Heart of Flowers / Heart of Gold - ElvenSorceress (2024)

Chapter 1: Paralysis

Chapter Text

“You okay, Buckley?”

No. No is the only word in his head. Nothing else. No over and over again. It can’t be happening. He’s not okay. What sort of a question is that? No, no, no, he’s not okay. Nothing is okay.

There’s blood on his hands, on his face, his crisp white shirt. It’s sticky and smells like suffering and dying and it’s on his tongue. In his mouth, down his throat, in his body in a way it should not be because it’s not his. It’s not his, it doesn’t belong to him and it’s not supposed to be all over. It was sprayed and gushing and spilled all over the street, and it is not okay.

His hands are shaking. Everything’s blurry. There was a rush and a panic and frantic seconds that were both too fast and not fast enough. But what now? Adrenaline is a thing. It’s working, rushing through him, but there’s nothing he can do. He can’t breathe. How is he supposed to breathe? His heart is beating because it’s pounding and screaming against a cage inside him. But it’s ripped open. Bleeding onto pavement like a gunshot wound.

He’s not okay.

His job stops here. It ends at the doors. It always does. There’s nothing more he can do. There was never anything he could do. It was too fast. Over before he even knew it was happening. His job is over. It ends at the doors. It ends at the doors like always. He isn’t exactly on the clock yet. He was supposed to be. He’s not in his gear. He has no armor.

There’s only blood.

He’s alone. There’s no team. No partner. Their truck isn’t the one that brought him here. His car is somewhere not here. He doesn’t remember. His partner is…

Can’t breathe. He takes one step and nearly stumbles. Bad leg. Broken leg. Crushed leg felt better than this.

It ends at the doors. There’s nothing he can do. Nothing.

But there’s nowhere else to go. He can’t be out in the open. They were out in the open. It was nice out. Sunny. Not too hot today. If no calls came in, they would work together without ever saying who would do which chores and then finish up quickly so they could sit in the sun with iced coffee and share pictures and stories or stupid memes. Or they’d sit close on the sofa, binge watch old sitcom episodes, play video games, fantasy racing, mini battles, collaborative zombie killing while practically cuddling as long as possible. Or they’d work out, lift weights, spot each other, maybe tease and playfully spar and take swipes at each other until they were both laughing, giggling like drunk teenagers. If calls did come in, they'd work together. They were always together. They're supposed to be together.

There’s no laughter anymore. There’s no sunlight that can touch him.

Everything blurs. Nothing to focus on. Everything stained red. He takes a few unsteady steps. He has no purpose anymore. Nothing he can do. He sits down outside the doors. To the side. Out of the way, on the ground. Bends his knees. Rests his arms on them. There’s blood all over him. There’s nowhere else to go. He doesn’t remember the way home. There is no home. His job stops at the doors, but everything is beyond those doors and he doesn’t have a home anymore.

His hands are red. Scraped raw in a few spots, covered with filthy crumbles of asphalt and dark, thick blood. It’s drying on his skin and cracking like the rest of him. His eyes hurt, they sting and he can’t see and maybe blood is stinging his eyes but it feels more like tears that are too big to contain because sudden drips slide down his cheeks.

Is he crying? Crying is too active, too much energy. Not that he couldn’t right now. If he really thought about it. But. He’s frozen. Can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t anything. He’s pinned again, crushed by something too heavy for a billion people to lift. Maybe that’s why he can’t breathe. His lungs are trapped. His eyes are leaking. His heart is…

He has to breathe. He has to try. It’s stuttered and broken. He’s too broken to breathe deeply. The tears that fall are tainted and crimson, trailing down his face because it’s all over him. Copper, metallic awfulness in his mouth and on his hands and why is it anywhere but inside the man it belongs to?

There’s a man, not his man, not that he has a man because nothing belongs to him, but there’s a man who kneels beside him. He’s in scrubs, light blue ones with a mask hiding his face.

Does he have a mask with him? He’s supposed to. Because 2020 was a thing. Disease and wildfires and protests and way too much politics. But he had a bubble. He had a family. He had… blood. Everywhere.

The man in scrubs touches his bent knee and asks, “Are you okay? Are you injured? Do you need help?”

Why that question again? The answer hasn’t changed. His hands shake. They’re bloody. It was so fast and so much. That much loss… It was bad. It was not okay. “I’m… I… It wasn’t me. I’m not…” It should have been him. It should have. It doesn’t matter if it’s his blood spilled all over the street. That’s happened plenty of times. It’s better that way.

But it’s not that way. He tries taking in air and it sounds like gasping and drowning. “There was…” A sudden, deafening noise. Explosions. Fire and bullets and screaming. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how. Who could do that?

The loudest bullet had no sound. It only had blood.

“My…” His what? Is there a word? “My. Um.” Friend? Best friend? Partner? Coworker? What is the thing, the word, the noun to encompass everything he is, everything they are. “My… Eddie,” he finally says. A plea on his cracked, bloody lips that makes heavier drips of diluted red slide down his cheeks and onto his white shirt. “He was shot. This isn’t mine. It. It’s…” He holds up his hands. They shake and he can’t make it stop. “It’s Eddie’s.”

The man touches his shoulder and his eyes are sad, sympathetic. “Come with me. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His job is over and he doesn’t understand, but he lets the man help him up and show him to the men’s room inside the hospital. Liquid soap is put in his hands and they hold them under water and wash the worst of it off. There’s a papery cloth to clean up his face, neck, and arms. There’s nothing anyone can do about his shirt. It’s not the first time a nurse or hospital aide has done this for him and he doubts it will be the last. He doesn’t look in the mirror.

The man hands him a surgical mask and shows him to a chair in view of an electronic board. It lists all the patients. All the surgeries. Their statuses. Encoded of course. He can’t read it anyway. His vision is too blurry to read it.

“Do you have a phone? Is there someone you can call?”

He looks at the man and then looks down. Does he have a phone? Usually. Maybe. It was in his pants pocket. Is it still there? He shifts and trembles and digs into his pocket. His phone is dark. Doesn’t turn on. What is he supposed to do with it? He hands it over to the man.

“Can you unlock it? Show me who to call?” The man holds it up for him.

Is there anyone to call? Maddie can’t be here. Jee could get sick. Which means Chim shouldn’t be here either. Hen maybe? But she was off today, wasn’t she? Or not on yet. Her mom had been in the hospital so he doesn’t know. What time is it? How long has he been here? Bobby was in a meeting. Very important meeting. He was pretty sure. He can’t remember. Carla or maybe it was Abuela had Christopher right now. God. Christopher. Christopher. What will happen to him? Who will take care of Christopher?

What if…? There was so much blood. He’d gone so pale.

It can’t happen. Christopher already lost his mom, he can’t lose anyone else.

Why? Why is this happening? Why wasn’t it him? Why couldn’t he have taken this shot? He’d gladly turn back everything and step in front of it. He’d offer his own shoulder, chest, all his blood. He’d get crushed by a hundred trucks and a thousand f*cking tsunamis if it meant this could be reversed. He’d rip out his own heart and let it bleed and break and he doesn’t care if it stops beating. Hell, that was what happened anyway.

His heart is gone. His heart is gone. His heart is dying. Why is it dying? Why is Eddie dying?

His thumb twitches against the fingerprint ID circle of his phone. He tries to hold it still until it unlocks.

It opens to a picture he can’t look at. Not right now. He has to hold together somehow and that won’t help him do it. But the picture is his favorite in all of existence. Nothing could ever compare to a smiling Diaz man. He’d had two. Forever with him in a snapshot moment of pure joy.

What if it’s gone? What if they can never be together again?

He can’t look. The man in scrubs looks at it though because he glances at the phone and then at him as if he’s solved all the riddles. His eyes go sympathetic and sad. “Your Eddie?” He asks as he holds up Buck’s phone and points.

Buck’s eyes overflow when he blinks, drops falling and soaking into his surgical mask. He nods quickly and then bends his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

It was his birthday. A mini golf course. They’d shared corn dogs and slushies and loaded cheese fries, played arcade games and the whole course at least three times because Chris had loved it so much. They’d lifted him so the three of them could take a selfie in the middle of the obstacles, but Buck had been less than graceful and they tripped over the gnome-and-frog bridge while trying to balance. They both held tight and lifted the precious little boy between them, but had crashed into each other on the wet ground. The three of them landed together with Christopher sprawled in the middle half on both of them and shrieking with laughter.

They’d all laughed and stayed tangled together for that one perfect moment.

It was Christopher who had somehow captured his phone and held it up to take the picture. He had the biggest smile. The biggest. It was mischievous and victorious, and god, he loves that kid so much. His own face was something bashful, a little embarrassed, but mostly full of fondness for the boy held tightly in his arms.

Eddie grinned at both of them, glowing and gorgeous, nose crinkled, lips wide, eyes sparkling. But in the picture, he’s not looking at his son. His arms had been around them, holding them both, protecting, keeping them together. Almost like. Like the three of them were… they were…

They weren’t. Buck isn’t anything. He’s not really one of them.

People talk. They make comments and assumptions, and maybe he can’t bring himself to correct them. It’s probably stupid and unhealthy, but he allows it anyway. All he’s ever wanted is a family — people who love him without contingencies. And don’t leave him even though he’s not worth it. He knows he’s not good enough and he knows he doesn’t deserve, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want.

He can’t breathe or speak or think sometimes because he wants so much.

What if that was the last time he’ll ever see Eddie alive? The shot might have missed vital organs where he was hit, but there was so much blood. There’s an artery that goes from the heart down through the arm. He doesn’t remember the name. But it’s there. Hen’s told him arterial wounds can have someone bleeding out and dead within minutes.

Eddie went pale in seconds. Right in front of him. One instant and he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Fading, slipping away. He was dying. Is he still dying? Were they fast enough to save him?

The man pulls up the contacts in his phone and there’s still the question of who. He doesn’t know. The only person he wants right now, the one who is the best at calming him down and reassuring him, the one who he knows won’t judge him or belittle him, the one he trusts with his life, who makes every terrible day worth living through… he was shot. He was unarmed. Rescuing a child. In the middle of the morning on a sunny late spring day. And he was shot.

They start with names. The man reads them off. The A’s come first. He didn’t remember to delete some of those. He should have. Would Abby even care? Did she ever care? Her hands never shook. His won’t stop. She was cool and collected and he’s pieces strewn all over the road. He wasn’t enough. He’d never be enough. Would Ali say told you so? Too much danger, too much risk. She didn’t want the trauma, the worry, the stress. Was everything always going to end this way?

Is this when you don’t reach, can’t reach, and let go of the roller coaster?

Ana though. Is in his phone? When did that happen? Why did it happen? He doesn’t really know her. He just hears about her sometimes. She’s nice, she’s educated, she’s good with kids, she’s a beautiful woman, she’d make such a perfect daughter-in-law.

It’s never said out loud, but it doesn’t have to be. Buck has judgmental, religious parents. He gets it. Ana’s love language is a mystery. To everyone maybe. She wasn’t anything to Buck. She was… she was around to make his friend happy. Less lonely.

People need partners, and Buck isn’t enough, he’s nothing, he should be the one dying.

Eddie deserves all the love and happiness in the world. He should have everything. He deserves to live and be happy and it should be Buck who is dying right now. He’s not enough for anyone. But someone should call Ana, shouldn’t they? Maybe she would know what this feels like? Maybe she’d be terrified and devastated, too.

Does she love him? Can she love him enough? More than anyone else? Doesn’t really seem possible. It’s only been a few months.

How long does it take to love someone? How long before it’s not terrifying? Or is it always terrifying but at some point it can’t be contained because the reward outweighs the risk? Could that ever happen? How long before a confession slips and escapes because it can’t be held onto any longer?

Doesn’t matter now. Or ever. They’re not looking for people to come here for Eddie. The man wants a person to handle Buck. And Ana shouldn’t see him like this. He’s too bloody. Too broken. She shouldn’t know the depth of ruin pouring out of him.

The man keeps scrolling through names. And Buck decides. It seems like the only real option. “Bobby,” he says. His voice is rough, dry, and hoarse.

The man gives him a strange look. Crinkled forehead. Weird eyes. Looks down at the phone and then up at him.

Oh. Because there’s no Bobby. There is. But not. “I mean. He’s ‘FireDad.’ In there.”

There’s another look from the man but this one is softer. “Is it all right if I call him?”

Will Bobby be angry? Or disappointed? Because everything is wrong. It’s wrong and probably his fault and he’s sick of hospitals, honestly he is, was sick of them a long time ago. But he would trade in a heartbeat. Bobby is right. This side of the doors is worse. “Yes,” he answers.

The phone rings. Rings and rings with no answer. They try again. But it double rings and echoes. Because he’s here. Across the room, near the doors, trailed closely by Athena, and tears well in his eyes again. They’re here. He’s not alone. He’s just ripped in half and bleeding out. Would he collapse and die like the husbands who died within minutes of each other? He could be that broken if… if Eddie’s too far gone and no one can save him because Buck couldn’t protect him. Buck couldn't protect him.

He was right there. He was talking and saving a kid and they were supposed to see Chris and play games and have dinner and bedtime stories after work. They were supposed to. He shouldn’t be here.

They come to him and the man in scrubs talks to them. They say something but he can’t hold onto the words. He tries to stand on weak legs. They look at him and they see the blood, they have to, maybe they even see what was washed away. It’s still under his fingernails. Lingering in his mouth. When he thought of the taste of a person, this is not what he thinks of. This is not how he wanted to taste Eddie.

What if… what if this is the end?

He sways and can’t breathe again and he did everything wrong. It should have been him. It should be him. Why can’t they trade places? Buck is already dying because this is dying. There’s no pain worse than this.

There’s a loud noise, a crash or an explosion and someone screaming in pain as they burst through the doors, and he sees it all again. The blood, the street, Eddie going pale, fire and death and red liquid everywhere.

He flinches and a strangled, choked sound breaks out of his chest and he can’t stand. Can’t do anything. Useless, worthless, lost. He doesn’t want to stand, can’t stand, he just needs to collapse and crumble into the ground.

There are arms around him before he falls. Sturdy, fatherly firefighter arms that hold him tight and try to keep shattered pieces together. He can’t cry. He can’t fall apart. But he also can’t stop shaking. They’re supposed to be on their shift and he doesn’t want Bobby to be angry, but there’s blood all over and this shaking won’t stop. He clutches and hides his face in Bobby’s shoulder.

The arms shift slightly, one moves away, but then more slide around him and he’s held tighter. The new arms are smaller, more slender, but also strong and they come with warm, whispered but ferocious words, “We got you. It’s okay. Everything will be okay. We’re right here.”

Some of the tightness eases and maybe this is what it’s like to have parents who would rush in and rescue and protect. Parents who offer comfort instead of harsh words and scolding. People who might love him anyway.

He doesn’t cry, he can’t, he trembles like he’s terrified. He is terrified. He’s probably stared death in the eyes more than anyone knows but it’s never terrified him like this. Except when there was a boy rescued from a well and everything collapsed and Buck’s heart stopped. It didn’t beat again for 36 minutes.

If he cries now, any more than he already has, he won’t be able to stop.

Bobby pulls away a little and he and Athena let go of each other. They don’t let go of Buck. Bobby squeezes his shoulder. “Do you know where he is? How bad it is? Have they told you anything?”

No. He shakes his head. He doesn’t know where or what’s happening or why this is happening. Why would anyone want to hurt Eddie? How could they? He is the most patient and kind and loving person. He is so fiercely protective but also full of gentleness. He’s easily the best dad in the universe. He forgives so easily even when Buck doesn’t deserve one ounce of it. He’s strong and smart and so funny when he freaks out about artificial intelligence and government spyware. He makes the best faces and smiles brighter than anything. Why him? Why couldn’t Buck have been hit instead?

“I’m going to go find out. Okay?” Bobby makes him look up and nod again before he steps away.

Athena’s arm slides around his and she directs him back over to his chair. She looks at him too closely and always knows too much even when people don’t say anything. Probably good for a cop and as a mom. Advantageous. But his eyes keep leaking and he can’t do anything to stop it. His chest hurts. It’s hard to take in air.

She sits next to him and holds his shaking hand in both of hers. He remembers holding hers the same way when she was nearly beaten to death. But he’d been the one shaking then, too. Her voice is smooth, deep and solid like always but pulled taut at the edges like everything is stretched too far. “I know you and I don’t always…” She searches for words, something adequate but words are inadequate and some people never say anything. “Agree. On how to handle things.”

Understatement. She’s being nice. She is nice and he can almost pretend he’s good enough for her love and kindness when she holds his hand and hugs him. But he doesn’t deserve it and he knows that.

“But you can come to me if you need anything.”

Can he? It might be true. She is one of them. Through marriage, but also through rough days and terrible, unfathomable events. He squeezes her hand a little but the shaking from his travels through into hers. He can’t breathe deeply or slowly enough to make it stop.

She looks elsewhere, off in the distance but keeps his hand in one of hers and runs the other over the middle of his back. “I’ve always hated when people say they know what you’re feeling. It’s presumptuous. Arrogant. Ignorant. Most of them have no goddamn clue.”

Maybe. Probably. Depends on the person. Sometimes he thinks he knows what’s behind glances and held gazes because words can be lacking and they know each other so well, they often don’t need to say anything. It might mean he’s not alone, and maybe he could be worth something. But it’s more likely wishful thinking. An ancient longing he’s had maybe since he was born. There’s probably a lot they should say. There’s a lot he should have said because this might be the end.

What if this is the end?

“So, what I’m going to tell you is no matter how long it takes, I’m going to find the bastard who did this. He won’t get away with it.”

It’s such a weird thought. There’s someone out there who did this. For no reason. There can’t be a reason. Nothing makes sense. Eddie is the best, most wonderful person.

There are people out there who do things like this all the time. He’s seen it. Almost every shift he works. She’s seen a lot more of it during all of hers. Does it ever make sense? People can be cruel. But why? Because they’ve been hurt? He doesn’t know and he’s not going to know. No one can figure out weird psychological or philosophical abstractions. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is probably lying on a gurney with a giant hole in his shoulder. And also across town in the middle of Zoom class social studies.

What’s going to happen to him? How can he tell Christopher? What if neither of his parents are coming home again? Who would do that to him? Take both of his parents away? It was bad enough he had to lose his mother, but if he also loses his father? He has the best dad. Eddie is so loving and full of praise and affection. He’s perfect and he’s everything, and Buck bites his lip and tries to swallow down rocks in his throat before he can’t breathe again.

Athena gives him another squeeze but leaves when Bobby returns and takes her place. He stares just as closely as she does but does he see as much? Probably. Or he sees different things because he knows Buck better. Spends more time with him. Athena thought of things that Buck hadn’t. She has a plan. Actions to take. Buck doesn’t have anything.

Bobby sighs heavily and touches between Buck’s shoulder blades with a warm hand. “They can’t tell us very much yet, but they’re getting him stabilized so they can take him to surgery. They’ll give updates when they can.”

Stabilized. He’s unstable. Not stable. Bleeding out and dying, dying, he was pale and barely breathing. Buck saw it felt it keeps seeing it and there’s still blood everywhere. A giant pool of it in the road endless minutes away from here. He doesn’t know a lot of the in-depth medical things, but he knows enough. Fluids and blood transfusions and pain medications happen before surgeries. Unstable patients can’t be put under anesthetics. Can’t go to surgery immediately. They’ll crash and die.

He can’t die. He can’t. Please, don’t let him die. He’ll do anything. Literally anything.

“It’s going to be okay, Buck. He’s a fighter. It could be way worse. He’ll make it. You know how tough he is.”

He does. He knows. They’ve been through hell and faced death plenty before. He manages a nod then stares into the distance, seeing nothing. It’s blurry anyway. He clenches his hands into fists but it doesn’t stop them from shaking.

It’s mostly quiet for a while. As quiet as emergency waiting rooms are. The surgical mask is damp and sticking to his face when he tries to breathe. If he had his softer, dark blue LAFD one, that would be better. Maybe it’s still in his pocket. Maybe it’s lost in the street like blood. He doesn’t remember.

There are blurs shaped like people in uniforms who appear in front of them. Bobby stands. They talk with more words like “fractured” and “ruptured” and “bone fragments” and “suspicious it completely blew through his axillary artery.”

He’s hit with waves of nausea and frantic pounding in his chest.

There’s no air, no breath, can’t breathe. But there is sour acid burning with iron and copper in his mouth. He wants to run to him. And protect. And f*cking do something, but there’s nothing to do. He failed, couldn’t protect him, might not have even saved him. What if he’s gone? What if everything is over? How can anything in the world keep going and spinning on if he’s dead?

They say his name, the new people in uniform, and it’s soft and worried. They know him, and they hug him, Bobby, Hen, Chimney, all three of them with their arms and armor wrapped around him. They’re a family. This is his family. But there’s a gaping wound where one of them is absent. It hurts more than it helps, and he doesn’t want to cry anymore. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be home with his two favorite people where they’re all happy and safe and together and he can pretend they’re a real family. Or at the very least he wants to be curled up with his sister who always tends to his wounds and bandages him and promises with pinkies everything will be okay. She loves him no matter what.

There’s an uneasy, nervous, twitchy feeling in his stomach though, and he doesn’t know why it’s there or where it came from, but she’s talked to him less and less recently. Hasn’t sent baby pictures. They haven’t had their weekly Buckley sibling lunch dates over Zoom that they’ve done ever since lockdown. If she picks up the phone when he calls, she doesn’t stay on it very long. A lot of the time, his texts go unanswered regardless of if it’s small talk or an interesting article he found or a cute puppy gif or a funny story or emoji spam. She’s not okay right now either, and he doesn’t know what to do or what it is or how to help her and it only multiplies the terror flooding through him.

“Here. Come with me. Let’s make you look less like a murder scene, yeah? I have this for you.” Chim holds up clean fabric, maybe a new shirt? And urges Buck to follow him. He doesn’t have any reason or strength to do anything but follow him back to the men’s room.

Is it a murder scene? Helpless, useless bystander splashed with death? Is it murder? Is he gone? Is he dead?

He accidentally catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror this time. His eyes are red and puffy, his face is a mess. It’s a good thing he isn’t into wearing makeup. It would have been completely ruined by now. He’s sickly pale. But not as pale as suffering liters of blood loss.

Chim holds onto the bottom hem of his shirt and starts to unbutton it until Buck remembers how to hold the tiny plastic and push it through the openings in the fabric. His fingers are clumsy and slow, but he finishes the two top buttons, shrugs off the shirt and can’t decide if he wants to throw it away or cling to it because it might be all he has left. Chimney takes it from him and hands over a t-shirt so he doesn’t have to decide. Reminders of all that blood wouldn’t be good. His own face mask is still in his pocket and he tosses the disposable one and hopes he can keep his own dry.

When they return to the chairs, Hen and Chimney push several together and sit on either side of him. She holds his hand and he slides an arm around the back of the chair so Buck is surrounded, shielded.

They exchange words across him, maybe ask him questions, but there’s nothing for him to say. Nothing for him to do right now but wait and maybe pray to any and every god or spiritual forces or the universe or whatever. Anyone or anything that will listen and help keep Eddie alive.

He has to live.

They’re right. He is strong, unfailing. Fervent in his forgiveness, resolutely protective in his love. He so rarely thinks of himself while he defends and rescues everyone else. The world would be far worse off if he were extinguished.

“Don’t know that I’ve ever spent so much time in your presence where you were this quiet, Buckaroo.”

“It is weird.”

“We don’t like it.”

They are talking to him. About him? He doesn’t have words. He doesn’t have anything.

“Might regret saying that later when all you want to do is talk for hours. Right?” His tone is light. He’s trying to keep them from sinking.

“We wouldn’t. Chim might say that and think he means it, but he doesn’t.”

“I don’t. Right now especially I’m really missing it. You always were a good distraction.”

Doesn’t matter. What he means or doesn’t mean. If he says anything or doesn’t say anything. Only thing that matters is Eddie making it through stabilization and surgery and healing and recovery and coming back to them.

“He’ll make it, Buck. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. You got him here quickly.”

“A little gunshot is nothing to him. He’s a tank. A glorious, muscled, beautiful man-tank. He’ll be fine.”

There’s blood on his pants still. Couldn’t change or scrub it off. He tries to nod. They’re so good to him. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s failed again. It was so sudden and horrible. What could he have done differently? Why couldn’t he be the one taken out?

He couldn’t keep their fifth person safe.

They’re a star. Five points connected and balanced. HenandChim at the bottom as foundation and support, Bobby guiding and leading at the top, and BuckandEddie stretched to the sides as protection and defense, a solid bar of connection strung between them. They are a team. The best team. But they’re not a perfect even star without Eddie.

Bobby returns and says he’s contacted everyone and talked to Captain Mehta and his team. He stares again and Buck bows his head, wishing he could collapse in on himself. Does he know everything that happened? Did they give him details? The shot that went through both of them? The blood pouring into the road?

Reliving every single minute of the rig built around a well as he crawled on his belly under the truck to reach him. The lightning, the horrible rain, the smell of ferrous dirt and farm and irrigation water, the bright explosion, the sudden collapse, the mud that caved in, the feet and feet and feet of it that buried his friend alive, and Buck clawing at all of it because it separated them, trapped him, endangered him, threatened to take Eddie from them forever. The absolute terror that struck through him like nothing ever had except for losing Christopher to the waves.

He remembered panicking and sobbing and screaming. Eddie was hurt. Eddie was dying. Is dying? And begging. Praying. Pleading silently to anything in the universe that would listen. Please. Please don’t let him die. Christopher needs him. The team needs him. Buck needs him.

He remembered slowly shutting down, losing conviction that Eddie was still alive the more people looked at him sadly, the more time that passed. He remembered not arguing because he couldn’t. They all thought he was dead. They were trying to save him because they had to make an effort, they had to recover a body, but they didn’t believe. And it made Buck not believe either. It made him see Christopher in tears and all alone, an empty locker at the station, taking DIAZ off all their rosters and schedules and equipment, packing up all of Eddie and Christopher’s belongings because Eddie was dead and his family in Texas would take Christopher in. It made him forget what food and hunger and hope and survival was.

Does Bobby know all of it? He doesn’t comment if he does know. He hands a cellphone over. Buck’s phone. What is he supposed to do with it? He stuffs it back in his pocket.

Shortly after, a small woman with long, curly, dark hair appears and joins their group. She sits with them and talks, smiles a little, he can tell by her eyes. They aren’t wet or red, she’s not broken up or ripped apart or crying, and he can’t look at her.

It’s only been a couple months. He knows that. She’s nice enough and pretty for sure, but she’s not broken or dying inside and it’s not fair. None of this is fair and he hates all of this and how could she be better for them or love anyone more than he can? Eddie is everything to him and he’s what, two months and some “hot” math lessons to her?

His chest hurts, it aches in an entirely different way and he hates himself for it. Eddie deserves to be happy. She supposedly makes him happy and Chris can have a mom again and Buck would never be enough.

The screen on the wall reads close to 4 o’clock. It’s already been hours. Someone will need to be with Christopher. He’ll be hungry after school. He’ll be devastated his dad is hurt. Eddie could be dying in the road just like his mom.

Nope. Not dying. He’s not and he won’t because that would just be far too cruel and wrong. They have to stay positive. Buck is supposed to challenge intrusive thoughts. He is enough. He is loved. He is worthy and doesn’t have to do anything to be worthy. Eddie is okay. He will be okay. He’s survived gunshot wounds more than once. He’s survived worse than gunshot wounds. Buck can think it, repeat it in his mind. He’s supposed to. It’s just not easy to feel it.

Hen and Chim are kind and Ana seems nice? Is that the word? She’s nice and she chats with them, them not Buck, because they are friendly and calm and worried, sad, and everything but they’re not falling apart. He doesn’t know what to say when Ana glances at him and studies him, has to see remnants of blood on him. He doesn’t have words for her.

He remembers why she’s in his phone. Because they went on dates and he cooked kid food for dinner and helped with homework and played games and read bedtime stories and put Christopher to bed while they were probably having sex or doing whatever couple things they did. Like math lessons. Apparently. Fastest way to kill the mood there in his opinion. But whatever. People need things and Eddie tries to pretend he doesn’t need things but he does and he should have everything he needs. The number was in case Buck needed to reach them and for some reason Eddie’s phone didn’t work. That was it.

Have they had sex? Do they have sex? Does she know what he looks like naked? Because Buck only sort of knows. He knows but he doesn’t. He tries not to look. He would stare, he would never want to look away, so he can’t really look. She probably knows. What he looks like, what he feels like, sounds like, tastes like.

Buck knows blood on his tongue, blood flowing through his hands, spraying on his face with with force of a bomb.

He can’t really comprehend the feeling gnawing and burning and twisting and clawing at his insides. It’s heavy and full of stomach acid and nausea and it drags him down into the depths of tsunami wreckage, and to call it jealousy or envy just doesn’t feel strong enough.

He’s not good enough. He never could be. He’s temporary and fleeting and maybe a fun uncle you see once or twice a year. An uncle is family. It’s brother to the child’s father. Not that Buck knows anything about having a brother because he never got to know Daniel or have Daniel. He wonders though, if Daniel would have been like Maddie. If it could have been the three of them.

The three of them.

In his head, he sees the picture on his phone. He remembers the arm around him, the way Eddie looked at them both, holding Christopher so their arms overlapped.

The moment he’d first seen Christopher from afar and saw how much Eddie loves him, how could he not long for a family like that? Brother is okay, it’s good, he’s a brother and he loves having Maddie even if Maddie was always more mother than sister. But brother is just. Not. It’s not it. Maybe it was in the beginning. Brothers who drink beer together and look out for each other while doing a dangerous job. Brothers are bonded for life through blood and loyalty and companionship. They share secrets, pranks, enemies, jokes, laughs, tears, the worst moments, the best moments, the whole of each other’s lives. He would hope it’s unconditional. Or at least not easily forsaken.

Eddie is all those things without question. But. There’s something else that he is as well. It’s nothing he can pin down and define with words or concrete thoughts. It beats in his chest regardless. Chimney is brother. Eddie is not.

Maybe it’s more, maybe it’s just different. Even in the beginning, people assumed he and Eddie were fathers and probably husbands and that adorable, precious little Christopher had two daddies. He couldn’t deny it. It was too much to hope for. It was too big, immense, and too needed. It was so perfect.

If it could have been real. If they could have been something more. He should have done something. Said something. Put it out there, cards down, all in, and gone for it.

But. It’s not… It’s a fantasy. A dream crafted by misplaced longing. They can’t. It would never happen. People say a lot of things. Doesn’t make them true. It’s probably because he’s so attached to them. It’s not really romantic or anything. It’s just that he needs them and loves them with every breath and heartbeat and ounce of strength in his body and heart and soul. It already hurts this much and they’re just. Coworkers. Friends. Nothing more.

None of this is important right now. He stands and manages to do so without swaying. There’s a child who needs protection and care. And he’s an adult who loves that little boy more than anything. He needs to give him as much love as his dad does because he deserves to be loved, and never for one second should he have that love questioned. Especially if the worst thing happens. Christopher should always be loved and cared for as much as Eddie loves and cares for him.

“I have to go. I have to see Christopher. He needs…” He needs dinner and help with homework and to be tucked in and read to and kissed goodnight. “I have to go.”

Hen stands and touches his elbow. “One of us can go with you. We can drive you.”

He shakes his head. He can do this. He’s fine. He’s still shaking but he can and will do this. He has to take care of Christopher. “I’m okay. I swear. Let me know… If… if there’s anything?”

She looks at him with worry but also like she might believe him. That he can do this. “We’ll keep you updated. We love you.”

He wants to hug her again but if he does, he’ll cling and not let go. He leaves the hospital, but he doesn’t have his car. There’s no truck to ride in back to the station. There’s nothing. There’s only a gaping, bloody wound. He needs to call a ride. There’s daylight and fresh air but it smells like chemical, gasoline fire smoke and metallic copper iron bleeding. Maybe it’s just clinging to him permanently.

There’s a crowd outside and police. News vans. The rest of the world is coming back into the picture like tuning through radio channels of static nothing and suddenly catching blips of voices. There’s more than blood and asphalt and the stench of disinfectant chemicals through a face mask. His stomach plummets.

He hurries away from the crowd and the woman he recognizes. He doesn’t want her to see him. He doesn’t want anyone to see him, but she would broadcast it. She would film him and call it exciting or noteworthy or advantageous to her career. People who see it would pity him, blame him, or call him a disrespectful, attention-seeking narcissist who is only performing for the cameras. His parents always did.

None of that matters. He has a child to take care of. Properly. With all the support and love and encouragement in the world. That’s what his father does for him, that’s what Buck always strives to do for him, too. He has to get there somehow. He had a phone at one point, but his hands are shaking and she has to notice.

She touches his hands. He wants to believe what she says. He wants someone to hold him and never let him go. But she leaves like everyone else. She pushes him away, shrugs it off, it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t want him. No one does. He doesn’t want her hands or her ride or her eyes on him anyway. It’s not safe. It’s invasive. But there are more injured firefighters. More sniper wounds. Who would shoot at firefighters? Weren’t they all trying to save people? Isn’t that the biggest piece of their job description? That isn’t fire. Obviously.

Are they all in danger? Could he lose everyone? His whole family? He doubts his own chances of survival if Eddie doesn’t make it. But there would be no question if he lost all of them.

There’s twisting in his stomach, hard wrenching nausea and pain, and she’s worried. Or pretending she’s worried. He can’t tell, he’s not sure. Does she care? Does she not? It’s too difficult to make sense of. He’s too weak and wrecked to argue or do anything but let her tug him along to her car.

He doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t say anything. She tries to ask him things, wonders about a serial killer arsonist with a vendetta against the LAFD, speculates who and why, but he can’t tell her anything. Doesn’t know anything but blood in his mouth. It’s too horrible and terrifying to consider. She gives up after a few minutes and drives quietly.

There are so many missed calls and unread messages on his phone. Maddie, Taylor, Maddie again, Chim, Hen… almost everyone. Maddie called him. But there’s an important task he should take care of. He deletes a few contacts in his phone. Ones that should have been gone a long time ago. Changes FireDad back to Bobby just in case someone else needs to call him from this phone.

She drops him off at his car at the station. Doesn’t want to. She wants to follow because she doesn’t trust him to be okay. Or maybe she’s still working some story angle because covering a clickbait, buzzy tale of heroes and murderers and tragedy has to be something the media would go nuts over. He wants to believe she wouldn’t use him for that. He does. But he can’t convince himself it’s not impossible.

“Please,” he says. As calmly and solidly as he can right now. “I can’t. Can’t right now. Please. Please, I need to be alone.”

It’s a lie. It feels like a lie, and he really doesn’t want to lie but nothing today is making sense. He doesn’t need to be alone. He needs to be with his family. But half of his family is dying in danger bleeding wounded. Nothing is okay and he has a child to take care of. He can’t think about himself or her or the sniper or even Eddie right now. He’ll never be able to keep going if he does.

Her face is firm set ice and her frown has anger burning behind it, but she shakes her head and leaves.

The station is empty. The shift schedule and all the staff got interrupted and no one is here. They’re off the clock or at the hospital. Out of rotation. It’s dark and probably haunted, or maybe that’s just him. He showers quickly. The last of the dried blood swirls down the drain. He shivers and doesn’t know how he’s still breathing. Numbness is setting in. The raw, visceral shock is fading.

If all your nerves are severed, all the senses carved from your body, if everything is torn out of you and spilled into the road, what is there but absence?

He dresses in the extra clothes stashed in his locker. They smell like the laundry soap at the Diaz house. He has to sit down for a good sixteen minutes before he can make it out to his car.

He drives very slowly and carefully, white-knuckle gripping the wheel with both hands. Did someone call Carla? Does anyone else have her number? He texts her from the driveway of Eddie’s house and waits at the front door.

She doesn’t know. She’s big smiles and hugs and surprised not because he’s here but because he didn’t use his key and stroll through the front door.

He had to make sure. He could tell her first. Just her. Get that out of the way. Practice run so he can do it better the second time. He swallows hard and has to make words happen. Why are words so difficult?

Light fades from her face. She pulls him inside and closes the front door behind them. Her words are soft, whispered, full of concern. “Buck, honey. What’s wrong?”

So many things. Everything. Where and how can he even start? “Christopher. Where… where is he?”

She gets a look on her face that he’s sure he’s worn at least a few times today. It’s haunted like the station. Petrified. Worried. Ghosts are everywhere. “In his room. He finished his homework for tonight and I said he could play his little tablet games.” Her hands go to his forearms and they’re gentle and strong like she can protect him. “Something happened today, didn’t it. Can you tell me?”

His lip quivers and his eyes overflow again for no damn reason. It’s just a constant state of being now and he really thought the shower and the numbness would help, but it’s this again, everything broken inside him and pouring out and how can he do this? He has to do this. He has to because he needs to do this for Christopher. But how can they do this without Eddie?

He manages a deep breath built through sheer determination. “There was a sniper. Today. Out of nowhere. He… he shot… People were shot. In the street. In the middle of daylight and downtown and everything, and we were trying to help a kid, and… and… and…” He’s always so bad with words. He has to get them out. “Eddie. Eddie was. Lying there. In the road. While no one could reach him because the guy kept shooting at us. He was shot. Eddie was shot." It tastes like the worst, most awful thing in his mouth. Blood is in his mouth. Still in his mouth. “We weren’t. We weren’t supposed to be in danger. We weren’t doing anything dangerous. He was trying to help a kid, and he was hurt. He was bleeding. It was bad. Carla, it was so bad.”

He doesn’t have breath for more words. It’s all he can do not to collapse into a shattered heap on the floor. She hugs him tightly and he can’t remember the last time everything was bad enough for everyone to drop what they were doing and rush to hug him. They shouldn’t. It’s not about him. Is he using everyone for attention and affection? What choice do they have but to rush to him because he’s losing it. He only briefly returns the hug before pulling away. “He’s at the hospital. In surgery now, I think.”

“That’s good.” She rubs his arm. “He’ll make it through. I’m sure of it and you know what I say goes.”

He’s supposed to laugh for her. Or smile at least. Something. It’s only a strangled whimper, and he tries to rub at his face and get it together. He’s usually good at optimism. He likes to look on the bright side and hope for the best. When he can. It’s too hard to keep going when everything is gloom and doom. But there’s a gnawing churning twisting glob of awful terror living in the pit of his stomach, holding his chest hostage, whispering to him of death and loss and the impossibility of survival. “How can you be so sure? What if…? I know he’s tough. He’s strong, he’s a fighter. Everyone keeps saying it. But…”

“No buts. I know you’re scared. But you know him better than anyone. Do you think he would ever give up that fight knowing what he has to come home to? You know what he says about that.”

He looks down the hallway where he knows Christopher is shielded away in his bedroom. If he had a family, a son, a partner, he’d fight to come back to them, too. He’d do anything to make sure Christopher is happy and loved and taken care of. Eddie, too. If only they could trade places. He’d take all that pain, he’d give all his own blood. “I know. I know, I do. Christopher. He’s everything.”

“He may be the sweetest, smartest, most extraordinary little man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting and working with.” She touches his chin and turns his head back toward her. “But he’s not the only thing our Eddie will fight to come home to.”

Sourness fills his mouth and seeps down into his chest. It’s probably true. There’s Ana now after all. Eddie seemed so excited to have her in their lives.

Carla taps his chin. “You better not be thinking I meant anyone but you. There are exactly four people in those frames over there,” she points to the mantle above the fireplace. Reserved for the most special and favorite pictures. “One of them looks an awful lot like you.”

There are more pictures in the rest of the house. Ones that include Abuela, tías, Eddie’s parents and sisters, even a few of the 118 and their extended family. Christopher’s room has several of Shannon all by herself. It also has Eddie in his gear hanging onto a truck and one of Buck in an pink apron, bowl and spatula in hand, flour, cocoa powder, and brownie batter smeared all over his face and said apron. The ones where Christopher manages to distract him so that he spills food all over himself never fail to make him dissolve into giggles. He told Buck he needs at least ten more pictures exactly like that one. Eddie of course volunteered as photographer. Probably only fair after the coffee maker thing.

The fireplace though. It has Eddie and Shannon in a hospital with infant Christopher, Shannon and Christopher in Christmas sweaters with tinsel all over their hair and mugs of hot chocolate in their hands, Eddie with Christopher and a magnificent glittery solar system mobile they’d built over a whole three weeks, Christopher held up in Buck’s arms and squishing both hands into Buck’s cheeks as they grin at each other, both of them covered in rainbows of dripping paint, the aftermath of their (diluted and nontoxic) paint filled water balloon adventure, Eddie, Christopher, and Buck at the aquarium feeding the manta rays, Eddie, Christopher, and Buck at the zoo pretending to be flamingoes, the three of them from May’s graduation party, the three of them sprawled together on the mini golf course.

They are close. They’re his family, his favorite people. He tries to smile for her. As much as he can right now. She’s trying to offer comfort and reassurance, and he does appreciate it. Everything is just hollow and in pieces right now, and he’s lost. They’re everything to him.

He and Carla spend half an hour putting school assignments together, getting groceries and meals chosen and the pantry inventoried, and planning out a schedule for the next few weeks. Assuming the best case scenario that surgery goes well and Eddie will get to come home soon. She asks if they need help tonight and if he wants to tell Christopher together, but it should come from Buck. Eddie would want it to. He’s certain of it for some reason. Eddie trusts him to do this. To take care of his son when he’s away or unavailable. Not that he wouldn’t trust Carla. Of course he does. Maybe it makes more sense for her to tell Chris. He doesn’t know what to do. Carla decides and encourages him. He can do it. He should do it. Christopher would want to hear it from Buck.

Christopher is quiet in his room, subdued, as if he knows there’s something not right. He’s usually energetic, excited, and so happy when Eddie and Buck come home from a long shift. He’s not now.

Buck tries so hard to hold it together. He can mostly get through the words even if his eyes keep leaking again. He wipes them away and it’s fine. He can handle this. They’ll do it together and god knows they’ve been through awful, unimaginable things together before. They made it. They can do this, too.

He doesn’t expect a message from Bobby letting him know the surgery went well to be what makes him lose it. But here they are.

He drops his phone. Air comes back to his lungs. His heart is flickering. For a moment, he can’t do anything but weep into his hands. It will be okay. It will. It has to because he can’t handle anything else. Eddie will be fine. He’ll make it. He’s still alive. They’ll give him new blood and he won’t have a hole through his shoulder. Buck can breathe. He can. Maybe. He’s not shaking anymore. The pieces that were ripped from him are still in existence. Christopher will still have his dad.

A small arm comes around him and this sweet, precious, perfect boy offers him words of reassurance. He can breathe, he is breathing, but god, he doesn’t deserve this kid or this perfect family and their love. He curls down to Christopher’s level and holds on to give him reassurance, too. He tries deep breaths and can almost take them without hurting. He says with as much love and thankfulness as he possibly has, “You’re the best, most wonderful person in the whole world, you know that?”

Christopher looks up and him and mostly shrugs. His eyes are glassy. “I think Dad is.”

Tears fall again, again and they’re supposed to stop now really at any time, it’s just rivers down his face, and all he can do is agree. “Yeah, me too. You both. You’re my favorites.”

Christopher stretches his arms out until Buck pulls him close and hugs him tightly. He rests his head on Buck’s shoulder, and a speeding train wreck of guilt hits him directly in the chest. He couldn’t protect Eddie and if he could have, he could have spared Christopher pain. They were supposed to be together tonight. Dinner and games or maybe a movie and homemade popcorn. He doesn’t let go, wants to offer as much support as he can, but food would probably be good for both of them right now. “Are you hungry, kiddo? Should we find some dinner?”

Christopher doesn’t let go either. “My tummy wants chocolate cake.”

At that, Buck smiles. “If that is what you want to eat tonight, I am not going to argue with you.”

Christopher lifts his head and looks at him very skeptically. “Is this one of those ‘I have to eat slimy sprouts first’? Or I don’t get cake?”

“Probably should be. We can’t tell your dad I only fed you junk food.”

“We don’t have to tell him you did.”

He almost laughs. It’s there, it just can’t quite manifest enough to make it all the way to tangible. But it’s close. “Come on, you can’t be old enough for that one. I’m not ready. I’ll roast you something or put lots of cheese on it. You like veggies that way.”

Christopher nods and grows quiet. His hands clench and release in Buck’s t-shirt. “You’re not going anywhere, right? You won’t leave?”

God, his heart was just starting to not bleed all over for a few seconds. “No, no no no. Of course not. I promised you. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

Christopher hugs him again and nestles against his chest like when he has a stomachache or something bad happened at school and all he wants are cuddles. At least he’s not old enough to be too cool for parental affection.

Not that Buck is his parent. Friends. Best friends. Glorified babysitter maybe. Something. He has no words to define this any more than whatever is between him and Eddie.

After a good long five minutes or so, Christopher sits up and says he’s ready for dinner now. They poke through the fridge and pantry but grocery pick-up day is usually tomorrow and there’s not much Christopher will concede to eating. Buck retrieves his phone and they scroll through restaurant menus and pick out dinner to have delivered.

Christopher manages to eat a good half of his. Buck only gets a few bites in before he’s too nauseous to even look at it anymore. He sticks all the leftovers in the fridge and lets Christopher pick a movie to watch before bed. He cuddles against Buck with his head on Buck’s chest and his arm tightly clinging to as much of Buck’s middle as he can hold.

When it’s time for bed, he doesn’t argue about teeth brushing or turning off lights or being tucked in. He only asks that Buck stay right beside him.

How can he not?

Buck lies down on top of the covers in the tiny bed where his feet are dangerously close to hanging off the end, and Christopher curls up next to him, his head pillowed on Buck’s arm.

He’s put Chris to bed so many times now. He lost count years ago. But the novelty and specialness of it hasn’t worn off. He could do this every night. For the rest of his life. Or as long as he might get to before Chris decides he’s too old for it.

Is there a point where everyone becomes too old to want to be tucked in bed by someone who cares about them? Because there are plenty of nights where Buck is sure he’d feel much better if Maddie covered him in blankets and kissed the pink spot on his forehead the way she used to when he was… maybe four? He’s pretty sure it’s his earliest memory.

Although right now. All he wants before he sleeps is something different entirely.

It’s always in the still, silent darkness when Buck is trying to fall asleep that he aches more than anything. Where he feels most alone. When he wishes he could be held. When he longs for love and a family.

When he tries to forget broken and bloody and death taking his most precious people from him.

It’s been so long since he’s had someone sleep next to him. Honestly, he doesn’t want to be separate from Chris right now either. He has to know at least one of his boys is safe and in his arms.

Eddie should be here with them.

There are tears that fall on Buck’s arm. There are small sniffles that sound so loud.

The gunshot was so loud. It’s so loud. It’s still in his head. There’s still blood everywhere.

“Buck?” Chris rubs his hand under his nose and scooches closer.

He strokes Christopher’s hair and kisses his forehead, and can’t bear how someone has hurt his two most favorite people. It’s not fair. It’s so cruel. How could anyone do this to them? They’re both so good and kind, empathetic, loving. They both do all they can to help others. They make them laugh, they offer reassurance and comfort, they make people whole and healed and cared for. Why is this happening? Why isn’t Eddie here with them?

“Yeah, buddy.”

“Will you tell me our story?”

The air he tries to take in is stilted. The pathway is rocky. Everything in him is just. Shattered. And he doesn’t have glue. He’s fresh out of everything. There are tears that silently leak out of his own eyes, too.

But that’s why they made this story. “Once upon a time,” Buck says because that’s the proper way to start it and Chris accepts nothing less. “Everything was sadness.”

Christopher nods and stretches his little arm across Buck’s chest so he can hold on tight.

Buck wraps both arms around him. “The world was ruin. Nothing could grow. It was…” Blood in the street. Asphalt scraped into his palms. Beautiful, shining light growing weaker, colder. “It was wreckage. There were people, but everyone was alone. They were taught to hurt each other. They’d never known love. Their hearts were poisoned, corrupted, frozen, and all the special powers people might have had were only used… were only used…”

“For bad things,” Chris says. And that pretty much sums it up.

“Yes. But. But,” he tries to say, but his voice breaks. And all he wants to do is hide his face and cry out everything left inside him.

Chris reaches up and touches his cheek. He brushes away tears with magical, strong, compassionate little fingers. “But there is a man with a heart of flowers.”

There is. And he’s alive. He’s still alive. “There’s a man with a heart of flowers. He’s gentle and his heart is the most special. Because his heart holds kindness and the power to heal things. He makes plants and flowers grow in the earth that was dead and empty. He helps and saves people when he meets them. He shows them. That they can love. And be loved. And the world that was lonely and cruel and sad, starts to not be like that anymore. It starts to be full of laughter and bright colors and grass and blossoms and trees and hope. And people who care about each other and love each other.”

“And they become families. Who love each other. Because they find each other and are happy and never apart ever.”

Buck nods. “They choose each other, and love each other.”

“Buck?” Chris tips his head up so they can look at each other. “I love you.”

He tries really hard to smile. It’s most of the way there. Just watery around the edges. “I love you, too.”

The unmoved silence takes over after a while. Chris breathes slow and quiet and seems like he might actually fall asleep. Buck tries all night not to move or disrupt that sleep. It’s still all he can do to keep tears from soundlessly streaming from his own eyes.

Chapter 2: Promises

Chapter Text

In the morning, Carla wakes them with homemade breakfast and neither he nor Christopher had very restful sleep. He swore their plan was for her to come over later but she says she made too much breakfast for just her and her family, so it must be shared.

Chris is at least cheerful about bacon and seeing Carla and the knowledge that the rest of the giant piece of chocolate cake from last night is still waiting for him. She says it might be a Saturday and a day for a little indulgence, but chocolate cake is not breakfast food.

“Besides,” she tells them as she dishes up scrambled eggs, French toast, and crispy bacon. “Someone’s got to pick up our grocery order. And maybe stop by the hospital on the way. I hear visiting hours are at 11.”

Stop by the hospital. He looks at his phone. It’s just after 9:30. In an hour and a half, he could see Eddie. His heart skips. “You… you think so? You came over early for that?”

Carla just gives him a wink and a smile and pours Christopher a glass of milk. “You know we’d love to go, too. But we have too much to do around here, don’t we?”

“No. It’s the stupid virus,” Chris says through a mouthful of bacon. His eyes are downcast and he’s just far too smart and aware. “I can’t get a vaccine yet.”

“We can do a FaceTime call like we used to,” Buck offers. When they were in quarantine and the only way for Eddie to see Christopher was on the phone or outside at a very big distance. “I know it’s not the same. But if he’s… if he’s not asleep and resting, we’ll call so you can talk to him and he can talk to you.”

This seems to be an acceptable solution because Christopher agrees and his only requirement is that Buck deliver a hug from him. He eats well and also makes Buck promise they’ll have their missed popcorn and movie night after he’s done with work. It’s probably an excuse to cuddle together and for Christopher to tuck his head under Buck’s chin and fall asleep listening to Buck’s heart because that is, apparently, his favorite. But Buck will take any excuse to give and receive affection. Movie night with the Diaz boys is usually the highlight of any week.

It amazes him that he could be that comforting or important to anyone. But there isn’t another option for Christopher right now so that has to be it.

Buck manages a few bites of toast and what is probably half of a scrambled egg, but any more is too much for his stomach. If Carla notices, she doesn’t get a chance to bring it up before he slips out and drives to the hospital with a lump in his stomach.

They do let visitors in at 11, and he waits and tries to be patient. His leg is jumpy, bouncing, and he taps his fingers on his thigh and hopes his hands don’t start that shaking again. Even through a mask, it smells like harsh disinfectants and bandage material and that weird synthetic scent that always lingers on exam gloves.

At 11:06, they let him through and direct him to the ICU.

He’s not awake. He’s still intubated. They want to give him the best chance of a smooth recovery and right now that includes guaranteeing the flow of oxygen into his lungs. He’d been cyanotic and shocky from hemorrhaging. No blood means no oxygen. He needs more whole blood. If he’d arrived even a few minutes later, it might have been too much blood loss. He stopped breathing a few times while they were prepping him. They’ll probably have to have an ortho surgeon do some kind of reconstruction for his scapula, but they have to wait and see how it heals from where it was fractured and punched through.

Buck holds the lump in his throat and has to listen to the words.

They’re hopeful though with his progress, but he doesn’t know why. Everything sounds awful and he’s not sure if he appreciates his required EMT certification right now. He knows too many of those words. He knows far too many things that could go badly. And the fact that there is an armed guard outside Eddie's room is just a reminder of that.

