

Yeah, he thought to himself. You build everything I care about.

Eddie’s hand drifted over his knee, grounding and affectionate. Chris handed him another piece to add to the tower, and he took it with a smile, following the boy’s instructions.

The morning sun had crept across the living room floor in lazy stripes by the time the plates were stacked on the coffee table, sticky with syrup and crumbs, a half-drained cup of juice teetering dangerously close to a Lego battalion. Buck had cooked pancakes, eggs, and a mountain of toast, his hands moving automatically while his heart remained firmly anchored in the gentle hum of laughter and clatter of Lego behind him. Eddie had helped with the coffee, nudging their shoulders together in the kitchen and sharing soft kisses and secretive smiles.

They’d eaten curled on the couch, plates balanced on laps, Chris swinging his legs and talking about battle plans while Eddie murmured soft encouragements and Buck added ridiculous ideas to make him laugh.

Now, the war was back on. Legos scattered across the carpet like colourful shrapnel, fallen soldiers and hybrid beasts standing guard in crooked formations. Buck was crouched near the edge of the chaos, having just constructed a defence wall out of blocks and one suspiciously decapitated shark. But then, somewhere between Eddie’s exaggerated dragon growl and Chris’ triumphant squeal, his hands stilled.

Chris was climbing Eddie like a determined squirrel, knees pressing into his ribs, one arm stretched out clutching a Lego dragon. Eddie threw himself back dramatically, the hem of his shirt riding up slightly, revealing soft, tanned skin and the scar that curved over his side. He was laughing, loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that cracked something open inside Buck’s chest. His head tilted back against the rug, hair flopping against the floor, his eyes scrunched shut with how wide he was smiling, cheeks flushed with joy.

“Ow, Chris,” Eddie wheezed through laughter, twisting slightly. “The Legos, buddy –”

Chris launched himself forward, colliding with Eddie’s chest in a dramatic final blow, both of them toppling into a loose heap of limbs and fabric and victory. The room echoed with it – with the kind of happiness that felt too big for the walls to contain.

And Buck…just watched.

He sat back on his heels, palms braced on his thighs, breath caught in his throat.

Something shifted.

It didn’t slam into him like a truck or knock the wind from his lungs. It didn’t startle him or send panic spiralling through his gut. It just clicked – quiet and sure. Like a door unlocking after years of being rusted shut. Like something old and familiar finally stepping into the light. It unfurled inside him slowly, like a blanket being draped over him on the coldest night, tucking into the corners of everything he thought had he to carry alone.

This.

This was what he’d been searching for.

The peace he didn’t think he’d ever find. The pieces of himself he had once assumed were gone for good – too scattered, too broken, too much to ever fit into something whole. And yet, here they were. Eddie and Chris, tangled on the floor in breathless laughter, the glow of morning painting soft golden light across their skin, and something inside Buck simply gave in.

He let it wash through him like warm water, like sunrise.

Love.

Not just the fluttering, heart-racing kind, though he'd felt that too. It was deeper. Simpler. The kind of love that anchored. The kind that whispered you’re home without ever needing to be said out loud.

Eddie hadn’t spoken those words yet. But Buck felt them anyway, ever since they first slipped out on shift. Ever since that morning kiss, ever since the way Eddie held his face with both hands like Buck was precious, reminding him he was wanted. The words lived in the space between every look, every brush of skin, every shared laugh. He didn’t need to hear them to know.

And Buck was right there with him. Had been, for longer than he realised.

His lips parted slightly, breath catching. His eyes drank Eddie in, the way his entire being lit up around Chris. His guard was down, completely, utterly himself in a way that made Buck’s heart ache. God, he was so beautiful like this. So easy to love. Loving Eddie felt like breathing. Like something his body already knew how to do before his mind caught up.

He swallowed, heart thudding a little harder.

“I love you too.”

Eddie looked over, his hair wild and sticking up at odd angles where Chris had fisted it trying to climb over him, breathless and glowing. His eyes were warm and crinkled at the corners as he sat up. “What was that?”

Beautiful. Buck’s mouth curved, soft and impossibly tender. He shifted forward on his knees, closing the space between them. With slow, deliberate fingers, he reached out, brushing a knuckle along Eddie’s flushed cheekbone before letting his palm cup it gently.

Eddie’s skin was warm against his hand, and he leaned into the touch.

Buck held his gaze, eyes shining. Then he leaned in, kissing him softly, just once, a kiss full of reverence, of peace, of knowing.

When he pulled back, his thumb swept across Eddie’s lips, then his cheek as he whispered again, “I love you too.”

Eddie blinked, his smile faltering for a half-second – not in hesitation, but awe. And then it returned, softer this time, blooming slow and golden. He turned his head into Buck’s palm, lips brushing against it in a delicate kiss that sent a bolt of electricity straight through his veins.