The nurse points to a chair beside the hospital bed, and lets Buck in.

He’s there. He’s right there and he’s alive. He’s still alive. There are monitors surrounding him, full of familiar and annoying but hopefully constant beeping. He has two IV lines, one for blood, one for fluids, wires and lines for all the monitors keeping track of his vitals, as well as tubes for oxygen, ventilation, urination, and those muscle massager wraps for his legs because blood clots are bad, and being on blood thinning chemicals also used to kill rats is not fun.

Buck swallows hard and his chest hurts again. Too much to make lungs function. He’d stopped breathing. Stopped. A few times. They were minutes, mere groups of 60 seconds, away from him being gone forever.

“You can sit and talk to him if you’d like,” the man says. A nurse. He’s in scrubs and PPE with a stethoscope and pens and bandage scissors tucked into a tool belt. “It usually helps to know you’re not alone. Most patients do better when their friends and family are around them. Even if they’re unconscious or comatose.”

Buck takes a step and then another though it’s like walking on a brittle roof that’s about to collapse into a pit of fire. What if he slips away or crashes? What if he’s not stable enough? Nothing feels stable. It’s too fragile. He takes his mask off and sits carefully.

Eddie’s chest slowly rises and falls, rhythmic and mechanical breaths, measured and timed by machine. But at least he’s breathing. If Buck tries, he can almost make his fall into the same pattern. They can work on breathing together. Please, don’t ever stop breathing.

He’s pale still. Better than when Buck had to watch him disappear through the hospital doors, but the warm, healthy golden glow to his skin is absent. There’s a shadow of stubble on his face, which is good, right? His hair is growing. He’s alive.

He desperately wants to touch him. To make sure he’s real. That this is real and he’s alive and not a figment of Buck’s imagination. He’s not dreaming. His dreams are never as nice as this. Where there’s hope and he’s still alive and Buck is with him. It’s still too common to dream of that night where everything collapsed and he screamed and clawed at mud, ready to dig through all forty some feet of it by hand because his partner was trapped below.

His fingers tremble but he slowly reaches out and touches the back of Eddie’s hand. It’s cool to the touch. His own hand is warmer. He wraps it around Eddie’s and holds gently.

He supposed to say things. People always talk like everything is heard. He doesn’t really remember what anyone’s said to him. Or if they said anything. He knows he’s had people with him though. Maddie, Bobby, Eddie. Others have visited him but he knows the three who stood vigil, stayed with him for hours of nothingness just to keep him company.

“I, uh. I never know what to say. Here. In situations like this. You’d think I’d be better talking to myself because of the whole thinking out loud thing you know I do sometimes.” He watches Eddie’s face and wishes for a response of any kind. Even a frown or a scowl of annoyance or anything. Anything as long as it’s something.

“Christopher is okay. He’s sad but he believes in you. We both do. I don’t know how much he understands.” But obviously he knows all too well how easy it is to lose a beloved parent. “I’m staying with him. We’re taking care of him. Me and Carla. He takes care of me, too. And I know how much he wants to see you.” Because it’s the same twisting flare of need that burns in Buck's own chest.

“I promised him we would call as soon as you’re awake so he can talk to you and see you. So, as soon as you open your eyes, you can see him.” If that isn’t motivation and incentive for Eddie, he doesn’t know what would be.

“Anyway. You don’t need to worry about him or anything. I’ll take care of all of it. I got it. Just. You know. Come back to us. Please, come back to us.” His lip quivers and his eyes are wet again, and he really thought that he’d have nothing left inside him at this point.

Tears kept coming, off and on, all night. At least they were mostly silent. There’s a difference between a sudden burst like cracks and holes in a dam, and a nonstop stream of endless rivers. The dam was over and done and it was better afterward once you could sort through and pick up pieces. A river was continuous. It overflows and keeps going no matter what you do. He still hasn’t managed to dry up this river.

He carefully scoots the chair closer and wishes he could climb up in the bed and protectively curl around him so nothing could hurt Eddie ever again.

God, he misses sleeping next to him.

They’d always had zero personal space boundaries. It wasn't at all unusual to find them exhausted and asleep and slumped against each other. They would lie on opposite ends of a couch with their legs tangled in the middle, or slide down while they were sitting together and lean onto the other’s shoulder, or one would stretch out with their head in the other’s lap and sometimes, there would be an arm that would inevitably slide around the other when they sat beside each other.

They’d been found on the sofas at the station, on long drives home in the truck, occasionally even in the same bed while they were on-call, on shift because one or both of them would wake from nightmares or couldn’t sleep because of everything and the other would crawl out of the adjacent bed until they were lying next to each other and could be spooned together.

The others made comments in the beginning of course. Called them puppies who have to climb all over each other and lovebirds who can’t stand to not be touching and inseparable conjoined twins. But then it was just. Expected. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was almost like everyone forgot or at least moved on and didn’t even notice now. They were close and affectionate and it wasn’t sexual or obscene or anything. Why wouldn’t they share a sleeping space? They shared everything else.

When the others had to leave their families and quarantine together with him at his apartment, sleeping arrangements never had to be discussed. Obviously, they would share. They always did.

It felt different though. It wasn’t merely exhaustion and seeking comfort. They slept beside each other every night. In Buck’s bed. And when there’s someone near him, in bed next to him, he’s been known to be a clingy sleeper. He warned Eddie of this the first night and received a scrunched, funny expression that made Buck think he was being ridiculous. But of course he was. His clingy, sleepy self was not any sort of New Information for Eddie. And that first morning in his very full apartment with his three new roommates, he woke as a little spoon with Eddie’s arms around him.

There were a lot of things he really didn’t mind about all the lockdowns.

The only thing they both hated was being so separate from Chris. And obviously the rest of their chosen family, but Christopher the most. They would meet at a park a few blocks from the Diaz house every day they could to see him in person. They couldn’t hug or sit very close and if anyone else was nearby, Abuela had to take Chris home.

He knew how much it absolutely destroyed Eddie. The man never ever ever wanted to acknowledge his emotions, but every few weeks or so, he’d look at Buck when they returned home from a Christopher visit and his eyes would be watery and he’d be tense and radiating anger and guilt and extreme sorrow. Buck would hug him tightly, extra long and extra close, and promise it wouldn’t be forever. Eddie hadn’t left his son. He was right there. Christopher knew that. Honestly, Christopher had always seemed more worried about his dad than anything else. When Buck promised him early on that he’d take care of Eddie, Christopher smiled and seemed more like his optimistic, playful self.

One day, somewhere in week fourteen, before some restrictions lifted and Eddie moved out, Eddie whispered as they held onto each other, “Thank god I still have you.”

He looks at Eddie, fake breathing, not conscious, at the monitors and sensors keeping track of his heart rate. It’s slow. 46bpm. Almost too slow. Though there was something he read or heard about sinus bradycardia being a positive sign for coma patients. Maybe that was only after hypothermia or induced therapeutic hypothermia. He can’t remember. But there was also hypovolemic shock and lack of blood to carry oxygen throughout the body and severe blood loss didn’t just cause organ failure, it meant no oxygen delivered to any part of the body and suffocating without anything to do with lung damage. Or the heart overworking itself because there’s no blood which causes cardiac arrest? Or was it complete heart failure? Hypovolemic, hemorrhagic shock happens after extreme blood loss. It turns lips and fingers blue, causes weak pulses, chest pain, loss of consciousness. Death. Potentially. All bad. Very, very bad.

His chest tightens and hurts and he has to breathe. He can. He is fully capable. Eddie is right in front of him. He’s alive. He’s recovering. He’s not cyanotic. That’s the word, isn’t it? He’s not blue and suffering from oxygen deprivation and blood loss anymore, he’s just a little pale.

Buck picks up his hand and holds it between both of his. “Always,” he whispers. “You always have me.”

When Eddie was heartbroken and missing his precious son and told Buck, “Thank god I still have you,” that was what Buck promised in return. “You always have me.”

He curls down beside the hospital bed, rests his head near hip and upper thigh as he holds Eddie’s hand to his chest and stares up at him. Maybe if Eddie can feel the pulse beating in Buck’s chest, it will remind him to keep fighting. He studies the lines of Eddie’s nose and jaw, the curve of his cheek, the dark freckle mole below his eye, the way his eyes seem to move behind closed eyelids and make his long lashes flutter.

If fairytales were real, if magic was, if pain like this were brought by hexes and poisons and could be fixed with the power held in Buck’s beating heart. He’d leave a kiss on that freckle and wake him from this sleeping curse. It would work. It would be enough. If this were magic and he could rescue him. Buck closes his own eyes instead and resigns to simply hold on.

When his eyelids shut, it makes tears fall but there’s something about proximity and being able to touch and hold on and feel that allows him to breathe deeply.

He’s not sure if he actually sleeps or if he fades out of consciousness like the chemicals swirling in Eddie’s veins are potent enough to flood into him just because he’s nearby. Or if time rushes by him because he’ll never have enough. But when he opens his eyes again, it’s two hours later and someone has tapped his upper back.

“Sorry to disturb you,” the nurse from earlier says. “He has another visitor. If you’re both vaccinated or bubbled, feel free to be here together. We’re not supposed to allow any more than two visitors at a time.”

Buck sits up and turns toward the door. Ana’s standing steps away from the clear walls with her hands folded together around her purse. Something in him sinks and falls and makes his throat feel like it’s closing up. He straightens his posture and scoots the chair a little ways away from the bed. “Hi,” he says and can’t meet her eyes. It’s the only word he can manage.

She says it back and walks toward them, toward Eddie not him, he’s nothing, and the nurse leaves them. “I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. I have…” There are groceries to pick up and Christopher to check on and then a swing shift and overnight to get ready for. “Things. Errands. Groceries, actually. And then work. So.” Carefully, he places Eddie’s hand back on the bed beside him and lets go.

If it makes an invisible knife twist deep into his chest, no one can know. There are far worse types of pain anyway.

“If you’re sure. I don’t mind sitting together.” She places a light hand on Eddie’s leg, looking only at him. Buck isn’t there anymore. “I just didn’t want him to be alone.”

She’s delicate and pretty. Always polite. He can’t actually remember if he’s ever looked at a beautiful, smart, intelligent, interesting woman and felt so nauseous and hurt that he never wants to look at her ever again. But here they are.

“No, it’s okay.” He stands and pushes the chair further from the bed, and takes one more look at his unconscious, wounded partner. His chest hurts, his mouth is dry, but… but. He takes a breath. “I don’t want him to be alone either.”

He steps away and thinks of the day Eddie moved out and went back home. The last day they woke together in his bed.

He hadn’t remembered at first. He’d gotten so used to it. His head was on Eddie’s shoulder and his arm and leg were thrown over him, holding tightly with long, clingy octopus limbs. As they had affectionately been described. One of Eddie’s arms was around his back, his opposite hand rested on Buck’s forearm.

He didn’t want to wake. He wanted to stay exactly like this. He’d closed his eyes and stayed very still.

The sun had barely been rising. There was light through the windows but it wasn’t bright and demanding yet. Gentle fingers stroked through Buck’s longer hair. It was too long and he needed a haircut, but he melted when those fingers sifted through it. He hadn’t had the heart to ask if one of his teammates would cut it. Not when he’d been waking or falling asleep to this. He could try to sleep again. They had a little time before they had to get up and get ready for work. He needed to hold onto this as long as he could.

Those fingers were moving, but stilled all of a sudden. For a second, he wondered if Eddie was only doing it because he thought Buck was asleep and maybe he figured out Buck wasn’t quite asleep anymore and so he had to stop because this might be weird.

Actually, it was definitely weird. It had to be. They weren’t supposed to be close like this. Men weren’t usually close like this. That is. Straight men weren’t. Not that he’s straight. Eddie probably is. They’ve never actually talked about it. It didn’t matter.

But everything had been so terrible the whole year. Buck was aching to see Christopher and play games and Legos and space invader pirates and make cookies and tacos with him and to give him an actual, real hug. He could only imagine how much Eddie was hurting and longing to be with his son.

They were partners. They’d needed each other and they had each other’s backs. That’s how it worked. If he hadn’t had someone willing to hold him and hug him and snuggle up in his arms and be held while they slept next to each other, he’s pretty sure he would have lost it or done something even more stupid than usual.

When Eddie’s fingers stopped moving, stopped stroking his hair, Buck was ready to whine and complain and beg for five more minutes. At least so they could stay like this. Before he could make a sound, Eddie held him tighter, clutched Buck to him, held his head with one strong hand. And pressed a kiss in Buck’s hair.

Buck couldn’t breathe. His heart pounded like it caught fire. He wanted to clutch him, pull him closer, he wanted…

He wanted to return that kiss. He wanted a real, mouth to mouth, sweet, needy, passionate one that never stopped. What would it be like to kiss Eddie? Touch him? Feel him everywhere, surrounding him, inside him? Feel his breath as they pressed their lips together, and the heat of his body as they wrapped around each other. What if he could learn the taste of his mouth and the sweat on his skin. He wanted this, needed it, needed so much more than just this because what he wanted and needed most was for this to be forever.

But he remembered in that moment. It was the day. They weren’t anything. They wouldn’t be living together or sharing a bed every night anymore. They couldn’t. They had something more important. A partnership. They were a team. He needed Eddie forever not just for a quick f*ck.

It was a goodbye kiss.

They were moving on. They’d never be close like this ever again. Living together and sharing a bed every night was over.

He’d hugged tightly. Definitely thought about crying. Maybe even begging for one more night. But how could he ever stopping needing another and another and another? So, Buck let him go. They packed up his clothes and the few things he’d brought with him. After work, Eddie went to his real home and Buck went back to his own apartment with only Chim for company.

And he loves Chimney, he does. He has no doubt they’ll officially be brothers-in-law one day. Chim worked hard to distract him from the emptiness that pervaded his living space. They didn’t usually stick together and cling to each other like he and Eddie did. Chim would make his own dinner and watch his own movies and do his own thing, while Buck and Eddie pretty much did everything together. But that night, Chimney ordered them both dinner and they called Maddie together and watched a documentary about shipwrecks that Buck had planned on watching to see if Christopher would like it and if there was anything unsafe or too boring for a ten year old.

It wasn’t the day or the evening that was the problem though. It was the fact that Buck only had an empty, cold bed to sleep in that night.

There was no one on the right side, no arms to slide into, no one to hold, no one to keep him company and alleviate some of the ache and longing he had to be touched and loved and kept. He’d held onto the pillow that still smelled like Eddie and couldn’t do anything but let tears fall.

He did receive a few texts around three in the morning because Eddie couldn’t sleep either. They ended up calling each other. He doesn’t remember which one of them caved first, but the call was left on even while they were silent and trying to sleep. Neither of them ever mentioned hanging up.

He looks at Ana and watches her take his place beside Eddie’s bed. And that night is all he can think about.

“I’ll call you if anything changes while I’m here,” she says. “I’ll take good care of him.”

Buck nods, hollow and gutted again. “Thank you.”

He leaves and picks up groceries and almost makes it through putting them all away before he has to shower and get ready for his shift. But he’s weak and nauseous and hasn’t been able to eat much, and he drops the whole pack of a dozen eggs all over the floor.

He wants to throw them and punch the walls and break his bones and every part of himself just so he can feel something besides this. He ends up on the floor with raw egg puddles everywhere and his head in his hands.

It’s so stupid. She’s nice and Eddie deserves someone and the much more horrible and terrifying thing is that he was dying. Could die still. He nearly died and he still doesn’t seem quite stable, and Buck is definitely not stable.

Carla helps him clean up and makes him sit down and eat a whole sandwich and drink two glasses of water and one of grape juice. At least Chris is in the middle of listening to an audiobook and drawing up a storm so he doesn’t know or see that his friend who is supposed to take care of him is also falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her quietly after she takes his empty plate. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get it together. I swear. You’re not supposed to be worrying about me, too. That’s not your job. Or anyone’s job. I’m just…” Lost and lonely and ripped in half and terrified it’s permanent.

She squeezes his shoulder. “My job,” she says as she sticks his plate and cups in the dishwasher. “Is to look out for my Diaz boys. And if you remember our little talk from last night, that includes you.”

“But. That’s not. You’re here for Christopher— ”

“Buck, honey.” She puts a hand on her hip and fixes him with a look he’s sure Athena would admire. “I’m sure you’ve heard the term ‘family emergency’ before, haven’t you. That’s what this is. Business is business and work is work, but you are also my dear friend. I know if I needed help, you would do anything to help me. Including landing your little behind in a lot of trouble.”

He probably would. He’s always loved Carla and Carla seems to like him a lot, too. She takes care of other people, looks at them and everything they need and doesn’t patronize or condescend, she just helps and supports in ways people might not even realize. He would do anything she needed.

She walks over to him and squeezes his shoulder. “Let me do the same for you.”

Abby always talked about how it was such a relief when they assigned Carla to her mom, he never expected he’d be fortunate enough to receive her care and attention. He can’t do anything but nod, and then wrap her in a tight hug.

At work, they have a station meeting about recent traumatic events and the plan for keeping everyone safe on the job. While there’s a f*cking sniper trying to take them out.

I’ve just done it while people are shooting at me is all.

Is it different now? Does it count or is it still only people shooting at Eddie?

There’s roiling bile fire acid in the pit of Buck’s stomach. It had been there on the back burner and now it’s just threatening to burst and boil over. They didn’t keep Eddie safe. He didn’t. He couldn’t do anything but stare at him and watch him fall and bleed, and Eddie is still not out of the woods or the hospital.

Every word twists into him like guilt and betrayal because no one could protect Eddie and he especially was supposed to. He’d promised. The very first day. Or technically, that second shift. But still. They are partners. They are a team.

Sure, their family members are going to worry and be scared every time they go to work but his worst case scenario already happened. Is it really worse for them to worry about it happening? Or is it worse to know that it happened and there was nothing he could do and now Eddie might never wake up? It didn’t happen to anyone else’s family. It happened to Buck’s family.

He wants to scream and he wants to hit things and then crumple into the fetal position and sob until everything stops.

Maybe somewhere in his head he knows that no one could have predicted this. No one knew the sniper was there until he nearly took down Buck’s entire world. But the sour nauseating fire is churning in the worst part of him regardless of reason or reality.

They go on a few calls. Nothing huge or lengthy. Nothing that he’s even much help with. Someone collapsed and injured their leg. A couple cars collided and got stuck but no one was seriously injured just trapped.

Then someone trying to jump from the rooftop of a skyscraper.

He starts to gear up and has a hand on the door to the truck, and Bobby tells him no. Insists he stay behind. Without any explanation. He has to wait at the station and play man behind like he’s a green probie or like he’s useless and he feels like both.

He’s not being reckless. He’s not disregarding orders from his captain. There may have been a few bitter comments here and there and maybe he’s snappy and short-tempered today. But he wouldn’t endanger anyone they are trying to help. He would never.

He protests. He argues and pleads in front of everyone. He needs to go with them.

Bobby still says no. There’s no maneuver he can do this time. It’s better if he waits for everyone to return. They leave him behind.

He changes and storms to the gym area, doesn’t bother with gloves or taping up his hands or anything before he wails on the heavy sack of sand. It’s not fair. It’s not right. What is the point of him even being here if he can’t do anything? He’s not fragile. He can do his job. Maybe his mind is miles away and bouncing between the two most important things in the world to him and how he might lose them both, but there’s no reason he can’t work. If he does lose them… this is all he’d have left.

They don’t know. They don’t. They might be scared, everyone is and everyone’s family is, but it’s all hypothetical to them. They don’t know. It’s not reality to any of them.

It’s reality to Buck.

And who did Eddie have to rely on? Who was supposed to support him? Who completely froze and couldn’t breathe or move or do anything but watch as he crashed and bled out?

He stops when his hands are shaking again. Switches to chest press reps and leg extensions and hamstring and bicep curls and lat pulldowns and tricep dips and barbell rows and squats and all of it over and over with more reps and higher weights, more than usual, more than is particularly safe, more and harder until he’s straining and almost almost almost unable to, but he pushes far beyond because it’s something else, and he does it until he’s drenched and sore aching weak and probably full of muscle tears or whatever other damage because he didn’t exactly warm up or take it easy because why would he. He’s used to hard work outs. He loves the rush, loves feeling strong, like he has power and purpose. He’s always pushed past reasonable and safe. He’s not safe or pragmatic. He’s useless. Spare defective parts.

After a good three hours or so, he can’t really move. It’s too hot, he’s too warm and overheated, he’s sweating and dizzy and everything aches, and his stomach is cycling like a washing machine.

He makes a hurried stumble for the bathroom and throws up behind a stall door.

So much for keeping that sandwich in his stomach.

He wraps his arms around himself, trying to hold down and quiet the gurgle in his gut, and leans his head back against the wall. The ground is cold. The toilet smells like too much bleach which probably means someone very recently cleaned it and now it’s full of vomit and he ruined all their hard work. The harsh chemical scent makes his head hurt, but the concept of standing, getting up, or moving is impossible. Insurmountable right now.

He stays on the floor beside the toilet, hidden and alone, for at least forty-five minutes. He’s not sure what he’ll do if the alarm goes off again and they let him go this time. He’ll be useless. He is useless. They’ll probably make him stay here again.

Endorphins from the workout seem to kick in a little though. He might be in pain and unable to move, but he’s not furiously punching something or sobbing on the ground. At least there’s that?

When the nausea and dizziness fade enough for him to stand, he showers and lets the water run cool and then cold until his body goes numb.

He towels off and dresses after. It’s slow going, painful, and he wishes he could collapse in bed and sleep until everything is over. He wishes he could go home and tuck Christopher in bed and read to him and hold him until they both fall sleep. There are quiet tears on his arm, burned there from their night of restless grief.

He wishes he could protect Chris from it, from anything that can hurt him. He wishes they were together now, maybe snuggled up for movies on the sofa, and Eddie would just walk through the door and be safe and awake and healed and then it could be the three of them and they’d be laughing and wrapped in each other's arms because it’s supposed to be like that. It’s supposed to be the three of them. That’s his home, their home. That’s happiness for all three of them. He has proof of it. He stares at it every day when he unlocks his phone.

It’s only around nine in the evening, so he wanders upstairs to the kitchen even though food is the last thing on his mind. Everyone got back a while ago. Family dinner should be long over and the main dining table and surrounding area are empty. He fills a glass with water and manages to sit down on a barstool at the counter carefully, very carefully. He drinks. Small sips at a time. Movements with shaking hands. Has to make sure it will stay in his stomach.

It’s not really a surprise when Bobby appears, but Buck does startle and almost loses his water glass. It splashes over his fingers, onto the counter, but it’s cold. Thin. Not viscous. Not pouring from an open wound. It’s just a little water. It’s water. Just water.

Bobby goes to the fridge and takes out something he sets on the counter near him. A plate covered in foil. He pulls back the foil to reveal a full, dished up meal of penne bolognese, roasted zucchini and tomatoes topped with parmesan, and a large chunk of garlic bread. Their family dinner.

That garlic bread always disappears instantly. It’s miraculous he was able to save any. Bobby uses fresh garlic and real butter and he puts basil and oregano on the zucchini and sometimes Buck wants to eat a whole pan of nothing but that. It’s one of his all time favorites.

“I’ll heat it up for you. If you’ll eat it.”

Buck wants to. He so wants to. The bolognese sauce was one of the first dinner things Bobby taught him to cook and it has fresh herbs and chunky vegetables, juicy caramelized onions and browned meat, and it would have wine because Bobby says tomatoes and white wine are best friends but he only uses it when Buck or Athena or Michael are cooking with him.

Buck didn’t cook with him tonight. He didn’t even come to dinner. “I don’t deserve it. Someone else should have it.”

There’s a disappointed-in-you exhale and he’s sure Bobby is frowning but he can’t look at him. “Why do you think I didn’t let you come with us for that last call?”

He shrugs. There’s probably more than one reason. He doesn’t know which one is most accurate. “Why?”

“Because you’re in no condition to talk yourself or anyone else out of dying.”

Is that true? Can he see it on Buck’s face? Is it written on him like he’s taken a sharpie to his skin? Or is Bobby guessing and making assumptions?

He’s probably not making incorrect ones. Bobby knows him well. And Buck’s hold on everything is tenuous at best and he knows that.

The explanation doesn’t help and he doesn’t want to talk about it or think about it anymore. The dinner looks really good. It would be good for him to eat something. Can he eat anything and keep it down? “I threw up. After I worked out.” He looks away and doesn’t know why he can’t keep his stupid mouth shut sometimes. “I think I’m hungry though. I haven’t eaten much. I tried.”

“Have you talked with your therapist? Or anyone?”

“No. Not really.” It hadn’t even crossed his mind honestly. It probably should have. He’s been preoccupied. “I should. I’ll call her office on Monday. See if there’s any availability.” Although. If he calls and makes an appointment, he’ll have to talk about this. All of it. It might make him feel better. It probably would. But he’s not quite sure he has the strength to do it yet. He’d just turn into a mess of tears and anger and incomprehensible words. If there were any words at all.

Bobby nods but doesn’t say anything. He’s mad. He has to be. Or disappointed in him somehow. Buck is a mess. He always has been. He wonders sometimes if that was why Bobby kept him from duty after the bombed firetruck and his crushed leg and all that. Because Buck is unruly and undisciplined and doesn’t listen and no one should have to deal with him. Maybe Bobby was just tired of dealing with him.

He kind of looks sad now though. He’s frowning but not like when he has a lecture to give. “Captain Mehta told me he had to tackle you to the ground to get you out of the line of fire.”

But there it is. He’s reckless and stupid and disappointing. He can’t be trusted. He’s grounded for life. Buck impulsively blurts out, “I’m sorry. I know. I… I couldn’t. I didn’t.” He can be like Eddie. He can clamp it down and hold his breath and bite his tongue because he deserves this. He can. Maybe he can. Why does he fail so much at everything? Why is he never good enough even when he tries so hard?

Bobby shakes his head. “I expected to hear about you running into danger and acting without thinking. Or how he had to take you down to keep you from being hurt because of something you did. But he said you were in shock. Like you were frozen. All you could do was stand there.”

He taps his fingers on the counter and crunches a piece of the foil. Maybe he could tuck it back around the plate and someone who can actually eat and enjoy it will claim it. “Yeah.” He’s a terrible partner and terrible protecter and why couldn’t the sniper have picked him? It would be so much better for everyone. How could anyone hurt Eddie?

“Then. He told me while he radioed for help and everyone else took cover, you crawled underneath their firetruck and dragged Eddie to safety.”

“He was…” The cage around his chest tightens and his vision goes blurry. “Bobby, he was bleeding. Everywhere. Hen told me minutes. Someone can bleed out in minutes and he was in a pool of his own blood in seconds. I… I had to. I had to. It’s Eddie. I had to.”

“Buck.”

He bites his lip and looks up at his captain’s face. Whatever it is, he deserves this. He deserves worse. He should be dying now. Not Eddie. He furiously wipes stray tears from his face.

Bobby steps around the counter and crushes him in a hug that knocks all the air out of him. “Buck, I’m not angry. This is not a lecture. I didn’t mean. I’m sorry.” He sighs heavily but holds tightly.

Buck clutches him. There’s nothing else to use for safety and he’s falling apart.

“I was shocked actually when he told me the whole story.” His voice is quiet, gentle, and he runs a hand up and down Buck’s back. “After everything you went through. When we found you at the hospital. I’m worried about you. That’s all I was trying to say.”

He leans into the embrace and holds on. He can’t help but think of his own request that Bobby ask for help when he needed it, but Buck doesn’t know what to ask for. How wrecked would he be if… if he doesn’t. If Eddie… How the hell did Bobby survive losing his whole family? Buck isn’t that strong. He’s not.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now,” Bobby says in a soothing, even tone. “But it will be okay. He’s alive. They’re taking care of him. He made it through that first big hurdle and I know this waiting for progress is the hardest part, but he’s safe. And he’s alive. Okay?”

He tries to breathe but there’s still weight constricting and crushing his chest. What else can he say? Or do?

Bobby pulls away and holds onto Buck’s shoulders like he’s checking to see if it’s sunk in.

“I got it. It’s just. He’s…” Everything. He’s everything and it’s only been a few years, he knows this, but he doesn’t want a life without Eddie and Christopher in it. He had one, sort of, because he existed before them. But he can’t exist after them. If Eddie is gone, Christopher will be taken from his life, too. He won’t survive losing them both. He won’t. Nothing would be worth it. “He’s my partner. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. If he… if he dies…” God, he said it. That ugly awful word. He could choke on it. But that’s the most frightening thing. The nightmare he’d never wake from.

Something sad and haunted goes over Bobby’s face. He knows. Everyone had to. But there is something else lurking behind that pain and that gaze and Buck can’t tell what. “Breathe. Breathe again. That’s good. Keep going. He’s okay, Buck. He’s alive. I know you’re feeling guilty and angry and probably lost. I know you’re terrified. You just have to breathe. And keep going. It’ll be okay.”

“It won’t though. If that happens…” He tries. He tries to inhale and take in air and let it flow deep into his lungs. It just doesn’t make it. “I’ll let go. I will. You’re right. That’s why you didn’t let me go with you today. I know that’s why you wouldn’t let me rescue the kid who got stuck in the well. Hen said it. I’d cut the line because I’d never leave him. He’s my partner, he's everything to me, and nothing means anything without him.”

“Buck, I know.” The grip on his shoulders tightens. “You know that I do.”

He does. Because Bobby lost his whole family. His wife, his kids. And he’d wanted to die. He’d tried to die so many times. Buck understood completely then when he heard the story. The thing Dr. Copeland called suicidal ideation was not foreign to him, but he hadn’t felt the reality in every part of his being. He feels it now. “I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry. About your family. For doing this to you. I don’t know what to do. I can’t… I’m so scared he’ll just be gone. I don’t… I don’t want to be without him.”

“I know. I remember Mitchell and Thomas, too.”

The names are familiar. But… all he knows is the painful catch in his chest when he tries to breathe. “Mitchell and Thomas?”

“The call we had a few years ago. An older couple. There was an accident and one of them was gone when we arrived. The other went to say goodbye and passed away.”

Buck stills, and at least something quiets in him for a moment. That’s why he knew them. Of course he remembers them. He’d picked up their photographs, their memories, he’d longed for a lifetime with someone who could love him like that. They had adventures together. They shared everything. They were everything to each other. He’d wanted to keep the photo album but figured it would mean more to someone who actually knew and loved them. But he remembers. He swore to himself that he'd always remember.

He’d wanted to lean against Eddie who offered him comfort and a steady hand on his back. They’d only just met. He’d known Eddie maybe a couple months then, and he was already the person Buck wanted to turn to when things were bad.

“You talked to him and shared something with him. I know you did. I know it affected you. You looked at the man who couldn’t bear to be without his husband and so he lay down and died with him. And you called that love. And it is. It was sweet and poetic. They had a long life together, they loved each other, and they died together. That was the kind of love you decided you wanted.”

We only ever wanted to go together.

What more could anyone wish for but a long life with the one they love and to never be without them in the end? The gnawing burning ache of loneliness and longing and want flares up deep within him. It’s not abstract anymore. It’s not a vague, nameless, faceless concept. He and Eddie made something together. But. “He’s…” His own voice sounds calm now. Resigned maybe. “He’s not my husband.”

“He’s your partner. You said it yourself - he’s everything to you. And giving up is easy. It would be so easy to forget everything else and give up on yourself. It’s much, much harder to keep going. But that’s what you do. For everyone else. You keep going. I know the only thing you want right now is to lie down beside him, but you've barely had a life, Buck. You're barely thirty. You have so much life left to live. Please keep going.”

Buck leans back down into a hug and rests his head on Bobby’s shoulder, looking off into the distance of the kitchen. It’s so much like how Christopher holds onto him, curled up and protected by a fatherly presence, or whatever he’s allowed to call himself, that a whole new wave of tears hits him and they fall and soak onto Bobby’s shoulder. For a few long minutes, there’s nothing else. Just FireDad holding him together.

“You know. It’s kind of funny,” Bobby says after a while. “There was a good 36 hours or so where I seriously thought the two of you would be a real problem. You’d get into a pissing contest and try to kill each other or you’d always be picking fights and I’d have to separate you indefinitely.”

There’s almost a laugh that breaks free from his chest, but it’s weighed down by the tears that keep welling up and overflowing. “That never would have happened.”

Bobby pats his back, lets go of him, and grabs the plate of food. He leaves the foil cover on the counter and walks it over to the microwave. “I don’t know. You were pretty prickly when I recruited him.”

True. But very little of that had anything to do with Eddie. “Yeah. Kind of. But Eddie. He’s too…” The only adjectives that come to him are vague and exaggerated — wonderful, amazing, perfect, heroic, noble, supremely cool. But there are smaller ones, too. He’s kind, forgiving, loving, patient, selfless. Beautiful inside and out. He’s so bottled up and restrained but he opened up and trusted Buck and Buck still isn’t sure exactly why. Or what he did that took down the wall Eddie keeps up between himself and almost everyone else. He knows Eddie so well now, but that he still doesn’t quite understand.

His only guess is that Buck loves kids and instantly loved Christopher.

Eddie’s selfless to a fault because he loves and gives so much even when people don’t see it or appreciate it. If Buck could do anything, he’d want it to be giving Eddie as much as he gives others. He doesn’t know how to finish what he is trying to describe to Bobby. “He’s Eddie.”

Just his name brings tightness to Buck’s chest, it floods warmth through his body, and ignites something that flutters and pulses in his heart. Eddie doesn’t believe in magic or superstitions or soulmates, and maybe he’s right, maybe there’s nothing cosmically tying them together. But they built something with blood and tears and promises and shared wounds and trust and loyalty, and it’s unbreakable and welded between them and so inherent in everything Buck is now that it’s hard to think they were ever meant to be separate. Eddie is part of him. Carved into him like he’s always been there and Buck just never knew it.

But maybe he did. Because he’d always had hope. Even when he was broken and bruised and bloody and thought no one would miss him if he died, something made him stop. Something made him breathe and wish and believe there was someone who would make him feel like living one more day, even a bad one, would be worth it because they had each other.

“I know.” Bobby sticks the plate in the microwave, turns it on, and nods to himself, no longer looking at Buck but at something maybe miles away. “You're partners. You work together like you know exactly what the other is thinking. You don’t even have to say anything. The two of you just look at each other. And you share everything. We technically walk through fire for a lot of people, but neither one of you would hesitate to do that for the other even if this wasn’t our job.”

Is that another thing he’s done wrong? Or is this something else? “I don’t understand. Is that bad? I thought… I thought it helped? Or are you talking, like, metaphorical fire?”

Bobby shakes his head and takes a moment before he continues. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s admirable. The bond you two have. Not everyone has a person they can be with that effortlessly. Who will be there for you without question. Who opens up to you and lets you into the deepest, most terrifying parts of themself, and then looks at the worst parts of you and holds tight instead of running away. People don’t get to the kind of partnership you have if they don’t know you better than you know yourself. No one has that without offering something truly unconditional for it. What you have is a blessing.”

The microwave ding is loud and startling. He flinches and wants to ask more. He wonders and has so many questions because he knows there’s sadness lingering in those words, he can feel it. But it’s so much to hold in his head right now.

Bobby sets the plate in front of him and finds a fork to place beside it. “I know it’s terrifying and I know exactly what is on the line to you. Having a partner like that is irreplaceable no matter what you do. I can’t promise you everything will be fine or that the worst won’t happen. God knows we have no control over that. But I can promise there are a lot of people who love you. We need you and love you, and we’re all here.”

Bobby squeezes his shoulder, nudges the dinner plate closer — which Buck manages to eat most of — and sends him home for the night.

Buck gives Carla the rest of the night off in return, and curls up on the Diaz sofa until Christopher wakes him in the morning. When he remembers the dazzling ray of Christopher sunshine, breathing is easier.

They make pancakes for breakfast and Christopher smears batter on his arm and face with a wild spatula but then he giggles and it’s almost like normal. Like it would be and used to be. Except for the fact that there is a whole person missing from their trio and he tries to distract them both from thinking too hard about that.

They spend all of Sunday cuddled up together with books and movies and video games and board games, and it’s better than he’s felt in a long time. He hadn’t realized how much he misses this. He tries not to think about it so he won’t realize. Because Ana is a thing now. And she takes up Diaz free time that used to belong to him. But there’s really nothing he can do about that. Eddie deserves happiness. He deserves everything he wants and needs.

If she stays at the hospital the whole time, or as long as is allowed, she still hasn’t called or texted him. He tries not to feel twitching, nauseating anxiety because of it. Why can’t everything fast forward so Eddie is okay and they’re all okay and they’re back to being partners?

Periodically every hour or so, someone drops by the house with a casserole dish or a large plastic container of pasta or salad or soup or a plate of cookies or something frozen that comes with baking instructions. They’re all coworkers or family members of his coworkers. Because the 118 is a big extended family and they take care of their own. He has to rearrange the fridge more than once, but it’s nice knowing if he can’t do more than dish up a plate of food for Christopher that it’s already prepared and waiting for them.

Christopher helps him clean up after dinner. If Buck rinses the dishes and sets them on the counter in groups, Christopher will meticulously put plates, cups, and silverware into the dishwasher one at a time while Buck scrubs the stove and the larger pans. It’s not usually a chore he wants to help with unless he knows Buck isn’t staying the night and he’s wanting more time together. Obviously tonight, Buck isn’t going anywhere.

Out of nowhere, Christopher picks up a cup and announces, “I miss you a lot.”

Buck stops scrubbing the pan he baked enchiladas in. “Me? I’m right here. I’ll always be here if you need me.”

“It’s not the same.” He turns the cup upside down and places it in the top rack, leaning on his crutches to one side. “Nothing is the same.”

A heavy sigh leaves him because good f*cking god does he feel that. Between the pandemic and the yearly worsening summer wildfires and people going stir crazy from lockdowns and forgetting how to act in public and then Christopher’s dad randomly deciding this was the time to start dating a woman. And now… this. It’s a lot. For anyone but especially a sweet kid who loves to be social. “I know, buddy. It’s getting better though. They’re hoping to have all the schools open by this fall. You’ll get to see your friends in person and have actual hands-on activities.”

Eddie always tried to find things like that for him. Activities they could touch and feel and interact with that were also educational. Christopher loves the messy ones that are also colorful and artistic. The three of them spent most of the winter setting up crafts and scientific experiments and keeping each other entertained and covered in paint, baking soda and vinegar, colored dish soap and shaving cream. He couldn’t speak for the Diazes, but he hadn’t felt lonely or touch starved or anything all winter. Christmas with just the three of them was kind of nice. It could be just the three of them always and he doubts anything would make him happier.

Christopher looks up and frowns at him. “No. That’s not it. When you’re not here, it’s sad. Everything feels sad.”

Buck stares at him and wishes he spoke better ten year old. He sets the scrubber sponge and the pan down, rinses and dries his hands, then steps toward him. “What do you mean? Why does it feel sad?”

“Because I know you’re missing. Because you’re supposed to be here. I like Miss Flores, she’s really nice, but I miss you. It’s not the same.”

There’s a jagged, serrated knife and it twists in his chest. Buck kneels down and rests a hand on Christopher’s arm. “I miss you, too, kid. You’re my BFF. We’re besties, yeah? I’m right here. I promise. Any time you need me, I’ll be there. Your dad… he just… needs other friends, too.”

Christopher sighs and then reaches out for a hug. “I know. I don’t want Dad to be sad. He’s sad so much.”

He is? Eddie is sad? Has Buck completely missed it? Or are there moments only Christopher sees? There would have to be, he supposes. When it's just Eddie and Chris and maybe Eddie doesn't even try to show them to Chris, but Chris knows anyway. He wraps arms around Christopher and holds him. “When has he been sad?”

“All the time. When he finally came home. Before we moved. After Mom. When you got hurt. When he wasn’t with you at your house anymore. He was happy to see me but he was also still sad. He won’t tell me. But I know.”

Yeah, that did sound like all the time. And like Eddie. He hugs Chris tightly. “Your dad has been through a lot. You’ve been through a lot, too. Maybe. When he wakes up. You can talk to him about it?” Though he honestly isn’t sure what Eddie’s reaction might be. He’d want to dismiss everything he’s feeling and reassure Chris at all costs. Which he doubts would make Christopher feel better. The kid is perceptive and empathetic. He’d know Eddie was lying. It’s usually easier talking to a third party anyway. “Unless you feel safer talking to me about this? If you’re worried it would hurt your dad’s feelings to talk to him? Because you can always talk to me. About anything.”

Chris squeezes him, resting his head on Buck’s shoulder. “You. I miss you.”

If he knew what he’s done to earn this level of trust and confidence, he'd have to do it all over again. Why would anyone pick Buck for anything? “You have me. That’s what I tell your dad, too. You always have me.”

Christopher echoes it and gives him a smile that breaks and melts and repairs his heart all in one moment.

Chapter 3: Protect

Chapter Text

Monday morning, Carla arrives earlier than planned again and lets Buck sneak off to the hospital before his long shift. He doesn’t have a lot of time, but he’ll take anything. They’re not quite open for visiting hours, but he knows where he’s going, almost looks official, and projects confidence so no one questions him. The guard is still posted outside, a different one, but he doesn’t know or care anything about visiting hours and Buck sneaks through.

Eddie’s not conscious yet, but he’s no longer intubated. It’s been replaced by a nasal cannula, and his heart rate is 56. It’s better. It has to be better. Buck sits quietly and just watches the rise and fall of his chest. He’s breathing. On his own. It’s slow. But he’s breathing.

Carefully, gently, slowly, Buck slides his fingers under Eddie’s hand and holds it between both of his. It’s warmer. Still cooler than his own hands, but his circulation is better. He has new blood flowing through him. It starts to unwind something in Buck’s own chest, and he wishes he could just call out of his shift and stay with him. But the idea of leaving Hen, Chimney, and Bobby without him and without Eddie right now nags and gnaws at his insides. He and Eddie are defense. They do the dangerous, risky stunts so no one else has to.

Still. Getting up from this chair and leaving Eddie’s side for a reason that is not taking care of Christopher is not really appealing. “I’ll come back later,” he says even though Eddie won’t hear him. “I’ll put Chris on the phone for you. He’s good. Just so you know. We had a pretty good day yesterday. Except for…” Except for a lot of things. First and foremost, “Except that you weren’t there. It would have been perfect otherwise.”

Maybe it’s because everything has been so traumatic and maybe it’s because he knows Eddie can’t hear him and isn’t actually listening. Either way. Too many words come out. “He told me that you’re sad. That you’ve always been sad. I wish I knew how to fix that. I wish… I could help you. Because you… you and Chris.” They made his heart flare and burst and overflow and shine and yearn the second he saw the two of them together. He’d never longed for anything so much in his entire life.

Or maybe he had but it had never been brought to life in front of him. They were real, tangible, a living breathing embodiment of love and family in it’s purest, most devoted form. What has Buck ever longed for if not that?

He swallows hard and inhales against the invisible chains and cage trapping his chest. “I miss you.” It slips out and he can’t take it back because it’s saturated in every breath he has. At least no one can hear him. “It’s been a few stupid days and I’m starting to think that maybe I’m too… invested. Co-dependent? I don’t know. I just… miss you so much. It’s hard to breathe. I don’t want to eat, I can’t sleep. I don’t know what I’m doing. It doesn’t feel like living.” Maybe surviving is all anyone can do right now. “I don’t know how to live without you anymore. But. I don’t want to. I’m sure that doesn’t help. I don’t want a life without you in it.”

It’s strange and maybe even terrifying because he spent a little over a year at the 118 without Eddie. They functioned well. He adored Bobby and Hen and Chimney were always loving and supportive of him even in their teasing. But now, it’s off. It’s wrong. They’re unbalanced and missing a whole person. Maybe it’s just Buck. Maybe he’s the only one reaching and seeking his counterpart and aching because there’s no one watching his back.

He thinks of that morning again. The last morning they lived together. Eddie’s fingers in his hair, Eddie’s lips pressed in a kiss to his head.

He squeezes Eddie’s hand, brings it closer, and leaves a kiss on the back of it. “I’ll be back when you wake up. But you gotta wake up.” He lets go and sneaks out as quietly as he snuck in.

Later that day, there’s a construction worker trapped beneath a cable, hundreds of feet in the air, way out in the open with no cover or protection available. There’s absolutely no chance he’ll let anyone else risk themselves. His arms and legs are still sore and it’s a long f*cking climb. His formerly crushed leg is aching just thinking about what it will take to make it to the top. With every step he thinks of Maddie, Jee-Yun, Albert, Karen, Denny, May, Harry, Michael, David, and Athena. Each rung is a different name, another reason to keep going. All the family members who won’t suffer like Eddie’s family.

With every breath he thinks of Christopher. Of Christopher missing him. Is this what goes through Eddie’s head whenever they’re doing something like this? Does he consider what might happen if he can’t make it home? His stomach tightens and Eddie will make it home. He has to. He’s going to. He looked better. It’s bad now but it will get better. Dr. Copeland always tells him to focus on that — time heals wounds, emotions are temporary, intrusive thoughts are not facts. There’s a light at the end of a tunnel and even if it’s faint now, it’s there.

There’s a reflection. A flicker of something in a window, and it makes him stop like there is something in him still keeping him from completely letting go. But when has his life ever mattered? He wasn’t ever wanted. Everyone else has someone of their own. Spouses, children — reasons they need to stay safe. He has nothing of his own.

He keeps going. It’s windy and shaky and a very long way down, but he’s going to save this guy. And everyone else.

The fact that it goes smoothly and everyone goes home alive doesn’t quite have the rush of relief and victory that usually happens when they’ve saved someone. Not when Bobby gives him that look.

And he’s in trouble again. Back to being a disappointment. Even though everyone is fine and no one is hurt and no one else has to suffer or worry the way Eddie’s family is right now.

He’s called Abuela and Pepa, Adriana, Sofia, even Helena and Ramón. He’s sent updates and pictures of Christopher smiling. Helena and Ramón asked mostly about Christopher and how he was coping and if he had what he needed, if they needed to come take him home. Adriana asked for pictures of Eddie and updates no matter what time it was. Sofia wanted to come visit but couldn’t get time off for another two months. Buck promised they could arrange something as soon as she could. Pepa had worn her mask and met him in the yard and hugged him tightly. Abuela asked if Buck was okay and if he needed anything. And then made them a pan of her chile relleno and had Pepa drop it off.

His conversation with Bobby is different this time. He’s angry. But it sounds like he can’t argue with Buck’s reasoning — they’re a team, they protect each other. Bobby, Hen, and Chimney have wives, or almost wives, and children. Buck has nothing. Is nothing. And he has to protect them. He has to protect everyone because doing this all over again with someone else is too terrible to even think about.

He skips out on family dinner that night, too. Bobby doesn’t save him a plate this time.

When he checks his phone, there are at least 20 unopened messages. Helena, Carla, Taylor, mostly Taylor, and one from Maddie. The one from Maddie is just a single emoji. A pink double heart. He sends one back to her. The one from Carla is a picture of Christopher on the sofa also known as Buck’s current bed, holding onto a teddy bear. The blue and yellow one almost as big as he is that Buck had given him to replace the giant one they’d lost to the pacific. He sends a thank you and asks if she’s all right and if he needs to bring anything home for them. The ones from Taylor span the last few days, mostly checking on him to see how he’s doing, then a few asking if he’s ghosting her, and then a long line of at least ten messages that amount to his name and, “what the f*ck, what is wrong with you, what the f*ck.”

He sends her a question mark and an im fine.

She immediately types back. The f*ck you are.

He’s not sure what to say to that. Because obviously. But he’s also not sure what to do. Since he’s run out of clothes that he’s stashed at Eddie’s house and has to stop by his apartment after work, he offers, im off in 30. u want 2 see 4 urself?

She’s there waiting for him to unlock the door as soon as he gets there. “See,” he motions to himself and lets them both inside. “Totally fine. Nothing wrong.”

She glares at him and goes straight for the wine glasses and a bottle of red.

He blinks and motions toward his kitchen. “Help yourself?”

“You owe me a drink, Buckley.” She rummages and finds the bottle opener and within five seconds, she has a large full glass in her hand. After taking a long drink, she tosses her hair back and seems a little more settled. “You owe me many drinks. Want some?” She holds up another glass, and honestly, he would. A drink sounds really nice right now. But there’s a good chance he wouldn’t want to stop, and there’s a kid waiting for him. The Williams family brought them spaghetti with marinara sauce and he’d promised to make parmesan chicken bites to go with it. They were one of Christopher’s favorites.

“Nah. I gotta get home.” He sets down his bag and his keys and pulls out his phone to see if Carla’s sent him any requests. There were a few games Christopher had asked him to bring over.

Taylor’s forehead scrunches. She tips her head and looks at him weirdly. “You are home. This,” she gestures with her wine glass. “Is your home.”

“No. I mean.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” She drinks again and looks annoyed, and he’s not sure what to make of that so he goes to gather clothes and games and maybe his pillow.

He recounts the whole day and everything else she has questions about. The more he says, the more he doesn’t want to say. But then he also wishes he could. There are things bursting at his seams. Things he wants to talk about.

Dr. Copeland’s words come back to him every so often. Buck hides his true feelings. His emotions are so big and intense and overwhelming. He acts without thinking, he can’t help it, can’t change it, has never been able to. It helps some when he talks it out. But sometimes there aren’t enough words. Most of the time, there’s no one to listen.

And Taylor really seems like she’s not in the listening kind of mood. She’s totally pissed and won’t tell him exactly why. She just keeps mentioning how stupid he is and how dangerous it was for him to do what he did today and how there are videos of it online, which is just weird to think about. People videoing their rescues. But. If he didn’t know better. He’d swear she’s pissed because she’s worried.

The sudden kiss makes his heart stutter like it wants to beat. But never does. He doesn't know what the f*ck to think.

She kissed him. He thought… she only wanted to be friends. He thought… a lot of things. God, how long has it been since anyone’s kissed him?

Aside from the kiss in his hair on the last day.

Can’t think about that. It’ll make his heart stop and his lungs unable to take in air. It was different. It didn’t mean. It wasn’t on the lips. It was comfort and solidarity because the whole f*cking year was awful and lonely. But they’d had each other.

She runs away and doesn’t give him any answer except the wine. More than half that bottle. Plenty to make anyone do something stupid. She tasted like wine and regret. Mistakes at the very least. Whether she is or he is or they both are, he doesn’t know.

His instinct is to call Maddie because she’s safety and understanding and unending, unquestionable love. But it feels like too much to put on her. Especially when they’ve barely made it to words in the last few weeks.

His phone lights up with an incoming call, not from Maddie, and everything else disappears. Is it the call he’s been waiting for? Or the one he never wants to receive? “Ana,” he has to hold it together. He has to breathe. Has to… words. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She sounds happy. Or maybe he just wants and needs it to be true so badly. “Everything is good. He’s asking for you.”

He sucks in air like he’s been underwater and deprived of it for years. Even though it was only a few days. Or technically not at all but feeling and reality are just not the same. He’s okay. He’s awake. Everything is good. “Thank you. Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

It’s the fastest he’s ever driven to the hospital, including when he’s behind the wheel of one of their trucks. He manages to remember his bags of clothes and one of the games and calls Carla on the way, lets her know that she and Chris can expect a call soon.

It’s miraculous he doesn’t get pulled over. And that he makes it to the hospital in one piece. He expects to see flashing red and blue and Athena’s angry face any moment. But she never appears and he runs through the hospital halls and up the stairs when the elevator is too slow, and then finally stands in the glass doorway of the ICU.

The instant their eyes meet, a smile washes over Eddie’s whole face. “Hey, Buck.”

For the first time in days, Buck breathes deeply and feels beating in his chest. The crushing weight is gone, the painful tension wound through his body, the icy grip that made him feel like dying. There’s still a long road ahead but nothing compares to seeing the brightness of that smile.

His heart is alive. Overflowing with every pulse. Like there’s too much that’s been trapped and held in. But now he can breathe, his heart can squeeze and release and let blood and feeling rush through him. His heart is alive.

He grins back and breathes because he can breathe again, and lets the rest wash out with the tide. “Hey.”

He doesn’t even notice Ana until she touches his arm.

“I’ll be back in the morning. They were going to send me out soon anyway.” She smiles brightly at him. “Take care of him?”

“Of course.” It’s a reflex, an impulse, as involuntary and unthinking as his heartbeat. He’ll always take care of Eddie. She nods, the pleased look lingering on her face, and he can feel every bit of her own happiness and relief that he touches her hand in response and tells her again, “Thank you.”

She glances between them, remains smiling, and disappears down the hallway.

The smile on Eddie’s face hasn’t faltered either. It’s soft and fuzzy but brighter than sunrise after the longest winter. There’s color back in his cheeks. Healthy golden warmth. His eyes are open, watching him, sparkling like happiness. Is there anything imaginable that’s more gorgeous than he is?

Eddie motions to him and says in a voice of slow, thick caramel honey, “Come here.”

Right. Steps. Moving. He ran and rushed here and he can make his legs work. Eddie lifts his hand and reaches for him and that’s all the incentive he needs.

This time, when he touches and holds Eddie’s hand, Eddie’s fingers curl around his and squeeze. Just that would be enough. Feeling him hold on in return. It’s miraculous right now. But Eddie tugs lightly, very insistently, and then reaches up toward Buck’s shoulder until he can urge him closer. Until Buck is leaning down with his face tucked into Eddie's uninjured side and one powerful arm is around Buck, holding tightly.

Eddie Eddie Eddie. God, Eddie is okay. He’s alive. He’s awake. He smells like weird chlorhexidine soap and manufactured hospital gown, and whatever shaving cream or aftershave or moisturizer was put on him. It is not the one Eddie likes to use. But he doesn’t smell like blood or asphalt or death either. He’s warm, breathing, alive.

There’s a good three seconds where Buck can’t hold back a strangled sob. It breaks out of him in a swift rush of everything he can’t keep in any longer.

But in the next moment, Eddie presses his cheek against Buck’s and his right hand, attached to his injured right shoulder, comes up to help hold Buck to him. It makes more tears break through. He misses this. He’s missed him so much. It’s been, what? Days? It doesn’t matter. He needs him so badly. Probably too much but it’s so late in the game now it feels irrevocable.

He’s not lost and alone and unloved when they’re together. It’s been that way for years. How could he not need this? Losing it would mean losing everything. Heart, soul, hope. A hand that holds onto him, an anchor that keeps him tethered and safe, an enduring warmth that brings joy and all the love he never dared to imagine could belong to him. It’s so much. How can the universe not be screaming?

“I’m okay,” Eddie whispers and lets his fingers stroke through Buck’s hair. “I’m right here.”

Buck clenches fingers in hospital gown and never wants anything but this, those fingers in his hair, this warmth in his arms, and Christopher beside them, wrapped up with both of them.

Christopher. He makes himself pull away, just slightly so he can wipe the fresh round of tears off his face and bring the chair in the corner up close to the side of the bed. Christopher needs his phone call.

Eddie holds onto his hand while he moves and looks over him. His gaze is watchful, too observant. They know each other far too well. “Was worried about you.” His voice is so rough. It’s weary and his throat is probably painful and irritated from the trach tube. But it’s so good to hear.

A half broken laugh makes its way out of Buck’s chest. “You were worried about me?” He’s such a dad and such a caretaker. He worries so much about other people, and it’s sweet and he’s so selfless, but it makes Buck’s heart clench. Eddie deserves all that love and care and support, too. “I didn’t get shot. I didn’t almost… I’m okay, Eddie.” He tries hard to sound like he means it because he knows if he doesn’t, Eddie will just worry more.

Eddie still gives him a groggy, skeptical look. It looks so much like the one Christopher wears sometimes, Buck’s heart really can’t take it.

“I’m okay now,” he amends and hopes that’s good enough. “I just…” Need you, miss you, don’t ever want to live without you. “Want you to be okay.”

Eddie squeezes his hand.

Buck runs his thumb over Eddie’s fingers. “How are you feeling?”

He breathes slowly, deeply, but he’s breathing. He’s alive and breathing and Buck still can’t quite get over it. “Do you remember the ornaments we made?” He looks so exhausted, worn out, and he’s probably super heavily medicated to keep him from being too painful. And yet he continues and more glowing softness washes over him. “The ones Christopher would color and design. And you’d cut them out and help put them together. And then I’d hole punch them and give them string loops so he could put them on our tree?”

Does Buck remember. He could be 98 and on his deathbed and he might’ve forgotten his own name at that point. But he wouldn’t forget their Christmas together.

It was still the safest option for them to only see each other, so he was constantly at the Diaz house the whole month of December. He’d always watched Maddie make bows and ornaments but he’d never made them himself. She gave them pointers over Zoom to get started.

They watched cheesy Christmas movies and curled up together with mugs of hot chocolate and marshmallows. He’d shown Christopher how to play chubby bunny much to Eddie’s dismay after both Buck and Christopher were bouncing off the walls in a marshmallow induced sugar rush.

They made ornaments and popcorn garlands and decorated every inch of the house they could. Christopher helped him make far too many cookies. They piled together in Eddie’s truck and drove around to look at Christmas lights around the neighborhoods. They helped Christopher deliver cards he made and most of their many cookies to all their friends and family who were close by but had to keep their distance.

They both spoiled Chris with way too many gifts. But while surrounded by toys and games and books and new art supplies and mountains of wrapping paper on Christmas morning, he said his favorite gift was the three of them being together. Like a family.

That was the thing. That was too much. Buck disappeared into the kitchen and tried to work on the dishes he’d left after breakfast in favor of watching Chris open presents. He ended up gripping the counter, trying not to cry into the kitchen sink. Everything felt so lonely and he tried so hard not to think about the day Eddie moved out and the empty bed he had to go home to.

Until Eddie wrapped him in a fierce hug and promised it was true. They were his family. They would always be his family.

Eddie insisted Buck stay that night. It was Christmas and his bed had plenty of room. Maybe not as much as Buck’s, but it didn’t matter because they’d tangle around each other anyway. He wouldn’t even consider Buck sleeping on the couch. Not after they’d shared for months.

Eddie pulled back the covers on his bed for both of them and lay on his side, facing away, as they climbed in together. He’d pulled Buck’s arms around him and let Buck snuggle in behind him and then held onto Buck like he would refuse to let go. There was a faint eucalyptus, tea tree oil scent in Eddie’s hair. Buck could nuzzle against the back of his neck and breathe in nothing but him. He could feel as Eddie inhaled and exhaled, the slow rise and fall in his body, and how he was warm and solid and real. Neither of them were alone.

He held Eddie all night, and long into the morning. Even though they were both awake. Even though they had to get ready for their shift. They stayed as long as they possibly could.

If Christmas were actually magical, if Santa could bring him a lifetime supply of that whole day, that whole night, it’s all he’d ever ask for.

“I remember. The ornaments. Of course I remember,” Buck says, and even in his drugged haze, Eddie still looks like he can read Buck’s mind. Or he’s thinking of the exact same moments.

“That’s how I feel,” Eddie says. “Like I’ve been hole punched.”

Buck gives him a smile and rubs his arm before he lets go. “Maybe this will help?” He digs out his phone and holds it out for Eddie to take. He’s sure by now Christopher is sitting at the computer, eagerly waiting like he does for his online classes. “I promised Chris that he could talk to you as soon as you were awake. If you’re up for it.”

The wide grin that washes over Eddie’s whole face makes skipping and fluttering in Buck’s chest. Of course he’s up for it. Rhetorical question. Eddie accepts the phone and unlocks it with his thumb so he can make the call.

It sounds like they were expecting to see Buck first. There’s a delighted shriek from Christopher and surprised, happy noise from Carla as well.

“Dad! Hi, Dad!” Christopher exclaims and it’s been days since he’s sounded like his normal, happy self. Buck can almost hear the excited bouncing through the phone. “Are you better? Are you okay? I miss you so much. Buck’s been staying here and we had an ‘anything Christopher wants’ day but it’s not the same without you. I miss you. We both do. When are you coming home?”

“Hopefully soon, buddy. Miss you, too.” Eddie breathes slowly but gazes at his precious son like a huge weight has been lifted from him, too. “How is school? What did you do for your Christopher day?”

While Christopher asks all sorts of questions and animatedly recounts every minute of the last few days, Buck leans back in the chair and watches them fondly. It’s a familiar routine even if it’s been a while since they’ve had to do it. Christopher making sure Eddie doesn’t miss anything going on in his life, whether he realizes it or not. Eddie listening intently and clearly trying not to think about how they’re not in the same house, while Buck watches over both of them, waiting to offer reassurance once they end their call. Carla adds a few comments of her own to reassure Eddie there’s nothing to worry about but getting better.

When they’ve mostly run through every topic Christopher can think of and Eddie is noticeably fading but fighting it, Carla suggests they say goodnight and they can talk again soon.

But Christoper has one more question. “Is Buck staying with you tonight?”

Eddie glances in Buck’s direction and something wishful crosses his face. Does Eddie want him to stay? He would. In a heartbeat. Carla has been so worried about all of them, she keeps offering to do anything any of them need, so he’s pretty sure she’d stay with Christopher or let him sleep over at her house if asked. Buck had figured Eddie would choose to have him with Christopher though. So his son is in his own home and taken care of. Ultimately, Eddie looks back to the call and says just that, “He’s coming home to be with you. So I don’t worry about you.”

There’s a clear, displeased tone in Chris’ voice when he says, “But I worry about you. You need him, too.”

The air is suddenly too thick. Breath catches in Buck’s chest, snagged on the weight in those words. Need has so many layers of meaning. So many implications. It’s desperate, aching, essential.

It’s a reasonable observation. Especially for a ten year old so acutely aware of how much he and his father have been through. They’ve had so much loss and pain. And a lot of the time, Chris still looks at Buck like he did when they were clinging to each other on top of a firetruck. Like Buck saved him, and makes him happy.

Eddie visibly swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He’s never been someone who even wants to acknowledge that he needs anything, and Buck wonders if he should say something or if Carla is going to respond instead. But Eddie says, “You don’t need to worry. Buck is going to tuck me in and I’m going to sleep, and then he’ll come home and tuck you in so you can sleep, too.”

Buck lets out the breath he only just realized he’s been holding. He wasn’t expecting to stay. He is more than happy to go home to Christopher. Very few things, if any, compare to coming home to the Diaz house.

But it should be Eddie going home. Buck should be the one stuck here. He’s nothing. He’s not important. He wouldn’t be needed by either Diaz man if they had each other. Why was it Eddie? Why couldn’t Buck have been shot? What is it going to do to Eddie in the long run? Assuming they’re out of the woods now and he doesn’t crash and no one has to relive the moment Eddie was almost taken from them. Did it make Eddie relive an active war zone and being shot at before? Will he bottle everything up and turn to angry fight clubbing as the only way to let out his demons again? Will he still be able to be a firefighter? What if his shoulder and the bones and nerves in his arm are too f*cked up? Are they facing a future without each other no matter what happens?

They tell Eddie good night and they miss him, and he returns Buck’s phone. He doesn’t intend to let it slip how much he’s been losing it, but Eddie’s safe and he tells Eddie almost everything and he’s missed talking with him and missed having him around and everything is too much. He has no idea how Eddie does it. How he just shuts it off and acts like he feels nothing. There’s too much pulsing in Buck’s heart to turn off. It makes his stomach tight and full of acid churning. He’s scared. He’s terrified and it didn’t even happen to him. It should have but it didn’t and what if Eddie isn’t okay? “I think it might have been better for him if I was the one who got shot.”

Eddie looks over at him and Buck knows that face. He does. Very well. “Buck,” he says in his low, rough voice and Buck knows that tone, too. It means anger and scolding. Even if Eddie’s voice is soft and laced with pain. He’s painful. Of course it would be.

“Sorry,” he says reflexively. “I just… You’re his dad. You’re the best dad. And he needs you. I—” The added I need you echoes in his head but it’s not about him.

Eddie frowns still. “Did you not hear him? What he said? We need you, too.”

The phone in his hands is suddenly all he can look at. They’re all he needs. They’re everything he’s ever wanted. Why are those two simple facts so enormous and terrifying? Because they’re true? Because they could so easily slip through his fingers? Because they could have almost did still might lose Eddie forever?

When he looks up, Eddie lifts his hand and holds it out toward him with an open palm. Buck scoots his chair closer until it’s right up beside the bed and he can lean against it and face Eddie and nothing else. He gives Eddie his hand and wishes more for time. For many many lifetimes.

“Were you here before?” Eddie asks softly, barely more than a whisper. “Did you visit me?”

“Yeah. Of course. I would’ve… I only left because I wanted to make sure Christopher was okay.” And he had a few shifts but he could have called out and no one would have questioned it. Most of the 118, even people from shifts that he barely knew and rarely saw, seemed surprised to see him there at all.

Eddie squeezes his hand. “Thank you.”

Buck squeezes back. They sit together in silence for a while, simply holding onto each other. Eddie’s eyes fall closed every so often but when he opens them, they frantically dart around until they land on him.

Even though he knows the answer he’ll receive, Buck asks anyway, “You sure I shouldn’t stay? Christopher would be fine. He worries about you.” He says you’re sad and neither of us want you to be sad. We want you to be happy. We want you to have everything you need.

Eddie swallows again and doesn’t answer immediately and just the fact that it seems like he’s considering… it must mean. He at least doesn’t mind the thought of having Buck at his bedside.

His thumb rubs over Buck’s knuckles, very lightly, almost not even there. The ache of longing in the pit of his stomach grows wider. Deeper. It already fills every part of him. He doesn’t know how it can feel like more. But then it does and all he wants is to hold Eddie tightly all night long so he can feel his breathing and his heart beat and he can keep him protected and soothed and with him forever.

But of course, Eddie insists. “I’m going to sleep. Gonna try to. It’d be boring. And you wouldn’t sleep. You should try.”

Unfortunately, Eddie had him on that one and Buck can’t deny it. He’d watch Eddie breathe and stare at the ECG monitor and wish they could be curled up together. “Okay,” he sighs and isn’t ready but it’ll be better knowing Eddie is resting. Alive and awake and not deprived of consciousness but actually sleeping and recuperating. Healing. So he can come home. “Should I tell you a bedtime story before I tuck you in? I think Chris would be very disappointed if I didn’t.”

Eddie just gives him a look, but it’s fond. Groggy, but clearly colored with something affectionate.

That isn’t a no. Buck sits up straighter and gives Eddie his most winning smile, “All right. So. Once upon a time. There was world made of sadness.” The words are familiar now. The story is solid and practiced. Built piece by piece over hundreds of nights. “Everything was empty and cold. And lonely. All the people were disconnected or at war with each other. There were no families or friends. There was no such thing as love.”

A furrow appears on Eddie’s forehead. “Why?”

“Oh, you know. The robotic demon overlord that spies on all the people and poisons the unicorns. The baristas in this world are unicorns. They were turned evil when they were poisoned so they make people terrible coffee that brainwashes them and turns them into Hildy drones.”

Eddie holds up the hand that is not gripping Buck’s and makes a very concerned pointing gesture at him. “Scary stories are not for bedtime.”

Buck grins and doesn’t think he could adore anything or anyone more. Eddie and Christopher have a monopoly on that. He holds Eddie’s hand with both of his. “It’s not. Don’t worry. Now, where were we. Another reason why there’s no such thing as family or friends or school or love is because, and I quote, ‘scary, stupid viruses.’ They keep everyone apart. So even if you once had siblings or parents, you’d never know it and never see them. This is a co-authored story, by the way.”

The tiny furrow on his forehead deepens and something like sadness colors his features. “This better have a happy ending.”

“Of course it does. No guilt. No victorious horror monsters. Promise. The thing about the people in this world of evil spying drones and scary viruses and no families is they’re all born with a heart made of something. It gives them special powers. But all those evil forces corrupt peoples’ hearts and turn a heart of fire into a heart of bombs or a heart of earth into a heart of unfeeling stone or a heart of dreams into a heart of nightmares. The world stays sad and lonely because everyone’s power gets turned into weapons or greed or extra selfishness and everything hateful and cruel. Everyone grows up to be a killer or a profiteer. Or a drone to the robot overlord. No one knows or remembers compassion or empathy. There’s no place for anything living. The world is war zone of chaos and destruction. And tsunami wreckage. So a lot of people die. A lot of them have nothing but themselves so they can’t ever learn something like love might exist.”

There were a lot of nights where they crafted this world together. Something comparable to what they both felt. Something they could envision existed elsewhere, so that they could find the exit door and climb out of it. Some of the features were newer, some of them inspired by real events, some purely by deep fears. It made them easier to talk about and process. He’s not sure if Christopher has ever shared any of it with Eddie. Or if Eddie knew the depth of it. But he will now.

“One day, it happened. As these things do. There was a little boy who was born. And his heart couldn’t be enslaved or poisoned or corrupted with hate. He was born with a heart made of flowers.” Buck can’t help a smile when he says the words. They’d talked about it for a long time. Debated what the perfect thing would be. They went through everything both of them could think of that could never be a weapon (there was some debate about roses because they bite and foxglove because it’s toxic but it was concluded those were minor and not a whole overall) but nothing else was also gentle and loving and forgiving and perfect enough to do it justice. They’d landed on flowers at the same time and stuck with them.

Though Christopher all but demanded they change it a few months ago because Flores means flowers and he did not like that connotation. Buck had to convince him that wasn’t what they meant and it was their story so it could be whatever Christopher wanted. Nothing else ever fit well enough. He stayed the man with a heart of flowers.

“See flowers are beautiful, meant to be gifted and admired. They carry all sorts of meanings. Sometimes they’re delicate and particular about their environment, and sometimes they’re brave and the only sign of color and hope at the end of a harsh winter. They have medicinal powers and can be therapeutic, used heal and soothe. They’re living and alive and help bees make honey. They cheer up people when they’re sad and can help them when they’re sick or can’t sleep.

“Part of what made this little boy so special was he could help bring life to other people. He could save them, heal them with just one touch. He makes things start to grow in anyone lucky enough to meet him so there’s something alive inside them, too and they’re not lost or alone anymore. He’s…” The words are harder. His voice is strained and threatening to break. There’s so much and it’s overflowing again. Buck tries to swallow it down so he can continue. “He’s made of forgiveness and patience. He protects and rescues so the people who were brainwashed or poisoned or broken are healed when he touches them. Hope appeared in the world because of him. Love exists because of him.”

At this point, he always gets choked up. Christopher usually tells it when they go through the whole story. But he has to tell it without Chris this time. Eddie waits patiently, something unreadable on his face. But he won’t know the whole story unless Buck can finish it. He breathes through it and continues.

“As you can imagine, a lot of the terrible, sad world wanted to destroy him. They enjoyed cutting him down and trying to…” He can say it. It’s not real. It was a whole metaphorical thing when they made it up anyway. It wasn’t so real then. “Trying to kill everything in him that was alive and soft and beautiful. They cut down everything growing in his heart and trapped him, hoping to bury him forever and return the world to destruction. And they almost succeeded. But what they didn’t know was that the boy had grown up. And he’d met a girl who belonged to the rivers.”

They’d researched. Looked up name meanings and etymology. Shannon was wise and ancient and beautiful ever flowing river. “She’d been lost and had to return to where she came from so she could keep bringing everyone water and wisdom, but together they created another little boy.” Buck has to smile at this part, too. Christopher had looked at him with wide eyes and excitement. He was also part of the story. He insisted he was a space pirate who could travel anywhere he wanted. Buck wholeheartedly agreed.

Of course by now Eddie has to have it figured out. But he doesn’t interrupt. He presses his lower lip between his teeth and holds tightly to Buck’s hand.

“Their son. His heart was made of galaxies. He was stars, suns, moons, comets. He was particularly enthusiastic about sailing across the universe to raid and plunder enemy ships, which of course were controlled by the evil robots. He traveled around to explore and learn and to rescue people and give aid and supplies to the poor and misfortunate. Because the thing about having a heart big enough to hold the universe is that it can fit all other hearts, and all people inside it. He could find light in any darkness. He could cross any distance between worlds. When you hold everyone close to you, in the depths of your heart, you create love. No matter where he was, his father could find him.

“When the man with the heart of flowers was broken and injured and in trouble, he had a beacon. A star to follow home. He crawls and climbs with vines and thorns and always makes his way back to his son. That’s what makes his flowers bloom and appear again. And then they live happily every after because they save the world and will always fight for each other, and Hildy was vanquished forever. The end.”

A short, ragged laugh comes out of Eddie and he smiles, but squeezes harder and almost looks like there are tears brimming in his eyes. Was their story really that… worth that? Eddie never… Though Buck supposes it is a deeply emotional and personal story. Created through a lot of pain and trauma and love and happiness.

“I didn’t know…” Eddie starts but seems to not know what to say. “Didn’t know you told stories like that.”

Buck shrugs. “It sort of started as therapy. For both of us. A terrible world we had control over.” Where they knew Eddie was safe and that he would always come home and the three of them could always find each other. “Most of it was Christopher. I just helped refine some concepts and put words to it.”

“You put in more than words.” His voice is soft and his eyes are soft and why can’t they be all be home and together right now? “Why aren’t you in the story?”

He is. His story is just. Unfinished. Not at a point where he has a happily ever after. Even if Christopher would tell everyone exactly what he thinks the ending should be. The father and son meet another man and they become a family so everyone in their world can find and remember they have families, too. But. It’s not. Exactly reality. Not that fantasy worlds are supposed to be. But whatever. “I am. But that would be another story. I’m supposed to tuck you in now and let you sleep.”

Eddie huffs a little. “Fine. But I want to hear it. I’m holding you to it.”

Buck stands and gently arranges the blankets so he can tuck them around Eddie. “Sure, sure.” Once finished making a show of actually tucking him in, Buck starts to let go. Eddie catches his hand and holds it to his chest. “Do you…” What should he say? Why is his heart racing? Why does he have to leave? Why is this happening? “Do you need anything? Before I go? Will you be okay?”

Technically. After a story and tucking in. There’s supposed to be a goodnight kiss. Is that what Eddie wants? Is that what he’s waiting for? Is that weird? Or cheating? Why would Eddie want a kiss? It can’t be that.

“Take care of yourself,” Eddie says. Gently but urgently. “Please. I’ll be okay if I know you and Chris are okay.”

Buck swallows hard and tries not to think of the whole f*cking day and the sniper and the flare from the window and climbing and climbing and climbing until his leg was aching. “I promise if you promise.”

Eddie’s heart beats against Buck’s hand. “I promise.”

Buck's heart flutters and contracts in the same rhythm. “Tomorrow?" And the next day and the next day and the next.

“Yes,” he answers and when Buck hesitates, isn’t leaving, is still working himself up on the whole letting go thing, Eddie adds, “I’m good. I always have you. ”

Well, now he has to. A kiss goodnight is part of the whole everything. After the day blood was pouring everywhere and all the days without him and all of tonight with the softness on his face and their story and finally seeing him awake and alive again. He has to. Chris would want him to. Eddie would want him to. Buck leans down and leaves the faintest hint of a kiss on Eddie’s forehead, and affirms, “Always.”

Eddie nods and keeps his eyes closed. Maybe if they’re closed, he can imagine Buck is sitting beside him the rest of the night.

It takes every ounce of strength and willpower he has to walk out to his car and drive across town and trudge up the driveway to the front door. But as soon as he opens the door, Christopher launches himself at Buck and hugs tightly. It’s more than worth it.

He’s mostly ready for bed, since it is late for a ten year old, but Buck follows through with Eddie’s request for him to tuck Christopher in, too. So he tells their whole story all over again with Christopher’s help this time.

Christopher insists on “the real” ending however, and including the man with the heart made of soft, shiny yellow metal, who gives his heart away in broken pieces.

Chapter 4: Performative

Chapter Text

The first thing is the air.

It’s sunny out. Still early in the day. But LA isn’t thin desert heat and endless miles of sand. It’s not an electric fizzle or itching tension beneath his skin. It’s not constant unknown danger hissing in every second of every day. It’s safe for the most part. It’s supposed to be.

But the air leaves his lungs. Something crashes into him, through him, and takes everything.

Buck is bleeding.

He’s covered in it. He’s hurt he’s wounded he’s bleeding. How? Why? Why is he hurt? How is he bleeding?

There was a noise. Familiar and distant all at once. Like holes in his chest, holes through his wrist, wounds in his friends he relied on. People are screaming. But he can’t hear them. How does he know they’re screaming if he can’t hear them? Maybe he’s screaming. There’s blood all over Buck.

He needs to help him. He needs to protect him. He needs and needs and needs and can’t. He’s frozen. He can’t need anything. It stays locked up. It has to.

But. What if Buck isn’t okay? What if nothing is okay? He can’t move. Can’t reach him.

He needs him.

Bright spots flicker at the peripherals of his vision. Like warning strobes. Like migraines. Like fluorescent hospitals. Like ridiculously unnecessary LED headlights in the dark. Like staring at a blinding sun. He’s dizzy. Weak. Why is he weak? Everything is heavy. Everything is slow and too difficult. Non stop silent screaming.

He’s falling.

The thing stuck in his head, in his memories, jumping out of reach, on the tip of his tongue. He knows. He remembers what it is and what it was like. The thing that does this. A breath sneaks through him and it’s shallow.

Gunshot.

There was a gunshot. And he’s falling.

Buck is staring. Buck is bleeding. He’s in danger. He could be shot, wounded, killed, and he’s just standing there.

Eddie can’t move. Can’t help. Can’t save him. There’s no air in his lungs, no strength in his body. He hits the pavement hard. Nothing to cushion his fall. No way to land carefully. It bursts through his arm. He was shot. The bullet hit him.

It feels like nothing. Nothing. Emptiness. Loss. Wasted. Missed. Stolen.

He should have. He should have. He should have. Buck’s on the ground and he’s bleeding and Eddie can’t reach. Can’t touch. Can’t have. Could never.

He can’t leave. He can’t do this. It can’t be happening. He never said anything. Never wanted to look too closely. But it’s there. Isn’t it.

Buck doesn’t know. He needs to know. He begs for love and breaks himself for it and clings to people who only hurt him because they might give him scraps of affection.

Eddie wants. He wants so badly, but can’t. He doesn’t know how. The universe doesn’t scream, his heart screams and he doesn’t listen. How could his own locked, stifled, broken, damaged heart ever be enough? Buck should be loved enough. He’s never been loved enough.

Eddie can’t reach him. It’s too bright. Pain blooms in his right shoulder. Something is pouring out of him. He was shot. It has to be a dream. Nightmare. Obviously.

His heart is too fast, too hard, too weak. Pain is in his chest. Burning. Constricting. His heart is weakening. He can’t breathe. There’s no air. He’s drowning.

He can’t he can’t he can’t. He can’t leave Christopher. He can’t leave Buck. It’s too bright. He’s fading. So quickly.

There’s new pain in his arm. He’s being ripped apart. He wants to scream but doesn’t know if any sound comes out. But there’s something to hold onto and he grips as tightly as he can.

For one small fraction of a second, he’s on his feet. Somehow. He’s standing face to face with Buck again. And Buck’s arms are around him. He’s so strong. He’s ferociously protective. He’s strong and beautiful and safe and his arm doesn’t hurt anymore.

Other things hurt. It aches in his chest. It always does. It didn’t ache so much when they made a home here in LA. When he took Christopher and ran, escaped, and found. He found Buck.

He’s moved and laid down and there’s still screaming that sounds like nothing. There’s fire. Broken glass broken everything. There are still gunshots that send jolts through his nerves and muscles. There are bullets chasing them, hunting them. There are bullets and Buck is bleeding.

Eddie can’t he won’t will not succumb to this. He can’t. Buck is bleeding. He lifts his head. Are you hurt? Are you hurt? Are you? Please tell me you aren’t hurt. Are you hurt? Please he can’t be hurt. It can’t happen like that. Christopher needs Buck. Eddie needs Buck. Eddie can’t help him right now. He wants to. He would. There’s too much pain in his chest. Real pain. Physical pain. There’s thready beating in his chest. Arrhythmic. Too hard, too weak.

Buck looks down at himself. He’s not hurt. He’s good. He’s so good and kind and giving. He does so many things for others without a second thought. But. He’s also not at all good because he’s panicked and terrified. Wide blue eyes. Beautiful bright clear sky blue that’s holding rain and storms and threatening to fall.

Is it… is it Eddie’s blood all over him?

The flashes at the edges of his vision aren’t bright anymore. It’s darkness that’s heavy like sleep but deep and suffocating like being buried alive.

Buck’s hand is beside his face, almost touching but not quite. They never do. He’s never said. Close but not too close. Not too much. Almost but never enough. They’re only almost. The waves of darkness are lapping at him, washing over him, pulling him down. Away. He can’t reach, can’t touch, can’t hold on. It’s cold. Growing colder.

Buck is so close. He’s always been so close. There’s so much Eddie never said. He never says anything. He doesn’t know how. Are you following your own heart? Are you? Have you ever? It’s dark and it’s cold and Buck is disappearing. His eyes are too heavy, his body is too heavy. He can’t reach Buck. He can’t reach Christopher.

He can’t swim he can’t fight he can’t hold on. They’re slipping away.

He watches those deep, stormy eyes. The one thing he can hang on to. Until there’s only darkness.

He’s fourteen and there’s a girl. There’s never been a girl before but this one. This one is different. Her eyes change color. They’re gray sometimes, blue sometimes, green sometimes. They’re always sad but she smiles anyway. She has the biggest heart. She stands up for people, yells back at bullies even though she’s small and wants to stay hidden. Her hair was blonde, a mousy ashy blonde in long waves down her back, but now it’s short and purple blue. She doesn’t wear dresses, she doesn’t like make up. She likes insects and biology and math and dodgeball. He teams up with her always. P.E. Science. Social studies. Anything. She’s quiet and doesn’t talk to many people.

She talks to Eddie. He never was sure why. Maybe he was safe? Maybe she saw something in him, too.

She does not want to be Melissa. She is not. He calls her Liam. Him. His name is Liam. Eddie helps him cut his hair. He gives him clothes. Hand-me-downs his parents think he outgrew and gave away in the Goodwill donation box. He doesn’t have a lot, but Liam loves them. He loves Eddie and Eddie still loves him. Loves him and doesn’t understand anything but loves regardless.

His first kiss. A real one where his heart pounds and his palms are sweaty and he's sure he didn’t do it right but it felt right and good and perfect anyway. His first love. Is a beautiful blond boy named Liam.

They talk about running away. They talk about making love. They talk about bullies and racism and phobias. They talk about hiding and being seen. They talk about the future and college and having kids. Liam wants to be a dad. At some point. Far in the future. Eddie isn’t sure. He can’t see himself as anything but a distant, absent, terrible father.

Liam has to change schools over the summer. He has to move away. Liam’s parents say it isn’t safe.

They try to stay in touch but it isn’t the same. Eddie cries and misses him and feels so empty. Everyone tells him he’s better off and that “girl” was weird and a bad influence. He shouldn’t cry. He’s not supposed to. He’s not supposed to show anything or feel anything.

Abuela visits and sits on the porch with him. She tells him he has a kind heart and that losing your first love, your first novio is always hard.

“¿Novio?” He asks her. Everyone else insisted his “friend” was Melissa, and that there was nothing romantic or real about their connection.

“Pensé que se llama Liam y es un chico,” is all she says. So matter of fact. So different from every single other person he knew. She thought his name is Liam and that he’s a boy. She thinks Eddie lost his first boyfriend.

He’s too scared to say anything. He won’t confirm or deny. He wants to cry again from loss and longing and how he is so alone now. But he can’t. He has to bite it back and hold everything in and no one can know.

Kids already called him names. They loved a whole range of things for him. They had predictions and in jokes because they were “just kidding and having fun and it didn’t mean anything.” Because it meant nothing to say if he didn’t end up a border-crossing drug mule who loved shoving things up his ass then he’d have a great future as a co*ck-sucking rent boy in Tijuana. Not like that is offensive or anything. He’s just too sensitive.

His parents lecture him. If he were more of a man, the other kids wouldn’t tease him like that. If he hadn’t spent so much time with “that girl.” If he worked harder and actually did something with his life. If he weren’t so close with his sisters, if he’d never let his older cousins put makeup and dresses on him when he was six years old, if he only let out anger and aggression rather than any other emotion, if he paid more attention to “real girls” but not too much because he is supposed to marry a girl and have children but not too soon. If he got a girl pregnant before he was married, they’d disown him and never speak to him again.

If only they’d made good on their promise. If only.

When he turns seventeen, there’s another girl. Her name is Olivia. She has deep brown skin and long braids and the most amazing muscular arms he’s ever seen in real life. She loves tennis and basketball and softball and weightlifting. She’s the strongest and fastest in their whole school. She can lift him against a wall and hold onto his thighs and he imagines being f*cked hard until he can’t see straight. He doesn’t really love her but she doesn’t really love him.

They try having sex the night they graduate. She tells him afterward she’s pretty sure she’s a lesbian because if Eddie couldn’t do it for her than no man would. He laughs. It makes everything feel less awkward actually. Like the pressure is gone and they can just be friends. He likes being friends with her. He isn’t sure about anything else. She’s beautiful and everything, but she didn’t really do it for him either.

They stay friends until she falls in love with a bubbly choir girl who wants to star on Broadway. She runs away with her to New York, and doesn’t tell him she’s leaving.

For a whole month after, Eddie is sick and angry with jealousy, and doesn’t know why. Everyone assumes he’s in love and refuses to admit it. But it doesn’t feel like that. He didn’t want her that way. It was amazing and lucky she found someone. He’d never been jealous she loved her girlfriend.

He wants a reason to escape his parents and probably even El Paso. He wants someone he can talk to who understands enough so that they are comfortable together. He thinks he might want someone who’ll love him. But he wants to actually feel it and need it and know that real profound lasting love is the reason.

He does not want strange women to hit on him and assume they have permission to touch him. He knows… he knows what he looks like. He knows people think he’s attractive. He does not feel attractive. The whole concept is disconnected and weird. He’s supposed to be flattered or proud or something. But it’s just so much attention. Too much. It quickly turns into, he’s so handsome why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? And words like heartbreaker and ladykiller and stud and people trying to fix him up on dates because it’s a crime that he’s single. Or whatever.

It’s so much easier to have lesbian friends. Or bisexual female friends. They never look at him and try to force him to date.

He’s barely nineteen when his life changes forever. For more than one reason.

There’s a girl he notices and she’s beautiful. Her hair is long and dark and she’s wearing flowers in it every time he sees her. She likes dresses with paisleys, patterns, bright colors, and more flowers. She holds hands with another girl and kisses her in the middle of campus all the time. Whenever he sees them, they’re always holding onto each other. She’s unafraid and happy. So clearly happy. Her girlfriend is tall and always wears pants and her dark hair in a short ponytail. They look at each other and it’s undeniable.

Eddie can’t help wondering what that would be like. To be so in love that you could hold hands and innocently kiss in public and see only each other. To not care about all the things people say about love like that.

He still thinks of Liam sometimes. He wonders, if he had been brave enough to run after him, if they’d still be together. The rational part of him says no. Even five years ago feels like a lifetime. He’s a different person. Liam was brave. Eddie is not. Not in that way. Not really. How can he call himself brave when he has to lock everything away? Maybe that’s not lack of bravery but lack freedom. Could he ever be free enough to be that brave?

It doesn’t really matter until he meets Jaxson.

Jaxson is tall, Afro-Cuban, muscular and gorgeous, and his hair is perfect tiny ringlets that bounce around his shoulders. He plays the trombone, loves jazz, loves New Orleans, loves old cars, loves food, loves people. He’s always smiling and his smiles look wide and real and they beam like sunshine. He has full, damn near pouty lips that beg to be kissed. Eddie can’t remember his heart skipping and thudding and pounding, but it does whenever Jaxson is around. There’s heat and aching in Eddie’s whole body when Jaxson squeezes his arm, touches his back, looks at Eddie like he could devour in two bites.

It is f*cking terrifying.

For so many reasons. For all the reasons.

Is this why he gets called puto and fa*g and all the other colorfully hom*ophobic things? Did they know something before he did? How could anyone know if he doesn’t? Or are they just general disparaging comments meant to insult or embarrass him because nothing could be worse than being something other than straight?

It doesn’t make sense to him honestly. He knows how people act and he knows what the Bible says and what people say about what the Bible says. It’s contradictory and weird and hard to believe. Not something he wants to believe in the first place. He has gay friends. He’s always had gay friends. Mostly women, mostly lesbians, but a few others of varying orientations.

When rumors go around again because Eddie doesn’t date and won’t date and girls ask him out all the time and he just does not want any of them, his mother insists he can’t be “one of those people.” He’s too handsome and he’s tough and he doesn’t wear women’s clothing or act like "a gay." He likes baseball, doesn’t he? And other sports? He loved “that girl” when he was fourteen and fifteen so he just needs to find the right girl.

It’s the only time she ever acknowledges that Eddie honestly, genuinely, in all the ways that a high school freshman can, loved Liam, and he’s not sure if that counts as a victory or not.

His tía always says people have forgotten the true message of God’s love, that it’s one of forgiveness and tolerance and salvation for the misfortunate. Eddie can’t really find comfort in religion like most of his family. But his heart breaks every time his abuela and Tía Pepa return home to California. They both promise they love him even if other people — like his parents — won’t. They swear nothing could change that love they have for him.

There’s no time for dating or worrying about anything along those lines anyway. There are more important things, like work for one and also school and paying for it. Actually finishing a college degree would be incredible and unheard of and he really wants to accomplish it. Where he goes from there, he has no clue. He doesn’t even know what major he should choose, but he wants to do something worthwhile with his life.

At least Liam is safe. Eddie heard from him a while back. He fully transitioned and had stubbly blond facial hair and was saving for top surgery and planing on studying entomology in college or maybe becoming a botanist. He was happier than Eddie had ever seen. He was still beautiful inside and out. Eddie wishes he could report the same success and purpose in his own life. He still doesn’t understand anything.

It’s the girl who kisses her girlfriend in public who notices him staring. Not at her. But at her friend, Jaxson. And then she’s invested. She asks Eddie to get coffee with her and he’s not sure, but he gets the feeling she’s vetting him. Whatever it is that she learns or sees in him seems to be enough because she fixes them up on a date, and gives him her number to keep up on all the gossip.

He’s not sure why he agrees. Other than the fact he desperately wants to know what it’s like to feel Jaxson’s hands on him. Or his mouth on him. He can barely even imagine. It’s still terrifying. Jaxson is exuberant and full of energy. He’s a big personality and Eddie is not. He is very not. It’s always been better for him to be unnoticed. To never stand out. If he keeps everything inside, nothing has to come out. No one has to know. No one will be disappointed.

He’s positive he’s not interesting or outgoing enough for Jaxson, but it lasts a few really good months. Enough that he knows sex can be amazing, that it can feel like everything he’s ever wanted and needed even though they’re both clumsy and inexperienced. It doesn’t feel clumsy. It feels good and like love could exist through the way they touch each other.

It never quite gets there though.

It’s all his own fault.

He’s too scared. Too closed off. He can’t show any emotion. He can’t let anyone know. He’s too much of a target as it is. He doesn’t want anyone to know because it’s not any of their business. Though he isn’t exactly sure what would happen, he’s positive it would only be catastrophic.

Jaxson thinks Eddie’s ashamed of him, and he wants someone who isn’t.

When she comes to him, he expects her to yell at him for hurting her friend and not treating him right. Maybe she intended to. But then he’s lost. And alone. His heart is broken and he was just starting to think maybe. Maybe his heart is longing for another man. His family would be so disappointed. His parents anyway. He’s never been able to talk about it with his sisters. It’s better if no one knows anything about it.

He doesn’t really have anyone he can talk to. Not about this. He has friends but they’re out and they’re certain of who they are. He doesn’t know anything but being wrong and being a coward. He’s supposed to be a man and he has to do the right thing and he just doesn’t know what that is here.

She looks at him sadly and takes his hand. They talk because she listens. She’s safe and brave and she tells him he can be soft. There’s nothing wrong with being gentle and open and loving. She brings him flowers and tells him it’s okay to cry and it’s okay to be whatever he wants as long as it makes him happy. There’s nothing wrong with who he is. It’s okay if he doesn’t know or can’t say it. There’s still nothing wrong with him.

He’s nineteen and his life changes forever because of a beautiful, brave, bisexual girl named Shannon.

She becomes the person he tells everything to. He’s the shoulder she cries on. She encourages him to be who he is and not worry about what anyone thinks or says. He admires how free and open she is. He wishes he could be more like that.

They have lunch together a few times a week. They study some and play stupid card games and sit next to each other in the back of the class so they can whisper and make judge-y faces at the ridiculous or bigoted arguments the professor and other students get into sometimes.

When she gets dumped by her girlfriend two days before Valentine’s Day, they somehow manage to smuggle a 6-pack of cheap beer into the dorms and drink the night away. She dates a guy with freckles and a tongue piercing after that before breaking up with him for a beefy football jock who she insists is not stupid, but Eddie has to concede that even if he is dumb as rocks, he is definitely good looking. When that fling of hers ends, she tries to convince Eddie to date him because he has “very nice, large hands” and is apparently one of the only men she’s dated who is a good kisser.

Eddie looks at him and thinks about it and might get completely sidetracked imagining what it would be like to kiss him. But Eddie just… can’t. The confusion and judgement and inevitable loneliness is not worth a few nights of sex. It just isn’t. There are more important things. And maybe he's old fashioned or a hopeless romantic or something, but he'd really prefer sleeping with someone because he loves them. It's just so much better being close to someone in that way when he feels like he could love them. And maybe they could love him, too.

They’re twenty when she dates a foreign exchange student from South Korea and completely falls for her in one weekend. They’re together for two years, longer than Shannon has ever been with anyone, before Ahnjong has to go back home. It’s likely they’ll never see each other again. At least that’s what Shannon says after they break up.

She’s devastated. She is a self described free spirit who never wanted to be tied down but she’d fallen and fallen and wanted to stay. She tells him her wings are broken and her heart is broken, and he does the only thing he can. He brings over a whole store worth of alcohol — better, stronger stuff this time — and they get drunk together like they always do.

It’s different this time though. She’s needy and wants comfort and he’s lonely and deprived, and then they’re drunk and it’s a bad, dangerous combination.

Two months later, she comes to him with proof of just how disastrous it was. He’s the only man she’s slept with in years and now they have a problem.

Four more tests later and the result is that same. Neither of them know what to do. They sit in silence for a long time. It’s weird and uncomfortable and they’ve always talked about and shared almost everything and this is wrong and he hates it. When she asks him what he wants to do, he has no clue. It’s her choice. He won’t abandon her or the baby. If that’s what she wants. He’ll hold her hand and take care of her if she doesn’t.

She nods and grows quiet again until she says his name very softly, “Eddie?”

He looks at her, ready for her to tell him she wants to keep it, ready for her to ask him to take her to a clinic, ready for her to ask if they can get married. He’s ready for all of that.

But it’s not what she asks. “Are you gay?”

He’s not ready for that question. He doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t want an answer. “I don’t know.” It’s the most honest he can be. It’s weird again because they’ve never talked about it. They talk about everything. Well. Except for the things he never talks about or thinks about or mentions and obviously, that’s one of them.

“Do you think…” She’s touching low her stomach like she wants the tiny life they made. “We could be happy together?”

He nods. He does. She’s his best friend. She’s safety and support and comfort and fun and partner in crime and the person he wants to share most everything with and the one he trusts and he loves her more than anything. “Do you want to marry me?”

She laughs and there are tears in her eyes but they don’t quite look like only happy ones. She never wanted to get married. She thought some about having kids but hadn’t decided. She’d talked about marrying Ahnjong and maybe adopting in the future. She wasn’t ready for anything else.

But apparently they have to get ready now.

They’re twenty-two and they find a little apartment to share. They go to a courthouse and quickly get married without telling anyone. Her mom is the only one who is actually invited. The only people Eddie might actually want there with him live in California and he would rather not say anything to his parents. Though both of his sisters are upset later when they find out. And also confused. They were sure their big brother was gay. Honestly, that is exactly why he refrained from inviting them. It would turn into a whole thing. There would be too many questions.

He and Shannon have sex a few more times since it’s not as if she can get double pregnant, and it’s weird at first but if he can’t be comfortable with her then who can he ever be comfortable with? It’s better after a while. She learns what he likes and he figures out how to make her feel good, and then it isn’t bad. It’s nice. Different than what he had for a few short months with Jaxson but not in the way he would have thought. He trusts Shannon. She knows him. They can talk to each other and ask what the other wants or needs at any given time.

The sex with Jaxson was… hungry. Eddie had been needy and excited and his heart would pound and his head would swim with heat, and he’d be dizzy, aching with how much he needed to touch and be touched by him.

It’s good now with Shannon though. They can be passionate. It feels good. He likes holding on to her. It’s the space afterward where it’s the best. Where they’re quiet and they touch each other softly. Where he can hold her or be held by her and she sighs like she’s content. He knows she’s not going anywhere. He knows she loves him, too. Maybe what they have is not “normal” or usual or what people expect because they didn’t date and he isn’t convinced they fell in love, but it doesn’t feel terrible. It’s nice sleeping beside someone and waking up with them. He’s not so lonely when she’s around.

They fight more though. They never used to. But they also weren’t living on top of each other and worrying about money and health insurance and buying baby things and preparing for using those baby things. She also wasn’t pregnant before but when he says this it just makes her more angry and upset. After a month of basically eating nothing but ramen, rice and beans, and peanut butter sandwiches because they can’t afford anything else, he has to find some way to support them and pay off school loans.

He’s well aware it’s a trap. It sounds perfect on the outside like all their financial troubles will just disappear, but he knows exactly why military recruiters target men of color. Especially in poorer communities. They need help, they need options, and the government sees them, sees Eddie, as disposable.

He’s always dreamed of running away. What option is more convenient than enlisting? His parents should be proud, right? They believe in serving your country and fighting whatever bullsh*t wars politicians have concocted this time. It would confirm to them he’s a man and a husband who supports his wife and child.

Shannon is horrified, and they have a huge fight about it. She accuses him of selling out on everything he believes in because he hates guns and the idea of killing people. He’d talked about being a nurse. He’d talked about helping people. He never tried to put her in a little box of performative heterosexuality or traditional gender roles and now he wants her to stay home and raise the kids while he is the big manly provider who goes off to war. She didn’t marry him so they could play happy little straight couple. When he tries to argue that maybe he’s straight and maybe this is what he’s supposed to be, she gives him a cold, shuttered look and refuses to talk to him.

He can’t really say anything else. She’s not right about everything. But she’s probably right about a lot of it. It’s easy to pretend. It’s easy to forget. Or ignore. Or whatever he does. He doesn’t know why he does.

He leaves her alone and stays the night at his parents’ house.

There’s something inside him that’s dying. It feels like the thing in his chest he can’t bring himself to listen to. It hurts and he’s nauseous, but can’t do anything.

His parents don’t notice anything. He doesn’t look broken, he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t do anything but sit quietly while they have dinner together. He goes to bed in his old room and hates himself as he listens to them complain about how terrible Shannon is.

Is she in the wrong? Is she right? Is he scared and running? Why is settling down with a wife and kid so difficult? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t, he has no answers. But he can hear his parents in the darkness and he wants to defend Shannon. It’s not her fault she got stuck with him. He fails at all of it but he’s trying.

He’s trying.

He’s twenty-five and there’s a solider who usually sleeps near him. His eyes are empty and he confesses he went through a kind of therapy. The kind that sounds like torture and brainwashing to cure him of his previous hom*osexuality.

It worked and it didn’t he says. He’d never do it again — the men, the sex, everything else. But. He can’t stop the thoughts sometimes.

He tells Eddie about scars on his body that didn’t come from combat or accidents or fights, wounds and burns that left marks on his genitals. He talks about a man he loved who killed himself.

He’s killed in a bombing and Eddie can’t do anything to help him.

He’s not surprised when Shannon leaves. He was awful to her. They used to be so close and he was chickensh*t and abandoned her and she was drowning. He’s a coward and failure and a terrible husband. Probably a terrible father but he hasn’t even been around to test it out, which technically answers the question. He doesn’t know what to do.

He works with his father, selling, repairing, cleaning, restoring furniture. It’s repetitive, monotonous, way too full of customers who just want to complain their way into paying nothing for the work. He also works random construction or road work jobs when they come up and does any freelance yard work and landscaping he can. It’s usually for rich white people who are shocked any of their workers actually understand and speak competent English and know when they’re being gossiped about behind their backs.

It’s always hit or miss whether Eddie is counted as “one of those people” or if, for some reason, they see him as a poor white boy who is weirdly a shade too tan and unknowingly got mixed up with the job-stealing, border-hopping immigrants. Depends on how closely they look, how much he talks, if they know his name. Especially if they know his full name. Just like all the kids he grew up with.

He contemplates waiting tables or bartending or doing maintenance for a motel down the road, but he’s heard horror stories about how wait staff are treated, and housekeeping and maintenance workers in the area don’t have better conditions to report either. Even three regular jobs and no full days off, it’s barely enough. If having no savings left over but plenty of credit card debt means “enough.”

He’s so exhausted and sore, bordering on outright painful when he comes home for the single stretch of twelve hours he has off in a week that he can’t even fall asleep. His legs and feet ache, his hands ache, his head aches, his back aches, he rarely has a moment to eat or drink anything. All he can think is he deserves this. After what he did to Shannon. After running from fatherhood and marriage. He does this all to himself. He’s stubborn and refuses and turns away and never lets anyone know. He still doesn’t know why. Is it just because he was told to and taught to and never knew much of anything else?

There has to be something else he can do. Somewhere he can be. He used to be smart. He used to do pretty well in school. He never managed straight A’s or anything, not when he had to pick an extra shift over finishing an assignment. But he never dropped below a B. With the exception of the one history teacher he was sure failed him out of spite. But that was a whole different problem.

He wonders sometimes about being a paramedic. Or an EMT. He’s calm under pressure. Medicine is interesting. He loves helping people. He’s usually good at soothing people who are upset or panicking. Other people. Not himself. It would be something. Maybe, maybe, maybe he could break out of the cage he’s built around himself. Maybe he could escape and run. Find freedom.

Christopher sneaks out of his own bed and curls up beside him without saying anything. He smiles and nestles close, and it’s the one thing that makes Eddie’s heart feel like it’s beating. They could run away together. He could figure it out. He could be a good father. He wants to be. He wants to teach Christopher to be better than everything Eddie learned and internalized.

He was scared before. Terrified. He hated and needed the prison he’d built himself. It was safe. It was an excuse. It was an illusion. But the tiny boy in his arms looks at him like he’s the whole world and Eddie wants to give him the world right back. He’s never loved anyone or been loved by anyone so much. This is all he needs. Christopher is his love and his happiness and his everything.

He promises he’s never leaving him ever again.

He’s thirty when he graduates the fire academy and accepts the offer to begin a probationary role at station 118 in Los Angeles. And there’s a man with sparkling blue eyes, a devastating smile, and the biggest, most generous heart anyone can imagine.

He’s beautiful without question. In all ways imaginable.

There’s something about him. Even with how he sulks away after a frosty introduction. He’s bravado on the surface, but he doesn’t wear it like a man who believes what he’s saying. He’s young, insecure, itching with something to prove, and Eddie is the new one threatening to upset the order of his world. He gets it. He also doesn’t play those kinds of games. Not everyone is going to like him, and as Shannon always said, he’s too much of a stubborn old man to worry about who is better or hotter or tougher. How are those things even quantified? He’ll do his job and go home to the most important thing in his whole life. Anything else is not worth a second thought.

Eddie expects that to be the end of it. He expects a begrudging truce or some kind of grumbled, insincere surrender that might take months or even years to manifest but could happen down the line. He expects pettiness and avoidance and animosity. Maybe even jealousy. Definitely bitterness — the kind that’s sour, acidic, burning on your tongue it’s so harsh. Definitely exhausting and juvenile. A little competition is great, a lot is toxic.

Somehow. None of that happens. For incomprehensible reasons, Buck is different. Buck seems more than worth waiting for.

Maybe it’s the stories everyone tells about how good he is. How he’s lovable and loyal and a little too cavalier in the face of danger, but mostly because he cares so much. He worries about the people they rescue and wants to stay with them and continue to offer protection and comfort. He’s gentle and friendly and kind. He lights up around children and talks to them like they’re actual people. He always sees the best in people, even when they hurt him. He got used and discarded and his heart is broken; he doesn’t know how to cope.

It takes one whole compliment and not even all of two shifts, and Eddie’s won something he can’t put into words.

It seems like first step of many. Something long and unending they’ll walk side by side. He feels the loyalty and the promise in the affirmation they both offer. Whatever they stepped onto is solid and he knows there will be a climb and maybe falls and setbacks through rocky patches. But they’ve anchored something to each other. It’s important. There’s weight to it.