“I love you,” Eddie said, finally, aloud.

Buck let out a soft, shaky laugh and kissed him again, unable to stop himself – couldn’t, wouldn’t ever want to. His hands cradled Eddie’s jaw, his forehead brushing his as he breathed him in.

And then, from somewhere between them, squished and very much not forgotten, came a loud, gleeful, “Ew, that was so obvious.”

Buck and Eddie pulled apart, startled laughter bursting from them as Chris wriggled dramatically on the rug, his face scrunched in mock horror.

“Obvious?” Buck gasped between laughs, poking Chris lightly in the ribs. “We were so subtle.”

“Uh-huh,” Chris said with a grin, rolling his eyes in the exact way his dad did whenever he was fondly annoyed by anything Buck did.

And God, he loved this kid just as much, if not more, than the man he’d just given his entire heart too.

Eddie chuckled, reaching out and tugging Buck down by the wrist, pulling him into the pile. “Come on,” he said, voice low and warm in Buck’s ear. “Help me beat this evil king who’s trying to take my land.”

He let himself be pulled in, the warmth of Eddie’s body pressed against his, Chris giggling between them as they descended into another round of war and laughter. And as Buck lay there on the floor with his whole world within arm’s reach – tangled in love, in joy, in family – he finally let himself believe it wholeheartedly.

This was his.

They were his.

And he was home.

The late morning sun cast long slats of light across the pavement, warm enough to coax a faint shimmer off the asphalt. The call had been minor – thankfully. A fender bender on a narrow street with more noise than actual damage. Just some shaken nerves, a few scrapes, and a mailbox that would never be the same again. Now, they were wrapping up. The buzz of adrenaline had settled, and calm was resuming its reign.

Bobby stood watch as the team worked, updating dispatch that they were cleaning up.

Kiera, a young woman in her twenties with a gash along her temple and a streak of blood in her hairline, sat perched on the back of the ambulance. Hen gently swabbed at her temple while Chimney rifled through the first aid kit, offering quiet reassurances. She was fine – lucky, even – but still pale and wide-eyed, the aftershock of impact settling beneath her skin.

Just beyond them, Buck and Eddie were shoving the tools back into the compartments on the engine, the clang of metal echoing down the street. The two of them were bickering – again – voices overlapping with familiar rhythm. Something about who forgot to reset the hydraulic cutters, and whether leaving them out “for two seconds” was an act of sabotage or forgetfulness.

Bobby had long since stopped trying to follow their arguments. They bickered like it was breathing: seamless, constant, completely unjustified and vicious in a way that used to drive him nuts, before it settled into just them. Their shorthand had become part of the background noise of the team, like the rumble of the engine or the hiss of the oxygen tanks. Part of the air, almost.

Still, he was keeping an ear on them. Not because he expected it to go anywhere (not on a call, anyway). But because that was what you did when you were captain. When they were yours.

Kiera’s voice chimed in, light and curious. “You two are adorable. How long have you been together?”

His brows shot up before he could stop them, dreading whatever argument would spiral from this. Hen froze mid-swipe, and Chimney turned so fast he nearly dropped the gauze. They both tried to stifle their laughter, but he noticed the smirks tugging at their lips, the way they made eye contact and flicked their gazes away before either of them broke.

Buck and Eddie didn’t freeze.

No, they paused. There was a difference.

They turned, like synchronised twin demons, facing Kiera with matching raised eyebrows and the sort of exaggerated expressions that already had Bobby bracing himself.

Buck scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “God, no. I hate him.”

Eddie nodded, lips twitching. “With my entire soul.”

But then they looked at each other, eyes sliding over like they couldn’t help it. And both grinned. Like absolute idiots.

That was new.

Hen, unsurprisingly, jumped on it. Smirking, she said, “Told you the hate thing was kink-adjacent.”

Chimney made a strangled noise and flung his arms in the air. “Are you kidding me?! How long?!”

Bobby pressed a hand to his forehead.

There it was. The inevitable migraine.

“Please,” he muttered, dry as sandpaper, “please tell me this is new. Like…very new. Like today.”

Buck shrugged unhelpfully, still grinning like someone who had absolutely done the thing everyone suspected him of. “Define ‘new’.”

Eddie bumped their shoulders together, trying to play it cool, but the warmth radiating off him was impossible to miss. “Feels pretty new.”

That earned them another round of bickering – this time between Hen and Chimney, who launched into a heated debate about who had won the bet. Apparently, Hen had guessed the day Eddie would crack, while Chimney insisted Buck had already been gone months ago and that counted.

He let out a deep sigh. “Get back to work,” he called over, voice level but not unkind. “We’re filling out the HR paperwork the moment we get back to the station.”