There are glimpses of happiness. Almost the same way it exists with Christopher where it’s natural and comfortable and slowly erases the deep loneliness that’s always been trapped in him. It’s easy to smile when they’re together. It’s easy to trust him, and that in and of itself is mind boggling. Trust is elusive and frail. It can’t belong to anyone.

But.

Buck listens and hears what Eddie doesn’t say. He doesn’t intrude or invade. He’s a reassuring presence waiting nearby. It’s comforting. It makes breathing and existing easier. It makes him think of balance and complementary colors and a flashlight in the depths of the world that might help guide him home.

He must think about Eddie and how Eddie needs to take care of Christopher for a good amount of time, and Eddie has to wonder why. Figuring out care and education and support for Christopher has nothing to do with him. Maybe Buck just happened to think of the perfect solution and introduced him to Carla. Maybe it wasn’t conscious or time consuming at all to figure out help for Eddie and Chris. When they swore they’d have each other’s backs, this was not at all what Eddie expected. Or even what he meant. And yet. Buck looks out for him. When he doesn’t have to. When they barely know each other. When it’s something that has nothing to do with the dangerous career they’ve chosen.

Everything about this life and this partnership is new and untested. Buck makes it not feel brittle. It’s not fleeting or something that can be snatched away from him. Almost like… almost like they could be happy here. They could be free to do anything and be anything because they’d do it together.

Buck wouldn’t leave. He’d stick around. He supports without being overbearing. He asks like he isn’t demanding a certain answer. Even when he was wary initially, he completely reverses and offers nicknames and familiarity and a space beside him almost instantly. For all the ways he was icy before, he’s bright flames the moment after. All the things people said about him, how he’s kind and understanding and a rambunctious ball of joy, they’re true. He cares so much, so deeply, it’s written all over him. How can Eddie possibly deserve his unwavering friendship?

How can he keep him and never let him go?

Buck smiles like happiness is fragile. Like it’s always been out of reach. Or another mask to wear that isn’t reality. Whoever this Abby was who left and clearly hurt him deeply, she had to be stupid or heartless or both. Who wouldn’t want Buck?

Eddie knows and feels and recognizes the pain, the loneliness, and maybe that’s why they’re ride or die so quickly. They lean on each other. They talk about everything. Almost everything. Most things. But he thinks he could if he really wanted. He’s yet to find a judgmental or cruel bone in Buck’s body.

It’s so much like the good parts of his relationship with Shannon where they inseparable friends who hated things on the other’s behalf and shared every part of their days, where he admired her independence and confidence and she told him it was okay to be loving and gentle and the soft-hearted person he was.

He likes having a partner. He misses that bond often forged in fire but stronger for it. Knowing there’s someone at your side during the worst moments of your life, someone who would pick you up if you fell and couldn’t stand on your own. Someone you’d defend with your own life. Someone who would share everything with you. That’s everything.

He knows that’s where he failed Shannon. And maybe even Liam and Jaxson and Olivia. Maybe everyone. He’s trying very hard to make it up to Christopher. He wants to do better for Buck.

Even when it’s just the two of them, after he’s put Christopher to bed, and they both have a beer and the TV is on but neither of them are paying attention to it, when it’s quiet and there’s nothing else, it’s comfortable. They’re okay sharing a space, sharing monotony and normalcy and the everyday.

Buck will cook dinner for them after work and let Christopher help and he’ll listen to Christopher talk about school or his current obsessions and interests and tell him all the random crazy facts he remembers about them. While Eddie does the dishes afterward, Buck and Chris look up YouTube videos and play with toy dinosaurs and plan out adventures the three of them could go on.

And it’s just. How many people give kids the time of day? How many people encourage their interests and genuinely listen? How many people look at a child with a disability and don’t treat him like he’s broken or delicate or incapable? How many people see an actual human being and not just what they know or think of a certain diagnosis? Maybe the bar is so low it’s on the floor, but it’s clear just through Christopher’s joy and excitement that Buck makes him feel valued.

On top of that, Buck always seems thrilled to see Christopher, too. He doesn’t look at Chris like an inconvenience or an obstacle. They’re downright enamored with each other. After only a few visits. Of course Christopher is charming and hilarious and Eddie knows this, but most people never get the privilege to learn it.

Once they’ve all known each other for a couple months, they fit so easily together. It’s the three of them. Like it should always be the three of them in some way, shape, or form.

Sometimes, just watching them together, is more than Eddie’s heart can take.

Could he have this? Something like it? If he were brave enough? A husband and their son and a loving family? Is there a man who would love him with all his failings and baggage? Is there anyone who could make him believe having that kind of love is worth it?

Or is it just a lost wish? A dream that would never be reality?

He wonders one night. When Christopher is sound asleep and the movie Buck picked has long since rolled the ending credits. Because Buck is slumped to one side of the couch, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. He looks peaceful. He’s beautiful. Of course he’s beautiful all the time but he looks relaxed and unburdened and it’s different. He’s making soft little snoring sounds, he’s that far gone. Eddie doesn’t think twice about quietly retrieving a blanket and draping it over him and letting him stay the night. That’s when he wonders. If Buck might have fallen asleep against Eddie. If he could convince Buck to share a bed with him. If Buck would snuggle up beside him and sleep in his arms. If Eddie could have someone who would share a life with him.

It’s probably ignorant. Foolish really. People aren’t “meant for each other,” and soulmates do not exist. There’s no One Perfect Person for anyone. Fate is not a thing. Magic isn’t real. There’s nothing true about love. It’s hormones and chemicals and arbitrary biological urges.

Love is Christopher. Love is being a firefighter. It’s helping and protecting people. It’s giving and providing and staying silent. It’s sacrifice.

He’s just lonely and clinging to anything that might contain even a tiny bit of comfort. Why would Buck want to be saddled with an instant family? He’s barely out of his mid-twenties. As much as he seems to love Christopher and as great as they are together, there’s a difference between playing with a kid for a few hours and raising one 24/7.

Not to mention. Why would Buck ever want Eddie? He’s a terrible husband and a coward and he’d probably panic and run away or shut him out and he’d never be able to give Buck what he needs. Eddie’s supposed to have a wife. Christopher is supposed to have a mother.

There is no love when it’s flavored with sex and romance and attraction and neediness. It doesn’t exist. It has no power. There’s nothing there to fight for. It’s not worth it.

Eddie turns off the lights and stays in the darkness alone in his bed.

He’s floating somewhere.

Tethered to nothing. Lost and adrift. Balloon without a string.

It’s too bright. But he can’t see anything. Can’t feel anything but numb, fizzling, white noise. It’s in every part of him. Like the edge of a dream where he can’t wake and can’t sleep. And only sees monsters.

There’s no air to breathe anymore. No oxygen. All his blood is gone.

His blood was all over Buck.

He must be dying. What if they both are? Christopher would be an orphan. Christopher would be alone or most likely raised by his own parents who might mean well and might love him more than they loved Eddie and Adriana and Sofia. But they’d also smother him and treat him like an invalid and either insist he bottle up his joy and empathy and compassion and tender heart and be a man. Or they’d force him into some kind of perpetual childhood where he might believe he can’t do anything for himself and can’t have any sort of independence. And Eddie hates, hates, hates that like nothing else.

Christopher deserves better. Christopher is a bright, beautiful sun in the universe and he deserves everything.

There has to be something to hold onto. He struggles. He fights, he has to fight. If he can grip something, some kind of memory, some kind of anything, he can pull himself out of this.

There’s a hand around his. He can’t hold on. But it’s warm.

There’s a reason he’s alive. There’s a reason he isn’t dead in the street. There’s a reason.

He can’t remember.

He can’t anything but float away.

The school wants to meet Shannon because of course they do. What reality has he been living in where a perfect nuclear heterosexual family isn’t required for admission?

He didn’t come here because of her. He didn’t. It was a coincidence. The LAFD is the best and he missed his grandmother and wanted time with her and she offered to help watch Christopher while he was finishing school and while he’s now working.

Maybe there were distant thoughts of making up and seeing her and fixing everything that they f*cked up and broke. She used to be… everything. The most important. The one person he could talk to. The one who knew him better than anyone else. The one he turned to who comforted him and knew him so he didn’t have to explain. He misses that. He misses her.

He wouldn’t blame her though. For not wanting anything to do with him. But he left and then she left and maybe they’re even now. He doesn’t know, but he’d do anything for his son.

Is it good for Christopher? Would she hurt him again? Doesn’t he deserve to have his mother? Is it better to protect his son from this pain?

Does Eddie need her? Is she all he can have?

It’s easy to slip back into the fantasy. They can be happy. They are a family. The one he’s supposed to have. He loves her. He remembers what she likes and wants, and he’s just happy to have someone close to him, in his arms, touching him, kissing him, sharing his bed. It’s been so long.

Could Shannon be his life partner? Was he supposed to be with her from the beginning? It’s been more than ten years since he first noticed her. She was so happy then and he’s not sure he’s ever made her happy in that way. He’d envied how she could be open and in public and unafraid. And yet he’s never been able to hold a man’s hand or kiss him anywhere but within a locked room with the curtains drawn.

He’d gone on a date to a restaurant with Jaxson all of once and spent the entire night convinced people were staring and knew they were on a date and were judging them and planning… who knows what. To corner them? Attack them? Tell everyone they’re hom*osexuals? Though LA is different from El Paso he supposes. Never mind the fact that it’s perfectly reasonable for two men to have platonic dinner together. They could be friends catching up or single roommates who were hungry or business associates discussing work. He’d still been sure people would take one look at them and know the truth.

But Eddie isn’t. He just. Can’t. It’s not important. It’s not love. There is no love like that. Not for him. He’s not in college. He’s not in his twenties. He’s too old for this. He has queer friends. He knows their families. They talk about their children. They’d be disappointed in him for being so ashamed and confused. He’d wanted to completely start over here. Do everything right this time. Maybe that includes a second chance with Shannon. Maybe he’ll be alone forever. He hasn’t decided.

There are moments when he considers confiding in Buck and asking what he thinks. They’ve talked about Shannon some. He knows Buck would be supportive. Buck wants Christopher to be happy and have everything, too. He’d probably want that for Eddie as well.

They’re friends. He’s a good friend. Eddie needs a friend and confidant. He doesn’t particularly like divulging all the deep dark thoughts that cross his mind, but it helps to have someone talk through problems. It feels better when he’s not alone. It’s a relief when he can take off the weight of the world because someone is willing to take care of him. He never expects them to, never asks for it. He’s rarely able to accept it without feeling selfish and undeserving. But he can’t deny how good it feels to have care and attention be reciprocated.

It’s so easy to think of Buck like he thought of Shannon. His person he goes to. His person he would take care of.

It’s different though. It’s so much more. It’s harder and easier at the same time. Shannon knew things that Buck can’t know. He might make assumptions or try to help. Or they might cross a line that can’t be uncrossed.

She was a rougher fit — they got along but they’d clash and argue about a lot of things. It doesn’t feel like so much of an argument if he and Buck disagree.

Buck doesn’t pry really. He doesn’t gouge things out of Eddie. He waits and he requests. Buck looks at him though and figures out, and Shannon would try and get it wrong. In the worst days, she’d figure out only how he is uncompromising, especially with himself, or how he has to keep everything tied down locked down in control, and she’d hate it and they’d argue.

The greatest thing he can do for anyone is put them first and take care of their needs. She didn’t agree.

He’s pretty sure Buck does. Buck would do anything for someone else, even strangers, even if it cost him everything. Makes it so easy to take advantage and use him and break his heart.

Eddie absolutely will not do that. If that Abby ever returns, he has Things to say about what she did to his best friend. Whether he actually says them depends on what Buck needs. But Eddie doesn’t have to stop himself from thinking them.

The possibility of another child makes something skip and race in his heart. Another baby. Another Christopher. He wouldn’t panic and run off this time. He knows how to be a good dad now. He hopes anyway. He’s trying so hard. Christopher is everything.

This is what he’s supposed to have. A family. Another child. Chris could have a sibling. It would be a good thing. They could mend everything.

Would it mend anything? Is that happy little hetero family, the man and wife and two kids and the distant gruff father and the doting housewife and mother, is that ever something that was good for them? Or is that what destroyed them the second they tried it?

Does he know for certain he wouldn’t freak out? What if two kids is too much to handle? What if it only traps him further in the twisted, butchered version of his relationship with Shannon? Because he can’t really talk to her anymore. It’s not the same. He wishes it were. He loved her so much when they were best friends. He misses that Shannon. Everything hurts when he even considers what they had is gone and they’ve ruined it permanently. What if she leaves him again?

Why does it feel like everything balanced on the edge of cliff ready to crash into the abyss?

He forgives but he can’t trust. He wants to trust. He wants to open up and let everything out even if it means he’s bleeding. He wants to feel something again. He doesn’t want to hold an empty, caged heart in his hands. He wants his friend and partner back. He wants to prove he can be better. He can be a good husband. Right? He can do that. He has a good job now, a career and he loves it. He can provide for them without leaving.

Was the need to provide for them really why he ran? Or was he trapped and failing and dying inside and it was an honest excuse that let him escape but still let him be the good guy.

What does it even matter.

He wants Christopher to have his mother. Christopher loves and misses and needs her. Eddie wants her to be the answer.

She wants a divorce.

She doesn’t want him. He’s always known this. They were bound together by unintentional. He was never going to be enough for her.

She says she’s not enough for him either and knows he won’t admit it.

She asks him. About the man their son talks about.

The one who plays dinosaur pirate astronauts with him and finds him books about his favorite things. The one who is learning to cook their favorite meals and lets Chris stand beside him and help. The one who reads to him at night and does the voices like she does, who is not quite as good as Mom but is better at it than Dad. The one who isn’t a babysitter and isn’t a father but is loving and supportive and there for family Christmas adventures. And when Christopher and Dad had tummy aches and needed someone who brought them ginger ale and toast and sat between them so they both had cuddles to make them better, he was there.

It sounds like something when it’s said like that. But it isn’t anything. It’s not a hollow, aching space in his chest. They don’t know each other that well. Or haven’t known each other that long. He and Chris had a tiny, 24 hour flu bug in January and he hadn’t asked or said much of anything. Buck wanted to spend time with them and came over for the day.

She asks, “Then what is he to you?”

They work together. They’re coworkers. They spend time together. That’s why Christopher knows him.

She can’t look at him. There are more tears in her eyes. She sighs like the weight of a thousand years. “Eddie. I’ve known you for so long. I love you. Dearly. But I can’t understand why you do this to yourself. What are you so afraid of?”

It’s not like that. It’s not. Buck isn’t. Buck wouldn’t want him. He has a girlfriend. Or a girl he is dating and hooks up with when she’s in town. Something like that. How could Eddie have anyone? They’re just friends. That’s all. He’s not afraid. It’s not important. Christopher is.

“You’re important, too. You have a beautiful, selfless heart and you’re so good to everyone. You deserve to love someone and let them love you. It is terrifying and messy and bloody and ripping yourself open and letting someone in and giving them the power to hurt you more than you’ve ever been hurt, but it is worth it. I promise you.”

He isn’t sure. He can’t believe. It sounds like ridiculous, romanticized fiction. He still can’t believe she wants a divorce. After everything they’ve been through. Why now? Why doesn’t it work? Why isn’t he enough for her?

Because he’s not enough for anyone. He’s not meant to have that kind of love. It’s fiction anyway. Commercialized, sensationalized, lies and bullsh*t.

People get married so they can f*ck and not be judged for it. They say love exists because loneliness hurts.

She’s wrong. She’s always been wrong.

“You could you know,” she says, because she wants to believe. For some reason. She still believes. “If you let yourself. I bet you could fall in love with him. I bet he would make you really happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly happy.”

“Christopher makes me happy.”

“Yes. I know. But someday he’s going to grow up and you’ll have to live without him as your emotional shield. So, why not give it a shot? Why not do something for your own happiness? Why not fall in love and marry a nice man who clearly already adores you and our son?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t. He’s not supposed to but he knows that’s bullsh*t, but he can’t be selfish, he has his son to think about. Chris comes first. And Buck has a girlfriend. He has a girlfriend. He’d never want Eddie. No one should be stuck with Eddie.

Her words stay with him. They always stay with him.

I bet you could fall in love with him.

I bet you could.

When she’s gone. Again. Permanently this time. He doesn’t know what to do. Or think. He can’t breathe without exhaling guilt and regret. And failure.

He has proof now. He wasn’t supposed to be with anyone. He’s meant to be alone. He’s supposed to raise Christopher. That’s it. Christopher’s love is enough. It is enough. There’s nothing else he can have.

I bet you could fall in love with him.

Buck shows up at their house with groceries and video games. He makes Bobby’s special baked mac and cheese, because it’s Christopher’s favorite, and roasts an array of vegetables he knows they’ll eat. After dinner, he dishes up toppings for ice cream sundaes and lets Christopher make his with bananas and brownie chunks and M&Ms and hot fudge and sprinkles and whipped cream and Oreo crumbles.

He makes one for Eddie with some kind of strawberry and serrano pepper sauce that’s sweet and spicy and perfect with dark chocolate and brownie pieces.

Then he plays Mario Kart for several hours with Chris and reads him a chapter of a book and tucks him in bed. He makes Eddie swear on his life that he won’t touch the dishes because Buck is going to do them and that’s final.

Eddie doesn’t have the strength to argue. He sits at the kitchen table and watches Buck scrub and rinse dishes and slot them neatly into the dishwasher. It’s so domestic. Like they’re playing house or playing at being adults with responsibilities like household chores and raising children.

It’s weird to think she’s gone. She was gone before this and he was gone before that and he got used to them being something other than what they should be. But now she’s gone forever. They can’t repair the damage. They’re never going to talk again. No amount of forgiveness or sacrifice or honesty can mend that wound.

In a way, it doesn’t feel like anything. She’d already taken herself out of his life. He grew used to her not being there a long time ago. He’d hoped for something different, especially for Christopher, but he wasn’t holding his breath. He’s pretty damn convinced at this point that widower single dad will be his epithet forever. He never really believed she’d stay for him. If she didn’t stay for Christopher, she definitely wasn’t going to stay for Eddie. He knew she settled and wasn’t happy. He knew he drove her to leave them both.

She left them both. Forever. It hurts and he’s angry and he hates all of it but he hates most that he expected to be left alone. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should. She wasn’t there. She was already gone. He’d already lost her years ago. He ruined everything but he’s not sure which mistake sealed the deal. He’d taken off his wedding ring the day she left. Why would there ever be a reason to put it back on?

Except then he felt guilty and like a horrible person and had to find his ring again and put it back on and wear it until he lost it somewhere in their move to California.

There’s something f*cking wrong with him.

Did she want to divorce him because she needed freedom? Did she think he was in love with Buck? Because he isn’t. He’s thought a few things, sure. Like what it might be like. Like how watching Buck bring home groceries and cook in his kitchen and scrub his dishes and kiss his son goodnight makes something take hold of his heart and squeeze. But that didn’t mean anything. Buck has a girlfriend. Buck isn’t interested. They have something different. They’re friends.

I bet you could fall in love with him.

Buck opens two beers and sits next to him at the kitchen table. He sets one bottle in front of Eddie and obviously tries not to look at him with sad eyes.

Eddie takes the bottle and simply holds it for a moment. The cold drops of condensation slip all over his fingertips. “Do you ever think,” he asks quietly. “About making different choices? If you just… said something different or did something else. Would it change everything? Or is changing who you are impossible?”

Buck exhales heavily. “Who knows? I don’t know that I could make different choices. I could try, I guess. I’ve never been able to change who I am. I go for system upgrades instead? Try to improve and work out bugs and glitches? No clue about anyone else.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but has to smile. Buck and his upgrades.

“Do you think you could change who you are?” Buck tilts his head, gazing in that watchful, curious, steady way.

“No. But I could’ve made different choices.”

Buck seems to contemplate this. His focus goes distant before coming back to Eddie. “Why did you make the ones you made?”

He’s just following the logical steps of their conversation. Eddie doesn’t have to say anything. He doesn’t have to dig deep or be honest or do anything. He does lift the bottle to his mouth and take a long drink. “I thought I had to. I thought, at the time, that they were for the best. There was no choice.”

“Then why do you think it could be different? If you can’t change who you are and you thought you were doing what’s right or that you didn’t actually have a choice, how could anything turn out different?”

Eddie swallows hard. His chest hurts. He’s still trapped. He ran away, thousands of miles back and forth and to a whole new city and new life, and he’s still f*cking trapped.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says immediately. He lets go of his own bottle and touches Eddie’s arm. “I… I don’t know anything. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“No. You do know. You’re right. So. How do you upgrade? How do you change the future? Can you change the future?”

“I think so.” His voice is soft and he looks away, looks down, removes his hand from Eddie’s arm and takes a drink of his own. “Honestly. I think it was you.”

It was… Eddie watches him, confused. “What was me?”

“You showing up. Joining the team. It changed everything. For me I mean. Whatever future I was going to have. It changed. When we met.” The hint of a pink blush colors his cheeks and he tries to shrug it off. “I just. Don’t think I’d be where I am now if you and I weren’t friends. Partners. I know we haven’t been very long. But. I’ve never had… someone. Anyone. Besides my sister. I had some friends. There’s the team now. I had tons of people who knew me, but none who really actually knew me.”

Soft warmth floods through him and he wants nothing more than to pull Buck into his arms. He clenches his jaw and breathes through it. “I thought it was Abby. Who changed you.”

Buck huffs and rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide the bitterness. Eddie sure wouldn’t. He still owes her Words. “I mean. She left me and didn’t want me and didn’t even tell me. So. It’s hard to think she’s different when she did what everyone else has done.”

Eddie wants to be different. He wants everything to be. They haven’t known each other long it’s true. But he feels the potential. Every time the three of them are together and he watches how much his son and his best friend love each other. It’s there, out of reach but could be within his grasp if he tries hard enough. If he’s brave enough.

I bet you could fall in love with him.

She promised love was worth it. He so wants to believe her.

He’s fighting. He has to. He’s fought through crumbling tunnels and gunshots and helicopter crashes and fire and explosions and deep filthy water with no oxygen and more fire and darkness and more gunshots.

He’s not dead. He will not die. Not now.

Why isn’t he dead? There’s mud and murk and he’s clawing through it, desperate to find it. There’s pain in his shoulder, radiating through his back. There’s pain in his chest. He never says it. He never said anything.

Christopher is on the other side. He’s waiting. That’s why he fights. That’s why he has to make it home.

Home. Is a boy who loves to draw and play pirates and have adventures. Who smiles brightly but knows too much pain so he tries to comfort others when they’re hurting. Home is a man who also knows pain and does the same — works to comfort and protect others. The man who waits for him to find what he needs. Who tells him the universe is screaming and he won’t listen.

It does not scream. But even if it did, Eddie knows he wouldn’t hear it. He ignores.

Home is the three of them together. Playing video games and sharing pizza. Clutching each other after tsunami waves nearly separated them for good. Visiting Santa and making ornaments and decorating for Christmas and agreeing that the absolute greatest gift is each other.

He has to go home.

That’s following his own heart.

He opens his eyes to fluorescent lights and tubes and wires with a name on his lips. The reason he isn’t dead in the street. The reason he’s alive.

He needs Buck. He has to say it.

Chapter 5: Periphery

Chapter Text

At first, there’s nothing to focus on. It’s too bright. He’s tangled in vines. Synthetic inorganic ones. He can’t grow plants. Nothing can grow here. He wants to scream. He opens his mouth and can’t. But he has to say it. He has to say something. He needs—

What if it’s too late? What if the pain bursting in his shoulder hit Buck at the same time? There was blood. Everything else is a motion blur and constant, dull throbbing in his skull. But he remembers the red splattered across Buck’s face and white button down. Is he okay? Was he hurt?

He can’t remember. He remembers reaching. He remembers blood. He remembers… not saying anything. Not following his heart. Never once has he done that. His heart aches and cries and bleeds and screams because he’s lonely, alone, not enough, not what he’s supposed to be, only dragging people he loves down with him.

His heart is untrustworthy. It’s cracked and glued together and not enough. It wants him to do things that he can’t. It wants him to go against everything. It doesn’t want to be chained and shoved into a box that doesn’t fit. It's locked away, buried, and forgotten. It wants to breathe and dance and sing and grow and be alive and loud and shining, and he’s never ever ever let it.

He has to. He needs to.

He’s always been trapped. He’s always longed for a gentle breeze, a breath of warmth against frozen skin. He ran away, thousands of miles, he ran but he’s never been free.

He wants to be free.

There are people around him and he doesn’t have names for any of them. They’re all in scrubs and white coats and surgical masks. Hospital. He’s in a hospital. He must be. He asks them. For what he needs. His throat is tight, constricted fire. His mouth is dry. His lips are cracked. There’s a cannula in his nose and everything smells like plastic tubing and funny swirly oxygen. He can’t lift his arms. He can’t push himself up.

He shifts and tries to reach and stabbing, sparking jolts go through his right arm and shoulder.

The gunshot.

He was shot. That’s why he’s in a hospital. That’s why he’s here. That’s why there’s pain and no breath and he can’t move.

The people are nurses. Doctors maybe. One tells him to relax, don’t move too much, don’t hurt yourself. They tell him it’s okay. He has a wound that is repaired and bandaged. He’s been here a few days. He was shocky. He lost a lot of blood. He’s been recovering slowly. They ask if he understands, they ask if he’s in pain, they ask for a number between one and ten.

His shoulder is a six, maybe a seven if he moves it. Definitely present but tolerable at the moment. It’s bad though. Worse than the shot through his left one. His throat is at least a five. It’s dry and rough. Swallowing is not great.

His heart is a ten. His heart is aching. His chest hurts. He needs.

“Please,” he manages through bruised, irritated trachea.

They hover and ask what he needs.

He needs his son. He needs his partner. He needs them to be okay. He can only rasp out the raw ache of absence in his chest. “Buck.”

It’s turning to fear and seeping down the walls of his insides. What if he’s hurt? What if he’s gone? What if everything is crumbling and slipping through his fingers and he’s lost another best friend?

He can’t ever get the image of broken Shannon lying in the road, of Buck crushed and also lying in the road. They haunt him constantly. At least Buck survived that one.

But what if he hasn’t survived this? “Buck,” he tries again. “Please.”

The crowd of four hospital staff look at each other with confusion. Maybe he’s not loud enough. Maybe they don’t understand.

A woman appears somewhere to his left. She’s delicate. Pretty. Painted porcelain and china that should only be looked at and never touched. She takes small, tentative steps to him and rests a light hand on him. On his arm, fingers reaching toward his chest. Like she wants to place it over his heart. But can’t. Or doesn’t. “I’m here, Edmundo.”

Ana.

Has she been here with him for days? Does she care that much? How long have they been dating? She’s pretty. She’s educated. She’s nice. What does it mean?

He breathes deeply, stretching and straining muscles against iron and steel and concrete built up around his ribs. The ache within remains.

“Is he,” he tries but words are rough in his mouth. The thought is piercing agony. What if he’s dead? What if he’s hurt worse than Eddie is? He can’t breathe anymore if he doesn’t know. There was blood all over Buck. Eddie doesn’t remember.

Beats drop out from his chest and the monitors around him reflect it. The hospital staff look at them, look at Eddie, and then at each other with furrowed concerned faces, uncertain on if they need to take action.

His voice is rougher the second time, deep, raw, thin, and barely there, but it has to function. He has to know. He’s cracking and he’ll shatter. He needs. He needs so many things. “Is he alive? Is he hurt? Where is… Please?”

She tips her head. Her face is uncovered. There are tiny furrows on her forehead. “Do you mean Buck? Are you asking about Buck? He’s fine.”

Her eyes hold confusion and he doesn’t know how to read behind them. Is she telling the truth? Is she placating him? “Christopher?” Is his next question. Maybe it will give him a better gauge.

For that, she puts on a soft smile. “Christopher is good. He’s at home with Carla.”

At least that seems likely. He closes his eyes and listens to the staff talk about fluid rates, transfusions, ECG reports, pain management, and the plan for here on out as long as he keeps progressing. They try to explain to him what happened, the surgery, his status, their treatment plans, but there’s only one thought in his head right now.

His family.

There’s weight on his chest, it hurts to breathe, and he wants to hold his son. He wants… needs. He needs his son. He needs his partner. He swallows jagged cotton and just wants to be home.

After another fifteen minutes or so, they’re done asking questions and fussing with medication schedules and taking and tracking vitals and all the monitoring after transfusions and when they’ll offer him food and water and see if he can pee on his own, and then they leave him to rest.

They must’ve upped a morphine drip or given him a hit of something before they left because everything turns fuzzy at the edges. He’s dizzy and spinning with the earth at roughly 1000 miles per hour. The earth rotates once every 23 hours and 56 minutes and 4 seconds. It orbits the sun at around 67,000 miles per hour. The distance between the earth and the sun is 94.487 million miles.

The distance between the thing he needs most, the reason he fights, the reason he comes home is incalculable. It’s with him always but too far away. His good luck charm. His you always have me. They aren’t here.

The facts aren’t particularly “weird.” But they are random and specific, and they made Christopher’s eyes light up with excitement and amazement. He’d tried to climb from the ground up into Buck’s arms until Buck lifted him, held him, and told him all the strange theories about the moon and what happens when it’s full and how people used to say the sun was eaten by a dragon or a squirrel when it was eclipsed in the sky.

They’d only just met. Buck completely won both of them over.

“Are you all right? Your doctor said I could feed you some ice chips. Or help you drink water. The nurse brought it for you.” Ana rubs his shoulder. The one with the old wound. “Would you like me to?”

His eyelids are heavy. He wants. Needs. Needs to do something before it slips away. Before he forgets. Before he loses the nerve. There’s aching gouged into the center of his body.

He doesn’t mean to say, “I need…” but it comes out like it’s the only thing carried from his body when he exhales. Whatever drugs or morphine or new blood is flowing through him, it doesn’t alleviate the torment pulsing in his heart.

She rests a still hand on the left side of his chest. “You want me to call Buck?”

Something squeezes like systolic contraction. Like his heart is still somehow alive and beating. “Please.”

Her hand disappears and she pulls a phone out of her pocket.

He’s not convinced he misses the touch.

He doesn’t remember how old he is when they met. It wasn’t like that. Not really. But she’s pretty. She’s intelligent and good with children. She’s a grade school teacher so she’d have to be. Her eyes are vivid and her hair is beautiful and her smile is perfect. She wears a skirt with flowers on it that makes him think of Shannon.

Could he… like her? Is he attracted to her? For real? He’s fascinated. Transfixed maybe? She’s so pretty. She doesn’t even look real.

He stumbles over words and can’t stop staring and Carla even teases him later.

What does it mean? Does it mean anything? That’s a stupid thought. It has to mean something. It has to mean.

It has to.

Has he ever allowed himself a crush? Well. No. Because. This is unusual.

Or is it? There are people who are good looking, and he hasn’t given them a second thought. Or sometimes they are attractive and he’s thought about them more than a few times. But fantasies don’t mean anything.

Regardless. She’s pretty.

He definitely doesn’t get lesbian vibes from her. Not with the way she seems to look at him. Honestly, he doesn’t get bisexual vibes from her either. But maybe that’s completely unfounded because who can tell every single time? There was just a feeling he usually got when he met and talked to certain women. Like Olivia, like Shannon, like Hen, like Lena. They didn’t have to say it. There was something both he and they must have seen as a similarity. They easily shared a connection. It was comfortable and familiar, no pressure, in tune camaraderie. They didn’t expect him to make a move on them and he didn’t want to. Though the whole Shannon thing got complicated.

He loved having female friends. He loved having sisters even if they weren’t very close anymore. Their parents always thought it was weird that he and Adriana and Sofia stuck together. As if there were no reason their children would empathize and hold tightly to each other and band together against a common antagonist. Even then he got lectures about being too close to his sisters and spending too much time with them because they were supposed to do “girl” things and he needed to be a man.

Either way. Ana doesn’t give him that kind of impression — a woman who is interested in other women and somehow knows he understands this. Somehow knows he’s alike but different.

Crush sounds so juvenile. Attracted sounds too intense. He’s intrigued. Maybe confused. Not confused because this is normal. This is what is supposed to happen. He meets a beautiful woman, has feelings for her, they date and develop those feelings, and then… something that makes his stomach clench and twist and conscious of how it contains bile and acid.

It’s not the sexual aspect. A body is just a body and they’re not that different. He and Shannon figured out how to have good sex that satisfied them both. It’s not the physicality. It’s just. Strange. Unexpected. He doesn’t know what to think. Doesn’t even know what it is and why would they ever have a chance to find out? She’s his son’s teacher. That’s weird. There’s a boundary line.

What if he isn’t what people assume? What if all those thoughts he’s had in the past weren’t really him? Or what if they were misinterpreted? Who doesn’t notice an objectively, aesthetically attractive person? People have fantasies and they don’t have any bearing on actual sexuality. Who doesn’t look at someone they’re close to and wonder, what if we kissed, what if we touched, what if we fell in love?

What if he has a chance for something else?

He doesn’t get to figure much of it out. She’s pretty but he can’t trust her. How is she a teacher? How does anyone let her around children? Especially ones with disabilities. After what she let the other kids do to his son? After what could have happened to Chris because of her negligence? Maybe she is like Shannon in all the ways that hurt Christopher.

The thing is. The thing. Is. He tells Buck. Rants to him is the more appropriate word. Tells him everything and expects a similar outrage because he knows Buck will fight tooth and nail until he’s broken and bloody and nearly dead in order to protect Christopher and keep him safe.

Buck tips his head to the side like it’s weighed down with his thoughts. He stares at Eddie but his gaze isn’t critical or angry. It’s… confused? Stunned maybe. It takes him a long time to respond. And he says one word. A question. “Pretty?”

Now Eddie’s anger has nowhere to go. He has no one who will commiserate. Why is him calling a woman pretty the thing that sticks out? That shouldn’t be weird. Or significant. It’s nothing. She’s pretty. It’s objective. He clenches his jaw and gestures with frustration. “Did you miss everything else I just said?”

Something goes up between them. It’s apparent in his eyes. Clear, crystal storms with a thick sheet of ice over the surface. “No. I got it. I’m assuming Christopher is fine because you would have led with that if he weren’t. So… are we hating on this pretty teacher lady because she let Chris get hurt? Because I let him get hurt. I let him get far worse than falling off a skateboard hurt. Not that I want to defend her but if that’s the issue—”

“It’s not.” Eddie breathes hard and exhales hard and tries to make all of the defensive, tangled mess in his head calm the f*ck down. Why would Buck not want to defend her? When it sounded like that is his argument? Buck always defends people. Even his parents that Eddie seriously suspects are worse than his own. Which says a lot. “This isn’t about that. Definitely not comparable to a tsunami. You didn’t ‘let him’ get hurt— you protected him. You weren't careless or negligent. This is different.”

Buck avoids looking at him but visibly comes down a little. “Wasn’t trying to make it about me. I just meant.”

“I know.” He wants to reach out. He wants to comfort. He doesn’t want avoidance. He wants to hold on to this connection between them that’s so present and unwavering and reassuring.

It would be soothing to hold on, he knows it would. He trusts Buck, never feels judged or criticized by him, even at their worst. Buck is always there. He’d do anything asked of him.

Eddie wants warmth in his arms. He wants. He shouldn’t but it’s difficult to ignore sometimes. They fit together so well.

He doesn’t reach out. Anger bleeds out of him, replaced by an unsteadiness in his veins. He makes his voice soft and level when he talks this time. “I know. If anything I’m the f*ck up here. I told Chris he could do anything and now he feels dumb and like I lied to him. Because I did. I lied to him. I yelled at his teacher,” he very clearly leaves out the adjective he’d used earlier. For whatever reason. “When I shouldn’t have. Maybe she could have kept a closer eye on them, but kids get hurt. They do dumb sh*t and they hurt themselves. I can’t change that. She can’t change that.”

And then. He said something. He complained and shared everything with Buck, which includes pretty and now it’s a thing and out of every single word Buck could have fixated on, it was that one word, that one thing, and it’s a problem.

Everything about this is a problem.

Maybe Buck doesn’t care. Maybe he just picked up on it and is going to tease him like Carla. Eddie thinks Ana’s pretty. It’s so funny. We’re all still children in a schoolyard. Except adults usually follow these things with, it’s about time you moved on from your dead wife and when’s the wedding and have you had sex yet because if you want more children, you’ll have to hurry up with that, women have only a short ticking biological time clock window.

Buck wouldn’t have mentioned it because he’s jealous. It’s dumb and probably conceited to think it meant anything like that. If Chim or Hen reacted the exact same way, Eddie would have rolled his eyes and known they were joking with him. He and Buck joke and banter and poke fun at each other.

Why would it even be worth mentioning otherwise?

Plenty of people are pretty. He had it on good authority that Chim took one look at Eddie and called him beautiful. Buck himself is pretty. Gorgeous. Attractive. Handsome. Any word. All the words. His eyes sparkle and his toned, muscular body is straight out of a damn wet dream and his smile lights up a thousand cities and his lips look soft and perfect.

The way he waits, and maybe doesn’t even realize, that there’s a moment where he’s not quite smiling, where he gazes so intently, hanging on words or seeking a reaction. It could be confusion but it feels more… unexpected. As if whatever has enchanted him is there but not yet materialized. Then it appears and whatever he’s been waiting for makes that beaming smile crest like a wave, shining sunlight on a whole ocean, and he’s the most beautiful thing in the entirety of existence.

None of this is helping. It doesn’t matter. He bottles all of it and stuffs it in the deep, buried layers of suffocating mud where it can stay for the rest of time.

Breakfast is nice. She’s still so pretty. It could be something. It could work. Christopher would be so excited. He always grew so attached to his favorite teachers. Though Eddie isn’t sure if Miss Flores was ever counted among his favorites.

She’s nice though. It’s easy to chat with her. They talk about her new school and her new job and what she misses about teaching and what she loves about being a vice principal. He talks about the ridiculousness of jinxes and superstitions and the idea that anything could be mystical fate or cosmic forces wanting one person to do anything.

The universe does not care about the inane, trivial bullsh*t that goes on in anyone’s life. The universe doesn’t care about anything. It’s a concept of the broad reaches of space. It is not some magical power that forces events on anyone. People are not made for each other. Love is…

Love, he doesn’t even know anymore.

He knows she’s pretty. He knows his bed is empty and he hates sleeping alone now. He wakes in the middle of the night, almost every night, reaching out for someone who isn’t there.

And he doesn’t want to think about it ever at all because it makes everything complicated and f*cked up and confusing, but he misses sex, too. He misses being touched. He misses arms around him and he misses kissing until he can’t think of anything else. He misses relaxed, satiated afterglow where there’s still intimacy and connection but the urgent rush of it is gone and it’s replaced by contentment and serenity. The afterward was always his favorite part. Feeling so close to someone, sharing lazy kisses with them, tracing marks they'd made on each other. Wrapped in the warmth of their body as if nothing cold could ever touch him anymore. He misses having someone.

Has he ever had someone? For more than a few weeks? A few months?

He had something. A whole spring and summer. Nearly six months. Every night. Every single night, he was held or had someone he loved to hold in his arms.

He misses the light, sweet smell of cucumber melon shampoo, and the way he was sought out, even in sleep, and how it was never a question whether they would share, whether they would nestle into a safe embrace. It simply was.

It was safe and comforting, and even when his heart was sick over missing Christopher, it kept him from falling into despair. There were even moments. Where it almost felt like afterglow without the sex. It was quiet and profound, full of affection, understanding, closeness. It was peaceful. He didn’t feel alone. Or trapped. He had someone who always watches his back, who would offer support and comfort whenever Eddie needed it. He never even had to ask. Buck would just look at him and know he was lonely and that he needed to be held or he might fall apart. Buck never judged him for it, never made him feel like a failure.

But it's not something Eddie can have anymore. It was temporary. He had to go back home. Their relationship just. It isn't like that. The kind of closeness where they're always together, sharing the entirety of their lives, and they fall asleep holding onto each other isn't something he can keep. How could he ever keep it? Buck is his friend. His best friend. They're friends. Who would do anything for each other. Who are closer than he's ever been to anyone else. That's what misconstrues things. Closeness and longing and loneliness and devotion all get tangled and confused when crossed together. When there's so much of all of it.

Buck is 3.0 now. Apparently. He's thinking of the future and working on himself. Eddie is supposed to do the same. He has to move on at some point. He can't cling to the memory of Shannon forever. He can't pretend that they were anything like what he really wants. They didn't work as a couple. It was never going to work. It just. Still hurts. Missing what they did have.

It hurts. Knowing that he can't have the person who does fit him and support him and love him so well. It's not that kind of love. Buck wouldn't want... Eddie is too confused and f*cked up and suffocated for him anyway. So.

The universe doesn't scream. There's nothing to listen to. There's nothing he can have but this.

Ana gives him a slightly wide-eyed expression but doesn’t seem as if she finds it off-putting. “You are a very passionate man, aren’t you, Edmundo? You have such convictions.”

Does he? Is it true? Is he passionate? Or is she just flirting? It’s been too long since he’s done this. Has he ever done this? Technically, he dated Jaxson. But the first time they went out, they’d gone to a shady college bar that didn’t check IDs and had drinks and left almost immediately to have sex because Eddie really wanted to know if it was different. If it might be better. If it could be something that fit. That was fifteen years ago. And he still doesn't know. He gives Ana a smile, but worries it comes across as too nervous.

She doesn’t notice if it is. She smiles back. And she’s pretty. She’s interesting and nice and intelligent, and she teases and flirts and gives him attention and offers to cook him dinner, and Buck offers — he offers okay he offered — to babysit while they go on another date.

After enduring the 24 hours of ridiculous calls and wildly unbelievable delusions from people he’d thought were rational and sensible, and then skipping breakfast with the team in favor of breakfast with the pretty teacher, he tells them all on their next shift. The reason he didn’t go with them to breakfast.

The team is predictable; they ooh and aah and ask a hundred prying questions for scraps of details. How was it? What does she look like? Are you seeing her again? Do you have pictures? Where did you eat? Did you kiss her? Did it go well? Is Christopher excited? All day long. So many questions. From everyone.

Except Buck. No questions come from Buck. He’s quiet. All day. He works silently and follows Bobby around asking for more chores and does all the meal prep and clean up and restocking and inventorying and truck servicing. Even cleans out the fridge and pantry — which no one likes to do — and reorganizes the kitchen so it’s mostly the same but stacked neatly and arranged according to size and frequency of use. He did the exact same at Eddie’s house a little after the massive train derailment that brought someone back into Buck's life. At least it seemed like closure for him.

But then Eddie feels guilty. Like it’s his fault. Like he shouldn’t have had breakfast with anyone else which is not fair. It’s frustrating and aggravating and he’s trying to move on from losing Shannon. She was his wife. Just because they f*cked up everything about their relationship doesn’t mean losing the person he made a commitment to wasn’t one of the worst experiences in his whole life.

It’s reductive and an oversimplification anyway. To say she was his wife doesn’t sufficiently cover the depth of what she was to him. She was his best friend. She was the person he trusted, the one who knew him and kept him company and didn’t see him as something wrong or weak or unnatural. She knew the truth beating in his heart. She told him he should set it free. She told him to remember how it felt watching her be happy and in love and kissing her first girlfriend. She told him to remember he could have that, too. She told him he could have freedom and happiness and that he didn’t have to crush everything gentle or queer or nurturing in him to exist in the world.

She told him. She told him, I bet you could.

But Shannon died. And he’d lost her long before that.

It’s selfish, isn’t it? That fantasy of being so in love that you can hold hands and kiss in public and not care what anyone thinks about it. Shannon only thought about herself and how things might affect her sometimes. And Eddie is stubborn and forces everyone to do what he thinks is best but all he knows is what is expected of him and how things are “supposed to be.” The tiny little box of Traditional Gender Roles and Heteronormative Marriage, Sexuality, and Rules for Living is suffocating. Shannon could give him all the love she knew how to give. It wouldn’t have made a difference. She loathed that box and knew neither of them fit.

But what if he could? What if Ana does? He’s pretty sure she is straight. What if he could also fit then because she does?

What if he doesn’t want to forget Shannon? What if he wants her to remain as his one and only love?

She’d laugh and scoff. She’d get angry.

She’d ask in what world was she his biggest, greatest, truest love? And not in the incomparable, familial Christopher way. But the way that makes his heart flutter and pound and race and makes his palms sweat and his head swim and maybe even makes his dick hard because everything in him aches and needs to never be without that person. It was exactly what she asked him shortly before she died.

Tell me about the man Chris keeps talking about.

The one who plays make-believe with him and reads to him and makes pancakes — the best pancakes ever — with him and then tells him about stars and planets and kisses him goodnight. The one who makes Dad smile and laugh when he’s around. The one who was there for Santa visits and Christmas cookies. The one who hugs Dad when he’s sad and then he’s not as sad anymore.

What is he to you?

Have you ever considered being with someone who makes you happy? Do you know you are capable of being in love and there’s nothing wrong with it if you are?

I bet you could fall in love with him.

But it wasn’t like that at the time. He never let himself think it. But then Shannon died and the firetruck exploded and Buck was crushed and trapped and abandoned and depressed. And then the tsunami nearly took everything Eddie had left. His precious, beautiful son; his beloved partner.

Buck is too important. Christopher and Buck are absolutely without question everything in the universe to him. He can’t lose Buck like he lost Shannon. He can’t f*ck that up. Especially because Christopher needs Buck and loves him, too.

Near the end of their shift, he finally gets up the courage to approach the whirlwind of Fire Marshal Buckley on an organizing and maintenance spree. “Hey.” He starts with a peace offering. “Do you want to come home with me tonight? See Christopher? He’s been wanting this new game and I bought it but haven’t told him or given it to him yet. And I’m sure he’d love to play it with you.”

Buck goes still. He doesn’t answer. He’s not looking at Eddie. He’s looking at his work, sprawled out in the ambulance, diligently scrubbing all the nooks and impossible to reach corners along the floor. He’d already gone through checking the warning lights, the cameras, the LCD screens, electrical panels, the oxygen lines, cooling system, fluid levels. He’d lubricated all the locks and handles, hinges, weatherstrips, moving parts and pieces. He had lists. He was incredibly thorough. Eddie had watched all of it while doing his own chore list. Noticed him in his peripheries at all times.

The silence is deafening and cold and he hates it and this shouldn’t be him f*cking up. This is what he’s supposed to do. Why is anything an issue? Why hasn’t Buck looked at him all day? His voice is too strained and thin to be nonchalant and he hates it. “Buck?”

He swallows and starts polishing again without looking up. “Sure.”

It hurts. It hurts and it shouldn’t be anything and why is it anything? It’s not supposed to be like this. He can’t stand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. “Are you mad at me? Do we have a problem?”

There’s no fire, no anger, no puffed up irritation. He deflates and still avoids eye contact. “No. I just. You didn’t tell me. Not that you have to or anything. I was just… surprised. We usually talk. You didn’t say anything. That you were… I didn’t know you were... I was just surprised.”

“I…” Okay well, that was something wrong that he did. That deserves guiltiness. Honestly, he doesn’t know why he didn’t tell Buck. Or anyone else. Almost like taking a woman to breakfast was the shameful, embarrassing secret. Which…. Why? It shouldn’t be. This is normal. This is what he’s supposed to do. “I wasn’t sure about it. I’m sorry.”

Finally, finally, Buck looks at him. There’s a sheet of ice between them again and he’s not sure if he’s trapped underwater or if Buck is. But it feels like Eddie is closer to drowning. He's trapped beneath and drowning whether there's forty plus feet of mud or not. “Bobby said you’re seeing her again,” Buck asks like he doesn’t want it to be true.

He nods a little, more uncertain now than ever, which says a f*cking lot. “Yeah. She invited me to dinner. At her place. She offered to cook.”

Buck’s gaze is instantly lost again. But that sheet of ice is thicker and everything is freezing. “I can stay with Christopher if you want. While you’re gone. For your date. Whenever.”

Normally, the offer would be warm and touching, but it still feels like everything here is wrong. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I want to,” Buck says like sparks that flare to life and light up everything around them. It strikes dead center target and his eyes are bold and determined. But it’s nothing compared to the conviction and devotion in his next words. “I love him, Eddie. I love being with him. I love being there for him and being part of his life. I don’t want to lose that.”

It’s actually. More intense and fervent and living and breathing than anything Shannon ever expressed for their son. It’s more than anyone has ever expressed for Eddie either. The force knocks the breath from his lungs. “You won’t. I swear. You’ll never lose him.”

His eyes turn glassy. No longer ice. They’re something melting but devoid of warmth. Like tears threatening to fall. Words that aren’t said. Pain and gaping wounds that aren’t bandaged. “Okay.” He gives a thin, perfunctory smile and does indeed follow Eddie home.

He does not stay the night. Even when Christopher asks.

How can Eddie's heart be ripped to pieces if it’s caged and locked away in a block of steel and concrete? Why is everything this hard? Why is it so painful?

Isn’t this the right thing to do?

She cooks for him and it’s amazing, not what he’s used to but her technical skills and knowledge of how to put flavors and spices and everything together is probably at chef level. It’s a little fancy and different? Different from what he knows and prefers but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it. It’s good. Great. Bobby would probably love cooking with her or talking about cooking with her. But that would mean introducing them. Does he want to introduce them?

She’s easy to talk to. She does make math sound far more complicated than it should be, but Christopher is excited to have another person around. They get along well together, he thinks. If there are times when Christopher goes quiet and wants to be alone in his room, that’s normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe a little out of the ordinary. Sometimes, usually, he wants to wedge himself directly between them so he has both their attention.

It was a good choice. It was a good decision. Christopher is happy when Ana is around.

It’s easy to do this. It’s easy to be charming and the strong silent father who does everything he’s supposed to because she’s nice. She’s good for them. It’s wonderful to watch his son smile and be happy. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.

He’s not sure when “pretty” isn’t something he really thinks about anymore. They try a couple times to kiss but always get interrupted and don’t continue. He’ll put his arm around her and she’ll settle in close but it feels more lonely than when he’s actually alone. Does he trust her? Does he want her? Could he talk to her? About real things that is. Does he want to?

It isn’t like sharing a bed in a loft apartment a little ways across town. It doesn’t have that kind of ease or comfort or familiarity.

He doesn’t know how to talk to her or open up. Not about anything that really means anything. He wants her to like him. He wants her to stay. He wants to be good enough this time. If he lets something out or says something wrong, she might leave.

He can do this. It’s not difficult. He knows what to say and do. People always say fake it 'til you make it. Faking it actually helps convince yourself that you can achieve whatever it is you’re trying to achieve. Supposedly. He’s heard.

He does indulge — by himself — in something he needs. Occasionally. Alone. When the loneliness and hunger are just too much. But he doesn’t think of her. It’s not about her.

I bet you could fall in love with him.

He misses the strong arms and the solid weight and the muscular body, and the warmth that always radiates. He misses the way he could hold or be held in equal measure. He misses the soft, sleepy humming noises and the relaxed, barely half-awake nuzzles he’d receive against his chest or the back of his neck.

He looks at his phone in the middle of the night and at the empty side of his bed. He looks at the photo tucked into his nightstand. One he took almost two years ago. The night Ali left and Shannon had just. Also left. Where he picked up his best friend and brought him home and tucked him into his own bed because his leg was in a cast and any couch is only so comfortable. It was the best option and Eddie’s house doesn’t have stairs. It was reasonable.

Christopher had gone in to say goodnight but hadn’t come back out. Eddie found them on one side of his bed, the far side, the one left vacant because Eddie sleeps closer to the door. They were both asleep, his son cradled in Buck’s arms and holding tightly to him.

He’d watched them for a long moment before he thought to grab his phone and keep that image forever.

It only took him an hour or so to finally decide what the hell it’s his bed, and then sleep in his spot beside them. The three of them together. He’d kissed Christopher on the side of his head, and easily could have done the same for Buck, but didn’t want to risk waking him.

When he looks at that picture now, he remembers being hopeful. Or wishful is more accurate. They fit together. It was hard to be anything but happy when it was the three of them. They lost Shannon but they hadn’t lost Buck. Christopher was especially attached at the hip to both Eddie and Buck then.

What if they could do this every day? What if they had this every night, all the time, forever, and got to be a real family? Would they still love each other and want to be around each other? Would it still feel like a sanctuary and a refuge from everything else?

Could he be happy?

I bet you could fall in love with him.

Eddie tucks the photo away in his nightstand. It’s too much. Buck means too much. Maybe it was special because it was temporary. Maybe it’s special because they’re more than insubstantial, impermanent romance. They aren’t fleeting or flimsy. Buck is everything to both Eddie and Christopher.

He turns his back on his nightstand and tries to think of Ana as he falls asleep. He could hold her during the night. She could curl up in his arms, head on his chest and shoulder, and he could stroke her hair.

Actually. No. He doesn’t want to think of that. He doesn’t want to do that with her.

Buck liked to listen to his heartbeat. He liked to take his long body and his long limbs and lay on his side, snuggled against Eddie, arm slung around his middle, protecting and clutching, and one leg draped over Eddie’s. He’d rest his head over Eddie’s heart and he’d nuzzle as his breathing slowed and his body relaxed. Eddie would hold him and run fingers through his hair until he was sure Buck was asleep.

If something woke either of them in the middle of the night, the other would move closer. It would be safe and warm. It wasn’t one of them against his own demons in the darkness. Sometimes, Buck was not even awake when he did it, but there would be something that made Eddie’s heart pound and made icy fingers of fear trail down his spine, made him wake, unable to take in air with the weight crushing his chest. And Buck would make displeased noises and hold tighter. Then Eddie could breathe.

I bet you could fall in love with him.

You did fall in love with him. Didn’t you. You fell for him. You fell for him. And how can you ever take back something like that? How can you look twice at anyone else when you already placed your heart in his care? And now have a legal document to prove it?

He can’t fall asleep. His bed is too empty. His arms are empty. Everything is cold.

She makes the call and he tries to shut out all the other sounds of the hospital, but he can’t hear Buck’s voice through the phone. The call is over too quickly anyway. She smiles a little though. “He’ll be here soon.”

He breathes deeply and the fuzziness at his edges is softer, but the icy nauseous buzzing in his stomach won’t relax until he can see for himself and know for sure. He needs to feel and touch and have that weight in his arms, needs to know that Buck’s warm and breathing, that he’s safe.

“It’s sweet that you’re so close to your coworkers.” She walks around to the right side of his bed where there’s a tray with cups on it and perches on the side of his bed. “I was able to talk with Chimney? And Hen? I believe those were their names. They are very nice. Would you like some water?” She lifts a cup and holds it toward him.

He’s not sure he can hold it himself and he hates having people do things like help him eat or bathe or dress. But his mouth is dry and his throat hurts. He nods and lets her help him. It’s cool and soothing and he confirms, “They’re great. We’re family.” A thought crosses his mind. “Were they here?”

“Yes. The day it happened. We sat together and talked. Mostly about you. How wonderful you are.”

He motions with his left hand for more water. She helps bring it to his lips so he can ask, “Just the three of you?”

“No, Bobby? Your captain? Was there as well. He spent most of the time talking with reception and the nurses instead of waiting with us. And Buck wasn’t talkative. He…”

Eddie's chest tightens, his stomach lurches. Tell me, please tell me anything. Please. He has to know.

Something sad and haunted colors her features. “You always described him as so lively and friendly. I was surprised. But they said he helped bring you to the hospital when you were hurt. He had blood on him. He looked… broken is the only word I can think of.”

He swallows, can’t breathe, his heart hurts with every pulse. “Broken?” Not that he can’t believe it. Buck feels everything so deeply and can barely contain it even when he wants to. And that day was… bad. That’s as far as he wants to think about it.

She looks like she tries to think of a different description, but nods. “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem like he was listening to us either. Hen and Chimney were holding onto him while we sat together. His eyes were red and wet. He’d clearly been crying. He seemed… lost.”

He aches. He aches and he needs, and he has to have Buck in his arms. He has to. He needs him. He needs so badly. His heart is screaming and beating on its cage hard enough to break it. He worried Buck had been injured, that maybe he’d been shot as well and that’s why there was blood all over him. What if the damage wasn’t physical?

She rests a hand on his arm and rubs gently. “He’s better now. I saw him briefly.” She offers him more water and it hurts to swallow.

He may look better, but that doesn’t mean he is better. What if he blames himself? He definitely would even though there’s no reason he should. He blames himself for a f*cking natural disaster.

“You mean a lot to each other.” It’s not a question, even coming out of her. She looks away and sets the cup on the tray. “I guess I knew that with the way you talk about him. Christopher, too. Christopher’s always idolized him. The other kids thought he was a magical superhero. Christopher insisted he is.”

A small smile touches his lips but he’s not sure he should, if it would give something away. He’d say Buck saved Christopher’s life, that Buck loves him like Christopher is his own, that he helps adapt the world to Christopher’s wants and needs rather than shutting down and dismissing them and telling him he can’t. He’d say Buck isn’t magical, he just loves with every cell in his body. He’s made of devotion, kindness, affection and all of it everlasting.

He doesn’t remember talking about Buck with her. He tried not to. Afraid it would be too much, too revealing, too overwhelming. Apparently, it didn’t happen like he intended. How could he not talk about Buck? At least a little. Buck is woven into every part of his life. Every part of his being. His heart doesn’t beat without Christopher; it doesn’t beat without Evan Buckley. They are his heart.

How do you say that to someone who has been sitting beside you for days while you’re fighting for your life? How do you say it when the reality is unrequited? Buck might say she is his friend not his girlfriend, but Eddie knows that won’t be the case forever. He knows Buck likes her. He knows Buck is lonely and craving sex. He knows, has heard many times, from many different people, how much Buck loves and needs and wants and yearns for sex.

What is the point in saying anything when he’s not good enough? He needs his best friend more than oxygen, more than blood, more than anything with the one exception of his son. But his son needs Buck, too.

“He’s…” Eddie says because he doesn’t know what else to say. “My best friend.”

Ana gives him a smile and it seems genuine. “He’ll be here soon. Do you want some ice chips?”

Sure. Why not. He nods and touches her hand when she holds out the little fake spoon. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She helps him finish the whole cup and looks at him warmly. He supposes if she’s been here for days, waiting for him to wake, and is willing to take care of him like this, it must mean something. It can’t be that she loves him, too soon for that. But she’s nice. She obviously cares.

She doesn’t deserve to be hurt. But he’s not sure what, if anything, would allow her to not be hurt.

It’s too much for the fogginess in his brain, and he would fall back asleep. But. Not yet. He still needs Buck in his arms. At least for a moment. He needs Buck. He needs Buck so much.

The first time it happens, they’re nearing 32 hours into a 24 hour shift because a 7.1 earthquake greeted Los Angeles. They still have to make it back to the station, do something about their gear and themselves, but at least half the city is still down and there’s only so much maneuvering a firetruck can do in gridlock traffic where whole entire highways have given up and collapsed. It should be an 8 minute drive max. It’s now into 46 minutes. They’re all exhausted, the adrenaline is gone, except for the anxious fizzing under his skin because he needs to see his son.

Buck gave him another, “Public school buildings in California exceed seismic standards and provide an abundance of protection for children,” but that was roughly 30 minutes ago, and now Buck's eyes are closed and his head is resting back against the wall of the truck. They’re in the middle, seat belted in next to each other. Buck’s head falls to the side and lands softly on Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie notices sure, but it’s more that it doesn’t seem strange or uncomfortable. He doesn’t really know this man. And yet they spent the whole day tethered to one another, trusting each other with their lives. When Buck gripped his arm, Eddie knew he wouldn’t let go for anything. And of course every few hours or so, Buck would check his cellphone, find it still without service, and then come up with another way that a school was the best place for anyone to be in during an earthquake. It was sweet actually. Thoughtful.

He looks down at the head on his shoulder, the man leaning against him and completely unaware, and the last thing he wants to do is disturb him. There’s something about being so comfortable with someone that you can fall asleep in their presence. But that’s probably reading too much into it. They’re all exhausted. The only reason Eddie is still running on fumes is because he has to see his son.

Chimney motions for his attention and says quietly into the headsets. “Glad you worked yourselves out. I told you he was a good guy.”

Eddie smiles. “I didn’t doubt it.”

He gets an eyebrow raise and a very skeptical look in return.

“I didn’t,” Eddie insists. He’s met plenty of arrogant, selfish assholes in his time. Buck might have been bitter and even a little petty, but he never came across like one of them.

“Well, Hen does say he’s a golden retriever. I bet if you rubbed his belly and called him a good boy, he’d follow you around forever.”

Buck taps his headset and grumbles sleepily. “You know I can hear you. And I knew it was you who talked.”

Chimney grins and goes back to watching out the window as cars slowly move. “I said what I said.”

Buck huffs and then sits up, returns to leaning against the truck instead of Eddie. “Sorry.”

He misses the warmth but doesn’t know what to say or how to say or if he even should say. But he has to say something. He nudges his thigh against Buck’s. “You were fine.”

There’s tension that noticeably disappears from Buck at those words. He smiles faintly but doesn’t open his eyes.

For the rest of their ride back to the station, Eddie wishes it could have lasted a little longer.

It happens every so often after that. Usually, Buck slumps against him and rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder, but once or twice, or maybe more, in the middle of the night when there are no calls and there’s nothing on and staying awake is impossible without brewing another pot of coffee, Eddie leans against Buck and closes his eyes. He’s never been able to be very affectionate. Never been able to freely give and receive unless it was Christopher or his abuela or other family members. But then Buck is so free with his hugs and friendly touches. And Eddie soaks it up like the dehydrated, thirsty sponge he is.

Sometimes Buck smells musky and sweet like the faint hint of cologne or vanilla lotion. Sometimes it’s the melon or grapefruit shampoo from his hair. Sometimes its sweat and ash and smoke and burnt plastic and rubber, but Eddie leans in anyway. It’s always comforting. There’s steadiness to him, something constant, like he won’t slip through Eddie’s fingers and disappear.

When it’s late spring and there are no triggers, no warning, no reason for it, Eddie dreams of drowning in sand. He’s falling, he’s being buried alive, rifle fire is coming from every direction. He can’t breathe, he can’t make a sound, but he thinks he wakes up screaming.

It’s not usually this bad. Sometimes maybe. But it hasn’t happened in a while. His body is covered in cold sweat, his heart is pounding, he can’t move, can’t take in air, can’t say anything, can’t stop shaking. It’s dark and he’s in the bunk room. He’s in a safe place. He knows Christopher is with Carla and he’s safe. He knows the team is around somewhere — he’d gone to take a nap alone but there are people around who look out for him — he doesn’t really want them to bear witness.

His heart won’t stop, the echoes of drowning and falling and being shot at won’t stop. He just has to breathe. It’s not real. He’s fine. But it’s not fine and he can’t and his lungs are being squeezed.

A gentle hand touches his arm and it startles him at first. But then he can take a breath. A small one, but a breath nonetheless. He knows that touch. Buck’s voice is a sweet whisper, the same loving, reassuring tone he uses for frightened children. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s not real.”

He wants to move or sit up or something, but also can’t. What if there are other people trying to sleep now? What if they know? What if they heard? He tries to look around as much as he can.

“It’s just you and me,” Buck says. “What can I do?”

Well, just that much helped. Just the touch to his arm, too. Whatever is in his head yelling that nightmares are real is fading. But the rush and the pounding is still too much. He reaches and clutches Buck’s arm.

He shouldn’t. It’s stupid. He should just ignore it and get over it and deal with it himself. Suck it up. Be a man. It’s not real. It means nothing. But. Buck is right here. “I don’t know,” he answers and tries to force the shaking to stop. It feels like more tension and worsening, tightening, crushing.

Buck makes a motion with his head. “Scoot over.”

Scoot over… so Buck can join him? Lie in bed with him? Maybe… hold him in his giant incredibly strong arms? “What if. Someone sees?”

Buck scoffs. “I’ll tell them the truth.”

Eddie’s heart does a panicked rushing, stumbling and he opens his mouth to protest.

But Buck quickly says, “I had a nightmare and my big tough, ex-military buddy came to protect me.” He smiles sweetly in the darkness. Eddie can’t see all of it, but he knows. Of course Buck would offer that story if needed. “It’s not a big deal. Besides. You’re married. I have a girlfriend. Who is gone for weeks at a time but never mind that’s not the point. I know it helps me to have someone there. So, if it will help you, you bet your life I will climb in this bed and spoon you so you can relax and go back to sleep.”

Eddie can’t really argue with that. Wouldn’t want to in the first place. He manages to move over and turn on his side, facing away. True to his word, Buck’s arms come around him and hold him close against his broad muscular body. His hand flattens against Eddie’s chest like it can slow the frantic pace inside. And he’s safe like this. Even if he can’t move or wake or breathe. It’s one thing to say it and know it, but this allows him to feel it.

He closes his eyes and holds onto the arms wrapped around him.

They all decide at the end of a shift one morning, and Buck offers up his own home for all of them. It’s only two weeks. It’s supposed to be two weeks, and when he tells Christopher that Abuela and Pepa will take turns staying with him, Chris is excited. He does love adventures and their family.

Eddie though. Call him a pessimist. But he already knows this quarantine and pandemic ordeal will be longer than two weeks. He knows once he packs a bag and leaves his house that it may be at least a month. Probably much longer. Even Buck has been reminding people that, historically speaking, plagues last for years, not weeks.

It’s for Christopher’s safety. It will help keep him healthy because it’s not as if Eddie can stop doing his job and stay distanced enough from people who need help and might be sick and contagious.

It still feels like Eddie’s running again. Abandoning his son when he promised and promised he would never leave him. He doesn’t ever want to leave him.

When he hugs Christopher goodbye, the last time he’ll be able to hold him for weeks. Months. He doesn’t even know how long. He tries as hard as he can not to cry. It doesn’t work very well.

Chris holds Eddie’s face in both his little hands. “It’s going to be okay, Dad. I love you. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Eddie kisses his cheek and clutches him as long as Christopher lets him. He gets antsy and squirmy after a while. But he reaches for Buck and gives him a long, lingering hug, too. Before he goes off to play and enjoy the “long spring break” he was gifted with.

Buck’s hand rests on Eddie’s shoulder as they watch Chris go back into the house. Eddie just has to breathe. They’re going to talk to him every day. They’re going to visit at a distance if they can. Chris knows Eddie is still there and he’s not being abandoned. Hopefully? Eddie really, really hopes he does.

“Come here,” Buck says gently though he doesn’t give Eddie a chance to even move. He pulls Eddie into his arms. Eddie clutches him, hides his face in Buck’s shoulder, and he tries. He still tries not to cry. But he shakes and hates that he left Christopher as a baby. He hates that he missed so much and has to miss even more. He hates that he’s such a sh*tty father.

“You’re not,” Buck fiercely whispers, and Eddie had no idea he’s said anything. “You are an incredible, devoted, loving father. You really are. No one ever could have predicted this. We’re doing this to keep him safe. You’re still here for him. He knows this. He’s not worried.”

He will be if Eddie can’t get it together. Eddie pulls away and wipes off his face, but immediately longs for the comfort of his best friend’s arms.

“We can do this.” Buck squeezes his shoulder. “You have me still. You always have me. Whatever you need.”

Eddie grips the corner of Buck’s hoodie near his hip. He can do this. If he has Buck, he can do this.

Buck slings Eddie’s bag onto his own shoulder and drives them to the loft.

Hen’s already claimed the space under the stairs and set up an air mattress and bedding. Chim took the couch, and between them they have a portable rack for their clothes, some plastic, stackable drawers, a twenty dollar thrift store dresser to store their own belongings, and a room divider give each other some privacy.

Buck cleared out the whole far right side of his dresser and already moved the clothes in his closet to one side so Eddie can have the other. They unpack everything together and watching his clothes be organized and hung up next to Buck’s does something else to his insides.

He places his pillow on Buck’s bed and stares for a moment at the place where he’ll be sleeping for the foreseeable future. With Buck next to him.

While he tucks his phone charger, his laptop, his watch, a few books, his earbuds, and everything into the nightstand or somewhere nearby, Buck takes the bag of toiletries into their bathroom. Buck’s bathroom. That they will be sharing.

They’re going to share his whole living space. They’re going to share his bed. For weeks. Maybe months. Which isn’t unusual. They’ve slept next to each other before. It’s not weird or uncomfortable. It’s not a big deal.

It’s just. Looking at their clothes. Knowing half the bed and half the dresser contain his belongings while the other half hold Buck’s. Finding where Buck put Eddie's shampoo and shaving cream and toothbrush and aftershave— all of it next to Buck’s counterparts.

It’s a rush of something soothing, maybe fluttering. It makes his heart faster. Seeing what it might be like. If they did share everything. If they did have this kind of life together. Where everything they owned and loved and possessed was all mixed together.

He still misses Christopher. Still aches for having left him. But this… It does make him feel better. There’s almost anticipation excitement at the thought of sharing a living space. With Buck. He’s sharing with Buck. He's living with Buck.

He’d share everything with Buck.

Buck touches his back when they’ve finished unpacking. “You doing okay? I know it was a rough day.”

Eddie can’t even look at him out of fear he’ll reveal too much. But he nods. “I feel better now. Thanks for taking me in. Letting me be here.”

Buck squeezes his arm. “I love when you’re here. Fair warning though. I will try to steal all the covers and then cling to you when I get cold. I’m apparently a menace.”

For that, Eddie smiles. “I know you are. Don’t worry. I’ll steal them back. And I like when you’re clingy. You keep me warm.”

Buck beams at him, and true to his word, does attempt to roll and burrito himself in the blankets when they sleep that night, but Eddie unrolls him and curls up in his arms, and Buck sighs contentedly in his sleep and settles into simply holding Eddie the rest of the night.

The sun is trying to rise and Eddie wants it to f*ck right off. He’ll get to see Christopher today. He’s holding on to that. He’ll get to hug him and kiss him and never leave him again for real this time. He can’t go back to sleep. He wishes he could. He wishes for a lot of things.

If he breathes deeply, maybe his chest won’t hurt. He didn’t think it would be this difficult. But it’d be a lie to say he didn’t think it would be anything.

He knew perfectly well what it meant to share a home and a bed. He wanted and it was forced on them as practical and logical, and he still hates that Christopher isn’t with them. But he does love this.

He loves Buck’s arms and legs tangled around him, he loves the warmth pressed against him, he loves the comfort and companionship and intimacy. He even loves the way Buck snores sometimes because it means he’s right there and alive and relaxed and breathing and maybe Eddie’s been alone for far too long, but he likes listening. He loves the way Buck nestles closer and refuses to let go even when he’s completely out and lost in a heavy sleep.

Eddie runs fingers through Buck’s hair and doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to get up. He wants Christopher, needs to be with him, misses him every minute of every day, but he wants this, too. He wants to take Buck home with him and all three of them can be together and never apart ever again.

There’s something stuck in his chest and throat. He squishes his lips together and tries so hard. Even though Buck is asleep still and no one can see him. No one will know.

Buck’s hair is soft. It’s gotten so long. It curls when he doesn’t gel it or brush it out too much. Buck loves to have fingers stroked through it. He relaxes almost immediately and practically purrs he’s so contented.

He’s been so good to Eddie. To them both. He always has a smile and interesting books and facts for Christopher. He always remarks at how strong and resilient and kind Chris is to everyone. He doesn’t have to but he always waits nearby, ready to offer hugs and distractions and reassurance so that Eddie isn’t so devastated after they say goodbye to Chris from a distance.

There’s nothing but radiant love and support and partnership that come from him. They do everything together. They have been. Even after their friends predicted they’d get sick of each other after doing nothing but being around each other at work, at home, at night, on their days off for weeks and weeks and months now. They are always together. And Eddie doesn’t know how he can deserve it or how he could be so lucky. Until he remembers Buck isn’t his. And he has to let go and leave him.

He has to leave the solace of his bed, his company in the middle of the night, the grocery shopping and the meal planning and the divided housework that they always ended up sharing anyway even when they had specific jobs. All of that. But this most of all. Sleeping in his arms. Having Buck sleep in his. Letting him drift off to the sound of Eddie’s heartbeat and the fingers stroking through his hair.

He doesn’t want to think it’s worse than leaving Christopher, but he knew at some point at least that he’d get to come back to his son. He doesn’t get to have this anymore.

He stills his hand. He can’t move it. He can’t do anything. Tears leak from his eyes and he can’t make it stop. He clutches Buck tightly, holding on with everything he has as he presses a soft kiss into his hair.

It doesn’t even matter if he shouldn’t. He can’t remember reasons why not anymore. He wants this for the rest of his life. Every night, every morning, all the time.

But it’s not his.

He looks away when their alarms finally go off. He hides any remnants of tears and goes about the day like it’s any other. He cries later because he’s so happy to see Christopher and so relieved to hug him tightly and smell the bubble gum shampoo.

And if he’s still crying half an hour later, no one knows but his son.

The second there’s a fast blur of long limbs and familiarity, it’s easier to breathe. Ana even makes a hasty exit to give them space and as much privacy as they can have in the ICU fishbowl. But Buck is here. He’s whole and alive. And there’s fluttering and beating in Eddie’s chest. He needs this. He needs him.

When he reaches this time, Buck comes to him and lets himself be pulled into Eddie’s arms. His whole existence is lighter, less painful. His whole life is better for having Buck in it. He’s so real and so strong, but so gentle. He doesn’t smell like light sweet fruit or work or cologne. He smells like eucalyptus and tea tree oil. He used Eddie’s shampoo. He’s been staying at Eddie’s house. He’s been with Christopher. So much relief and warmth washes through him. It should be Buck. Christopher is supposed to have his Buck. Eddie breathes him in and wants to hold tighter.

Somehow, Buck’s sudden breaking with relief when they’re finally able to hold each other is both surprising and not. Buck’s always simmering with emotions that extend miles below his surface, and maybe Eddie knows how much they mean to each other because he feels it every second.

But maybe he doesn’t. Maybe neither of them knew how deeply this goes. Or how irrevocably they’re entwined.

“I’m okay,” he whispers and hugs with both arms and doesn’t even care that there’s pain in his shoulder. It doesn’t matter right now. It really doesn’t. “I’m right here.”

Buck holds on and keeps his face buried between Eddie’s neck and uninjured shoulder.

He’s always been right here. They’ve always been so close. He’s always been reaching and needing. He’s been waiting for a reason. For a love that’s strong enough and means enough and worth enough to let himself feel it.

Whatever this is didn’t give him a choice. He never had a chance to dig up his heart and open the lock.

Buck did that a long time ago.

Chapter 6: Precious

Chapter Text

It’s not until he goes to lie down and sleep that he even remembers to think about it. Taylor kissed him. He… kissed back. He did. What else do you do when someone kisses you?

Besides run away and refuse to talk it out like responsible adults.

Is he a responsible adult now? When did that happen? Also how? Who would ever believe.

It just… It’s too much to think about. It feels like cheating but neither of them have anyone to cheat on. He wouldn’t do that. He’d never do that. He’d never knowingly help anyone do that. He’s been trying and hinting for months now, not a lot, not overstepping or anything. Consent is mandatory. He would never.

Although that whole therapist thing was… confusing. He loves sex. He needs it, craves it. He was the one with the problem. He didn’t… not consent? It was… good? He thought. It was just that the more people talked about it later, the more weird it was. The therapist was pretty. Sex feels good. To be honest, he needs attention and touch is a love language and it was a high ranking one for him. But. It was weird. It never really made sense to him.

Regardless. He’s suggested to Taylor that they could be more than friends who drink together after work. She’s interesting. Beautiful. Cool. She’s snarky and ambitious and her worldview is vastly different from most everyone else he knows. She’s really hot and really smart, and she tugged on his hair and shoved his face between her legs and he kind of loves that. He likes being wanted.

He likes being attentive and making people feel good. They like him when he takes care of them.

But none of that mattered because she just wanted to be friends. Which is fine. Not as if he wasn’t expecting it. He’s been alone for years. He’s been alone his whole life. He had Maddie, he had a few friends, he has the team now. He’d say he has Carla and Christopher and some of Eddie’s family, but they aren’t really his. They’re Eddie’s.

No one’s ever loved him in a romantic way. No one has ever wanted him for more than a night or two. Not even the woman who he thought was his first real love. She couldn’t be herself with him. How could she actually, truly love him? She ran away and left him. And couldn’t even tell him.

He stretches out on the Diaz sofa, as much as he can, and tugs the blanket around him. It’s been a long time since he’s even thought about Abby. Other than taking her out of his phone the other day.

The day he nearly lost everything.

It’s okay though because Eddie is awake. He’s alive and so much better and he’d held onto Buck’s hand and hugged him and worried about him, and Buck could finally breathe for the first time in days.

It still feels like his chest is empty though. His bones were shattered and his heart was ripped from his body and if he thinks of Christopher and how he makes everyone laugh or of Maddie and how she always bandaged him or of Eddie and how he knows and listens and forgives and trusts… then there are echoes of a heartbeat inside Buck’s chest.

A heart of gold isn’t solid. It’s not held together by anything. It’s soft, flaky, breakable pieces that are stolen or given until there’s nothing left.

He has nothing left. That’s his story. He just doesn’t know if he’ll get corrupted by evil forces or if he’ll wither and die alone. Still up in the air.

Maybe a week or two ago, there would have been remnants to give Taylor. If she truly wanted them. He’s doubtful. She was probably just teetering on drunk. She hadn’t wanted or noticed before. Technically, she already had a flake of gold that belonged to her. She had one night. Or half an hour or so. She hadn’t really wanted more. No one did. She left him in a parking lot and never called him again.

He doesn’t want to think about it any more. He’s never enough. He’s never what anyone wants. He’s transient for everyone.

When he sleeps a few hours laters, he dreams of Red Delacroix in the middle of an ocean. Buck walks on debris that sinks the moment his foot leaves it, stepping further and further from the shoreline and the pier and carnival. Somehow, he knows that’s where Christopher is, but he can’t turn around. There’s a voice from the beach, calling to him as he walks toward Red and the building waves, but it’s not Christopher’s. It sounds more like Eddie. But there’s no wreckage behind Buck this time, there’s only steps forward, deeper into the vast, cold Pacific.

He wakes in a cold sweat, tangled in a blanket, the dying gasp of a sob on his lips.

There are slow, careful footsteps and a small voice from somewhere behind him. “Buck?”

It’s so gentle and concerned, but Buck has to hold it together. Why does it always feel like falling apart? Why is there nothing to hold onto? He swallows hard and tries to breathe normally. Nothing is wrong. He’s fine. He’s already lost it too many times now. He pulls himself up into a sitting position and rubs at his face. “Yeah, buddy?”

Christopher walks over to him and lightly touches Buck’s scruffy cheek. “Were you having a nightmare?”

“Maybe. I don’t really remember.” He’s not shaking. His heart is just pounding. He takes a deep breath and gives Christopher a smile. He’s fine. As far as terrible dreams went, that wasn’t much of anything. “Probably. I’m sorry. Was I snoring again? Did I wake you?”

“No. I woke up myself. I was thinking about Dad.”

Buck can’t help frowning. And hating the person who did this to his Christopher with every fiber of his being. “Your dad is okay, kiddo. I promise. I would never let anything happen to him. I would do anything to save him. He’s okay now. He should be.”

“I know. Like you saved me.” He stretches out his arms until Buck’s wrapped him in a hug. “You saved Dad, too. When the bad guy hurt him.”

“I did? I guess… I helped. Who told you I saved him?”

“No one. I know.” Christopher lifts his head enough so they can see each other. “You love me and you love Dad. You would do anything to save us. You said so. If he gets hurt, if anyone hurts him, you would save him.”

Buck swallows hard. He would definitely try. He would do absolutely anything. “I would. I would do anything. I…” he starts but isn’t sure he should continue. But it’s true and doesn’t make a difference. So. “I love you both. Very much.”

Christopher hugs him one more time. “We love you, too. Can we make pancakes again? Or waffles? With chocolate chips and whipped cream?”

Buck smiles for real and lightly tickles Christopher’s sides. “So much sugar again? What will your Dad say?”

He giggles and scoffs. “Dad likes chocolate on, like, everything.”

Couldn’t argue with that. Eddie did love chocolate. Especially with cinnamon or cayenne or other chili peppers. They might as well indulge a little. Comfort food and all that. After the week they’ve had, Christopher deserves it. “I suppose that’s true. It’s either chocolate or some kind of hot sauce. Did I ever tell you about the day he put both into his coffee and didn’t tell me and it was some kind of Carolina reaper awfulness and my mouth was burning the whole day? And it wasn’t even a prank?”

It earns another full laugh and Chris practically claps with glee. “Tell me again.”

Buck grins and lets Christopher pull him into the kitchen while he retells the story of the worst, most abhorrent coffee experience he’s ever had. Because Eddie was curious about the combination and loves spicy things and especially the combination of sweet and spicy. And they usually shared. They’d trade a few sips at least. Or if one of them ran out or finished his first, the other would share the rest of his. They always split take out orders, too. If they were being adventurous, they’d pick two different things they’d never tried and share. Or they’d stick with their usual favorites and still also share. And if one of them had a craving, they got a single dessert and two forks. Or three forks if Christopher was with them.

Eddie would have split chocolate cheesecake with him. Even with as much as he loved his chocolate. They always shared.

So it was an innocent day at work and Ravi had volunteered for a coffee run and they all had their own and Buck and Eddie traded after a while, as always. And that was when he learned that Eddie’s coffee had been doctored, like Victor Frankenstein lobotomized and poisoned and was most assuredly made by those evil corrupted unicorns who work for the terrible Hildy Overlord. “And here’s me,” he tells Christopher while they gather waffle batter ingredients. “In a valiant effort to protect your dad from the forces of pure evil while dying of Carolina reaper burns, and you know what he tells me? You know what he tells me.”

Christopher is already dissolving into giggles. “That he did it himself.”

“He did it himself! He looked at that bottle of Hershey’s syrup and the bottle of demon reaper, death pureé, and he thought it would be interesting to ruin his coffee with it. Let me tell you, it was not interesting. It was terrible.”

“And you don’t have gringo taste buds.” Christopher grins and places the large mixing bowl on the counter.

“I don’t! I do not. I mean, sure, gringo, white boy, I am. We know this. But I can handle my heat. I like a lot of heat.”

“You are a firefighter.”

“Exactly.” He laughs as he sets the eggs and milk and butter beside the mixing bowl. “I love hot, spicy, chili peppers, all of that. Not as much as your dad, but they’re awesome. Carolina reapers are not. They even smell like death. I don’t know what your dad was thinking. He drank the whole ridiculous thing.”

Christopher digs a spatula out of a drawer, still smiling, but it’s faded some. Buck knows, without even asking. The gaping hole and ache of loss beats in his own chest, too. “When,” Christopher says. “When do you think he’s coming home to us?”

f*ck, but that one hurts. “Soon? Hopefully? The doctors don’t really know yet. They want to make sure he’s better. He’s getting there. I promise. He looks much better. It shouldn’t be too long.”

Chris remains quiet. “Buck?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

He looks up with all the big eyes and shining adorableness in the world. “When Dad comes home, are you going to stay with us? So Dad is okay? He’ll need someone to take care of him. Like we took care of you? When your leg was hurt and we both needed crutches.”

At least that has an easy answer. There was never any question. “Of course I am. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll both get so sick of me being around,” he tries to tease and give him a smile.

“No,” Chris says firmly. Not any room for argument. “We wouldn’t. You should stay forever.” He wraps his arms around Buck’s waist and buries his face in Buck’s side.

Tears sting his eyes and it’s way, way too early in the day to break down sobbing again. He kneels down and Christopher lets go enough so that Buck can hug him back properly. Christoper’s strong little arms come around his shoulders like he’d never let go.

“I…” He would stay. He wishes. He wants and longs for it more than anything. All he can do is hug tightly and let Christopher bury his face into Buck’s shoulder. “I’m here now, okay? Whatever you need. Whenever you need me. I’ll always be there. I love you more than anything, kiddo. I mean it.”

“But you love Dad, too? Right? Just as much?”

He breathes in and exhales and hears the echoes of scattered golden pieces littered everywhere between them. It beats somewhere. It’s not his anymore. It exists in small reassurances about the safety of school buildings, in a phone call to Carla about a father and son she should meet, in Christmas outings, in making pancakes and macaroni and cheese, in fighting a raging ocean, in realizing he’d abandoned them and promising it would never happen again, in building a skateboard rig, in FaceTime calls and socially distant park picnics, in video game nights, in coffee maker pranks, in 3am phone calls, in silent cuddling in the darkness, in the unwavering, prodigious tether they vowed and built upon and value above all else.

There’s nothing in him that isn’t somehow saturated with love for Eddie and Christopher. “More than anything,” he promises. “It’s both of you. You’re my family.”

Christopher squeezes him and nuzzles against his shoulder. Something he had to have learned from Buck. It’s what Buck does when he sinks into hugs from his most favorite people. Usually without thinking. He’s used to bending down and wrapping himself around people who hug him. Nuzzles just sort of happen. He can’t explain it. And now Christopher is doing it and Buck’s chest is tight.

“Good,” Christopher says as he pulls away. “Waffle time now.”

Buck stands and ruffles his hair. “Waffle time.”

Eddie would love to say he’s able to sleep. He’d love to actually sleep and not just fall unconscious into a blurred void of chemically induced grogginess. But it’s difficult to move and even harder to get comfortable. The stronger pain killers always make him fuzzy and unbalanced and he really hates taking them. Feeling out of control is the worst and he’d rather feel the wounds than be this drugged.

Hospital staff try to keep his space dimly lit and undisturbed overnight, but there’s still a nurse who checks on him every hour or two. Therefore sleep isn’t really happening. Rest is debatable. One would think that doing nothing but lying in a bed for days would be restful on some level, but his whole body is sore. And weak. And he can’t do anything which makes it worse.

Eddie was supposed to say something. He needs to. That’s what near death experiences do — make you think too much about everything wrong in your life and all the ways you’ve failed and of all the terrible things that could have happened if he hadn’t made it. It should be a wake up call. He’s certainly had enough close brushes with whatever is beyond this life to know that something is wrong. A lot of things are wrong.

Has he ever been happy? He’s never followed his heart. Not for the sake of listening and giving in and accepting what he wants, what he loves. Who he loves.

He did a lot of thinking after being buried alive. He’s still not sure how the hell he made it out of that one. He knows the technical details, sure. The whole network of old irrigation pipes and feeder branches and well water was connected to the manmade lake. But he swears he remembers drowning. He remembers darkness closing in. All he knows is that he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t let it end that way.

He’d thought of Christopher the second they learned there was a missing and then trapped little boy. He hadn’t stopped thinking about his son for one moment. But he also thought about the man who didn’t let go of him from the moment Eddie more or less fell into his arms after crawling out of the frigid, disgusting water.

Hen and Chimney checked him over before they all left in the ambulance, but it was Buck’s hands that pulled off wet gloves and twined their fingers together. Skin to skin contact. Warmth against his cold and clammy hands. Buck touched him gently, a little frantically every few minutes, almost in awe, as if he needed to check and make sure he was seeing reality.

He’d stayed with Eddie the whole time, holding tightly to his hand. His eyes were clearly red and wet then, too. He looked like he’d been crumbling. Eddie honestly couldn’t bear to let go of him either. He’d refused even once they arrived at urgent care to do an official, thorough once over. Buck was not negotiable. Buck was staying. They found Eddie hypothermic, dehydrated, verging on shocky but not quite there. Thankfully, he had no obvious wounds or head trauma, his lungs were clear, respirations and heart rate strong, they made him sit through a liter of warmed fluids, took vitals multiple times, and then let Buck take him home.

It wasn’t the first night they’d shared a bed. It wasn’t even the first time they’d shared a bed outside of the station. That was after Buck had been trapped and crushed by a ladder truck, and Eddie insisted he stay with them at least until his cast was removed. But the night after the well collapsed still sticks out in his mind.

He’d held Christopher tightly as soon as they got home, but couldn’t bring himself to tell his son how close he came to not coming home. There wasn’t any reason to worry him. He’d been through more than enough for anyone in his nine years of life. He didn’t need to know.

Christopher hugged him back and then laughed and squirmed because, “Can’t breathe, Dad. The smell. Suffocating.” He’d dramatically fallen limp in Eddie’s arms with a hand on his face.

Eddie gave Buck a look and only received an affectionate, “Well, he is your son,” in response.

Eddie responded by sweeping Christopher up into his arms, spinning him around to “revive” him and then handing him over to Buck. “He’s your son tonight. It’s bedtime. And I have to shower all this farm water off.”

He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but he didn’t miss Buck’s slightly wide-eyed blink at him in response. As if he'd never put Christopher to bed? Or was it overstepping to say they could share parental responsibility? That didn’t make sense either. Buck was already a father figure whether he believed it or not. So, Eddie didn’t think another thing about it. He turned and walked down the hall to his bedroom as his dear, loving son called after him, “Is that why you’re so stinky?”

Eddie showered and relaxed under the hot, clean water, content and comforted by the fact that he knew Christopher was safe and happy and that Buck would take care of him with as much love as Eddie himself would. He could shower and collapse in his bed and not worry about anything.

It wasn’t long before Buck appeared in his doorway and shyly asked if he could shower, too. Christopher had teeth brushed, PJs on, bedtime story told, nightlight on, stuffed dinosaur to cuddle, and he’d been snugly tucked in. He had insisted on giving instead of receiving a goodnight kiss, and Buck touched his own cheek as he clutched his chest.

Eddie smiled and needed one, too. He got up out of bed to dig out clothes for Buck to sleep in and went to say goodnight to Christopher while Buck quickly showered. Christopher bestowed a kiss on his cheek as well and asked again, as he always did, if Buck could stay with them forever.

Eddie never had an answer other than maybe. He couldn’t say yes, that wasn’t his call, but he couldn’t say no either.

That was the moment he decided. If anything ever happened to him, Christopher should have Buck as a father. Officially. Legally. He’d thought similar things for a while now, but after genuinely being so close to death tonight, he was certain. He’d make it happen.

He went back to his own bedroom and listened to the shower running until Buck finished and emerged in the soft gray t-shirt and thin sweatpants. His hair was damp and tousled every which way, but he looked a little less haunted. His clothes— that might have once been Eddie’s but maybe had been ones Buck left here and neither of them could remember for sure— clung to his beautiful muscular body. Eddie would be completely lying if he said his heart didn’t rush just by looking at him. At the mere thought of how gorgeous and soft and delectable he was. At the knowledge that they were home and Christopher loved them and wanted them both, and Buck was going to share his bed and sleep beside him.

Eddie pulled back the covers for him on his side of the bed, and Buck climbed in and lay down on his side and facing him. He reached at the same time Buck scooted closer, and they ended up with hands clasped together and foreheads touching.

It made the whole night, the whole f*cking terrible day worth it. When this was at the end, nothing else mattered. This was all he needed.

Almost everything he needed. It was so close to perfect. His gaze trailed over Buck’s face in the darkness. His clear, expressive eyes were closed, his lips were slightly parted, perfect soft lips that had to leave amazing kisses in their wake.

It would be so easy to lean in. He’s pretty sure Buck wouldn’t turn away. It would be beyond anything else to kiss him. To have him. To love him enough to make up for how much they both needed but have never possessed.

It might also ruin everything between them that they’ve worked so hard to build. But. That was the one and only thing that was missing.

When he scanned his face a second time, there was a crinkle between Buck’s eyebrows. His breath stuttered. His eyelashes were wet. Overflowing. Not from a shower.

Eddie let go of one hand so he could slide an arm around him. “Are you okay?”

Buck nodded but it seemed far from truthful. His voice was soft and ragged in the darkness, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah. Yeah, I… are you? Okay, I mean? After… everything that happened? Are you okay?”

Well. Who knew what sort of fun trauma nightmares or anxiety triggers might come out of tonight. But honestly, most of his current worries had been about abandoning Christopher. And Buck. But he hadn’t. He’d made it home and they were all safe and he knew Christopher was happy.

He actually felt happy, too. He was happy. God. He was happy. Coming home and having this made him happy. So, for now, he was definitely okay. “Yeah. I’m home. I’m…” Safe, happy, warm, content, not lost and not alone, with the people he loves more than anything. “I’m good.” He ran his hand over Buck’s back, felt the shuddery breath go through him, and wanted nothing more than to slide forward and push Buck onto his back and into the mattress and cover him with his body and his warmth and with a thousand kisses to every part of him. So he could feel it, so he could know, so he could believe how loved he is, how irreplaceable he is to both of them.

But Eddie couldn’t. He didn’t. He did ask again, “Are you okay?”

Buck didn’t nod this time. His gaze was somewhere else. His voice was still quiet, uncertain. “I don’t know. I was so scared. Tonight. When it happened. There was a good thirty-six minutes where I thought… I thought.”

Eddie immediately pulled him into the middle of the bed and directed Buck’s head to his chest as he settled on his back and held Buck to him. After about ten seconds, he asked, “Can you hear my heartbeat?”

Buck nestled close, curled against Eddie’s side, long limbs clutching him. It was the first time they ever fell asleep like this. Definitely not the last. “Yes.”

“Good. Keep listening.” It’s beating and I’m alive and every single breath you feel, every beat you hear is for you and you alone. “I’m right here. I’m okay. You have me.” And I have you. All I need is you and Chris.

Buck nuzzled against him as if he knew the spaces between the words. What they were, what they meant, the unspoken trapped inside, he just needed to feel it. He relaxed slowly but never once let go. Eddie wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Except. He could have said it. He could have kissed him. He could have kissed him a hundred thousand times and never did.

There were reasons at the time. Valid ones, important ones. But. What is more important than their little family and how they love each other?

He’s kept himself from so much, nothing is worth losing them. Nothing is worth not holding on when he has a chance. If the throbbing in his shoulder is a reminder of anything, it should be a reminder of that.

Around five in the morning, the nurse appears in Eddie’s sectioned off portion of the ICU. “Sorry I keep disturbing you.” He looks like he’s wearing down as well. Probably at the end of a long shift. Eddie’s pretty sure he was hovering around him last night with the doctors and other staff, which means it’s been a while now. “How are you holding up?”

Could be better. Could be worse. He wants his son. He wants Buck to come back. He really wants to not be stuck in this bed anymore, but doesn’t quite have the energy to move. At all really. “Not a lot of ‘up’ happening over here. But I’m fine.”

The man smiles with his eyes. Nurse Javon. That was his name. Something like that. He’s friendly and tries to be as unobtrusive as possible. Javon has a tablet in his arm and looks like he makes notes about readings from the monitors all around them. “Well, if everything keeps improving today and you keep some solid food down, maybe even manage a little walk, I heard Dr. Redler talking about sending you home as early as tomorrow. But at least later this week. She thinks you’re doing really well so far. Then we can get you out of here and back home with your husband.”

Eddie’s heart skips. Husband. His husband. “My husband?”

“You know. Tall, hunky, big blue eyes and adorable puppy face. Looks like he wants nothing more than to wrap himself around you and not let go. Charles from down in the ER took care of him when you first got here. Cleaned him up and helped him with his phone. He saw a picture of you two. All your man could say was that you were his Eddie,” Javon explains like all of it is completely logical. Maybe it is.

His heart doesn’t just skip this time. It rushes. It rushes like leaping headfirst off a cliff into flames and waves and stars and uncertainty without a second thought is the only reasonable course of action. God, this is the problem when his heart is unlocked and set free. He can’t do anything but long for the world where they can be together, where they are together and married and promised to each other, where they belong to each other for this and every lifetime.

Eddie swallows and doesn’t know how he breathes and takes in air because his chest is far too full. “He…” What does he say? They aren’t married? Eddie’s never let himself love anyone? Or does it really matter what the hospital staff thinks? Can he… just pretend for a few moments? He doesn’t want to correct a single word. “He’s my partner. He goes by Buck.”

“Well, ring or no ring. It was pretty clear.” Javon switches out the nearly finished bag of fluids. His eyes are still twinkling like he’s pleased and smiling.

Is it clear? Is it that obvious to people around them? Even strangers who know nothing about their history or personal lives? Or is it because they don’t actually know them that they’re able to fill in the gaps? Would it be different for their friends and family?

Maybe not that different because his abuela and his tía have been on board basically since they met Buck. Even Buck confessed that listening to Pepa talk about how hard it was to be a single parent, raising a child alone, had broken his heart and made him ache. He said he wanted to help Eddie and Christopher have everything they needed because he could see and almost feel how much Eddie loves his son and how it was really special and not all kids get that kind of love and support so Eddie should have that much love and support right back. That was why he called Carla and asked her to meet them.

They hadn’t even known each other a whole damn month. And Buck had done more for him in that tiny action than the majority of people in his whole life. It wasn’t judgmental and it wasn’t invalidating. It wasn’t taking over and calling Eddie a failure even though part of him definitely believed everything his parents told him.

He was doomed from the start. How could he not trip and stumble and fall for him right then?

Javon inspects his IV lines and sets a new fluid rate after taking his temperature with a forehead thermometer. “We see a lot of distressed couples and families come through here. But there was just something about you two that we all thought was special.”

“You thought… that we’re special?” Is there something? That’s maybe real enough to hold onto? He’s wanted to believe it was possible. Growing so close to him, so close that they shared a bed and a home and never had a second thought about holding onto each other at night, it seemed possible. But reality hits like bricks and car crashes and avalanches and buckets of ice water.

And he’s probably f*cked all of it up now because he was so lonely. And terrified. And overwhelmed by the whole f*cking quarantine pandemic bullsh*t they’ve been living through. Ana was easier. Ana is what should have been. But pretty only goes so far. He never really even wanted to think about kissing her or undressing her or having her in his bed.

There was one person he wanted back in his bed and he sure as hell wouldn’t try to seduce Eddie with fourth grade math.

Although. If Buck got out his little clipboard and started talking about numbers and addition and multiplication and the order of operations, Eddie would want to do an embarrassing amount of filthy things to him.

Maybe Shannon was right. Maybe he is gay. Or maybe he’s bi and just very, very picky. Because body parts and gender have never really mattered one way or the other. He’s a medic and an EMT. A body is a body. The whole idea that you’d have to be disgusted by a penis attached to another person just because you had one of your own was stupid and nonsensical. And why would a vulva or vagin* bother him? Liam had one. Shannon had one. It doesn’t f*cking matter.

Maybe he’s demisexual? That’s a thing. He doesn’t know. He’s never known. A label isn’t going to help. They always felt restrictive and confusing anyway. And assumptions about relationships between men and women were frustrating and there was too much pressure, too many expectations and demands. This is why he always hung out with lesbians and bisexual women. Well, that and they probably knew he wasn’t straight just like he knew they weren’t either. It was so much better without those assumptions.

Defining himself means nothing in the long run. Not to him. He’s in love with his best friend. More than he’s ever loved anyone or anything. The one exception being his son. But they are both completely different kinds of love and can’t really be compared. If for some reason, he had to choose, he would. He has been. That’s a huge part of the problem.

He would of course do anything for Christopher, even keep himself from any other sort of love and happiness. He would without question.

He’d marry a woman because it was The Right Thing To Do and then he’d be terrified and take an escape and make them all miserable, and even though he’d try and try to fix it and make it up to both of them and then ultimately fail forever because she died and he let her die and couldn’t help her. He’d cling to any vague scraps of attraction to a woman who he doesn’t actually want in order to salvage something of that paradigm of a heterosexual family just in case it’s true that his son needs a mother figure. Even though he doesn’t even really trust her with him and can’t exactly explain why.

He’d ignore how there’s a beautiful, loving, kind-hearted man who cherishes his son and loves him like his own and would literally die to protect him. A man who offers them both support and comfort and affection, who knows Eddie so well and doesn’t run away, who would do anything to keep him alive and safe.

He’d ignore how much his heart screams and cries and breaks and dies every time he forces himself to shut it down and stay silent and crush anything he feels.

He needs both of them. How could he ever find happiness or even peace while denying he wants a love like the kind Buck gives him. Might give him. If he feels the same.

“We heard how he saved you,” Javon says. “He’s also a firefighter, isn’t he? A lot of people saw how devastated he was when you were brought in. And the second you were allowed visitors, he was here for hours. Practically curled up next to you."

He wishes he could remember. Buck had said he visited, but everything was a blur of drugged nothingness to Eddie. And if he's being completely honest with himself, he wishes Buck were here now. Or scratch that, he wishes he were home with Chris and Buck and none of this had ever happened. If he's actually wishing for things.

“I told him most patients do better when their loved ones are around them. Even if they’re unconscious or comatose and not quite aware of anything going on. After he visited you, I watched your vitals improve. We were even able to extubate you sooner than anticipated. In your case, having him here really did appear to help. I thought it was really sweet.”

Did it really? Or is it just romanticized, wishful thinking? Was it a coincidence or did Buck's presence actually help soothe and allow Eddie to breathe better and recover faster? It's a nice thought, even if isn't actually true. Although Eddie would do absolutely anything to come home to his family. Would he have been able to sense Buck there beside him?

He doesn't know. Whatever the answer, the important thing is he's alive and awake and hopefully healing.

“We were all surprised we haven’t seen him around more often. It seemed like he never wanted to leave you.”

Eddie scrunches his lips to the side and it’s only been a span of hours, but it’s too long. He wants to say it. He wants to hold Buck and not let go. After all this time, after everything, they both deserve it. Buck deserves all the love and affection and devotion he always gives but never receives. Eddie needs... he needs his heart. “He’s at home. With our son.”

He’d made it true in the event of a catastrophe, as a just in case precaution. If fighting wasn’t enough to bring him home. But Christopher deserves Buck regardless of that. He’s their son. It doesn’t diminish how Eddie helped create him and has loved him since the moment he existed and tries every day to be good enough for him because he deserves the world. Having Buck means Christopher has more love and support and happiness and guidance and protection. The kind that he should have. Not the kind that certain grandparents offered.

Maybe Eddie can never have Buck the way he truly wants to, but Christopher should. Christopher should have everything. He wants Buck to be a father to his son.

“That was it. Charles was pretty sure there was a child in the picture with you two. He said you have a beautiful family.” Javon touches a hand to his chest, over his heart, similar to the way Buck sometimes does. And that’s when Eddie notices there’s a wedding band on Javon’s left ring finger. Maybe he has his a husband of his own. “Well, you try and rest. We’re going to get you home to them.”

Something in him settles a little. He’s safe. He’ll be home soon. Javon turns off as many lights as he can and ducks out of the room so Eddie can sleep.

He manages on and off for a good almost five hours. A different nurse, a woman with long dark hair who looks like she could be Ravi’s twin, brings him plain crackers and grape juice and he doesn’t really want to eat anything but tries to anyway. There’s no nausea afterward and everyone is thrilled with that.

An hour later she pokes her head in again and says, “Don’t tell. You have three visitors.” She sneaks them all in since they’re matching and dressed alike and families are typically in the same Covid bubble.

Eddie smiles and reaches for all three of them. Hen kisses his cheek, Chim squeezes his hand and holds on, and Bobby gives him a careful hug. Emotion builds up in Eddie’s chest and he wishes this were over and he were home and with his beloved team and family. “I missed all of you,” is the only thing he can really say.

They give him affectionate squeezes and tell him they miss him, too. They recap some of the more noteworthy calls he missed out on, nothing too exciting or at least they make it sound that way so he won’t be too left out.

There’s something none of them manage to describe in complete sentences. They step around it like land mines and say enough that he’s sure he knows why they’re avoidant. Something happened on a call, something dangerous, and it likely involved his partner who is currently operating partner-less.

They update him on how the sniper is a whole thing now, and the police are suspicious he’s an ex-employee. They’re bringing him in for questioning. Everyone from every station in the whole city is being shadowed by SWAT teams and LAPD on their shifts and they wear kevlar vests like it’s standard issue firefighter gear now. Eddie was apparently the first victim they know of but far from the only.

Something freezing takes hold of him and burns under his skin. They’re all in danger. His team, his friends and coworkers, his chosen family. His partner. Christopher’s… f*ck it, Christopher’s other parent, second father, the man who should raise him if Eddie does’t make it out of here. He’s in danger. They’re all in danger.

“Everyone is taking precautions,” Bobby says in his calm, placating captain tone. “We have a lot of people round the clock keeping us protected.”

“Dispatch has been really selective about when and where they send people, too,” Chim adds.

Eddie looks between all three of them. Not to be a pessimist or anything, but the thing about most snipers, especially if they’re professional and especially if they’re good, is they can take a shot and land a lethal hit no matter the surrounding circ*mstances. SWAT protection included.

But it’s not as if the LAFD can just stop doing their job. People always need help. Especially with the constant threat of viral doom hovering over the whole world.