“On it, Cap!” Buck called, somehow both too loud and too cheerful.

Hen and Chimney still tried to claim the ‘pot’ while cleaning the last of Kiera’s words.

Buck and Eddie, meanwhile, resumed stacking equipment back into the rig – nudging elbows, bumping hips, smiling too wide, doing that weird staring and meaningful looks thing they did while arguing like they could have a conversation with just their eyebrows and narrowed eyes.

Kiera laughed, still seated with a bandage now taped neatly across her temple. “You guys are ridiculous.”

He didn’t know whether she meant Hen and Chimney or Buck and Eddie. Either way…

“Unprofessional,” he corrected, mostly for show, though his tone was light. He crossed his arms, watching them with a mixture of exasperation and long-suffering patience. In front of a patient.

But when Buck caught Eddie’s eye again – and when Eddie smiled like Buck was the only person in the world – he felt something shift in his chest. A quiet warmth. Something like relief.

He’d watched Buck search for something steady for years, chasing it through fire and loss and chaos. And Eddie…Eddie had spent just as long hiding pieces of himself away behind calm eyes and duty-bound silence.

Now here they were. Not quite hiding. Not anymore.

It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t regulation.

But damn if it didn’t feel right.

“Finally,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

And as the team bickered, laughed, packed up the last of the gear – as Buck tripped over his feet and Eddie caught him by the back of the shirt, still laughing – Bobby let the corner of his mouth curl upward.

Just a little.

Eddie perched on the arm of the sofa, arms loosely crossed over his chest, one foot bouncing against the frame. The firehouse loft was humming with quiet energy – overhead lights softened by the afternoon sun streaking in through the tall windows, the buzz of friendly voices filling the space like static warmth. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, faintly bitter and comforting, and a mostly demolished bag of chips lay abandoned on the table they’d pushed off to the side for more room.

In the centre of the room, Buck stood with a card in one hand and mischief lighting up every inch of his face. His stance was loose but confident, like he knew he owned the space – which, of course, he did. At least, in Eddie’s eyes.

Buck’s curls were wild today, crushed a little on one side from the nap he’d taken on the engine earlier. His shirt was slightly wrinkled from how he’d tucked one corner into his pants without noticing, and there was a faint grease smear on his forearm that hadn’t been fully scrubbed away. Somehow, every imperfection made Eddie feel like the air in his lungs wasn’t quite enough.

Fuck, you’re so beautiful.

Not as beautiful as you, my love. Now focus.

Eddie chuckled under his breath.

Buck lifted the card, smirk sharpening. He tapped his nose once, then locked eyes with him. Platypus.

He tilted his head with exaggerated suspicion, trying to suppress the twitch of a smile as he thought back, Isn’t this cheating?

Buck’s smirk grew, all dimple and trouble, as he shrugged – a casual roll of his shoulders that set the room ablaze for Eddie. Only if there’s money in it, which there isn’t.

He shook his head with a fond smile and muttered, “Platypus.”

Buck’s eyes lit up as he crowed, “Correct!” and flashed the card triumphantly at Hen and Chimney.

Chimney groaned and threw his head back into the pillows. “How in the hell did you get platypus from that?”

“No, seriously.” Hen leaned forward on the couch, eyebrows up near her hairline. “That’s like the tenth card. Are you guys rigging this?”

Buck, ever the picture of innocence wrapped in chaos, flipped the card between his fingers with a smug little flourish. “Just a vibe.”

Eddie let himself smile, easy and wide, leaning back on the armrest. “We’re soulmates, Hen.”

It slipped out before he could think about it too hard. And it didn’t scare him – not like it might’ve months ago. Not like it would’ve when the walls were still up, when he was still pretending he didn’t already belong to this man in a thousand ways.

Buck turned toward him so fast it was a miracle he didn’t pull something. His face lit up like it always did when Eddie said something real, something heartfelt, something true. “Awe,” he beamed, the word soft and bright as if it had been laced with gold. “Eds, that’s so sweet.”

Hen groaned, flopping her head back against the couch. “Please go back to hating each other.”

He kept his eyes on Buck, warmth climbing up his neck like sunlight. “Oh, we do,” he said, voice perfectly dry.

Buck winked, tapping the card dramatically against his palm. “Passionately.”

“Oh my god,” both Hen and Chimney chorused, their voices overlapping in pained resignation.

Eddie laughed then, a breathy, quiet thing that loosened the tight places in his chest. Buck was still looking at him, something softer behind the grin, like he was reading Eddie’s heart right there from across the room. He wouldn’t be surprised if he could, honestly.

I love you, he thought, the words spilling from him like a breath, no hesitation now. It felt like exhaling after holding it in for years.

Buck smiled just as wide, the corner of his mouth tilting upward like he couldn’t help it. His head cocked gently to the side, eyes warm and unguarded. I love you too.