The icy burning worsens and burrows deeper. Part of him really wants to see Buck immediately just to have proof he’s okay, but part of him also wants Buck and Christopher to stay inside and never leave the house again. Not that it’s reasonable. Or feasible. But that’s not the point. “So,” he says very slowly and carefully. “You’re… all okay? You’re staying safe? As much as you can anyway. Apparently. Considering.”

The three of them glance at each other and try to be subtle. They try to communicate without giving it away, but none of them answer right away, and f*cking hell. They don’t want to say and he might not know exactly what happened, but he knows enough. He knows. f*ck, they don’t even have to say it, he knows because he knows Buck better than anyone.

Buck wasn’t safe. Buck put himself in danger. Either to save someone or to protect his team or because he’s guilt ridden and rudderless, anchor-less with nothing to pull him back. Maybe all of the above.

Maybe it was necessary, maybe it wasn’t. They all risk themselves at some point or another. They just consider Buck to be reckless about it. He’s not though. He’s usually very calculated. He just doesn’t see any value in himself. He thinks only of solving the problem and saving the person.

He thinks he has no reason, no home, no family of his own that he needs to return to.

I think it might have been better for him if I was the one who got shot.

It hurts. It hurts and it’s terrifying and just like lying on the ground bleeding and staring up at Buck in danger of taking the next bullet, and Eddie knows why. He knows that Buck feels worthless. He knows Buck will protect anyone with zero consideration for himself. He knows how horrible it feels to be lost and alone and without the person who keeps you steady.

Sometimes, he thinks it was the thing they both missed during that whole f*cking lawsuit nonsense. Buck was used to being abandoned and used to having no one; he assumed he wasn’t important to them. He didn’t realize he’d maybe slowly, maybe suddenly become everything to Eddie and Christopher within the span of barely a year.

Eddie hadn’t even realized until he was lost and completely alone and screaming about it in a grocery store in front of their friends and coworkers. It’s not a time he ever wants or likes to think about. But it was illuminating if nothing else.

“We are being careful,” Hen finally says. “We look out for each other. That’s what we do.”

Somehow. That’s not as comforting as it could be. Buck would die for all of them. He’d die for anyone. It’s something admirable and heroic, sure. Maybe. It’s not as if Eddie hasn’t almost died trying to save someone. And he loves that Buck is so full of empathy and compassion and kindness. He just… really needs Buck to have at least a small amount of self-preservation. He needs Buck to come home at the end of it. He needs him to stay alive.

What can he do or say that he hasn’t already tried to convey a thousand times over in so many ways? Is it even possible to convince Buck he’s absolutely irreplaceable? That his life is worth everything? That he’s important and valued and needed in ways he can’t even fathom?

Is there anything that could make him believe it?

Eddie’s visitors must notice his attention has slipped.

“He’s okay, Eddie. Don’t worry,” someone says. Hen, he thinks.

“We’ve got close eyes on him.” Chim makes a back and forth motion with pointed fingers coming from his face.

Bobby gives him a smile. But it’s tight and thin, trying to be something he doesn’t have confidence in.

He might be safe now, Eddie did see him a mere twelve-ish hours ago. But he can only imagine the pieces of Buck they’ve all picked up and tried to glue back in place over the last few days.

Even Eddie had absolutely broken down in the back of the ambulance once. When Buck had been caught in a bombing and crushed under the truck. They delivered him to the hospital and it was too soon and too awful and too much like Shannon and Buck had been screaming in agony, and Eddie had to let go of his hand and he couldn’t keep it together after watching him disappear.

He knelt in the empty ambulance, touching the cold floor. His hands were empty. He had nothing to hold onto. He knew Buck's spine wasn't crushed or broken. He knew it wasn't like Shannon. But he'd lost her. He'd lost her and now Buck was also broken in the middle of the road.

Eddie was shaking. He couldn't stop. He rested his head on the back of his hands and couldn't feel Buck kept safely in his grip anymore. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't stop everything surging through his chest. He prayed, pleaded with any god or power in the universe that would listen, please don't take Buck like Shannon was taken. Please let him make it through surgery. Buck was so kind and good and generous. He'd come to mean so much to them, and especially after they lost Shannon, Eddie just. Didn't know how to lose Buck, too. He couldn't.

He cried, he fell apart, crouched and folding in on himself. There wasn't any way to stop it. There wasn't anything more for him to do. It was too much. Shannon was broken and died. Buck was broken and shocky and in danger. Eddie couldn't keep any pieces together. He couldn't do anything but break.

Neither Hen nor Chimney ever said a word about it when they returned and found him. But they closed the doors behind them and caught him in a tight hug as soon as Buck was safely inside the hospital. Eddie was safe with them. They'd loved Buck first. They understood the pain, the fear of losing him. But Eddie was sure in that moment, they'd known, they’d seen how something was different in the way Eddie loves Buck.

Before long, they all tell him goodbye and try to end on a happy note with well wishes and more gentle hugs. They have to go home and sleep off their 24 hour shift before the next one in a couple days anyway.

He’d love to be able to go with them and maybe get real sleep in his own bed. But his brain won’t shut off this time. His mind keeps going like it’s tired of being stifled.

The whole half a year after Buck was crushed and trapped in the bombing that still likes to make Eddie’s heart jolt and rabid panic sometimes for no damn reason, was like this. Like he was crumbling and falling apart no matter what he did. He never wanted to admit it. They’d only been working together for ten, eleven months or so? But at some point, you grow accustomed to a safety net and a support system and a partner who has your back for anything and everything. It makes functioning without incredibly difficult.

He would try to turn to his partner while engulfed in flames or in tsunami water but then realize there was no one beside him. He’d reach for a tool and expect it to be placed in his hand without him even asking for it and find it empty. He’d want to share coffee and downtime and chores, and he could have with any of his coworkers. He was still fond of Lena even if he was a sh*t friend to her.

But it wasn’t the same. He always looked to the vacant spot next to him at family dinner, but it remained vacant. There was an absence and a giant void that could not be filled. There were at least a few minutes every time, every shift, where all he wanted was to hold onto his friend and partner and he couldn’t.

Of course he demanded Buck stay with them. Not trapped on a stupid couch in his apartment with no one to take care of him or keep him from falling deeper into depression.

Eddie tried to keep a respectful distance, too. The first night, they shared the bed because Christopher was between them. The following nights, Eddie took the couch and it was fine. No big deal. He’d do anything to help his best friend. But then Buck threatened to go home to his own couch and that was just unacceptable. So, they shared. They were adults. It wasn’t a big deal. Buck couldn’t move a whole lot anyway so he mostly stayed on his own side.

It was Eddie who’d wake and find himself a little too close. With the smell of Buck’s hair in his nose and the warmth of his body right there, and sometimes, sometimes, he’d wake. And his arm would be wrapped around Buck. And Buck would be clutching it.

After a few weeks, he just accepted it. They both had lost so much and needed to not be alone. It was simple. They’d slowly been sharing everything. There wasn’t any more to it. When the nine week mark hit and the cast finally came off, Buck went back to his apartment. Eddie had been relieved. That was the word. Relieved.

There were only so many times he could wake up aching to be touched.

Besides. Buck couldn’t engage in any kind of sexual activity. He had to heal, recuperate. And at the time, it was easy to write off as merely physical attractiveness and grief and longing. Buck was younger and single and didn’t need to be tied down to a man who was a repressed, closeted mess and a terrible husband, not to mention the whole responsibility of parenthood.

Eddie had thought.

And now people assume they’re married with a kid. It’s not that much of a stretch to see it. The nurses might have put pieces together, but they came up with a mostly accurate puzzle. But it’s not the first time people have assumed.

Both Judd and Marwani kept sharing looks as soon as they’d seen the ten or so pictures Eddie posted online. Most included Buck. He always came along when Christopher wanted an adventure day. It was always the three of them.

But while Eddie was packing up and loading their gear back into their truck, he heard them not far off exclaiming to the captain’s son, “TK, he’s practically married!”

“Of course you got vibes from him. He and Diaz have a kid together.”

“They what?”

“Don’t tell me you were trying to be a home wrecker.”

“Wait, no. That was exactly what I was trying to avoid!”

“What happened to ‘I have the best gaydar this side of the Mississippi.’ Come on now.”

“Did you miss how they practically shared a damn cot?”

“…They were sharing a cot? That was an option?”

Eddie hadn’t known what in the f*ck happened while he was with the rescue team but he watched Buck freeze next to him and blush bright reddish pink. Eddie asked in a hushed voice, “What is that about?”

All Buck could say was, “TK thought I was hitting on him? I was not. At all. He’s nice. I was being friendly? I was not making a move at all I swear. Really not. I mean he’s… cute? Great. He’s great. Not cute. He kind of saved me? I was really not. Not that I’m… Not that I am opposed? In general I mean! Not in this specific scenario. I was not making any move on him. At all. I swear.”

That just made the whole thing even better. Eddie smirked and felt a little victorious. “He’s cute, but we have a kid together? And I’m cuter, right? Pretty sure that’s what Maddie said when we helped her move. That you thought I was cute.”

Buck narrowed his gaze. “I told her Christopher was cute,” he insisted, but the deep pink color didn’t leave his face until a good hour or so later. And Eddie was more inclined to believe Maddie in this instance.

He’d given Buck a smirk and couldn’t resist, adding, “Well, I am bringing you home to meet my parents. I better be at least a little cute.”

There may or may not have been dying whale noises that came from Buck along with a promise— that was quickly broken in less than 90 minutes when Buck couldn't take it any longer— that they would not be speaking again for the rest of the trip.

It was always lighthearted. Teasing. Maybe a little closer to the truth than either of them could say, but other people still noticed something about them.

Is there something between them? He’s so certain sometimes. But maybe it’s because it’s flooded his own heart.

He has to tell him. He has to say something. He just… doesn’t ever want to do to Buck what his parents did to him. Where they only gave him attention because he’d nearly killed himself so they would notice he was alive.

Buck has to know there are no contingencies attached. There’s nothing he has to do or prove, he’s already done that a thousand times over. He’s pivotal, indispensable, essential. He’s everything.

They need him. He’s their family. He’s father and husband to them. He could be. Whether he knows it or not. That’s what they are, what they have been for who knows how long now.

Maybe. That’s the proof Eddie needs to show him. Christopher has always been his heart and soul, his light, his love, his whole world. He trusts Buck with all of it. He trusts Buck to love and fight for and raise his son if he can’t. Maybe knowing that would be enough.

The dishes are now under control but it’s the laundry monster that always sneaks up on unsuspecting victims. While Christopher sits down to his Zoom school, Buck goes through all the household chores. It’s garbage and recycling day tomorrow so they usually try to get all the regular housework out of the way the day before. Well. He knows Eddie does. But Buck’s typically there helping. When he helps, Eddie and Christopher are free sooner.

So, Buck tidies the living room, runs a load of dishes and wipes down the kitchen, gathers all the laundry, strips the sheets from both beds even though Eddie’s bed has been empty. He deserves a nice clean bed when he comes home. He’ll gather all the trash and recycling and tackle the bathrooms after Christopher’s lunch break, but around noon, just before he has to think about heating up food for them, there’s a knock on the front door.

All of a sudden there’s a Christopher sized rocket that launches from down the hall and magically appears to answer that knock. He seems to have brought only one of his crutches but that doesn’t stop him for a second even though he's unbalanced. “They’re here! They’re here! Buck! They’re here!”

Buck has to smile and then quickly toss the armful of dry sheets and towels on Eddie’s bed before joining Chris. Tuesday lunch break was for Abuela visits. Usually so Eddie could squeeze in a nap after their 24 hour Monday shift between all the housework. But also for family time. “Go for it,” he tells Christopher once he’s made it back to the living room.

Abuela and Tía Pepa are on the other side. They grin brightly when they see Christopher in front of them, and a smile even spreads across Buck’s own face.

“Hola, mi angel.” Abuela kisses Christopher’s hair as they hug, and then walks over to Buck and cups his cheek. “Mi otro angel.”

He bends down for a hug and lets her place a kiss where she’s touching his face. It’s so full of warmth and belonging, he could easily burst into tears. Happy ones this time at least. “Hola, Abuela,” he replies.

Eddie had introduced them by name when they both invited him for dinner ages and ages ago. Buck tried to call her Isabel. It only lasted half the night before she insisted he stop that. But they’d spent a good amount of time in the kitchen together. He wasn’t going to make her cook everything for them all by herself. He wanted to help. And he’d really, really wanted her to like him. He’d never gotten to spend happy, quality time with a grandparent before. He was just relieved she welcomed him. He still hasn’t figured out what he did to deserve such a reception both then and now.

As soon as Abuela lets go and takes Christopher’s hand so they can walk to the kitchen together, Tía Pepa closes the door behind her and hugs him. He sighs and wants to sink into it. They’re both so warm and welcoming and they’ve given him so much over the few years he’s known them. It’s still so hard to comprehend. Pepa leans back to look at him after a moment but squeezes his upper arms. “How are you? How are both of you? Are you doing all right?”

Complicated questions. “We’re… good? We’re okay. As expected? Christopher’s been fine. A little down, but. I’m trying to keep things normal and stable for him.”

“And you?” Her gaze is sharp, unrelenting but in a concerned way that makes him wonder again how it’s real that anyone could worry about him.

He doesn’t know how to answer. His heart was ripped out and lacerated in the street and he has no mainstay or counterpart and there’s emptiness even in the place he considers home right now. So. He shrugs. “I’m… just. Trying to keep going.” That was what Bobby told him to do.

She hugs him one more time and then takes his arm and escorts him to the kitchen where they pull out containers of fire-family prepared meals for lunch. Thank goodness, actually. He’d frozen quite a bit of what they’d been brought, but he and Christopher could only eat so much at a time, and everyone had been very generous. It’s nice to be able to share. It’s nice to feel like a family. Like he’s part of their family.

Christopher runs through all the school news for the day and how Mr. Price’s cat keeps wandering across the screen when he tries to talk about science and then everyone giggles and gets distracted. He tells them about the fun he and Buck have been having at home and how he can convince Buck to make chocolate chip waffles even on a school day.

When they’ve finished eating and Chris has to get back to the second half of his school day, he gives each of them a hug and adds a nuzzle on Buck’s shoulder before he lets go. Buck has to clutch him for a moment and kiss his hair like Eddie does.

Abuela and Pepa help him clean up and put away the food and then sit back at the dining room table with him so they can visit. He’s not surprised at the first question that comes up.

Abuela leans forward a little, voice low but eager. “How is Eddie doing? Have you been able to visit him?”

He would have volunteered if they hadn’t asked, but he has to take a slow breath first. “He looks better. I stopped by a few times. Whenever I could. He was awake last night. And talking. So. Definitely better.” His voice is too unsteady. Everything is balanced carefully on the razor’s edge and Buck hasn’t been able to walk it very well. Too much of something thin and fragile, and if he moves the wrong way, he’ll shatter. Eddie’s okay. He’s improving. He’s alive and he’s getting better.

“Do they know who did this to him?” Pepa asks. “Or why? Are they going to put a stop to it?”

“I don’t really know anything other than it’s a sniper targeting firefighters. It was…” Calm, sunny morning. A busy area of town but one of the nicer apartment complexes near high end shopping centers. It wasn’t hot out. There was a quiet breeze.

And a sudden explosion that hit him like a spiteful, crushing slap across his face. Covered him in terror and the worst nightmares he’s ever had. But he couldn’t wake. Could barely recoil. Because it was real.

Buck covers his face with his hands for a moment, trying to wipe it away. His hands are clean, but they’re also covered in blood.

Abuela touches his arm gently. “You were with him?”

He nods. It’s okay. Eddie is okay. He’s safe. He's alive. Everything is fine. He can talk about it. He probably should talk about it. He still hasn’t called Dr. Copeland’s office. No point in a session if he can’t do anything but panic and dissolve into tears. He breathes deeply, once, twice. Abuela takes his hand and squeezes. “He was right in front of me. I couldn’t… do anything. I couldn’t protect him. I would have. I tried. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Pepa rests her hand on his shoulder. “Buck, you do protect him. We know that. Everyone knows that.”

Abuela rubs the top of his hand with her free one. “Carla told us you saved him.”

Did he? There was screaming. There were paramedics and other firefighters. Someone was on the radio. Maybe with dispatch. But Eddie was lying in the street and bleeding. He was bleeding so quickly and no one could reach him. No one would risk taking a bullet themselves just to save a man who was probably already good as dead. His jaw is tight and his teeth hurt and his chest hurts and why can’t Eddie be home now? “I don’t feel like I did.”

“You cannot control other people’s actions. Only your own.” Pepa looks at him, so matter of fact. “Do you think he would have survived if you hadn’t been there?”

He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t want to. He can’t. Even the thought is too much of a horrible curse that would break him in two. His heart beats hard, irregular dizzying palpitations.

Pepa squeezes his shoulder until he looks at her. “You have been there and you have protected him since you met. You have done more for him, for both him and his son, than anyone except for maybe me and my mother. You haven’t known him all his life, but we have. You are the one who has saved him. In so many ways. More than you can ever know.”

More than he knows? He knows some, but. Obviously, he could never know exactly what Eddie’s life was like before they met. And sure. Of course he would save Eddie in any and every way possible. He promised he would. Eddie called him a badass and said he didn’t mind Buck looking out for him, and it was everything. Yeah, he’d f*cked up and failed a few times, but he’d never stop trying. Eddie said that was what was important.

He’d always be there for Eddie and for Christopher. It was never a question. It’s as simple and straightforward as the beat in his chest.

“I love…” He stops. It’s too much. It’s more than can ever be spoken or conveyed. Not with words. Maybe not even with actions. He swallows down the hard weight of it, but it’s thick and overflowing, deep as blood and marrow, cells and soul.

They look at each other. Abuela cups his cheek again. “We know, ¿Por qué crees que te llamamos familia?”

Why do you think we call you family?

The breath he takes is shaky and his lip quivers, but they both hug him tightly. Until he can breathe again.

“Why don’t you let us watch Christopher for the afternoon,” Abuela says with a smile. “We’d be happy to.”

Pepa also smiles and hers is tinged more toward a smirk. “We usually stay for a few hours so Eddito can rest. Go give him our love. Give him yours.”

He hugs them both again and stops only to give Christopher another hug before heading out.

There’s not much to do besides fade in and out of consciousness. At his insistence, Nurse Mihika gets permission to lower whatever pain meds they have him on, but it’s clear really quickly that his shoulder is f*cked and is going to hurt like it for a while. Better than being thoroughly drugged and gorked out of his mind though. She offers to find him a book and apparently searches for a good hour through whatever locker storage exists at the hospital in order to retrieve his belongings that were with him upon arrival. His phone was dead and is currently charging. It will at least be something.

All he really wants is for this to be over. He wants to be home. He wants…

There’s a visitor in his doorway, leaning against the frame, and his breath snags on everything he’s been wishing.

Buck smiles softly as soon as their eyes meet. “Didn’t want to disturb you.”

Eddie shakes his head and aches. He needs Buck in his arms. “Disturb me.”

The smile turns brighter and Buck walks toward him. He takes Eddie’s hand as soon as he’s close enough. Eddie reached out and hadn’t even realized. Something in Buck appears to relax and settle, like he’s still been holding his breath and swimming underwater and can finally reach the surface and breathe again. Eddie knows the feeling. It makes the burning in his shoulder recede.

Buck does nothing but stare at him for a moment. Maybe he can’t comprehend, maybe he’s trying to convince himself this is real. There’s so much soft warmth in his gaze, Eddie could wrap himself in it and never be cold.

He can’t help but look at him the same way. He’s here and he’s alive, he wasn’t hurt. Eddie’s arms hurt. There’s too much emptiness and absence. He wants so badly to hug him tightly and breathe him in. He’s wearing an unbuttoned sky blue shirt with a light gray tee underneath and both bring out his expressive eyes. There are dark circles under them — the kind caffeine and adrenaline can’t touch. He looks ragged and exhausted. But he’s smiling.

He’s so beautiful when he smiles.

Buck’s voice is weary but steeped in familiar warmth. “You look better.”

For the most part, he feels better. His shoulder is going to yell at him for a while, but it feels like the rest of it is slowly wearing off. “You look like you’re not sleeping.”

Buck rolls his eyes and huffs a little. “Well. I think I’m finally too old to be sleeping on a couch every night. And there’s the whole part where I can’t fall asleep anymore without…” He doesn’t finish, but that’s exactly what plagues Eddie’s sleep, too.

How can he sleep soundly without the weight of Buck’s head on his chest? Or without the warmth of him in his arms? Where would rest and serenity come from if he didn’t know Buck and Christopher were safe and content and protected? And under the same roof?

However. Did he hear that correctly? Did Buck say… “Are you sleeping on my couch?”

Buck tilts his head. “Yes?”

“Let me rephrase. Why are you sleeping on my couch? I’m not even there to steal the covers or crowd you or anything.”

His gaze goes distant and he shrugs. And tries to let go of Eddie’s hand.

Eddie does not let him. “Buck.”

He sighs heavily. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I should.”

But. Why? They’ve always shared. They’re entangled. Buck practically lives there anyway. It’s his home, too. Hell, he knows the inner workings of the kitchen cupboards way better than Eddie does. Why wouldn’t he think he could take the empty bed?

There must be something on Eddie’s face but he doesn’t even know what he could be conveying. He’s… confused mostly. But Buck looks down at their hands and if Eddie weren’t holding on, he’d lose this tiny bit of connection. “I figured. Since. You’re sharing it with someone else. I shouldn’t.”

Eddie inhales deeply and wants to take back so much. Hindsight being what it is. Near death experiences and lifelong lies and repression and denial being what they are. He should have known. The last time Buck was like this was when Eddie announced to all of them that he went on a date with a pretty teacher. He squeezes Buck’s hand. “I’m not sleeping with her. I haven’t even kissed her.”

Buck looks at him now. “You’re not? You haven’t?”

“That is what I said.”

He thinks for a moment and tilts his head again. “Why?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Complicated.” He wants to say it, he wants to tell him everything. He will. There is so much he needs to say, but not like this. Not when he’s still half-medicated and not before he’s figured out how to break it off with Ana. It’s still such a mess. “I can’t. Right now. We’ll talk. I promise. I’m still…” He points to his fluids and thoughtlessly moves his right shoulder and receives a burst of pain for it.

“No, no,” Buck says quickly and is immediately squeezing back and touching him gently. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.” He frowns as he stares at Eddie’s shoulder. “Can I do something? Help you somehow? I always got really stiff and achey lying in these beds for so long in one position. It was terrible. I can help you move? I can massage anywhere that hurts if you want.”

Eddie bites his lower lip as he shakes his head and then rests his head back on his pillow. That’s… that’s too much, and his mind goes places it really shouldn’t. Especially because he doubts his body is even functional at this point. And he is technically dating someone who is not the man in front of him. How in the hell he’s going to gracefully back out of that one, he still has no idea.

“Here.” Buck lets go for a second and pulls out something hidden behind his open blue shirt. “I figured they’d be starting you on empty, easy-to-digest cardboard carbs soon. So, I uh, brought you a little contraband.” He hands Eddie a gallon sized ziplock bag stuffed with something a couple inches thick but obscured with paper towel.

“Yeah, my ‘breakfast’ was saltines and grape juice. Neither were good. Kept them down though.” He opens the bag and can smell the glorious crispy, buttery, sweetness before he can even see exactly what it is.

“Well, that’s what counts.” Buck drags the chair over and sits beside the bed. “There’s nothing on it. I didn’t want to make you sick. But. It’s infused with Christopher love. Made only a few hours ago.”

He lifts the paper towel hiding the homemade treasure, and can see his boys in the kitchen together, giggling and mixing flour and milk and sometimes delicately, sometimes wildly cracking eggs into a bowl. His heart beats harder. “You made waffles.”

Buck nods and his smile takes on a hint of pride in their accomplishment. “It’s that recipe I found that we really liked. Sorry it’s not fresh or hot, and I couldn’t bring you butter and syrup or chocolate sauce to go with it. But better than hospital crackers?”

Eddie immediately tears off a few squares and it might not technically be “fresh or hot” but right now it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. “Much better. So much.” He’s suddenly starving and feeling every single day he’s now gone without actual food. And Buck knows exactly how he likes everything. He tears off another chunk and stuffs it in his mouth. Even if he should probably take it slow and savor it because who knows what sort of insult to tastebuds he’ll have to suffer through the rest of the week. “If you and Christopher weren’t already my favorite people, you would be now.”

Buck’s eyelashes flutter as he beams and it’s totally an unconscious mannerism, Eddie is well aware of it, but it makes him too beautiful to even look at. He even chews on the corner of his lower lip and Eddie really wants to kiss him until he can’t breathe.

This is so bad. He’s so f*cked.

He used to be able to control or ignore most of those thoughts. He just. Doesn’t want to anymore. He swallows slowly and stares at his lap, his infused-with-love contraband waffle, and the IV lines running into the back of his hand. “It’s really good. Thank you.”

“Hey, I distinctly remember someone smuggling me Starbucks and McDonalds when I was stuck in a hospital for days and days and weeks and too long.”

That was easy and took next to no effort. “This,” Eddie points to the bag containing his homemade gift. “Is way beyond either of those.”

“Not when you’ve only had mushy cardboard nothingness that tastes like chemicals and is like chewing on paper for a whole stupid week.”

Eddie rolls his eyes because there is just no comparing, but Buck is so adamant and adorable…

And that familiar, creeping disquiet is crawling toward him with sour, constricting chains. He wants to say something. He wants so much. There’s been so much wasted time and he very nearly missed out on every chance they might have. But how the f*ck does he say it?

The magnitude of this thing strung between them is so far beyond anything he’s ever imagined. He can’t even bear to look at Buck sometimes. He’s shining, beaming, life-giving sunlight, and Eddie is blinded and overheated, and lost and cold without him.

How does he say anything? Should he? It’s easy to believe in the midst of sudden, overwhelming emotions and unexpected trauma. Where he knows it might be over before they’ve even managed to truly find each other and he has to find words for everything screaming to break free from his heart.

Would Buck even want him?

They’re close. They’re so very almost. But. What does Eddie really have to offer? He’s given a lot. He’s given trust and forgiveness and comfort and protection. He hopes he’s given support and validation. He’s given all the words he knows how to say. And it’s not enough. There has to be more. He told Shannon he loved her. He married her. He tried so hard and obviously he knows now what was missing. He’s never loved anyone the way he loves Buck.

What if he’s still not enough?

Buck reaches for his hand and weaves their fingers together. “Hey. Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s okay. You went through a lot. The whole stupid world has been a lot. But. You’re…” his gentle voice wavers and Eddie squeezes his fingers. “You’re here. You’re alive. Chris is home and safe and mostly happy. He misses you. But he’s good. Everything is okay.”

Eddie inhales deeply and everything smells like scrubbed raw disinfectants and delirious oxygen. People say a lot in the heat of a moment. Sometimes it’s what needs to be said, but a lot of times it’s thoughtless and unintended. It can convince you to dig up and release when there are things better left secret. How can he tell which this is?

They’re so close, they have such a connection and a bond that people around them think they’re married. Not in a way where it’s a joke or a silly comparison. In a real, believable capacity.

Why is this so difficult? It’s so simple. It should be easy. He didn’t want to die and never say anything to him. He doesn’t want to keep crushing down everything he feels. It’s just… how does he do anything else? How does he bring it up? He’s always been afraid of ruining this. It’s easily the best thing, save Christopher, that’s ever happened to him. His heart has been locked up and suffocated for so long, he doesn’t know how to let it breathe let alone speak or sing or fly.

Buck nudges the bag of waffle resting on Eddie’s stomach, pushing it toward him. “Have some more. It’s made with love and magic that will help you heal faster.”

Eddie gives him a look. There are things that are real and there are things that are not. Even when you want to believe them.

Buck gives him a stern face in return. “Hey, I don’t make the rules here. That was 100% your son who adores you and wants you home.” His eyes turn softer, his expression washed in radiant sunlight. “You can call it whatever you’d like. There’s a lot that can’t be explained or reasoned away. Maybe it’s the universe or a god or whatever happened that created life. Doesn’t matter. Sometimes,” he says as he holds Eddie’s gaze and rubs the back of his hand. “Magic is real.”

You are real, he wants to say. You and your incredible gentleness and empathy and care for others is very real. You are the sunlight and magic. You have sewn yourself into our lives and brought us more joy than I could ever imagine. Maybe more than Christopher can even imagine. But he’s always been a better visionary. “Your story that you told me. That world you and Christopher created.” Eddie takes another piece of magic waffle and brings it to his mouth. “When do I get to hear about who you are?”

Color flushes Buck’s face. “I’m not really. I mean. There’s something. But. I don’t have a story. I don’t have a happy ending.”

Eddie frowns and would easily turn into a petulant five year old. The whole story was sweet and beautiful and he hadn’t even realized at the time that what Buck was describing with so much thought and detail and emotion was Eddie. He’d expected the magical boy made of flowers and kindness and healing powers to be Christopher. “Why not? It’s your world and your story.”

Buck shrugs and again looks down at where their hands are clasped together. “So. I’m…” He shakes his head and sighs. “I have to tell it properly. Chris would be mad if I didn’t. There’s a man with a heart of flowers and his son with a heart of galaxies. They’re the reason love and hope exist. They’re the reason the world made of sadness has any chance of survival. The only way to fight isolation and tragedies is when people come together and help each other. That’s what they do. They love each other and they help people.”

Eddie nods. He remembers that part. How did they imagine anything like it? It’s a make-believe, fantasy story for a ten year old, but he’s invested. It’s them. It’s their family. He still can’t believe either of them see him the way Buck described. He does have to wonder how much of the creation of the “man with a heart of flowers” was his adoring son and how much was his best friend.

Buck continues without looking up. “So. The bit of story is. They find a man without a heart.”

Without… This is Buck’s character persona, isn’t it. Why wouldn’t he have a heart? Buck has the biggest heart.

“He wasn’t corrupted or poisoned. No Hildy brainwashing. His heart was given away and ripped apart and all the pieces were stolen and scattered. He…” His words are deliberate and measured. Carefully constructed and held back. “He doesn’t have anything to give. He doesn’t have any powers. He was never. Never meant to be alive. He was created so pieces of him could be taken.”

Dear God. Just… What can Eddie even say to that. There’s far too much truth and agony in all of that, and it kills him, absolutely kills him that someone he loves so much sees himself this way. And there’s reality in it which makes it so much worse. His voice comes out broken and he doesn’t even know how he manages any words. “Buck, no,” he tugs his hand and needs to hold him. “You’re not…” He’s not empty and he’s worth everything and he has a bright, glowing, beautiful heart.

“It’s just a story. Mostly. But anyway. I don’t have much more of a role in it. I know it could be anything, but it’s all metaphorical and there’s no real ending. I’m… up in the air I guess.”

Eddie frowns deeply. “What was your heart? You can’t tell me you never had one. I will have to have a discussion with your co-creator.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “Guess. It’s soft and crumbles easily. Seemingly valuable but discarded and overused. Everyone wants to take a piece for themselves. That’s why it’s stolen and never returned.”

Of course they made him that. What is he if not beautiful, coveted, shining, and precious. Eddie bites the corner of his lip and instead guesses, “Coffee beans?”

It earns him a smile at least. “I suppose that would run out, too. We all know how the people need their coffee.”

“It is a legal, highly addictive stimulant.”

“I could be decaf. You don’t know.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “You? Decaffeinated? Doubt it.”

“Well, you know. Happens when you’re on 24 hour shifts. Though I had mine taken down for the next few weeks. I have a kid at home to take care of.”

For that, he has to smile, too. “You do,” he agrees. He’s so good to Christopher. He’s such a good parent. Even if he’s a little bit wrapped around Christopher’s finger. Can’t blame him for that.

Buck bows his head and then looks up with a sideways glance. It’s terribly flirtatious. Or maybe Eddie just wants it to be. “So, that’s all. Gold is flaky and fragile and he loses all the pieces of his heart. Everything he has left, he’d give to his new friends. Then maybe stars can shine like gold and there can be golden flowers.” He shrugs like it’s not the most depressing, self-sacrificing thing in the world.

Doesn’t Eddie have healing powers? Isn’t that what they bestowed on him and his heart of flowers? That he can touch people and save them? “Why can’t I heal you?”

He blinks and seems confused. “Heal me?”

“Yes. Isn’t that the power you gave me? Flowers are used in healing and soothing and medicine and bringing happiness. Doesn’t he bring everyone life and hope? You said people who are broken are healed when he touches them. Why can’t…” It is just a story. It’s just a made up world. There’s no reason to have any sort of concern about it. But. Why? “Can’t I heal you? Or save you? Why can’t I give you your heart back? What happened to sometimes magic is real?” Buck saved him. He saved Christopher. In multiple, very literal ways.

Buck studies him. There’s something lost and out of reach in his eyes. He shrugs. “It’s just a story. I told you mine doesn’t have a happy ending. It might not. I don’t know yet.”

Eddie has to consult with the higher authority on this matter. As soon as he’s home and has a chance. Christopher will tell him how the story is supposed to end. In the meantime, “Do you remember the night you came to my house after dinner with your parents?”

Buck huffs and slumps in the chair. So, that’s a yes. Not that he was expecting he would forget.

They’d finished dinner, only the two of them, and Chris was putting on pajamas while Eddie cleaned up their dishes. They were going to watch an episode of some show Christopher couldn’t stop talking about before bedtime. Eddie received a text and nearly dropped his phone into a sink full of soapy water. He hadn’t dried both hands before trying to answer. The message read,

r u home?

Before he could respond, typing bubbles and a second message appeared.

can I stop by?

Buck didn’t usually ask. He didn’t need to. This was his home, too. Eddie answered with a single word.

Always.

It took less than thirty seconds before there was a knock on his door.

“I don’t have my keys,” Buck explained. His jaw was rigid and clenched, everything about him strung tight and frayed, clearly on the verge of snapping.

Eddie stepped back so he could come in. “You never have to ask. You know that.” He was more than welcome. There was always something missing when he wasn’t there.

Buck started for the couch but didn’t sit. He was shaking. Pacing. Hardly breathing. “I didn’t have my car. I called an Uber. I don’t know why the… sorry. Why. I don’t know why I let Albert borrow it. I don’t know why I…”

Eddie closed and locked the door behind them and asked very slowly, “I take it. Dinner wasn’t great.”

Buck bit his lip and immediately hid his face in his hands. The wrecked sob that escaped him was too much. It broke everything in Eddie’s chest just listening. In less than a second, he wrapped Buck tightly in his arms. He cradled his head with one hand and let him bury his face in Eddie’s neck and shoulder.

It took another maybe two seconds before Buck clutched him back like he was dying. He couldn’t do anything but sob and tremble, but Eddie held him, tried to whisper to him. “It’s okay. I have you. You’re safe. You’re home. I got you. I’m right here.”

At some point, Buck lifted his head but still held tightly to Eddie. His words came out in a rush like a horrible bursting dam. “I don’t know what I did. I don’t know why they can’t… why they don’t. I know I’m a f*ck up. I know I’m nothing but a disappointment. I know I’m worthless and nothing. I know they never wanted me. They wanted Maddie and they even treat her like sh*t. I just… I don’t know why. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. I always tried so hard. I don’t think I’m a bad person? I don’t know what I did wrong. Why aren’t I good enough? What is wrong with me? Why can’t they love me? Why can’t anyone love me?”

Even Eddie couldn’t stop his own tears that welled up and threatened to fall. f*ck if he didn’t completely empathize. But mostly he hated that anyone would do this to Buck, that they would treat him like this, that they would deny him love when he was the most thoughtful, caring, selfless person Eddie had ever met. He pulled Buck back into his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You are more than good enough. You don’t deserve what they do to you. They’re not your family. We are. You… you are very loved.”

He felt Buck shake his head against Eddie’s shoulder and continue to cry. That was when he noticed Christopher standing at the edge of the hallway watching them with a deep, heartbroken frown.

Eddie motioned for him to come to them and managed to pull away just enough to pick up Christopher and place him in Buck’s arms. “Our Buck needs to know he’s loved,” he told them both. “He’s worth everything. He’s more than good enough.”

Christopher held on tighter than Eddie had ever seen and nuzzled against Buck. “We love you so much, Buck. So, so much. More than all the universes. As far back as dinosaurs. More than dinosaurs! We love you.”

Buck gave Eddie a helpless look and squeezed his eyes shut as he clutched Chris. He spoke, barely above a whisper, but told Christopher, “I love you, too.”

Eddie let his thumb brush over Buck’s cheek and took away a few tears before he ran fingers through Buck’s hair and slid his arms around both of them. They clutched him for a long time and succeeded in convincing Buck they had to have a sleepover now. Even if they had work in the morning. They piled on Eddie’s bed and held Buck between them all night.

He looks to Buck now and tugs so Buck gets up from the bedside chair and comes closer. He reaches until Buck bends down and lets him slide a hand to the side of his face. He brushes his thumb over Buck’s cheek and watches his eyelashes flutter. “There is no story and no future, no ending, no reality, nothing that doesn’t include us with you. Just like that night. We’re your family. You’re ours.”

Buck leans down further until their foreheads touch.

After a moment, Eddie scooches just enough so that Buck can sit on the edge of the bed and rest against him, head pillowed on Eddie’s chest. Eddie breathes in the smell of his own shampoo and strokes Buck’s hair until he has to let go and send him back to Christopher.

“Take the bed when you get home,” Eddie says once Buck is standing up. “No more sleeping on the sofa. Got it?” He points at him and Buck seems to relent.

“Fine, fine. If you insist.”

“I do. And they revived my phone from the depths of the lost and found. So, you and Chris can call me when he’s done with school. Or anytime.”

“We will.” Buck’s smile wavers as he steps away and Eddie’s hand is no longer clasped in his own. It fades as he turns and walks away.

There is a way to repair gold. There has to be a way it’s created. Maybe how it came into existence in the first place. Whatever it is, Eddie’s going to find it on every level. For every reason.

Chapter 7: Pseudo

Chapter Text

Buck's time off passes by in a blur, but at least now that Eddie has his phone, it feels like they’re still connected. Every chance they have, he and Christopher text him pictures of their food creations and them studiously doing homework together and lying in the backyard all sweaty after doing exercises and then making ridiculous faces because they can.

When Christopher wants to make Buck’s special habanero and chocolate chunk brownies because they’re Eddie’s favorite, they have to send a picture of Buck with batter dripping from his forehead and nose and Christopher beside him licking said batter from his weapon of choice — a spatula. He’s deadly with it. Or more precisely, extraordinarily messy with it.

Eddie’s not really one to use emojis, but they receive no less than five red hearts all in a row.

It’s stupid to get worked up over little cartoony symbols. They don’t mean anything. It’s just. Just.

It’s not anything. He wasn’t prepared. That’s all.

Buck texts back after the brownies are baking and he’s sufficiently washed himself of all gooey chocolate.

y is it always this??? & on my face

It’s an innocent question. Rhetorical. There’s probably not a reason beyond it’s funny. But Eddie types back. And Buck is in no way prepared for the response he receives.

It’s a game Shannon played with him.
She’d put flour or batter on his nose or arm.
His mission was to succeed in doing it to her.

Buck looks at the message and stares at it and remembers all the times he’s apparently been playing this game. Even the times he instigated because Christopher always did it so he also took fingers that were covered in flour and touched it to Christopher’s forehead or cheek.

It’s game. That he played with his mother. Because obviously he’d miss his mother and want to remember the good things about the little time he had with her. And there’s no reason why Christopher wouldn’t want to play it with someone else. It’s a game. That’s fine. He gets that. That’s all.

Half an hour later, he’s still thinking about it, and texts,

does he do this with u?

Christopher walks into the kitchen with damp hair and pj’s on, fresh out of his so-called, grown up shower, crutches eagerly tapping on the hard floor. “I’m all ready. Are the brownies done?”

Buck always argues that baths are way better. But that probably has something to do with all his fractured and healed and re-fractured bones. Being immersed in hot, safe water means relief soaking into him. He goes to the oven and peeks quickly. “Still kind of gooey. They probably need another twenty minutes or so. Why? Were you hoping for one before bedtime?” Buck gives him a smirk.

“No. Those are for Dad. When he comes home. Buck?”

His smile softens. “Yeah, buddy?”

“I think we should have a party. For Dad. When he comes home.”

“Yeah? Like a welcome home party?” How did Eddie manage to have the best kid in the whole world? He’s so thoughtful and kind. But, then again, that’s true of Eddie, too. So, of course it’s true of Christopher. “That’s really sweet of you to think of. What kind of things were you imagining?” His phone buzzes and there’s a response from Eddie.

No. You’re usually the one in the kitchen.
I am not authorized to be his baking assistant.

Well. That is true. Buck still isn’t sure what to think about any of it.

Christopher animatedly starts describing, “Mom and I had a party for him when he came home a long time ago. We had balloons and we colored a banner and put stickers on it and glitter on it and we made strawberry cake and spaghetti and meatballs and punch with ice cream in it! She let me pick everything. Dad was so surprised.”

“I bet he was.” Buck can almost picture all of it, especially Eddie’s face when seeing how much they love him. It is a nice idea. Eddie might be exhausted and still pretty drugged by the time they get to bring him home. But it’s such a sweet thought. Eddie should feel special. He should know how much he is missed and how much his family loves him.

“Can we have a party for him then? You and me? Mom helped me before. Auntie Pepa and Abuelita said they would help, too. Will you help me? We can make another banner together. We already made Dad brownies.”

It’s hard to swallow when he tries to. But he doesn’t want to think about why or what this uneasy feeling is. “Pepa and Abuela said they’d help?”

“Yep. I asked them. They’ll make food for everyone.”

Of course he’s been masterminding a party. Buck can’t really argue with any of it. Not that he would. He’d do anything for Christopher and Eddie. “Okay. I’ll check with them and if they say yes, then I don’t see why not.” If Eddie needed it, he’s sure Abuela and Pepa would leave and let him rest. Or they’d send him to bed and keep Christopher entertained and fed like they have been doing on Tuesdays. “I’ll text them so we can plan a time.”

Christopher grins and walks over until he can hug Buck tightly. His face is obscured and mashed between Buck’s chest and stomach, and he's not looking up when he asks, “And. You’ll help me? Like Mom did? So it’s you and me? Like it was me and Mom?”

Buck can’t think about it. He’s not thinking about it. He’s already aching deep in the pit of his stomach, deep in the marrow of his bones, in the depths of his soul. Thinking about any of that is not going to help. “Course I will.” His voice sounds rough but Christopher hugs him tighter.

“Thank you, Buck.”

He’d always wondered sometimes. When Christopher was initially upset about his father dating someone, why they never had to have a conversation about how Eddie wasn’t replacing Christopher’s mother. How Christopher was instead worried more about losing people in his life rather than being angry or hurt on Shannon’s behalf.

But maybe this is why.

Buck obviously would never be his mother. But he could fill certain missing places. The baking, the bedtime stories, all the ways Buck loves him. He loves Christopher as much as anyone who has given birth or created a child of their own. More in some cases. Like when the child is only meant to be spare parts for their sibling and his parents never really wanted him to exist.

No child should ever doubt their parents’ love. Not for a second. No child should ever feel unwanted or unloved or unworthy of love.

Buck rests a hand on fluffy, curly hair and hugs him back. “Thank you, Christopher.”

The shift is quiet. Not that he will ever say it. He’s done with jinxes and all the stupid awful punishments and torture that come with them. But he can’t stop his brain from thinking it.

It’s too quiet. Which makes something ominous hang in the air. Like wispy curtains floating around them, threatening to fall and enclose them. He just knows something bad is going to happen. Maybe they’ll have a bad call, maybe someone on their team will get hurt. Maybe he’s just twitchy and anxious and making things up.

Word has it LAPD brought in the sniper for questioning so no one has to wear the vests or be escorted by SWAT teams anymore. Maybe it should be a relief, but it doesn’t feel like one.

Eddie nearly died.

Buck still can’t comprehend. It’s still too present. There’s still blood on his face. The bitter copper iron is still in his mouth.

He was hoping work would make him feel more like himself, but so far, there’s only more proof of the gaping hole in their team. He hates shifts without Eddie. Hates them. And he can only sit in the corner chair of the lounge, staring at his phone like he can will it to buzz with new messages for so long.

Eddie texted him back and forth for an hour or so, talking but not really saying anything, they never really had to, but Eddie’s probably trying to rest again and hasn’t answered in a while.

They go on a call around 11am but it’s mostly medical after the house door is broken down. An older couple. Wife may have suffered a stroke and they suspect it may have given the husband a literal heart attack. They find them on the floor, tightly holding hands. Hen and Chimney do all the work. Bobby and Ravi assist.

Buck walks outside, stands beside the truck, and tries not to vomit. He’s fine. Everything is fine. He’s not falling apart. It’s just. It just hurts. He’s too emotional. He’s too empathetic. It always gets him in trouble. But he doesn’t want to cut out his own heart just because people tell him to. He wants to be compassionate. It’s not usually this bad. It’s just. Harder without Eddie.

Knowing Eddie almost died.

They’re back at the station before it’s noon and Bobby demands Buck come help him prepare lunch. He seems surprised when Buck doesn’t say anything and simply follows. There are too many thoughts and images going through his head for any discussions. The husband and wife clutching each other. The man who was caught in an escalator and died after proposing. The man who begged them to save his deaf wife but ended up dying. Mitchell and Thomas. The night they all listened to Athena nearly get beaten to death.

He thought he’d seen Bobby broken and devastated. And angry. But it was nothing compared to that night.

Buck washes the vegetables Bobby hands him and very slowly and carefully cuts them up the way he was taught. When he’s finished, he cleans up and waits for more instructions, but the rice is cooking and the curry with the chickpeas and vegetables just needs to simmer with all its spices. So, there’s not much else to do.

He’s not sure why he brings it up. Bobby doesn’t typically volunteer his own pain any more than the rest of them do. But he does listen to other people. He looks out for everyone. He’s obviously such a dad and Buck is so grateful. He really doesn’t know where he’d be without Bobby.

So. He asks. “When we talked the other night. And you told me what I have is a blessing. That people don’t get the kind of partnership I have without knowing each other and opening up the scariest and worst parts of themselves. That not everyone has a person who is there for them without question.”

Bobby stops stirring his curry, and turns to him. “What about it?” The words are temperate, but there’s something buried.

But Buck is pretty sure he can see it. Because what does Buck do but doubt anyone loves him? How can he trust anything? He’s never been wanted. He’s never been important to anyone. He tries not to believe he’s worthless. He’s working on it. But it’s not easy.

He has to wonder. If Bobby feels the same. If he worries Athena doesn’t love him as much as he loves her. If he can’t trust that he won’t lose her. Or if he thinks they don’t have a partnership like the one he described. “Do you think that you don’t have that? With Athena? Do you not think she’d be there for you without question?”

Bobby doesn’t have much of a reaction, but his gaze goes distant. “Relationships take a lot of time and effort. They have to be built no matter what kind they are. I think we’re a work in progress.”

Then Buck is right. Bobby doesn’t think Athena is that kind of partner for him. “Sure. Everyone is. You’re right.” What could anyone do but just try to work on themselves and be better people and better friends and partners and parents to the people they love. “But, for the record, I think you’re wrong about her.”

Maybe Buck doesn’t know Athena as well as he thinks. But he really can’t see her not being there for someone she loves the second they need her. She and Bobby might have rough spots, who doesn’t? But Buck knows how much they love each other. It’s sweet and beautiful and blinding. And he remembers both of them before they were together. He remembers how lost and hurt Bobby was. He remembers how angry and alone Athena was, even if he didn’t know her as well then. He knew. He could feel all of it from both of them.

It was special and life changing what they found with each other. The change in both of them was proof. They’re so happy together. They both light up around each other and they complement each other so well. They have such an amazing family together.

Something like that is all Buck’s ever wanted out of life. A family and a partner of his own.

Bobby squeezes Buck’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go let everyone know lunch will be ready in fifteen?”

He lets it drop and does as asked, but it’s all he can think about when Bobby hasn’t emerged from the fire they get called to that evening.

Eddie is not entirely sure who taught him or if he figured it out all on his own, but somehow, Christopher has learned how to send messages to Eddie’s phone from his computer. While he’s in Zoom school.

It must be a slow day everywhere because while Buck is at work and evidently bored and lonely without something or someone to distract him, Christopher is supposed to be listening to his teacher and paying attention in class. But instead of work or school, they are both texting Eddie. Every few minutes.

He should tell them to stop. He shouldn’t encourage it. He really shouldn’t. He at least tries to gently remind his son that they can talk as soon as he has a break and that it’s important to listen to his teachers. Though the response he receives is that Christopher’s already finished his homework for the whole section on vertebrates and invertebrates and finished his final project with Buck’s help and read ahead and completed half of the workbook on classifying plants, and it’s the teacher and the other kids who are behind, not him.

Eddie smiles and shakes his head. And just reminds him it’s best to listen for new information so he can participate and help his friends and please at least try be polite and focused even though schools is through a computer screen. But it’s difficult when you’re worried and missing someone so much. So, if he can last thirty minutes, they make a deal that they can talk after and Christopher can tell him about everything they’ve worked on.

Hopefully, they can keep it going at least through the rest of the school day.

Buck however. Goes on a call, sends one message, f*ck it’s bad. wish u were here, and is radio silent. Even after Eddie tells him,

I am.
There with you. I’m right here.

He even contemplates telling him that he’s tucked away in Buck’s pocket. But that’s… he shouldn’t. Hours later and still no response, and he worries and tries not to because Buck is working and if it is bad, then it’s probably just involved and keeping him busy and god knows Buck needs distractions.

Eddie can’t help but be concerned. He checks his phone every few minutes. Since there’s not much else to do.

Nurse Javon takes him for a short walk up and down the hallway and brings him hospital food that is indeed like mushy cardboard, but there’s still a weird chemical taste in his mouth and it overpowers everything. Though he has spent a good portion of his day researching the origins and creation of gold, how it’s made, how it came into existence, and he’s found some interesting facts to discuss with Christopher when he gets a chance.

It’s in the late evening that a visitor appears. She’s wearing a floral blouse and bright smile on her face, and he tries very hard to smile back. She’s very nice. She’s very pretty. It’s easy and low stakes and nothing substantial. He doesn’t want, he doesn’t yearn, he doesn’t think much about their relationship or her. Which is sh*tty and not fair to her. She sat at his bedside while he was unconscious and fighting his way back to his family.

And he really doesn’t know what the hell to do or say now. “Hi, Ana,” is as far as his brain goes.

“You look so much better.” She rests a hand on his shoulder and takes off her mask to show off her smile. “How are you?”

He hates that question, especially in this situation. It’s an awful question and always forces people to lie and say they’re great or fine. Not like they’re barely hanging on and doing all they can to just move forward. Besides. His whole shoulder is really starting to ache. But pain meds are worse. So. “Better. How’ve you been?”

She settles in the chair a few feet away from the bed. “Good. Juggling all my administrative duties, reviewing the faculty members, managing silly family drama. I’ve worried about you, too. I missed our weekly date night yesterday. I wanted to visit and maybe have one here, but my sister said that was a terrible idea. But I wanted to see you.”

His days are fuzzy, but he’s pretty sure Buck was here with him. So. There’s that. “Thank you.” For what, he isn’t sure.

What does he do here? She’s a nice person. He doesn’t want to hurt her. It’s nice having someone around who will pull his arm around them and rest their head on his chest and look at him like they want to be kissed.

Buck sometimes. When he’s sleeping, when they’re sharing a bed, he’ll nudge under Eddie’s arm, rest his head over Eddie’s heart.

Does he ever look at Eddie and wish to be kissed by him?

He’s… Not sure.

He keeps wanting to confess. Everything is itching to spill out of him. Bursting at the seams where his heart is sewn together. Like tangled vines that overgrow and keep everything closed up and locked away. All the meanings he’s conveyed but with words he hasn’t said. The things he’s felt and promised and told Buck but never directly.

He wants to tell him. He wants to offer Buck everything. He knows how much Buck longs for love, how he feels so uncertain and unworthy. Eddie would give him everything and lifetimes more.

But. What if Buck doesn’t want it from him? What if he wants something else? Someone else.

What if. Eddie’s heart isn’t enough? Can he offer enough? Can he ever be a good partner? A good husband? What if he can’t?

What does he say to Ana? Does he confess he’s in love with someone else? That he’s never been straight? Has never been able to look at himself and determine or acknowledge but might not be interested in women at all? How is this not the worst time to break it off with someone? While you’re in a hospital bed and nearly died. And they are worried about you. Would she think he’s impulsive or drugged and not thinking clearly? What does he say?

“Are you all right, Edmundo? Are you in pain? I can ask for a nurse for you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine.” He’s just in hospital bed with a hole through his body that’s only been stitched up as much as the surgeons could. His scapula might always have a hole through it. His muscles and cutaneous tissue have to heal and there are nerves going down through his arm that keep tingling and hurting. But none of that will change any time soon. And he does not want any more drugs. He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. It’s nice to see you.”

She smiles a little like she’s amused. “Nice to see you, too. Did Carla like her dinner and belated birthday party?”

“Oh. Uh. Yes. As far as I know. She said you’re a wonderful cook. And that you’re lovely.” Lovely but not what his heart wants. Is she even what Christopher’s heart wants? Has he ever asked to see her again or when she’ll be over for another visit or if she’ll stay forever? Because there is someone he asks to stay forever. He’s really only ever asked for his mother after she disappeared, and Eddie when he was across the world, and Buck. He always asks for Buck.

“Did she? That’s so sweet. She’s wonderful, too. Your whole family is wonderful. They’re so welcoming and kind. I can see where you get it from.”

His whole family? His whole family. Him and Christopher? And he supposes she must have officially met Buck. She knows Carla now as well. But. What is she considering as his “whole” family? “Have you talked with my grandmother? Or my aunt?”

“No, your parents actually.” Her smile widens as if they are people who instigate feelings of kindness and warm welcoming receptions. “They have been so worried. I reached out to them after your accident and we’ve been chatting and getting to know each other. Your mother is so friendly and your father is so much like you, tough and stubborn on the outside and so warm when you get to know him. They’re such amazing, generous people. So very sweet. Full of Southern, Texan charm. I adore them.”

Right. Right. Okay. That’s. Something. He swallows down whatever has bubbled up into his mouth and tastes like rotting sour acid. “So. You’ve been. Talking with my parents.”

“Of course. They were so worried about Christopher. And you.”

And there it was. He’s the afterthought. They’re worried about Christopher since his father will only drag him down.

How many times does he have to say he will never move back? There are things he misses, sure. Adriana and Sofia mostly. And maybe a few other things. But. El Paso is not LA. Nor is it a border town in a wildly conservative state where immigrant children are stolen from their parents, and if people realize you’re anything beyond 100% white, they tell you to go back to Mexico. Not that things like that didn’t happen here. But it’s not a place he wants to be anymore. Ever.

He’d say there’s a smaller chance of someone in LA finding out you’re not straight and reacting by shooting you down in the middle of the street. But apparently, people get gunned down here regardless.

The point is. He is not moving back. Their lives are here. Their home is here. Their family, their support system, the job he loves, the school Christopher loves. The person who fills in broken edges like his own baggage matches Eddie’s, like it makes them fit perfectly together. The man who makes their house feel like a real home when he’s there. Their precious, golden hearted Buck who loves them both in all the ways he possibly can.

Eddie breathes slowly. He is not ever giving this up. “What all have you told them?”

“Don’t worry, Edmundo.” She laughs lightly like it’s no big deal. “We’ve mostly talked about me and they told me about them and how they met and fell in love and got married and had three beautiful children. Then they told me how they raised Christopher while you were in Afghanistan.”

Of course they did. Of course. “They didn’t. His mother did.” Not that Shannon was perfect. She f*cked up plenty. As much as he had. But she left Eddie. Not Chris. She raised Christopher and he abandoned her to his vulture parents who hated that she wasn’t a perfect demure, heterosexual housewife. And Eddie was the one who f*cked everything up for them because he was too cowardly to admit he panicked and trapped them and ruined everything good between him and Shannon.

Her smile fades. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was tension between you and your parents. They were just eager to hear about you. Your friend, Buck, didn’t tell them very much.”

Thank all the gods and whatever f*cking powers of the universe for that beautiful, brilliant, protective man. “It’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about.” He doesn’t hate his parents. He doesn’t. They are his parents and he doesn’t despise them. They just don’t listen. They take over. They want everything their way, including the whole of Eddie’s life. He’s tired of making choices because of what they want. He wants to choose what he wants. It’s his life. It should be his choice. It should be how he wants it.

He wants to follow his heart.

Even if… even if he never gets to have Buck. Eddie’s heart should still be free. He wants to have budding flowers and new baby green leaves that grow there. It can’t be dried and dead and pierced with thorns and strewn with blood anymore. He wants it to be alive again and allowed to beat and grow and flourish.

“Maybe,” Ana starts and sounds balanced on ice, tiptoeing around cracks. “Maybe I should go. Let you rest. God knows I shouldn’t make you angry again.”

Eddie closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. The breath that leaves him is hard and painful and full of guilt. “You don’t have to. I’m not mad at you. I’m frustrated. With them. Not you.”

She doesn’t get up, but she remains quiet.

He’s so f*cking bad at this. He can’t even make it as an ill-defined, possible boyfriend. Actually, he can’t even make it as a friend. He didn’t ask about Lena’s life, they never talked about any of her problems. He abandoned Shannon and was so, so lonely, he complicated and f*cked everything up a second time just for sex with her that felt uncertain and shallow.

How can he ever expect to be a good partner to anyone?

“I don’t think we should do this anymore.” He’s not sure how he says the words or what to follow them with. But it’s something.

“I won’t mention your parents. They were just nice. I really like your family. But we can talk about anything you want.”

Okay. Not what he expected but. New tactic? “Then. Why don’t we talk about our future? Because I don’t—”

“That’s really not what we should worry about right now.”

He blinks at her. “Then what should we worry about?”

“You resting and recovering. This isn’t the time for life altering conversations. You’re barely healing. You nearly died a few days ago.”

“I remember. I was there. It doesn’t change this. Do you really think whatever this is between us that it’s—”

“Eddie. No. You just went through a horrible accident and I don’t want to be the person who leaves you when you need help.”

He sighs heavily. The way she keeps referring to it as an accident. Like he just happened to trip and fall onto a sniper bullet. Not like there was a person on the other end of the rifle who looked through a target and saw him, aimed and fired just to take him down. “I don’t need help. I’m fine.”

“You will need help. Who is going to look after you and Christopher? Who will help you dress and shower and cook you dinner and take care of your house while you can’t?”

Technically, he hasn’t asked. But he’s pretty sure the man currently caring for his child and his house will do it without even be asked to. But he knows one thing. “Not you.”

It finally makes a frown appear on her pleasantly schooled face. “Fine. I won’t. I have a job and a life of my own. I don’t need to help with anything if you don’t want me to. But we shouldn’t make any rash decisions. We can talk about this when you are out of the hospital. I’m not going to give up on you just because it’s difficult right now.”

All right then. Big guns it is. “What if I told you I think I’m gay?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not. I’ve seen how you look at me. You’ve almost kissed me.”

Yeah. Almost. Almost. And he's not sure how he's looked at her or what she's interpreting from his looking at her but... “Ana, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to use you. But I don’t want to pretend that there’s something between us when there’s not. We tried. We’ve been trying. It’s fine. It’s easy. Because there’s nothing there. It feels like going through the motions. My heart…” He doesn’t know what to say about his heart. That it isn’t in this? It’s lost and been stifled and he doesn’t know how to listen to it because he never has? That it belongs to someone else? Has for what might even be years now. “Do you really think there’s something here worth fighting for?”

She stands and comes to his side, and takes hold of his hand. “Yes, I do. Eddie…”

He bites his lip and sighs again. How much more clear can he be? What the f*ck does he try now? He takes a deep breath and presses his teeth into his lip. “Kiss me.”

Confusion goes over her face. Her eyebrows narrow and her mouth falls open. But she takes up his offer. She leans down and presses her lips against his and he tries not to tense or pull away. It’s proving a point. A very important one. She tries to kiss him softly, move her lips over his and make it something sweet and poignant. But it’s weird. It’s awkward and weird and he hopes this isn’t doing it for her because it really does nothing for him. At least kissing Shannon felt like warmth and love and the comfortable, close bond they had. This is just… nothing he wants ever. He could probably, most likely fake it. Give her something back, but that’s the point. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want this. Or her.

Ana pulls away and looks even more confused. She stands and concentrates and he immediately touches his lips and wants to wipe off everything that was.

“I don’t understand,” she finally says. “You have a son. You were married to a woman. You’re so straight.”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m not. I’m good at faking it. I’m good at lying about it. Because I’ve been lying to myself my entire f*cking life. Largely in part due to my parents.” He shrugs and really, really hopes something clicked. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Something about her looks like it sinks and he’s bombarded with guilt again.

He takes her hand. “I’m sorry. I really thought. When we started this, I thought it could work. I wanted to try. But, you’re right. I almost died and I can’t…”

“You don’t want to live a lie anymore. I got it.”

He lets go and wishes he felt better about any of this. It’s always easier pretending and lying until you have to own up to it.

“I guess. I wondered why you always seemed so distant. I figured you were in mourning or very guarded. You’re not an open book. I still feel like I hardly know anything about you. I was just hoping that you’d warm up to it eventually.”

Well, did she want lukewarm eventually or hot for her now? Because he was not the latter and would never be the former. “I do like you. You’re good company. It’s been nice? Dating again.” God, he hasn’t dated anyone since before they had Christopher. He’s slept with a total of three people in his whole life. One was only once and the other only put up with him for a few weeks, and he and Shannon spent maybe months at most together in the same city, in the same house. He’s spent more years alone than with someone even when he was married. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.”

“I’m okay.” Her face is mild and unbothered. “It’s for the best. I wanted you to be a lot more than you are. Including attracted to me, apparently.”

“I thought I was. You’re… beautiful?”

Something about the way he says this makes a grin spread across her face, and then she bursts into a laugh. “Oh my god, Edmundo. You really are gay. I don’t know how I didn’t see it.”

He rolls his eyes. He really prefers no specific label because who knows. But when he thinks of the future, of the partner he wants, the spouse he wants, he can’t picture anything but a man. A certain man. Who protects and loves his son, who rescues them both, who promised to have his back and has kept it in more ways than Eddie ever could have hoped for. A man who happens to have expressive blue eyes and legs for miles and a smile that shines brighter that all the stars, and a heart made of soft, precious gold.

But that’s neither here nor there.

She stays for a while to keep him company and he didn’t think he could have offered friendship instead if her heart had been broken. But she seems all right once they talk little more and the pressure has disappeared. It’s always so much easier without the looming assumption that a man and a woman who talk to each other have to become involved. So much better.

She kisses him on the cheek when she leaves and at least he’s managed to keep that much amicability intact. He’s not sure they’ll remain friends, but at least it wasn’t ugly and implosive.

So. He’s single now. And sort of out. Out to one person. The world hasn’t ended and he’s only a little nauseous and uneasy. It’s a start at least.

He just wishes he didn’t feel so alone right now.

There are a lot people who mean the world to Buck. So many he wouldn’t hesitate to drop everything for them. He wouldn’t hesitate to die for them. But he’d do that for strangers so maybe none of it makes any difference.

He told Bobby he couldn’t handle anyone else getting hurt right now. Maybe it’s another jinx he’s brought down upon them. Maybe the one that Ravi instigated, that gave Eddie a breakfast date and a girlfriend and a perfect daughter-in-law for his parents, was all Buck’s fault, too. He had asked how the shift was. Eddie doesn’t believe in these things, but how could Buck not? The signs from the universe are very clear.

There’s a string of unanswered texts on his phone that he doesn’t know what to do with. He’d called them to make sure they didn’t have to hear it in some other way. They’d asked about Christopher at first. And some about Eddie. Then it was, “why isn’t Ana taking care of Christopher? She has a background in childcare. Do you know what you’re doing? Is he safe? We will come get him and bring him home. She’s going to be his mother. You should let her take over.”

He’d initially responded with, “Christopher is fine. Carla is taking care of him like she has for the last three years.”

There’d been more messages about how perfect and amazing Ana is and how lucky Eddie and Christopher are to have her now. That’s when Buck stopped listening.

She is nice. She’s never been anything but amiable if not questionably critical of Chris sometimes. She probably is good for them. How could Buck ever compare? As long as Christopher is loved and cared for the way he should be, that’s really all that matters.

There’s a tight jumble of knots in Buck’s stomach when he stares up at the building consumed in flames. This is why Bobby gets angry with him. Because someone orders evacuation and Buck doesn’t always listen. Not when there’s someone in danger he can save. Not when he has to keep fighting. Then Bobby has to stare at whatever Buck’s gotten himself into and wonder if this is the time he won’t survive it.

And Bobby is their captain. He usually can’t do anything but follow orders, even ones he doesn’t agree with. He would have followed this one. There’s no reason not to. But he hasn’t. He’s still in there. Now both Hen and Chimney are calling for him via radio, and there’s no response.

What if they lose him? What if this is the horrible sense of dread he’s been feeling all day. What are they supposed to do? How do they help him? Someone has to go back in to find him.

Usually, he’s relieved when Athena shows up on their calls. Whatever has gone wrong or might go wrong is something she can handle. But he knows what she has to be thinking. He knows. He feels it. That terror has been wound around him, gripping him, threatening to drag him down while all he can see is the reality of his world of sadness, where there’s nothing but wreckage and blood and his heart has died and been taken from him.

The sniper took out his partner and now it’s very likely he took out Athena’s.

When she turns to him, looks at him, pleads with him to help her save her husband, it cuts through him like daggers and power saws and rivers of ice. He knows the tone in her voice. He knows it, and knows how it hurts.

Bobby’s going to die in there, Buck. He’s going to die.

He’s her husband and her partner and he’s dying.

Buck's lived it, been living it, and of course he’s worried and scared and wants to do anything to help. There’s no world in existence where he won’t help. Even if it weren’t Bobby who was trapped, even if it weren’t Athena asking. But it’s not that simple. It never is. There are words they don’t say but he hears them. Loud and clear. Like his own voice screaming over gunfire in the street that he’d save his partner.

Buck grabs onto Ravi and orders him to find turnout gear that will fit Athena.

He talks her through everything, helps her up to the roof, quickly shows her how to work the mask and her borrowed gear, tells her where to go, what to watch out for. Rickety footing. Falling debris. Unstable structures. He wants to go with her, he can’t let anything happen to her either.

She won’t let him. She grips his coat at the shoulder and tugs firmly so they’re not looking at anything but each other. “You remember what I promised you that day?”

What did she promise him? His heart is thundering and there’s an angry sea in his stomach. Her words from earlier are the only ones he can recall. Bobby’s going to die in there, Buck. He’s going to die in there. You need to help me.

Her eyes are dark, ferocious and determined even though there’s plenty of the same fear he’s been immersed in since the day they saved Charlie. “No matter what it takes,” she says. And he remembers how she held onto him when he was covered in Eddie’s blood. He remembers her promise.

“He won’t get away with it.” He nods. He remembers. She was going to find the bastard who did this to him. She’s going to find the man who did this to both of them. “I’ll wait for your call. As soon as you find him.” He can do it. He can wait.

She nods to him in return and descends into the building.

Hen’s arm comes around his shoulders and squeezes. Just briefly. Even Ravi looks at him with anguish and like he might do the same. But they have to focus on Bobby. They have to be ready. They stay near the opening in the roof and wait until Athena calls to them that the suspect is down and they need medical assistance for Captain Nash. He’s been shot.

Buck clenches his teeth and quickly follows the path he knows Athena took. They meet Chimney’s team and load Bobby onto a board and each have a hand on it to help carry him out. Hen takes him in the ambulance, and Athena will follow in her car.

Buck helps Chimney wrap up everything they can to contain the fire, bring order back from chaos. As soon as they make it back to the station, his shift is technically over, has been for a few hours. Christopher should already be asleep, and Carla has already texted to say she’s fine staying until morning. Buck helps clean up what he can, and heads to the hospital.

Of course it’s the same hospital. Athena’s in the same waiting area that he found himself in that morning. Where you can watch for updates on the surgery boards, and drive yourself crazy waiting for any news. She’s still in her uniform but she’s bent forward in her chair, elbows on the armrests, head resting in her folded hands. Maybe someone would look at her and not know her happy life is hanging in the balance. But it’s all he can see.

He doesn’t say anything, but he sits beside her. The movement is enough to make her look up and there’s softness that washes over what he can see of her face. Like the night she told him being Buck means never giving up.

He offers his hand and she takes it in both of hers. They sit together quietly, doing nothing but holding on to each other.

He can’t imagine how much her heart is aching. Eddie is everything to him, and Bobby is the only father he feels like he’s ever had, but Bobby is her husband and partner. Maybe there’s something similar in how they’ve both been hurt. But he doesn’t want to say his pain is anything like her own. Eddie isn’t his husband. Eddie won’t ever be his husband. Even if, for some reason, everyone has been treating him like the worried spouse. He’s not. He’ll never be that much to Eddie. He may not be that much to anyone.

He might understand how worried she must be though.

Bobby wasn’t hit with a large sniper bullet, but he was hit somewhere in his abdomen and GSWs like that can easily cause infections and sepsis, and any gunshot wound at all can be fatal. Is she thinking about what will happen if Bobby doesn’t make it? If he doesn’t come home? If the last time they talked or hugged or kissed is going to be the very last time?

Athena squeezes his hand like she can hear his thoughts. Or maybe he’s just picking up on hers. “Thank you,” she says, finally breaking the long quiet between them. “For helping me.”

He squeezes back. “You told me you’d be there for me. When…” He doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to insinuate that their situations are at all the same. Doesn’t want to think about when Eddie was being stabilized for surgery and Buck couldn’t do anything but try and hold together shattered pieces. “Of course I would do the same for you. And Bobby. Thanks for getting that guy.”

Athena’s expression gets tense and angry for a moment but it washes into relief. In the end, she beat this guy who tried to destroy all of them, too. She survived. They all have. Hopefully.

It still baffles him how someone can be that cruel and that angry that they can only react by hurting and attacking other people. Especially ones who are in no way involved or responsible for anything. How can anyone look at Eddie and not see how he’s the most loving and forgiving and amazing person and father imaginable?

She looks to him with her motherly concern showing through. “How’s Eddie doing?”

He wants to check his phone again, but it’s been hours since he had a new message pop up. “He’s better. They think tomorrow afternoon they’ll be able to send him home.” It’s only hours and it’s the homestretch, but it’s still too long. His chest is aching again even though he knows Eddie is safe now. He’s stable, healing. They want to send him home. Eddie already asked if Buck could pick him up. They’ll have him tomorrow. He’ll finally be home. Just the three of them.

“Good. Thank God.” She gives him a smile, her eyes crinkling. “That mean you’re doing better, too?”

It’s not about him. It didn’t happen to him. “I guess. Yeah. I think. What… what about you? Are you…” He doesn’t want to say okay because of course she’s not okay and everyone asked him that all the time and how could anyone be okay when someone they love more than their own life is hurt and possibly dying? “Can I do anything?”

“You’re doing it, Buckaroo. And you helped me save him. That’s all I needed.”

He switches hands, offers her his right hand to hold so he can put his left arm around the back of her chair.

She leans against him just a little and lets him hug her. “You know that day that I’m sure you keep reliving.”

He swallows hard and answers even though it’s not really a question, “Yeah.”

“I would have stayed longer with you. I wanted to. But I thought I’d be better use elsewhere.”

Is she… apologizing? Why would she need to apologize? It’s not as if he was very coherent. And he does remember how she and Bobby hugged him tightly, protectively, how she promised the man who hurt Eddie wouldn’t get away with it. “I didn’t… I couldn’t stay anyway. I went home to take care of Christopher.”

She pats his hand and smiles a little. “I know. You’re very good to them both.”

He tries to be. He’s definitely not the most competent parental figure. Chris can outmaneuver him in a lot of ways. Especially when Eddie isn’t around. But he tries. He loves them more than absolutely anything.

“I didn’t want to say it then. I still think it’s arrogant to assume you know how someone else is feeling. But what you were going through? Worrying the man you love might have been shot to death? I’ve lived that. The worst version of that.”

Everything in him stops. Where does he even start? She’s lived through someone she loves being shot to death? The worst version? Meaning he didn’t survive? She thinks Buck’s experienced it, too? That the man he loves was shot and nearly died? That there’s a man he loves? That he loves Eddie?

It’s… well, he can’t say it’s exactly wrong. But he’s never said it out loud. Even to himself. How can anyone else know? But a lot of people over the years have known, haven’t they.

The boy-crush Maddie said he had on Eddie. The adorable son the nice Elf lady said they share. The woman from the grocery store who offered condolences and said she’d had a fight like that with her ex-husband in the middle of a Target. The reporter at the farm who tried to ask him about the firefighter who was trapped because obviously his reaction meant they were married. Even Abby had mentioned the child in his online pictures and wondered if he was going to be a stepparent, too.

He swallows again and doesn’t know what to say or think or anything. “You… you lost someone?”

“My fiancé. One shot and he was gone.”

God. What the hell. How can she, how can anyone cope with something like that? “That’s… f*ck. I’m so sorry.”

She squeezes his hands again. “I know. I spent thirty years with no answers and without any sort of retribution for him. That’s why—”

“That’s why you promised me you’d find him. And wouldn’t let him get away with it.”

“I didn’t want you to go through what I went through.”

He didn’t lose a fiancé. It wasn’t the same. Eddie is everything, but… what if he had been lost? What if he hadn’t made it? “But. Eddie’s not…We’re not… He has a girlfriend.”

She rubs his arm. “I know. But I ain’t blind, Buck. The two of you might not have figured yourselves out yet. But that doesn’t mean other people can’t see how deeply you love each other. Hell, if you both walked into the station and said you’d eloped and were now married, I bet you not a single damn person who knows you would even bat an eyelash.”

Something of a choked laugh mixed with a sob breaks out of him and he has to quickly brush tears from his face. That would never happen. Even if it wouldn’t surprise any one of their friends. Even if it’s all he would ever ask for.

It hurts too much to think about. Losing Eddie or nearly losing him makes him feel like he’s dying. He can barely breathe with the weight of it. “How did you… ever survive losing your… a man you loved that much?”

She breathes deeply and lets it out slowly. “Same way you survive anything. One step at a time. One moment, one breath, one day. Remembering there are things worth living for. Even when it feels like there aren’t. I threw myself into my work. It allowed me to help other people and focus on something else. I love my job. It was something I shared with him. It let me remember why I wanted to be an officer.”

He’s not sure he could do that. He loves his job, too. But even the last few shifts without Eddie have been rough and empty. “I know he’s okay now. He’s doing well. They’re expecting him to make a full recovery. I know he’s strong and healthy and there’s no reason to think otherwise. But…”

“But you remember the moment where you thought you were watching him die.”

His lip quivers when he nods. His eyes well up. He can’t stop it. He can’t even tamp it down because it’s so close, right at the surface, and still too there. There are rocks stuck in his throat and hooks pulling at his lungs when he tries to breathe, and he’s so sick of crying at this point. All it takes is the whiff of a thought, and he’s right back in it. Maybe he was wrong about the whole flipping a switch and completely shutting off emotions, Navy SEAL thing. It might be nice right now. This is too much. Too deep, too saturated, too heavy, too extreme.

“Bobby said something like that to me. After I was attacked last year, he knew later that I survived, that I was home and safe, but he still remembered the moment he thought he was listening to me dying. And he didn’t need to imagine what his life would be like without me in it. He knew, and it scared him.”

He breathes deeply, slowly, he can stay afloat. She’s holding on to him. “Did he tell you what he did when he felt like that? How he got through it?”

“Well.” There’s something like fond exasperation that sneaks into her tone, and it easily reminds him of Eddie. “Shortly after it happened, he and Michael decided to destroy my fireplace. That’s what they did.”

Buck huffs out an almost laugh and tries to focus on only that. “Are you suggesting I go destroy some property?”

She levels him with one of her familiar, fed-up mom looks, but there’s warmth there, too. “Only if it’s your own.”

He smiles. “Fair enough.”

“Seriously though, all I can say is talk to him. Eddie, I mean. Bobby, too if you want. When he makes it through this. But talk to Eddie. It happened to both of you. Who better to hold your hand through hell than the man you call your partner?”

He nods but isn’t sure what to say to him or how to talk about anything that happened. It might’ve happened to both of them. Sort of. He was witness to one of the most horrifying events of his entire life. But it’s not about him. He’s not the one who got shot. He doesn’t want to make it about his own pain. What pain does he even have here? He wasn’t shot. He didn’t almost die.

He should call Dr. Copeland. Maybe tomorrow. For now, he waits with Athena until the doctor comes to tell her Bobby’s made it through and they’ll let her back into his recovery room soon. She gives Buck a hug, thanks him again, and tells him to go see his man.

The uneasy, ominous feeling still hasn’t disappeared, even though Bobby is okay and hopefully on the way to a full recovery. But that feeling only gets worse. And then suddenly explodes into a sick burst of jealousy.

Ana is with Eddie, and Buck can only see from a distance and through the glass walls, but he’s pretty sure they’re kissing.

Why wouldn’t they be? Why wouldn’t someone take the opportunity to finally confess their feelings for someone they almost lost?

He knows. He’s always known. Why would anyone want Buck? How could he be good enough for anyone? He knows they’re together. He knows they must kiss. Maybe Eddie was just trying to keep him from worrying or keep his sex life private or something. But why would he lie? Maybe it just now changed? Maybe all of this made them realize something about how they feel about each other.

Is Eddie in love with her?

Buck leaves them alone and goes home to own apartment. It’s quiet. Empty. He showers, looks through his fridge and cupboards, but doesn’t want to eat anything. He sits in silence and could sleep or watch TV or play a game or browse through random news and things on his phone, but doesn’t want to do anything.

They were kissing. Eddie said they hadn’t kissed. Was it the first time? Does that mean they’re in love for real now?

Why… why now? Why after everything?

He still… He wanted to believe Athena. She sounded so sure. It was almost… something. How could he ever think Eddie would want him? Has he completely deluded himself?

He doesn’t want to feel anything anymore.

There’s a message that makes his phone buzz and he only glances at it because it’s loud and in his pocket.

I heard they got the sniper and another firefighter from the 118 was shot.
Tell me it wasn’t you.

He types back,

not me

And leaves it at that.

Something like twenty minutes later, there’s buzzing near his door. Like someone wants to be let into the building. It’s then he looks at the name attached to the random message.

He has to check and recheck several times and again wonder why now? Why after silence for days? Why after she said she wanted to be just friends, but then kissed him while she was probably at least a little drunk, and then completely ran off and has said nothing since.

He’s really just. Done. With games and dating and being jerked around. But he lets her up anyway. At the very least they can maybe talk about what happened.

“You are not dead.” Taylor smiles when she sees him and he’s not sure why.

She says she wants him. Wonders why he didn’t chase her, which, why? He thought she only wanted to be friends? But she wants him. She wants him?

What changed her mind? What made her come back? What made her decide… this?

It’s something though. Isn’t it? She’s interesting. She’s beautiful. They had pretty good sex before. Nothing earth shattering but it wasn’t bad. The parking lot was bad. Being left again and ghosted again. But kissing her wasn’t. She did get the souring taste of Abby off of him, even if something of abandonment still lingered.

He doesn’t have to feel anything. He has no heart to give her anyway. There’s no gold left.

She shuts the door and locks it and holds onto him and her lips are soft. It’s… nice. It’s something like warmth? It’s gentler than he expects when she kisses him. Until she backs him into his dining table and grips the front of his shirt like she wants to rip it open. She could very easily push him down until he’s sprawled out on the table.

He could let her. He could. It’s been so long. Even if they don’t get that far. Or they could just f*ck and end his dry spell. If he doesn’t stop her. He doesn’t have to stop her. It’s been so long. He hasn’t… not since Ali. It’s been actual years since he’s been kissed or touched. Since he’s had someone on top of him, taking him deep and clutching him like he’s important. Like they need him. Even if just for a quick round of sex.

No one needs him for more than that.

Though how he could manage to turn off anything and not fall apart at the simplest touch? He’s too broken. He’s held together with, what does Hen say? Chewing gum and spit? Not anything solid or sturdy.

He doesn’t want to feel anything. Even sex. He holds onto her upper arms, keeping her at a distance. What would his younger, slu*ttier self think of him now? “Wait. What are you doing?”

She gives him a funny look but is still smiling. “Showing you how much I want you.” She moves to kiss him again and slides her hands up his chest.

He takes hold of them and leans backward. “I don’t… I can’t do that right now. And I don’t want a relationship that’s only sex.” Plus, he doubts she’d appreciate him breaking to pieces and crying in the middle of it. Because he’s pretty sure something like that would happen if they did anything more right now.

Her smile fades and she seems more confused than anything. “Are you sure you didn’t get hit in the head? Even a little? I never thought you would turn down sex.”

He shrugs and takes a step away from her and walks toward the kitchen. He should eat something, but the food everyone prepared for them is at the Diaz house. “I had a rough week.”

“And sex wouldn’t help? It makes me feel better when I have to deal with bad days and f*cking idiots.”

“No. I don’t even think I could right now. I’m…” What does he say without really saying anything? “Empty. Exhausted. Sorry.” He shrugs again. It’s matter of fact. He’s numb. All he can do is push away everything. Flip that switch and go dark. No one’s home. There is no home.

She frowns and for a minute he’s sure she’ll turn and run again, but instead she walks up to him and puts her arms around his middle. She then tucks her head against his chest and just holds on a little.

She’s… hugging him?

He’s almost too stunned to do anything, but he puts his arms around her, kind of awkwardly, uncertainly, and returns the embrace. She’s so tiny. So slight. Like holding onto nothing.

She lifts her head after a minute and pulls him down into another kiss. It’s light. Her lips barely move at all. He feels nothing, and can’t tell if that’s perfect or heartbreaking.

She looks up at him and smiles in a way that seems so unlike her. He can’t tell if she’s faking something or if he just doesn’t know anything about her. It’s probably the latter. What does he know about her other than she’s a reporter and it means everything to her? She likes green juices and won’t eat sugar but loves wine. That’s… about it?

“How about we go on a date tomorrow?” She rubs her hands over his back. “I’ll buy. It’s one of your days off, isn’t it?”

“It is. But. Eddie’s being discharged. I’m taking him home. We planned a party for him.”

“Oh. He is? That’s… good. Good. Who’s we? You and…?”

“Christopher,” he answers and doesn’t know why the uneasiness flares up again. He doesn’t want to talk about anything Christopher with her. For whatever reason. Maybe there’s a lot of reasons. But he definitely wants to keep Christopher safe and off-limits and protected at all costs.

She nods slowly like she doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t either so, it works out. “So, you’re having a party tomorrow. And picking up Eddie.”

“Yeah.”

“All day?”

That’s… a weird question? Isn’t it? Or is she just trying to find some time for them to be alone? He hadn’t really planned on doing anything but being with his family. Eddie will finally be home. It’s all he’s wanted since this whole nightmare began. What if Christopher needs something when the rest of his family leaves? What if Eddie does? What if they want dinner together? Just the three of them? It feels like it’s been years since they had that.

What if the reality of everything sinks in and Eddie has a nightmare when he tries to actually sleep? What if Buck can sleep beside him for the first time in months and months and forever? He hasn’t slept beside him since that night he and Maddie had dinner with their parents. Eddie told him he and Christopher were Buck’s family. They both hugged him and loved him and held him between them. All three of them curled up in Eddie’s bed. “Yes. All day.”

She frowns at his answer, and he pulls away from her and goes to check the fridge again even though he knows there’s really nothing in it besides a few condiments. Some oat milk. Old Thai takeout that is probably way past viable. It does look like he has a few eggs and a small tub of hummus. It’s old but it’s unopened and might be okay. There’s a slightly shriveled and sad apple and a half-full bag of baby carrots. There are worse things for a meal than some carrots and hummus. He pulls those out, opens them, and dips one carrot, scooping up some hummus on the way.

“All right. Then. I could come to the party. If you want. We can hang out there.”

Buck looks up at her with carrot halfway in his mouth. Was she waiting for an invitation? She wants to hang out with them and Eddie’s family? “I guess? If you want to.”

Her expression narrows a little. “I said I want to be with you. I’m trying to get you on a date. You’ve been asking and hinting and trying for one for months.”

And a welcome home party for Eddie with his son and aunt and grandmother, and probably his girlfriend is worthy of a date? He chews very slowly and tries to figure it out. “If that’s your idea of a date, then, sure? You can join us.”

“Wow.” She laughs and it sounds bitter. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Could you be less thrilled at the idea of including me?”

Where did that come from? That isn’t what he meant. “I didn’t think you’d be interested. It’s for Eddie. It’s just his family. I already have it planned. We can go out another time.”

She breathes deeply and sighs hard with very evident agitation. “No. I’ll be there.”

“Okay.” He dips another carrot and crunches on it. It tastes like nothing, too.

“Okay,” she says back and he can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to stay the night. So, text me and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turns and goes to the door and he’s such an asshole.

“I’m sorry. I’m not. I’m not in a very good place.” Maybe. Maybe being single forever is the better option. Though he doesn’t even know what the f*ck this is or why now or what changed or how they might define it, so maybe single is the only option. “I thought you didn’t want me. I’m not sure what changed your mind. You told me you just wanted to be friends and then you kissed me and then ran off and didn’t say anything. So, I don’t know what the hell you want. But I don’t feel like it’s me.”

His throat is dry and his chest hurts and he doesn’t want to break all over the place. He turns to the fridge again and grabs the last bottle of beer he stashed away. It’s not really strong enough, but it’s something. And if he starts with anything harder, he probably will end up letting her f*ck him and then hating himself and falling to pieces everywhere. Which, he’d rather not. He’s barely holding anything together.

She’s still for a moment before turning to face him. “I don’t do this, Buck. I don’t date people who don’t want to f*ck. I like sex. I want sex, and I’m not going to apologize for that or let anyone make me feel like sh*t because of it. I don’t like not being a priority. You’ve suggested many times that you wanted to hook up, but I don’t think that’s what you really want either. So. I figured we could date. Real dating. Beyond just hooking up. I can do that. I like you. You’re amusing to hang out with. I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“You are. I mean. I’m glad you… you want to try.” He had wanted to give it a shot. He likes that she’s cool and unapologetic and unashamed of being sexual. She’s beautiful and smart. He’d wanted her to like him. He’d never be worthy of it, but. He could pretend. If she actually did like him. But then his whole world was wrecked and he still doesn’t know what the f*ck to do with that. Why couldn’t she have wanted him weeks ago? “I don’t want you to apologize. I just don’t know why you all of a sudden…” He gestures but has no words to describe. All he remembers of that kiss is the wine and regret heavy on her lips.

She shrugs and the annoyance hasn’t faded. “Maybe I don’t know either. Because you were a sh*tty friend the whole time we tried to be friends. Maybe if we were something different to each other, it would be better. I certainly didn’t mind having your tongue. You are pretty hot after all.”

He sets down the remnant of carrot in his fingers and places the lid back on his hummus. He closes the bag of carrots and takes both it and the hummus container and puts them back in the refrigerator. He was a sh*tty friend. He usually is. He makes everything all about him. He doesn’t think before he acts. He’s just reckless and stupid and needy. And only good for sex or maybe dying for someone.

He’s really not sure how it would work better if they were something different to each other. Or if anyone could make sense of that logic. But he does feel guilty about all the ways he f*cked up. “If… if that’s what you want. Maybe it would be better. I’m sorry I wasn’t better. I’m trying to be. I do like you.”

“I know. And I know you’re not really yourself right now. So. Text me. I’ll see you tomorrow. And I’ll take you on a date the next time you’re free.”

There’s something heavy that settles over him and it’s not like the weight of something overflowing in his chest. It’s more like all the ways he’s f*cked everything up. He walks from the kitchen and meets her at the door and bends down to give her a kiss goodbye.

No matter how much he tries to figure out what the f*ck just happened or what they’ve done or why everything is wrong after she leaves, he can’t. He knows what Athena said. He knows what she assumes. He knows he’s thought about it and that others apparently see something, but it’s not reality. They’re just close. It’s intense and emotional because of everything they’ve been through.

Taylor is a chance for something real. Right? He could build something with her. She kind of knows him. He likes talking with her. He’s lucky she forgives him for how he’s treated her. She could be like Abby where they take it slow and get to know each other. Hopefully, it’s better than Abby.

Whatever it is, it’s more than nothing. And it doesn’t feel like dying. Even if he thinks of losing it and losing her. There’s nothing in his chest.

He’s nauseous though. Which kind of makes him ache again.

His apartment is dark and empty, and he used to love the freedom and independence and having something of his own. But it is just… cold and vacant right now. Like there’s nothing alive anymore. Apt metaphor for his whole existence, no?

The deafening silence starts to get to him before long and it might be late and dark and the middle of the night, but he leaves and goes on a drive. The cool night air should distract him. Maybe help clear his head.

He should be surprised he ends up back at the hospital, but what else can he think about? Where else is home for his heart if not somewhere in here?

It’s after hours so he has to sneak in, but he gets stopped by a nurse this time who tells him visitors aren’t supposed to be here right now.

It triggers tears and he hates that. He doesn’t want to be manipulative or overdramatic. He’s so tired of feeling anything. But everything is too much. And his eyes are wet. “Please,” he says quietly. “Please just. A few minutes?”

The woman sighs and he can tell she’s conflicted and frowning behind her mask. “Who are you hoping to visit?”

“Eddie.” His voice is broken, his name is a prayer. “Eddie Diaz. Edmundo. Diaz,” he tries to clarify even though it feels so weird and wrong in his mouth.

Something like recognition hits her like a bright spotlight. “Oh, you’re the husband.” It sounds sad and affectionate all at once.

He closes his eyes and bends his head. Of course they assume it. Apparently, everyone is assuming it these days.

She looks around, tells him, “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” and then hurries off in the direction of the patient rooms.

He tries to look small and stay out of the way in case anyone else notices him here, but she appears again after a minute and waves him over while no one else is around.

“If anyone asks,” she escorts him around the corner and into Eddie’s room. “You’ve been here the whole time. We try to make exceptions for spouses and immediate family when we can. As long as it’s only one or two people. I’ll bring you a blanket and pillow when I come back.” She winks and leaves before he can thank her. God, he would give her a million thanks and anything she ever wanted for this.

Eddie’s room is dark and his eyes are closed, and maybe Buck shouldn’t be here bothering him. Especially if he’s actually able to get some sleep right now. Especially since. Ana is… something? But apparently Taylor is also something now.

Why does none of it make him feel better about anything? All he’s been hoping for and asking for and wishing for is to not be alone anymore. So. Buck probably should go. But. He just can’t make himself turn and walk out either.

As quietly as possible, he moves the chair in the corner closer to the bed. He sits and watches Eddie carefully, trying not to make any noise. When he accomplishes that, he looks in the darkness lit only by the dim light of the monitors Eddie’s still hooked up to.

He’s reclined almost completely and sort of perched on his left side so weight is off of his right. There’s some kind of tension crinkled in Eddie’s forehead. He’s not relaxed. Asleep it looks like, but also distressed? Maybe painful. Buck reaches out and very, very lightly, slowly, carefully, touches Eddie’s hand. There’s no reaction and Eddie usually sleeps so lightly. Unless he’s so exhausted or emotionally drained he just crashes. But it’s good that he doesn’t wake. He should rest as much as possible.

Buck curls down and rests his head on the bed near Eddie’s chest. He holds onto Eddie’s hand and brings it to his own chest like the first day he was able to visit. So maybe Eddie can feel the heartbeat under his hand and know he’s not alone. He’s protected and cared for. So he knows Buck would do anything to ease his pain.

It’s enough to lift some of the cloud hanging over Buck, too.

He’s wading through a swamp, chest-deep, loaded down with tactical gear, holding a rifle over his head. There’s gunfire in the distance but it’s not near him yet. He can still escape. He still has a chance. The rest of the battalion is gone. But maybe it didn’t exist.

Something does. There’s something he needs. It’s there if he just keeps going.

His shoulder aches and he’s bleeding. The swamp might not be made of mud and water and vegetation. It might be made of blood. But there’s land and he finds it and stands on it and the blood is gone.

When he looks around, he can’t see anything. No mountains, no desert, no trees, no sand, no water, no sun. There’s no light, but there’s also no darkness.

He touches his chest and there’s supposed to be a medallion there. A tiny pendant. A beacon, a reason, a saint of travelers to guide him home.

But his neck is bare. He’s lost.

It’s too late. His time ran out. There’s no white rabbit with a ticking pocket watch, no backup helicopter on the way, no team, no family leaving trails of shells in the bay, no hand that will grip his and come to his rescue.

There’s no gold, he can’t see any stars, and he’s crumbling into parched leaves and dry, colorless petals.

Eddie wakes and there’s screaming pain in his back and arm and all through his shoulder. When he tries to move, change positions and lay on his back, it sends bursts of bright, sharp agony everywhere. His chest is tight, constricted, trapped, his heart is racing. He can’t breathe. Can’t even hold back a broken sound that verges on a sob.

Something near his left side moves. “Eddie? Are you okay?”

For a second, he’s sure he’s still dreaming. He was alone. He’s in his hospital room. He’d lift his head, but moving at all is the worst idea ever. He can’t move. He might be able to scream and cry a little though. But that voice. That soothing sweet voice that says his name like he’s the most valued thing in the universe. “Buck?”

Something squeezes his hand and then Buck leans over him. He’s here. How is he here? Eddie was alone. But. He’s here. His beautiful, worried face is hovering so close. It has to be real.

Buck touches his uninjured shoulder. “Are you hurting?”

He can only manage shallow breaths and tears prickle his eyes. f*ck, it’s bad. Everything is throbbing and burning in the worst way. He nods. It’s all he can manage.

Buck reaches over him and pats around until he finds what is likely the call button for the nurse. He rests his palm in the middle of Eddie’s chest. “It’s okay. I’m right here. I have you. Just try to breathe slowly.”

Eddie lets go of Buck’s hand so he can clutch him somewhere around his shoulder. Buck’s newly free hand comes up and strokes through Eddie’s hair. He whispers soft, soothing words and Eddie can’t really hear what they are, just that it’s Buck’s sweet voice.

He talks to Nurse Mihika when she appears, who looks at his heart rate — 136, more than double his typical resting rate — and looks up the last time Eddie was given pain medication. Over twenty hours ago. Because he’d argued and refused and told them not to because he hates being drugged and out of control.

Buck frowns at him though, in a heartbroken, worried way. “What about half a dose? Or something milder than morphine?”

At this point, he can’t do anything but concede. He’s tough, he can withstand a lot, but this is too much. “Okay,” he says quietly and holds tighter to Buck so he doesn’t disappear.

Mihika leaves quickly but also returns quickly with a syringe that goes directly into his IV port. It’s not instantaneous, but there is something cool and swirly that flows through him after a few minutes. It still hurts, but it smooths out the rough, angry edge. His chest isn’t so tight. He can breathe.

Buck’s hand slowly rubs the center of his chest. He’s still stroking Eddie’s hair. His eyes are so blue. So large and worried and Eddie slides his own hand from shoulder around the back of Buck’s neck. It makes Buck’s eyes flutter. His hands still but don’t disappear.

Eddie pulls him forward until their foreheads are touching. He wants so much to wrap both arms around him and not let go. But his right one hurts too much to move. He settles for having him close like this as the tension fades away and drowsiness returns. He doesn’t want to be drowsy. He wants to be awake. He wants both arms around Buck. He wants to be home in his own bed with Buck sprawled out on his chest and clingy limbs all around him.

“Better?” Buck’s voice is so quiet, so full of concern. Maybe even fear.

“Yeah.” Mostly. He thinks. For the moment anyway. Buck pulls back a little like he’s searching for proof that his answer is true. He’s so close and so beautiful. “You’re here,” Eddie says like witnessing a miracle. He hadn’t expected anyone. He expected to be alone.

Buck nods and smiles like he can’t help it. “I couldn’t sleep. And I worked late so Carla is with Chris anyway. So.” His hand slides through Eddie’s hair again.

Eddie squeezes the back of his neck gently. He looks so haunted. Even when he smiles a little. He remembers Buck’s face on the frantic drive here. Eyes wide and skin pale but covered in redness. Was he really covered in Eddie’s blood that day? Was that what happened? He can’t remember much. But he would never be able to forget Buck covered in blood. As much as he’d like to.

But he isn’t covered in blood now. He looks clean. He smells like fruity citrus, his own shampoo, like he must have showered at his apartment. There’s more than a day’s worth of blond stubble covering his jaw. He usually doesn’t let it grow. He says it’s scratchy and stupid and “not cute like brown haired stubble.” But Eddie wants to feel it under his fingers. He want to feel it against his lips. He wants to stare at Buck this closely forever.

“I’m glad you’re here.” It’s so hard waking from bad dreams and terrible, twisted memories and not having Buck there beside him.

Buck smiles but it looks watery like his eyes. He’s broken. He’s not doing well. He’s barely holding on.

“Come here.” Eddie gently draws him closer until Buck is sitting back in his chair but with his head resting on Eddie’s chest and Eddie’s arm around him. Not the most ideal position. If the bed were at all big enough, he wouldn’t hesitate to share. But right now, he’s sure Buck would protest and worry he’d cause pain. So, it will work for now.

They’ll be home later. Finally. He’ll have his son and their Buck and they’ll be home.

He’s not sure how long they rest like that, but he does remember Mihika checking to make sure he’s all right and that his vitals are better. She smiles as she drapes a light blanket over Buck’s shoulders. “I had a pillow for him,” she whispers when she notices Eddie watching. “But I think you got that covered.”

He almost tells her that it’s Buck’s favorite way to sleep. One of Eddie’s, too if he’s being honest. But the words never make it out of his mouth.

Chapter 8: Paternity

Chapter Text

The moment Christopher is at his computer for school that morning, Eddie’s phone goes from quietly sitting on the table beside him to chiming every ten seconds. He grabs it quickly, so it stops making noise, and sucks in a sharp breath at the pain in his shoulder. It’s worlds better than it was a few hours ago, but not great.

Thankfully, though. Buck remains undisturbed. His head is still pillowed on Eddie’s chest, one arm loosely draped around Eddie’s middle. He’s been quiet and breathing slowly, like he’s actually managed to drift off and rest, which is good, really good, because it is painfully obvious that he hasn’t been sleeping well.

Eddie brushes his fingers through Buck’s soft curls. The way he used to do when they shared a bed and a living space for months. Maybe. Maybe this is something they can have again.

Maybe they can have more?

He still isn’t sure what to say or how to even bring it up. It might not be a sign from the universe or whatever made up sh*t people might believe. But he nearly died. That was a fact. The doctors wouldn’t be so reluctant to send him home if it hadn’t been cutting it close. He doesn’t want to die or come close to dying again and never say anything.

He lifts his phone and has to smile as he reads through a long line of,

Hi Dad! How are you? I miss you! Are you coming home today? When are you coming home? Is Buck with you? He had to work last night and Carla stayed with me. I miss you both! Are you feeling better?

What would he do without this kid. Obviously, he’s very biased, but there is not a better kid out there anywhere. With his one good, usable arm, he holds up the phone and slowly types back,

I’m good, buddy. Miss you, too. Buck is with me. He’s going to bring me home later. Cannot be without you one more day. Please pay attention to your teacher. I love you. I will see you soon.

Christopher sends him a mess of different colored hearts and what looks like a few dragons, some pirate, skull and crossbones symbols mixed with stars and moons and a face with hearts all around it. And a request to “hug Buck a lot” for him.

Eddie sends him a red heart in return and promises he will. What would they ever do without their Buck?

The familiar weight of Buck curled against him is such a welcome relief from everything in the past week. In the past several months. He’s missed this more than he can ever possibly express. There’s something in his whole body that relaxes knowing that Buck is at his side.

It could partially be the hit of pain meds, and at least whatever they gave him this time was something more mild but still strong enough to keep away most of the loud screaming in his shoulder. But the serenity is more than that.

He’s not alone. He doesn’t feel so lost. He knows he’s safe and would be protected without second thought. It doesn’t matter as much that he’s still stuck in the hospital. Half his home is right here.

Could they always be close like this? Would Buck stay forever like Christopher always asks? Would Buck want this? Would Buck want him?

Have they ever been only friends? They went right past coworkers and acquaintances, barely even touched on strangers or rivals. They were partners and confidants from the beginning. They offered each other trust and support without knowing how much it would mean and without knowing how much they both were lacking.

It was fitting in a way that felt natural. Whatever bond they’re holding onto never felt like it could be contained simply by friendship. Which isn’t to say that friendship isn’t a massive, valuable, force to be reckoned with. Because it is and if that’s all they ever are, it’s still paramount.

There’s just something beyond that’s unknown, maybe indefinable, but also between them regardless. He strokes Buck’s hair, and can’t think of anything but how Christopher asks if they can keep Buck forever.

Slowly, Buck lifts his head and blinks sleepily at him. The blue of his eyes is softer and his hair is mussed and there are fabric wrinkle imprints on the side of his face and there might even be a long drip of drool on his lips, and he’s the most beautiful thing Eddie has ever seen. Eddie tries to bite back a smile, “Good morning.”

Buck sits up, looks around, and rolls his neck and shoulders. “Is it morning?”

“It’s around nine.”

Buck blinks at him again. “Did I actually sleep? It was, like, 3 or 4. Wasn’t it? When you woke up and the nurse was here?”

“It was. And you did. You were even making those rumbly little snores for a while.”

Buck’s face goes pink. “God. You know your son has been roasting me about my snoring all week? Don’t you start.”

Eddie bites his lower lip and probably shouldn’t say he actually likes listening because it means Buck is asleep and close by and still breathing. So, he quips instead, “Before sunrise, he’s your son.”

Buck shakes his head and looks like he’s trying to stifle a smile so he doesn’t encourage anything. He may not get many movie references, but he definitely knows that one. Even if both Buck and Christopher have deemed it too sad to watch more than once.

So, Eddie takes pity on him. A little. “Speaking of which, do you know Christopher has been messaging me while he’s at his computer for school?” He holds up his phone that has a few more emoji messages and at least one gif.

Buck looks shocked for a moment and then sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “I may have shown him how the computer has iMessages so he would know how to send messages to a phone. So, that he could text me if he needed anything, for any reason, while I was at work.”

So, that was it. God, how are they so lucky to have Buck, who very loudly and clearly looks out for them and would do anything for them. “He figured out how to text my phone, too.”

Buck makes a face with written teeth. “And I probably forgot to mention that it was for emergencies only? And not to do it during class unless, you know, emergency. Sorry.”

Eddie gives him a smile. It’s kind of impressive actually. “It’s fine. You were making sure he was taken care of. Chris and I talked about it. You were both keeping me company anyway. I miss him. So much. When are we getting out of here?”

Buck returns the smile with superlative empathy. “I’ll go track down some people and find out. They said this afternoon. But you have to take your pain meds. Okay? Please?” He stands, rubs a hand over his face and through his hair, then seems to decide that was pointless. He stops before he leaves the room and looks back to Eddie. “I’m going to run down to my car, too. I have a bag packed for you. Change of clothes, toothbrush, razor and that shaving gel you like. That sort of stuff. For when we get you out of here. I’ll go grab that, too.”

Buck packed a toiletries bag for him? And a change of clothes?

“Back soon.” Buck grins, almost like his usual self, and hurries as he leaves.

How. How does Eddie have someone who provides this much care and attention?

It’s not long before Buck returns and with him a couple nurses he doesn’t recognize but apparently are familiar with both Eddie and Buck. They go over his vitals and make sure his pain is under control and talk through the basic plan for his follow-up care. Buck ends up showing off Christopher pictures to them and gushing about how smart and strong and amazing he is, and it might not do much to discourage the idea that the two of them are life partners not just work ones, but there’s so much love and pride in Buck’s voice, Eddie still can’t bring himself to say otherwise.

It’s a real smile that appears on Buck’s face. He absolutely lights up as he talks about Christopher and proudly shows off pictures not just from his Insta but from the thousands he has taken and saved on his phone.

Eddie can’t look at anything else. Buck is so happy and so fond and so proud of the amazing young man Eddie helped create, and it’s everything he wants for his son. And himself.

The other older nurse grins at them but is apparently more amused by Eddie. “You know. I was wondering why everyone has been talking about you two. Good lord, I understand now.”

Eddie glances over at her but is swiftly drawn back to Buck who is animatedly telling the story about building the skateboard rig. That was a good day. A really wonderful one. He makes himself look back at the nurse, “What do you mean?”

“Honey, if I could get my husband to look at me the way you look at yours, everyone would write songs and stories and epic poetry about us, too. How long have you been together?”