The bond between them shimmered. The invisible tether tugged tighter – not suffocating, but all-consuming in the best way possible. The kind of connection Eddie had never thought he’d get, the kind you could only find when you’d bled through enough of life to recognise something sacred.

The room was loud – Hen and Chimney still cursing them out for rigging the cards, someone’s phone buzzing on the counter, the sizzle of pans and Bobby’s amused laughter from the kitchen, and the low murmur of the city pressing in from outside – but all Eddie felt was Buck. His grin. His energy. The way he never stopped choosing Eddie, over and over, even when he wasn’t sure how to ask for it.

The cards were abandoned for a moment as Buck crossed to him, leaning one arm across the back of the couch, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of the cologne he’d gifted him for his birthday. Buck leaned in and pressed a quick, hidden kiss just beneath his ear.

He let it settle over him like a blessing.

The night lay quiet over the Diaz household, wrapped in the hush of stars and the soft exhale of sleeping city streets. Above, the sky stretched wide and velvet-dark, studded with points of silver like scattered candlelight, flickering ancient stories into the fabric of the universe. The garden breathed in the stillness – crickets chirping in the background, a breeze tugging gently at the grass, and the occasional rustle of blanket fabric shifting as bodies settled deeper into the earth.

Three figures were splayed out beneath it all, wrapped in thick throws and the quiet of reverence and sacrality. Buck lay flat on his back in the grass, his curls flattened slightly where they met the blanket, his eyes tracking the skies with calm, steady wonder. Christopher was tucked against his right side, head resting against Buck’s shoulder, the boy’s hand lazily pointing skyward, tracing shapes in the stars with sleepy curiosity.

“That one’s Orion, right?” Chris asked, his voice low but bright with interest, like the night itself leaned in to listen.

Buck nodded, eyes following the line of stars. “Mhm. The hunter. See the three stars in the middle? That’s his belt.”

“Why does he have a belt?” Chris asked, blinking up at the sky.

“To hold all his stories together,” Buck answered, grinning as he adjusted the blanket draped around them. “And because chasing monsters without a belt would be awkward. Where would he carry all his tools?”

Chris giggled, the sound threading softly through the quiet. Buck’s arm tightened around him instinctively, a protective pull that held him close – not just against the chill, but against the world itself. There was a pulsing warmth where Buck’s arm touched him, not from the blanket or the body heat, but from something deeper. Something older. The linework of Buck’s tattoo, barely visible in the starlight beneath the edge of his sleeve, shimmered faintly – a flicker of silver humming just beneath his skin.

On Chris’ other side, Eddie sat slightly propped against a cushion they’d dragged outside, one leg bent, one stretched. His eyes were trained not on the sky, but on them – on the way Christopher leaned into Buck’s side like he belonged there, like he always had. On the way Buck’s voice gentled when he spoke to Chris, like every word he said was weighed with meaning and care. On the way it all fit. Easily.

The St. Christopher’s medallion resting against Eddie’s chest pulsed faintly – not enough to be seen, only felt. It was a heartbeat of protection, steady and warm, responding not just to his love for his son, but to the one who held his son now without fear, without boundaries. The magic curled around Buck like breath, drawn to him, tethered to the threads of his devotion.

And in the space between Buck and Eddie, their magic met – weaving together into a quiet shield of light, unseen but present. It stretched outward, thin as silk, strong as steel, encasing them. A barrier not against danger alone, but against despair. A shield of family.

Eddie let his head tip back, breath fogging in the cooling air, and let it all wash over him – the soft murmur of Buck’s stories, Chris’ quiet questions, the night holding them all together like a secret no one else could touch. He let the bond open, brushing the edges of Buck’s presence like fingers grazing skin.

I still hate you, he thought, dry as desert wind but laced with the kind of affection that made his chest feel tight.

Buck didn’t look over right away. He just let out a quiet huff of laughter, his voice drifting lazily through the bond. Hate you more.

Then, slowly, Buck’s hand shifted. Over Chris’ small shoulder, across the crumpled edge of the blanket, his fingers found Eddie’s and curled around them. It wasn’t showy. It wasn’t dramatic. It just was. Steady. Solid. True.

There was no need for hiding. No need to look away, or pretend the world beyond the garden existed. In this patch of quiet starlight, there was no fear. No past. No hesitation.

Just them.

Always.

A family forged in fire and bound in something older than magic – something built on a thousand late nights, a thousand careful glances, a thousand quiet choices that led them here. Love didn’t come with fanfare. It came like this – slow, relentless, inevitable.

A surrender not to weakness, but to peace.

They had lost so many battles. With themselves. With the world. But here, under the stars, wrapped in warmth and quiet magic, they had won something greater.

Each other.

And that was everything.