He doubts anyone does that about them. They’re not actually… And Eddie doesn’t want to lie or pretend ever again. But his heart flutters at the mere thought. Best not to disappoint everyone, right? They don’t have to know that fairy tales don’t exist and Santa Claus isn’t real and there’s no such thing as fate or soulmates or a sign from the universe. But. If Buck did want him that way, it would be very real. “We met about three years ago.”

“Really?” She exclaims like she’s shocked. “I would have guessed at least ten. You seem very settled and in tune with each other.”

Eddie swallows and loves the way Buck smiles. The way he gestures. The way he speaks. The way he’s so full of love and joy. Especially when he talks about Christopher. “It was fast.” But it was slow, too. Small moments, brief touches, quick glances, shared secrets. Nights with pizza and video games, mornings with pancakes and cartoons, terrible days with dangerous calls but someone there at the other end of his line, someone there after nightmares and while painfully distancing from Christopher. All the wonderful moments, all the painful ones. This tether between them is made of so many things and it’s stronger for all of them. “I never expected it. He didn’t either. We just… fit together.”

“Well, no wonder y’all make everyone believe in soulmates.”

He almost feels guilty about it, and it’s not like he’s changed his mind about things that are supposedly destiny or fate or signs from the universe. But no matter what their relationship is or how anyone describes it, he can believe he and Buck were made of similar pieces. They can look at each other and recognize they fit together.

The nurses send more nurses and even a doctor to check him over and make sure he can walk and pee and eat and keep food down and that he’s not showing any sign of infection or other complications. And Eddie just gives Buck the most long suffering look. Something to convey the amount of Done With Everything that he feels. Buck squeezes his hand and gives him a smile that says he very much agrees.

After what might even be hours, they finally give him privacy to dress himself in the nearby bathroom while Buck and a nurse wait outside. He still can’t really move his arm. He’s not even supposed to move his bad arm. Sharp, stabbing awful pain burns through his back and shoulder when he even tries to slide off his hospital gown. He has to hold his right arm still with his left, supporting it and clutching it close to his body while he breathes through the flare of that pain.

He somehow manages to mostly rip the thing off his body and also gets underwear onto his legs and then up with his one good hand. But it’s slow, agonizingly slow going and bending makes all the muscles around his shoulder blade hurt even worse. And how in the f*ck is he going to get his arm through the sleeve of a shirt?

The next few months are really, really, epically going to be awful. He’s known this has been coming. He knows the reality will be he can’t even put on a damn t-shirt by himself and forget about pulling up jeans around his hips. Everything is going to happen one-handed and there will be a lot of things he won’t be able to do. He probably won’t even be able to unscrew the top on his toothpaste if he can’t hold very well with his right hand. He’ll need help and he’ll need someone to take care of him, and he’s so bad at even asking anyone for anything, how can he accept it either?

There’s a soft knock on the bathroom door. “It’s just me. If you need me. I’m here.”

Maybe Buck can hear the harsh breath and feel the gritted teeth and all the pain right through the wall. Maybe he just knows how hard it is. And. There were times. Where Buck’s left leg was nothing but cast and he couldn’t stand without support and he sat on the edge of a hospital bed and let Eddie slip boxers and modified pants up his legs until they settled at his waist. He’d offered himself as support. He let Buck lean against him and steady himself so they could get him dressed and set up on his crutches.

It’s not easy. It’s embarrassing. It’s feeling powerless and useless and frustrated. But Buck let him. Buck trusts him.

“I need you,” Eddie answers quietly.

The door opens and closes quickly, and Buck locks it behind them. If only they could be locked together in questionable states of undress for better reasons. Buck says nothing. He doesn’t have to. He discreetly looks away but tugs Eddie’s briefs up a little on his right side so they’re situated like they’re supposed to be, and then directs Eddie’s hand to his own shoulder so he can brace on Buck while Buck helps him step into the pants he’s brought.

Somehow, they figure out how to very minimally move his arm so that he only unbends it at the elbow and then Buck can slip Eddie’s hand through an arm hole that way and wind it up, over his head, and very, very carefully around his shoulder.

He winces and sucks in breath a few times, but it’s so much better than if he’d tried it alone. He knows without even an attempt. Buck even helps slip his arm into a sling they gave him to give Eddie, and then his arm is supported and immobilized. And doesn’t hurt as much if he keeps it still. His arm and fingers are still tingly and aching but his shoulder quiets down like it’s resting instead of yelling.

Buck places his hand in the middle of Eddie’s chest, fingers brushing against the tiny medallion resting above Eddie’s heart. The same gentle, ever-present touch that helped soothe away his pain last night. “You don’t ever have to ask. Or worry. It’s never too much. I know how much it sucks. But you did it for me so many times. I will do anything you need. I want to. None of it is a burden. I’m here. Always.”

It’s too much to look at him. He knows all of it. He does. It’s logical considering everything they’ve been through, and Buck’s more than proven how far he’ll go to save Eddie and Christopher. More than once.

But it’s so much. It’s like that first stupid moment where Buck didn’t even know him or like him, but he stubbornly refused to let Eddie go into the ambulance alone. Sure, Eddie has always gone in with the mindset of you never leave a soldier or a teammate behind, you never let them think they’re alone. But who has ever reciprocated? He’s always been alone. Maybe he deserved to be after freaking out about being trapped with his parents and trapped in El Paso and trapped with Shannon in a mockery of a marriage.

But Buck didn’t let him face death by grenade malfunction by himself. He didn’t need to help. Technically, Eddie could have done it alone. It would have endangered fewer people. But maybe he was terrified he would leave his son fatherless and maybe he was worried he wouldn’t be able to pull it off and maybe he did need help and Buck knew that. Maybe he’s always needed someone who will refuse to leave his side and stand with him through the worst moments.

He’s good at taking care of people. He’s calm and usually clear-headed under pressure. He knows people look at him now like he’s a pillar of strength and competence. He’s focused. He can get the job done especially when it looks like everything has gone to hell.

But there’s never been anyone who sees his flaws and the cracks in his armor and the times he can’t do anything but crumble to pieces. There’s never been anyone who wants to hold him together and take care of him the way he always tries to take care of others. No one who is so loving and kind and thoughtful, who looks at Eddie like he’s their entire world.

Not until Buck.

Eddie breathes against the constriction in his chest and leans against him. He rests his head on Buck’s shoulder, tucking it into his neck and fiercely holds onto him with his one good arm. He smells like hospital just as much as Eddie does now, but he’s warm and safe and welcoming. Buck’s arms come around him, mindful of his shoulder, but he nuzzles against Eddie’s hair and hugs back tightly.

He’d hold on until the end of the world if he could.

Eventually, they let go and walk back to Eddie’s room. Buck goes through all his belongings, packing up the few that he had and the few that were brought to him, while Eddie sits on the bed and watches.

What would he ever do without Evan Buckley? How can anyone look at him and not want to cherish and treasure him forever? He gives Eddie a beautiful but sad smile when he looks up, and all Eddie can think of is how neglected and unfair the whole of Buck’s life has been. This kind, sweet, gentle man who is so thoughtful and protective of others thinks he’s worthless, that his life only has value if he sacrifices it, that no one loves him or needs him, and Eddie just wants to wrap him in unfailing protection and love him the way he so clearly longs for.

There’s a sudden buzzing noise somewhere. Buck looks down and digs his phone out of his pants pocket. Eddie would guess that it’s Carla or Chris or maybe one of the team, but in the single second it takes Buck to read whatever message he’s received, everything about him plummets like he’s been dropped and crushed. The exhaustion, trauma, stress of the whole week show through all the fractures in his composure. His eyes look gray, his faces loses color. He seems like he stares but doesn’t see anything.

Eddie immediately wants to rush to him. What could have hurt Buck like that? Did something happen to Chris? “What is it?”

Buck shakes his head and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

“That was not nothing.”

Buck’s gaze is avoidant. “It’s fine. Not a big deal.”

Eddie immediately reaches out and tries with utmost gentleness. “Let me see? Please?”

He still hesitates, but ends up handing over his phone and staring at nothing.

Eddie unlocks it with his thumb and pulls up the messages. The most recent one — from Helena Diaz — reads,

We spoke with Ana last night and she offered to take care of Christopher and Edmundo. She can move in immediately so you don’t need to be there any longer.

Eddie scrolls up through the rest and wants to scream so loud his parents would hear him all the way in Texas. What the f*ck. What the actual f*ck. The absolute last thing Buck needs is to be told he’s not needed and not important, not everything to them. Or that Ana will be part of their lives any longer. He angrily gestures with Buck’s phone. “You know this is bullsh*t, right? She is not moving in. She is not going to take care of me or Christopher. She’s not—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Buck shrugs. There’s something dead and vacant in his eyes that is completely terrifying.

f*cking god, Eddie is going to have words with them. “It does. I don’t want anyone to have to dress me or shave me or help me put on shoes, but I know I’m going to need someone and it sure as f*ck is not going to be anyone but you. I trust you. No one else. You said you wanted to. I want you to.”

A wash of blue returns to his eyes. “You’ll let me take care of you?”

There’s a hard squeeze on his whole chest. When has anyone ever been so invested in caring for Eddie? He’s the one everyone else relies on, and he loves that he is. But knowing someone wants to reciprocate is too much for his newly released and healing heart. “You saw me. I can’t move my arm. I can’t f*cking dress myself. So unless you want me to just walk around naked all the time where anyone can see—”

That brings out a small, real smile. “I’m sure there are worse things. It’s probably very distracting though.”

Interesting word choice. “Probably.”

A flushed pink tinge washes over Buck’s cheeks like he’s realized what he said or maybe like he’s picturing it. Which. Is impossible, but also what if that is what he's thinking? “I’m going to go find out about your meds and what else we need to get you home. Okay? You need anything else?”

You. Just you and our son, and to be home with both of you. “Maybe food? Real food. The last thing I had that counts was your magical waffle.”

Buck smiles softly and bends his head until he looks up and sideways at Eddie. “Don’t worry. The house is full of food. We were brought… well, you and Chris were brought so much food. I’ll be back.”

No. Buck should be included. He’s one of them. Family meals from the 118 are brought to the whole family. Buck is one of them. And his f*cking parents need to mind their own business and stay the hell out of his life.

He rubs his hand over his face and just… It’s his fault. He doesn’t know why he even cares because he shouldn’t. He is a grown man. He has a child. He does not need his parents’ approval for anything.

There’s just so much that he doesn’t know how to unlearn. They aren’t even ideals that he buys into but they still make him feel wrong and like he shouldn’t and that he’s a failure if he acknowledges. He’s supposed to shut it off and get over it and be a man who is rigid and repressed and distant. And heterosexual.

He hates all of it. He hates most of all that he’s hurt so many people because it’s been so ingrained in him for so long. It’s easy to show compassion for others. It’s easy to support them and be an ally and know beyond any doubt that there’s nothing wrong with being gay or bi or ace or trans. It’s so much harder to allow himself any leniency.

Loneliness makes people do such stupid things. Denial, too. Maybe they all had such a difficult time adjusting to Eddie trying to date Ana because it disrupted what they’ve been building and teetering on for years now. Christopher isn’t usually angry or sullen and Eddie is still scarred and horribly guilty from that time when he ran away. Buck is only ever distant and aloof when he’s heartbroken.

He wants to make it up to both of them. He knows very well how close he came to leaving them forever. They should acknowledge how important and irreplaceable they are to each other.

He hopes he is. He hopes he means as much to Buck as Buck means to him.

What if he’s not brave enough to say it?

Breaking it off with Ana was one thing. She didn’t really mean anything and he can’t say their relationship filled any sort of void. It’s hard to not feel lonely when they didn’t know each other that well and he had to worry about presenting himself a certain way. It was easy to say, there’s nothing here, we should end it.

It’s a whole other thing to say, you mean everything to me and my son and we want more of you in our lives. More and in a slightly different capacity. Or maybe the same capacity but with acknowledgement.

Even in his head, it sounds stupid and he can’t get the words right. And he knows Buck is doing everything he can to keep going and hold it together. Eddie remembers the way Buck stared at him while they were both on the ground and covered in blood, he knows how the rest of the team tried to skirt around something dangerous that Buck did, he can completely see how drained and gutted and devoid of anything Buck is. Even Ana said Eddie had always described him as so lively and friendly. She was surprised how broken and quiet he was instead.

He vividly remembers the words when he woke up and got to talk to Christopher and see Buck. I think it would have been better for him if I was the one who got shot.

Sure, on the surface, it makes sense. He can see the train of thought and the logic Buck put to it. Eddie’s his father. Christopher needs his father. Therefore. But it completely misses the reality and the truth of what Buck is to Christopher. And what he is to Eddie.

He already had to come home one horrific day and tell Christopher his mother had died. He doesn’t ever want to have to tell him that their Buck is dead, too.

It was bad enough when he had to tell Christopher that Buck had been hurt and was in the hospital with doctors who were trying very hard to fix him. And when Buck vomited up blood and collapsed and Christopher was right there and knew and saw and Eddie couldn’t do a single thing for either of them.

Eddie has to say something. He has to say so many things. It’s all getting tangled and he’s losing his nerve. What can possibly convey as much as he wants and needs to convey?

The words keep echoing in his head.

You don’t need to be there.

We had a call, a man trapped thousands of feet in the air on some scaffolding, it was crazy dangerous especially with the sniper out there, but we were all fine. Nothing went wrong. The guy was saved. We were safe. During. After. We all made it. No one else got hurt.

I think it might have been better for him if I was the one who got shot.

Eddie breathes deeply but he’s nauseous and angry and even the furious pain in his shoulder is nothing compared to how much that hurts. How could they ever lose their Buck? What light would exist for them anymore? The world would be so much worse off without him in it. How can he ever convey how much they need him and want him and love him?

How can he hand over the fragile, stifled thing in his chest and convince someone it’s worth keeping?

When Buck returns, he still doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. But he knows the truth of how he and Chris need Buck.

Christopher has always looked at Buck in awe, like he’s magical and miraculous. An adult who wants to talk to him? Who listens to his stories and asks questions about the things he likes and plays make believe with him? Who tells him weird crazy facts about pirates and animals and celestial phenomena? Who bakes cookies with him and plays games that his mother used to and rescues him and hundreds of other people? Who comforts him and promises to always be there for him when he’s angry at Eddie and runs away? Who stepped in as caregiver without a second thought and keeps Christopher safe and happy?

All of it came so easily and so naturally to both of them. They fit together as perfectly as Buck also fits with Eddie. It’s unbelievable sometimes how comfortable it is and how it never feels like there’s anything missing when it’s the three of them.

Except. For how he aches to hold Buck forever.

Buck’s always been his partner. Buck needed to feel included and important and not replaceable. He needs to be valued. So, that’s what Eddie decided on. He’d rely on Buck. He’d trust him. He’d look at everything he is and all the ways he’s maybe immature and insecure and all the times he’s impulsive and flawed and human, and choose to love him regardless. Because that’s how anyone should be loved. How can you say you love someone and then hold it back with conditions and contingencies when that person is nothing but kind and respectful to you?

It might be an illusion, a made up fantasy, a bedtime fairytale. But they’ve looked at each other like a family. Buck’s grown into a supportive and caring father to Christopher. He and Eddie have built a partnership between them as loving and committed as any marriage. It’s not difficult to see why people look at them and see two parents and their son, or two spouses who are infinitely dedicated to each other.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” he says like it’s always been the plan. Maybe it was but not like this. Not after almost losing each other again. Words are so difficult to say and their meanings are so easy to confuse or misinterpret. Nothing can ever match the depth in his heart, the amount it overflows, how it beats strong enough to break its cage and scream louder than any universe possibly can.

He’s not surprised Buck is shocked at the revelation. Eddie wants Christopher to have someone who fights for him, adores him, helps him be strong and capable as much as anyone can be. Sure, Eddie has sisters and parents who would take Christopher in without a thought. But would any of it make Christopher happy? Would any of them love and care for Chris the same way Eddie does? Because he can’t imagine anyone who loves his son as much as Buck.

And. If anything ever did happen to him. Someone would need to save Buck. He’s not sure anyone else could. It would have to be Christopher. And Chris would need his other dad.

It’s not enough to tell Buck he wants him to raise Chris if he’s gone. It has to be more. “You act like you’re expendable.” His words are angry, he knows this because he hates that Buck thinks he’s not worth anything. But everything beating within him is held within his voice. It’s too much, it’s more than he can bear, but he needs Buck to hear it. He needs Buck to believe it and come back to them. They need him. No one will ever be what he is to them. “But you’re wrong.”

Buck stares at him for a long time as if he can’t comprehend and is waiting to wake up or for Eddie to say, kidding, and take it all back. The words aren’t processing or maybe they’re just so unexpected. Eddie wants to take hold of him and make Buck look at him and hear him and listen and know he means it.

Buck tries a few times to open his mouth but nothing comes out. It’s ages before he finally says, “I know that you say it. Sometimes. I do, too. I guess I kind of thought you were just being nice. When you tell me that we’re family. That you and Christopher and I…”

“Why would I do that?” Eddie shakes his head emphatically. He’s never been so serious. He’s never meant anything more. “Why would I say something like that and not mean it? I mean it with every fiber of my being.”

Buck smiles faintly though he also looks lost and uncertain, even in the face of this revelation, that Eddie wants this bond between them to be lifelong. Forever. Legally binding and irrefutable. In more ways than this. “I know you do. I know how much you… how important family is to you.”

“Do you?” Eddie watches him. He has to know. He has to understand. Please, please finally understand that you can’t be replaced. He waits until Buck looks at him, then asks, “Do you know how much you mean? To us?” He swallows hard and it feels like standing in front of him, defenseless, waiting to be shot. But hey that already happened once. So he adds, “To me?”

Buck looks at him, searches his eyes, and says quietly, “I might have a better idea now. Still buffering. Updating. I think 4.0 is a bit slow to start.”

Eddie nods, but. No. “Wait. Four? We’re on four now? When did that happen?”

Buck shrugs dismissively and his smile turns more guarded. Thin and not quite genuine. He suspects the moment Eddie stood in front of him, wounded and bleeding before he collapsed, must be the moment that Buck needed upgrades for himself. He squeezes Buck’s shoulder and thankfully the nurse appears with discharge instructions, prescriptions, and a wheelchair to escort him out.

He’s going home. He’ll get to hold his son. He’ll finally be home with his son and their Buck and it will be just the three of them forever.

The drive is quiet, which is good because as soon as Buck pulls out of the parking garage and they’re in the open street of the sunny, midday city, there’s something acrid that seeps into his stomach. He’s being watched. He feels eyes on him. Sharp pain bursts through his back. There’s a target on him. They’re in the car but it’s there. He can feel it.

Something squeezes his hand tightly. “Eddie. Breathe. We’re okay. We’re almost home. I got you. Just take really deep breaths.”

He squeezes Buck’s hand back harder than he means to. He’s fine. Everything is fine. He knows it is. There are just prickles down his spine when he looks out the window at the buildings all around them. There are so many windows. There are so many people in this city. Any one of them could attack.

He tries looking at their hands instead. Their fingers twined together. Buck wrapped tightly around him. That makes it easier to breathe. It’s fine. He’s fine. They’re going home.

When they make it further out of the downtown area and closer to rows of little houses, that makes it easier, too. Though when they pull up to his own house, there are a suspicious number of cars parked all around it. He looks at Buck with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay. So. I know. I do. And if you aren’t up for it or need everyone to leave, they are completely prepared for that. They’ll give you a hug and f*ck off is what, I think, Pepa said. It’s just Chris and Carla and Pepa and Abuela. And Ana and Taylor. Not a big deal. We just wanted you to know how much we missed you. How much you mean to us. There was a mastermind behind the whole thing and so we all went along with it because how could we not? But everyone understands you need rest.”

The words are too fast and frantic and he almost misses it. He looks to his house and glances at all the cars. Three he knows, and one he doesn’t.

She’s in his house? She’s in his f*cking house. He untangles his hand and takes it back.

He just. He just wanted to come home. His family is one thing. Even Ana? For some reason? Maybe she’d been part of the planning and it wasn’t as if they left it on a bad note. But there’s someone in that list who is definitely not there for him.

He wanted to come home.

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice is small, so worried and uncertain. “I can tell them to go. No one is expecting anything of you. If you’re not okay, I’ll send them away.”

No. He wants his family. He wants his son. “I’m fine.” Just thrown. And a little irritated. Or a lot irritated. At least he’ll be surrounded by people who love him. Why the f*ck is she in his house? “I want to see Chris.” He pushes the jeep door open and climbs out before Buck has a chance to offer anything else.

Buck hurries after him. “It’ll be fun. I promise. Abuela and Tía made your favorite poblano, serrano enchiladas. Ana was making couscous and some kind of fancy Moroccan chicken dish. Carla said she’d bring appetizers and whip up a party punch. Christopher and I made you brownies. We didn’t even have any. He wanted to save them for you so we could have them together.”

Eddie stops a few steps away from the door. He remembers the picture. The chocolate batter slopped all over Buck’s face. The small culprit licking his spatula. The game Shannon taught their son. That he now plays with his Buck.

He doesn’t want to think about any of it. He just needs to see his son.

Buck walks to his side and stands beside him. “They all. We all. Love you a lot.”

He’s not sure if it hurts more to hear it and know that when he finally figured it out, it will never be his, or if he just needs to forget everything he’s been thinking the past week. There are no signs from the universe. Almost dying doesn’t mean anything.

He nods but doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to.

Buck opens the door for him and his family, the people he’ll always come home to, the ones he loves most are there to greet him. He clutches his precious, beautiful son and kisses his head as Christopher beams at him. He would hold onto him for a solid week just to make up for all the time spent apart, but he has to greet everyone else who offers hugs and kisses as well. His abuela, his tía, Carla, even Ana smiles brightly at him. Taylor doesn’t offer anything, so Eddie doesn’t either.

His abuela ushers him to the kitchen and dishes up giant helpings of all the food they’ve prepared then sets a plate at the dining table for him. His relatively small table that has now been overrun with more than twice as many chairs that he’s not even sure where they came from.

Carla brings him punch and water and napkins while Pepa directs everyone else to fill up their plates. He itches to stand and either help everyone else or wait until the rest of his family has their food, and he should be able to at least help Christopher put together a plate of what he wants. He has one good hand. But they all tell him to eat and not worry about anything.

It’s Buck who goes through the buffet they’ve set up, holding two plates. He puts a small amount of each item on one plate and then child sized portions on the other of what Christopher points to. Mostly enchiladas and broccoli cheese cups and fruit salad. They sit together on Eddie’s right side with Christopher in the middle, and whisper to each other something that makes both Buck and Christopher giggle.

Eddie breathes deeply and at least seeing them together eases the tightness in his chest. Pepa sits on Buck’s other side, preempting anyone else from doing it, and he could kiss her again for it.

Ana, of course, sits next to Eddie and whispers, “I hope you don’t mind that I’m here. They invited me before… what happened last night. I wanted to make sure you two would be all right.”

“I don’t mind.” Eddie gives her a polite smile. “We’re good. All of us. Chris and I are taken care of. I like your company.”

She sighs like she’s disappointed but smiles back. “I made that chicken you liked. The one you called amazing. I wanted to contribute.”

He did call it amazing. It was good. Pretty sure he hadn’t gone as far to say that he liked it. For a dish heavy on the spices, it was a little bland for his tastes. But the chicken was juicy and cooked perfectly. She was clearly competent as a cook and it was kind of her. Honestly, he’s excited about any real, homemade food right now. He’d happily eat any of it. “Thank you.”

Christopher leans against Eddie’s right side, very gently. And then gestures wildly, rather like Buck, as he tells more stories about watching his teacher’s cat cause trouble and interrupt class and meow loudly when he was hungry. Buck even reminds him about when the cat kept knocking things off the bookshelf behind the teacher while his teacher had no clue, and Christopher excitedly adds how the whole class lost it when their teacher finally realized that plants and books and knickknacks had been sacrificed to the floor.

Ana gives them a stiff, disapproving look, but Eddie shrugs. The whole year and a half has been awful. The whole week has been even worse. Let them find some happiness where they can. She still tries to ask Christopher about his studies and his homework, and gets the same answer Eddie did — that he’s already finished the next two weeks of school work and Buck helped him do his final project and all his assignments and they read ahead because Buck makes all the science and history exciting when they read together.

Carla shares stories of her own that feature Buck setting up exploding lemon volcanoes last month and another with a jello earth and a marshmallow and toothpick structure to simulate earthquakes last fall and Christopher’s favorite — a model of layered soil made with chocolate pudding and crumbled cookies and gummy worms and chocolate chip “rocks” that they got to eat after the lesson.

Ana looks vaguely shocked and doesn’t say much else, but she does look at Buck and then at Eddie, and seems to be thinking.

But there’s such a soft, sweet expression on Buck’s face and a pure, affectionate, beautiful smile — because he can only look at Christopher. He could be thinking of so many things, and Eddie wishes he could pinpoint exactly what is going through his mind other than what is obviously how much he loves Christopher. He would reach behind his son, so no one could see and he could touch Buck’s arm or his back and find that physical contact. But his right arm is out of commission so he can’t.

Buck glances up at him like he knows Eddie’s thoughts even without the prompt. For a moment, all either of them do is look at each other. It holds the same soft affection, but there’s something that feels like longing in the way Buck looks at him, like he’s holding back and guarded and swimming in sorrow that’s rising to the surface. Eddie has to wonder if his face is mirroring it, and if he can look at Buck with anything that isn’t a mix of fondness and hunger and suppression.

When they look away from each other, Buck stands and starts collecting everyone’s empty plates. “You wanna help me with the dishes, superman?”

Chris lights up, answers with a resounding yes, and hands Buck his plate so he can grab his crutches.

Ana looks at them and at Eddie, but it’s Taylor who asks in Buck’s direction, “You’re doing the dishes? The two of you?”

He’s not sure if it’s a slight against Christopher or incredulity at Buck, but why the f*ck is she in his house. Why.

Buck answers with confusion but Eddie can hear the edge in his tone. “He always helps me with the dishes. We kind of make a mess when we cook. Don’t we?” The last question is softened and directed at Christopher with a wide smile.

Christopher grins back with eyes only for his Buck. “That’s the fun part!”

“That is the fun part.” Buck beams at him and rinses off plates and starts stacking them on the counter by the dishwasher so Christopher can place them in it.

Eddie watches them together, smiling and giggling with each other, and doesn’t know how he can possibly love any two people more. They so clearly fit together and make each other so happy, and of course Carla was right. She usually is. Ana is nice. Christopher charms and gets along with basically everyone. He loves people and loves entertaining and teasing and making everyone laugh. But there’s something very special about a person who makes him light up the way he does for others.

Both his abuela and his tía remark on it, like they’re watching, too. They talk about how wonderful Buck is with Christopher and how they are so happy when they’re together and how amazing it’s been this whole terrible week to know that even though they worried about Eddie, they knew Christopher was safe and cared for and with the person he loves second only to his dad.

Carla adds that Buck is now better than she is at convincing Chris it’s bedtime, and even mentions how they create stories together that are special and only for them. She says she doesn’t know specifics but has heard them researching items and names and talking through all the horrible things they’ve experienced. And that the house is always happier when Buck is around.

Eddie meets her eyes and thinks of her words. Be sure you’re following your heart. He doesn’t want to go back to shutting everything off and keeping himself from what he wants just for the sake of others. Because it’s been obvious since the moment they met that the person who makes Christopher’s heart happy is also the one who does the same for Eddie’s. When Buck told Christopher crazy things about the moon and the sun and stars and talked to him like a person, like he was genuinely interested in what Eddie's seven year old had to say, there were weeks that followed of Christoper talking about nothing but Buck and asking when they were going to see him again.

But he has a feeling there’s still rockiness ahead of them. Sitting at his f*cking table. In his house. There’s no reason for Buck to want to be tied down to them. There’s nothing Eddie can really offer. He’s not a good husband. He’s stubborn and repressed and a control freak who makes decisions for everyone else. It would kill him to hurt Buck like he hurt Shannon.

When the dryer goes off, Buck disappears to check the laundry and Pepa and Abuela go to the kitchen to start putting all the food away.

Ana’s eyes are on him, but she doesn’t say anything. She simply sits beside him. He wishes she were Shannon. He wishes she knew him and that they could talk to each other. He wishes she understood.

Abuela rummages through the kitchen cupboards, then pops her head out of the kitchen and asks, "Where are your containers for leftovers?

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but the question is directed toward the laundry room. So, he doesn’t.

Buck smoothly answers instead, “In the second drawer to the left of the sink." Because he organized the kitchen. He’s the one who most often cooks real meals and not just sandwiches or salads or pasta with jarred sauce. And Abuela knows that.

Ana looks at him again. “He's close with your grandmother.”

Eddie nods because they did just witness.

“He's part of your family. Your relatives consider him family?”

Which is obvious now, is it not? Buck's been living here, caring for Eddie's son while Eddie couldn't. Buck is intimately familiar with the whole house and how it's organized. Eddie's never considered him a guest except for maybe the first time Buck followed them home and he, Christoper, and Buck had dinner together when Buck drove them home after the big earthquake. But not since that first night. Not really. He wanted Buck to feel at home here. Even then. And both his tía and his abuela know this. They adore him. How could anyone not?

He knows Taylor is sitting right there on Ana’s other side, talking with Carla but still very much there, and she glances their way as if she's listening in and also waiting for an answer.

But if she's expecting Eddie to say no, which he doubts because she might be a lot of things but stupid isn't exactly one of them, it's not possible to deny at this point. Not that he would. He ignores Taylor and turns his whole focus on Ana, "They do. And he is. He's family."

Ana nods. “I see. I missed it before. ”

Eddie shrugs. “Not your fault.” He’d missed it, too. Or maybe he just couldn’t admit it. He’d wrecked everything with Shannon, and maybe he was terrified of forever being stuck working for his father in El Paso and maybe he got caught up trying to be what he was supposed to even though he knew it was killing him. But that’s why he cut out his own heart and buried it away. So he wouldn’t feel anything he wasn’t supposed to. So he wouldn’t long to be loved in any other way.

He’d told Shannon he thought they could be happy together. At the time, he’d loved her more than anything. It just wasn’t love that came with want and longing and a rushing beat in his heart and a need to be close and connected and intimate in every way imaginable.

Ana rests a hand on his and then gets up to collect her kitchen items and the leftovers of the dishes she brought.

When Buck appears with a basket of folded laundry, shirts, pants, underwear and socks in three clear piles, Taylor announces she’s going to head out.

And thank f*ck for that.

Buck asks her to wait a moment while he delivers the laundry and Eddie tries not to make a face. It was so close.

Instead, Eddie gets up and escorts Ana to the living room with her packed grocery bag while Carla helps Abuela and Pepa finish cleaning up the kitchen.

Taylor waits impatiently near the fireplace, looking over the pictures on the mantle. The ones that clearly feature Christopher and his mother, Eddie and Christopher, Buck and Christopher, and several with Eddie, Buck, and Christopher together including the one Eddie knows is the background image and lock screen on Buck’s phone.

Chris comes out to say goodbye and thank you to Ana in a way that sounds like someone told him to, but he gives her a big smile and then leans against Eddie and wraps arms around him. It makes his shoulder burn, but he bends down and kisses the top of Christopher’s head.

Once Buck has finished delivering the laundry to the bedrooms, he meets them and smiles at Christopher, who is clearly thrilled to have Eddie home, before he goes to Taylor.

She takes Buck’s face in both hands and pulls him into a sudden, exaggerated kiss.

A flare of rage ignites in the pit of Eddie’s stomach. Of course that’s why she’s here. He knew it. He knew it was going to happen. They’ve been dancing around that bullsh*t for weeks now, and it’s his own damn fault in the first place for trying so hard to force something he knew didn’t really work. He just had to try. It could have been something. And he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t attempted. Maybe he would have wondered forever if he and Ana could have something together. And of course his first attempt for something after Shannon was going to fail. He couldn’t ruin things with another best friend.

But now she is in his house and kissing Buck in his living room, and Christopher grips him harder and makes a distressed sound. Eddie has never really hated someone he knows in person before, but he really, really can’t do anything but hate her.

Buck is completely tense and takes hold of her arms as if he's trying to keep her at a distance. “I’ll walk you out. Let’s go.” He quickly opens the front door and shows her outside and doesn’t look back when he closes the door behind them.

Christopher lets go of him and rushes to the window.

Eddie somehow, somehow, finds his voice. It’s strangled and thin. “Chris. Can you go help Abuelita?”

Christopher looks back at him with a scrunched, disgusted face as if he’s just had to eat Brussel sprouts and asparagus — his least favorites. “They’re kissing.” Maybe all fourth graders would think adults kissing is gross, but there is a whole different level to the revulsion in his tone. Which is fair, and Eddie most definitely agrees with that sentiment.

“Please,” Eddie says simply.

Chris lets out a heavy, annoyed, angry huff, but stomps to the kitchen.

He knows Ana is watching him, and he knows he can’t quite stifle his reaction enough even if he knew it was coming. His stomach still twists with violent nausea and the same disgust that came from his son. And his heart is ready to close itself back in its box and go back to sleep.

He supposes he can’t really blame her for that whole… possessive thing. His family isn’t exactly subtle, and maybe they had no idea, but it’s more than obvious how close Buck is to them. Couldn’t have been easy to take in if she really does like Buck. Why wouldn’t she like Buck? He’s personified sunshine.

Ana puts her arms around him and pulls him into a hug. That he did not expect. “I’m so sorry,” she tells him. “If you ever need to talk, I am here. We can still be friends.”

He sighs but hugs her back with one arm. He’s not sure about anything anymore. But he misses Shannon more than ever. He wishes she were the one hugging him right now, and Ana might have figured out some things now that she knows he’s gay or some kind of queer or whatever. But she’s not Shannon. She doesn’t know him. He can’t open up to her. “Thank you. For everything. And I’m sorry, too. I really am.”

She pulls away and shakes her head. “No, I get it now. I see it. He’s so special to you and Christopher. I always heard the other teachers talk about your spouse and I thought they meant Christopher’s mother even though she was gone and no one knew her. But I think they meant your Buck.”

Yeah. They probably did. Apparently everyone notices. Except them. Well. It wasn’t so much that Eddie hadn’t. Just that it was too much to comprehend and process and deal with.

“You love him, don’t you? You’re in love with him.” Her voice is so quiet, hushed and secret because she knows he hasn’t told anyone else. Even if everyone is already making assumptions about it.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t really have to, because all he has to do is glance at the door where he’s sure they’re still kissing, and she knows.

“Call me if you need?” She quickly kisses his cheek hurries out the front door, and he wonders if she is planning on interrupting and encouraging Taylor to go away already. It would be amusing if that were the case.

Eddie doesn’t wait by the door. He doesn’t want to see Buck all infatuated and giddy with lipstick-stained, kiss-swollen mouth. He doesn’t want to listen to explanations, and he really doesn’t want to talk about Taylor or the fact that she exists or that he’ll have to play the third wheel again while they ignore him and make eyes at each other.

He probably deserves it, right? After dating Ana. He knows it hurt Buck. He completely understood that Buck was insecure and jealous, and he didn’t miss how Buck immediately decided he had to start dating, too.

It’s all stupid and childish, and Buck doesn’t feel anything for him. Why would he?

Eddie returns to his seat at the table and finishes his glass of water and then his glass of punch.

Carla’s watchful eyes are on him the minute he sits down. “You’re looking pale, Eddie. Are you all right?”

It’s nothing. He knew it would happen. He just hadn’t expected it so soon. Or in his house. In his own goddamn f*cking house. “I’m fine.” He smiles like shattered windows. “Just getting tired.”

It’s not Carla or his older family members who come to him, but his son who leans on his crutches and then shifts that weight onto Eddie’s left side. Eddie wraps his good arm around him and kisses the top of his head.

“Eddito, why don’t you go lie down,” Abuela says. “We’ll take care of all this and be out of your hair.”

He’s about to protest. He’s been lying in bed for longer than he wants, but excuses are damning and if he argues he’s just tired and sore, they’ll worry. Carla gives him a look though, he’s not really sure of the meaning behind it, but it feels like she knows his shoulder wound isn’t the culprit.

Christopher lifts his head from Eddie’s shoulder. “Can I go with you?”

There’s a real smile he can muster for his son. “Yes.” Time alone with him when he’s missed him dearly is enough to make him stand, kiss Abuela and Pepa and Carla on their cheeks, and disappear into his bedroom. His son follows and he shuts the door behind them. He only sits on his bed and leans against the wall, while Christopher sets his crutches down, pushes himself up with strong arms, and flops in the middle of the bed. He crawls over to Eddie and cuddles against his left side again.

“Dad?”

This is all he needs. It was stupid to think otherwise. He doesn’t need anything but his son. Christopher’s love is more than enough.

“Dad?”

He has a family who loves him and has always been there for him. And he knows Buck would be there if they need him. They’re friends. They’re partners. Work partners. Nothing will change that.

“Dad?”

Why does it feel like his nightmare? He’s run out of time. He’s lost and won’t be saved. His heart is broken and there was no point in setting it free.

It takes a very insistent, distressed, “Daddy!” Before he realizes he’s getting too lost in his own head.

He tries to keep his voice calm and soothing. “Yes, Christopher?” He’s not sure when the name switched or if it phased out slowly and he missed it. He only ever gets called “Dad” usually. When did Chris grow out of it? It’s only a few years before he’ll be a teenager and how the hell will he survive that? Alone? Without a partner?

I lost my partner.

I lost him.

Maybe the day from hell was only the beginning.

Christopher’s voice is quiet this time, forlorn, but still carries that distressed tone. “Buck has a girlfriend. Doesn’t he.”

Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him and lets out a slow breath. Why this conversation. Why does it fall on him? He’s not the one dating her. Though Buck was the one who had this conversation with him the last time. When Eddie started dating Ana. Because Christopher ran away to Buck. He ran away and it was to Buck because he needs him and loves him and finds comfort and protection and safety with him.

But Buck isn’t really his. Isn’t theirs.

Eddie is his parent. His only one. Father and mother and everything in between. “It looks like it,” he answers. Though Christopher’s words didn’t seem much like a question.

“Why though?”

“Why does he have a girlfriend?” Because Eddie couldn’t say anything, has never said anything, because he didn’t know how to cope with the aching void left in his chest and in his bed and in his whole life and he was too f*cking terrified because he can’t lose Buck and can’t f*ck that up and he’s not supposed to have Buck in the first place. He’s supposed to have Ana or someone like her. He was supposed to make it work with Shannon. He was supposed to have the chance to fix it with her and do it right the second time. He’s not supposed to think or feel the things that he thinks and feels. He’s supposed to be strong and distant and devoid and in control. And straight, obviously. He’s supposed to be straight.

Not to mention Eddie is a terrible husband. He wouldn’t be enough for anyone. Because no matter what is living in his heart, no matter who is holding it in his hands, it doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual.

He should have corrected the nurses. He never should have even let himself think it. His shoulder hurts but it’s getting past that dull throb to a stinging, burning phase. Maybe he can find his meds and sleep through everything. Can he wake from this and learn it was all a nightmare? Would Buck he there again to help make his pain recede?

What about Buck? How much is she going to hurt him? Because she will. She’s ruthless and selfish and only thinks of how things will benefit her and she didn’t give a f*ck about Bobby and his trauma and what could have been suicide. How could she ever care about Buck who is wounded and thinks so little of himself?

She’s going to take advantage of his need to care for and protect people. She’s going to walk all over him and rip him to pieces. And he’ll let her. He’ll think he has to prove himself. He’ll get so worried about keeping whatever attention and affection she gives him that he’ll wreck himself trying to be worthy.

He was attached and stuck on a woman who straight up abandoned and ghosted him for months. What the f*ck would he do for a woman like Taylor?

It’s not okay. It’s not. Why her. Of all the people, why the one who will inevitably cause him more pain and trauma.

The waves of nausea rise in his stomach. f*ck, he hates her. He really, really hates her. She’s not good enough for him. How could she ever make him happy?

Not that. Not that Eddie can.

He isn’t that delusional. If something were going to happen, if Buck had any interest at all, it would have happened already. There would have been… something.

Maybe there never was a point in telling him. Maybe it was just overwhelming regret and fear because Eddie had been so close to dying. The universe does not scream. No one is meant to be together. Buck would never be anything more than his friend. Which is fine. He needs friends. He needs someone who will watch his back and keep him company and love his son and drag him to safety. A friendship is a stronger, more lasting bond anyway.

The wound that Shannon left behind is massive. It still hurts. Especially now. He wishes he could talk to her. He wishes she were here. She’d understand. She’d hug him and get him good and drunk and tell him there is a man somewhere out there who will love him. She didn’t believe in soulmates either, but she believed that he would have someone who loves him. She told him so many times.

“Because,” he tells Christopher even though he doesn’t know how he finds voice or words. “People need different things from each other. Sometimes they need a friend, sometimes a girlfriend or boyfriend, sometimes a parent. People get lonely. And. They want to share their lives with someone.”

“Is that why…” Christopher hesitates like he’s worried and his little hand tightens into a fist in the middle of Eddie’s shirt. “Is that why you’re sad?”

“I’m just tired right now, Chris. It’s been a long week.”

Christopher immediately sits up, pulls away and stares him down with a severe, angry expression. “Dad. You are lying to me. I know. I know you’re sad. It’s not this week. You’re always sad.”

God. f*ck. What the f*ck does he say to that. He should have known better. He should have known never to even try it. That’s not something he ever wants Christopher to learn. It’s just. Habit. Reflex. He’s never done anything else. What else can he do? Just. f*ck. “I’m sorry,” he starts and hopes it’s enough. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I’m not trying to lie to you. Okay? I won’t do that. I just. It’s… it’s hard to talk about sometimes. When you feel that way.”

His son’s sweet face immediately softens. “I know. And you don’t want anyone to worry. Especially not me.”

He sighs heavily. How is his kid this perceptive. Maybe it’s just obvious. “You’re right. I don’t.”

Christopher reaches and touches the side of Eddie’s jaw, so much like how Abuela likes to cup his cheek, too. “I want you to be happy, Dad. I love you.”

There are pieces of his heart around here somewhere, and he can’t help but remember the words, the images, the fantasy world they created. He wonders if, metaphorically, dead flowers and torn petals and withered leaves are scattered in his wake. If he’s been lying on a bed of dried blossoms, letting thorns dig deeper into him, letting vines grow through him until he bleeds. If he tears off petals, will there ever be a “he loves me,” or are they all “he loves me not.”

“I love you, too, kid,” he promises, and Christopher snuggles back down beside him. He wonders though. Still wonders. “You know, Buck told me about your story that you two have. The people with special hearts who help rescue others.”

Christopher lifts his head. “He did?” His face quickly turns form excited to displeased. “Did he tell it right? He always tells it wrong.”

“Does he?” Eddie smiles slowly. He was hoping. He’s really hoping there’s a happy ending somewhere. “Will you tell it to me?”

Christopher nods and also smiles. “Once upon a time, there was a world of sadness. There was a man with flowers in his heart. He saves people and heals people because he’s kind and Buck says nurturing? He loves people and hugs them. He gives the best hugs.”

Eddie squeezes Christopher with his one arm and loves his son so much he can’t breathe.

“The man is usually alone, and it’s really sad, but then he has a son. And they go on adventures and trips and save people together. Because he’s really the best dad in the whole world. He really is.”

He tries anyway. He’d never stop trying. “Well, you’re the best son in the world. It’s only fair.”

Christopher grins and nuzzles against his shoulder. Almost like Buck does. Because of course he picked that up, too. “Buck always tells the end wrong. Everyone is alone in this world and there are no families or friends. But the man and the boy find him. He’s alone and Buck says no one wanted him and he used to have the biggest, shiniest, prettiest heart of gold, but people are mean and greedy and they broke his heart so they could take all the gold pieces for themselves.”

Eddie presses his teeth into his lower lip. And Taylor doesn’t fit that description how? “He told me that part. Is the ending what he gets wrong? Do they have a happy ending?”

“Yes! They do! That’s the whole point,” he says as if it’s obvious. “They become a family. They love each other and take care of each other and stay together because they’re a family. And it makes everyone remember their own families. Because love is being together and finding each other and making a family together because you love each other so much. Isn’t it? They’re supposed to love each other and be together forever.”

There’s a rising, thick lump in his throat and his ribs are too rigid and immobile for breathing. He swallows hard and has to twist and scrunch his lips to the side. But his eyes well up anyway. Yes, that was a better ending. “Does that mean. They can heal his broken heart?”

Christopher nods and looks at him like he wants to make sure his point gets across. “They give him flowers and stars, in all different colors and shapes and kinds, enough to fill all the universes, so he can make them gold pieces and build his heart back. And then he’s not lost and sad and broken anymore. They give him pieces for his heart because they love him. They’re a family. Forever.”

That… It’s too. It’s true and they would and he wishes it were that simple and beautiful. He wishes they could have that ending. It’s perfect and everything he wants, and it would work. They could make it work because they know each other so well and love each other exactly the way they need. He would give Buck every single flower. From the ashes of dry, dead remnants, he would grow gardens and forests and entire planets full of fresh, living flowers if it meant Buck could know he’s loved.

Eddie bends his head and squeezes his eyes tightly closed. He’ll overflow if he doesn’t. “That’s a good ending,” he says quietly. “I like that ending. It is much better.”

Christopher hugs him. “I know.”

They cuddle quietly until there’s a small knock at his door. There’s really only one person it could be. He told everyone else goodbye and they’ve probably shown themselves out already. Eddie takes a deep breath and lets his heart close up and sink back into the ground. “Come in.”

Buck opens the door. He has a glass of water and pills in his hand. “I have these for you.” He doesn’t meet Eddie’s eyes and doesn’t even look at Christopher. But walks over to him and offers four little pills anyway. Pain, antibiotics, antiemetic, and more pain.

Eddie accepts them, puts them in his mouth, and then reaches for the water. It hurts to swallow anything down.

Buck takes the glass when he’s finished and leaves the water on the nightstand. “Let me know if you need anything? I’ll be out front.”

Christopher sits up and asks very, very quietly. “Buck? Please don’t leave us. Please.”

Everything about Buck visibly crumbles, his eyes immediately overflow and he drops to his knees beside the bed and reaches for Christopher so their hands are clasped together. “Never. Okay? Never. I love you. I promised you. I’m always here. You always have me.”

Christopher looks like he might cry, too and he pulls until Buck leans forward into his arms. It’s difficult to make out all his words, they’re so small and muffled in Buck’s shoulder, but Eddie knows what he’s saying. “We need you. We always do. We love you and we both need you. Please stay with us.”

Buck hugs him until Christopher lets go, and doesn’t hesitate to walk around to his side of the bed and lay down beside them. Christopher snuggles close, his head tucked against Buck’s chest, and urges them both to curl around him.

How could Eddie refuse anything his son requests? How could he not cling to whatever scraps he can possibly have? He scoots down and moves a little closer until he can nuzzle against Christopher’s shoulder and kiss his hair.

Buck’s eyes are closed but they’re leaking tears. Eddie reaches and brushes the back of his hand against Buck’s cheek to take those tears away. He slips his hand underneath him so his fingers are in Buck’s hair and Buck’s head is resting in Eddie’s palm.

When his meds kick in and make him drowsy, he drifts off praying this will always be his constant. As long as it can be.

Chapter 9: Palliative

Chapter Text

He’s not sure he’s ever been embarrassed by a kiss before. Or that he’s ever not wanted to be kissed when he has someone willing to kiss him. Maybe he has. He would try to block out any memory of something like that. And it’s not that he doesn’t want to kiss her? She’s, you know, Taylor Kelly. Fancy TV reporter. Who wouldn’t want to kiss her? There are a lot of people who would jump at the chance. There have to be.

It’s just… as soon as she takes his face in her hands and kisses him — hard, insistently, with sudden tongue in his mouth and very much like when they were in a bar bathroom — he’s hit with a tsunami tidal wave of wrong. Everything about this is wrong.

This is Eddie’s house. This is his home. Christopher is right there. Buck hasn’t had a chance to tell them or talk to Taylor about what they actually are or want to be. They haven’t had one date yet, and yeah, they had sex once, but it was years ago and it’s supposed to be different and he doesn’t want to do the empty, lonely, casual sex thing anymore.

He actually can’t remember the last time he wanted a quick hook up over something more. He did it. A lot. But. It wasn’t really preferable. It was just. More common? Convenient? Easier to find obviously.

He hasn’t even been able to talk about Bobby and what happened to him and how he sat with Athena while her husband was in surgery because the same man who shot Eddie and almost killed him also did the same to their captain.

God, even Ana is right there, and what if this is the future? What if this is their only reality? Eddie and Ana with Christopher. Buck and Taylor with just each other. Separate entities. Separate families. Nothing connecting them. Nothing tying Buck to anything.

What would the rest of the Diaz family think? He’s still not sure if Pepa and Abuela think there’s something more than friendship going on between him and Eddie. What would they think of this? Would he still be considered family? Would they forget about him and not welcome him anymore? Hate him for hurting their Eddie? What would be the reason for keeping Buck around? When has anyone ever wanted him or wanted to keep him?

What is he supposed to do now? He’d wanted to date her. Hadn’t he? He’s so tired of being alone. He’s so tired of having no one of his own. Even Maddie isn’t really his family anymore. She’s Chimney’s. Taylor is only here because she wanted to see him and he’s been so focused on Christopher and making sure he’s okay and happy and taken care of. She probably feels ignored. He’s going to ruin everything before they even have a chance to get started.

Buck gently takes hold of her arms and suggests he walk her out to her car.

As soon as the door is shut behind them, he can breathe a little better. But nothing about this is good. Christopher was so angry when he found out Eddie was dating Ana that he got into a car with a stranger and left home. Not that Buck is comparable to Eddie. But Chris is already upset and on edge after nearly losing his father. Buck was going to talk to him and ease him into the idea. Not that it had worked for Eddie, but he had to try. He’ll have to deal with that in a minute. When he figures out what the f*ck to do. But this first apparently.

He follows her and says, “Taylor, we should talk first before we…” Before they what? He’d kissed her back. Not now but before. They kissed a few times. Why wouldn’t he be open to kissing? It was just kissing. When did it mean anything. The location though. In Eddie’s house? That wasn’t okay. “Before we do anything. Especially in front of my family. I haven’t gotten to tell them. You and I, we haven’t discussed anything. We haven’t even had one date yet—”

She turns when they reach her car and he expects an argument and maybe her snapping at him for stopping the kiss, but instead she pulls him to her again and kisses him slowly this time, her arms around his neck and her tongue coaxing his lips apart.

He can’t breathe anymore. His stomach drops. The emptiness in his chest aches and everything hurts. He shouldn’t be doing this. They should talk. He’s just going to fall into the trap of needing sex and being so desperate for attention and affection that he doesn’t care what happens. He doesn’t want to do that anymore. He doesn’t want another Abby.

She pulls away and runs a hand over his cheek. “I’ve been wanting to do that for hours.”

Has she really? “I… I thought. We weren’t… we haven’t… I thought we were taking it slow.”

“That’s what you said the first time, too.” She grins and presses her body against him. “And then I had you on your knees and against a wall.”

Yeah, and he doesn’t want this to be like last time. He felt awful and weird for days after that. He wasn’t going to and then he couldn’t help it and he wanted something besides abandonment. It’s his fault. He knows that. He’s weak. And needy.

It’s really easy to picture Bobby angrily lecturing him about disrespecting women and only thinking with his dick. Bobby nearly died last night. Bobby is still in the hospital. He hasn’t even told Eddie. Bobby was shot.

Buck tries to take in air, but it’s shallow. He’s caught in rough waves. There’s nothing to breathe. “I don’t… We haven’t even had one date. We haven’t talked—”

She slides her arms over his shoulders and pulls him down to her. “Let’s go on a date then. I really want to take you out. Show you a good time.” She kisses him again, and what does he do here? Is he going to lose everything? When everyone remembers he’s not really one of their family?

What if this is his only chance to build something with her? Would she make things hurt less? Could she make him not feel so alone? Does he even want this right now?

“Don’t you want me,” she whispers against his lips. It’s not a question. “I told you I want you.”

He swallows hard and his legs are unsteady. What does she want from him and how can he give her anything? He’s so f*cked up. He has nothing left. She’s Taylor Kelly and he’s been crushing on her for a while now. Hasn’t he? He wanted her to like him. He can’t stand anyone not liking him. And now she wants him and kisses him, and there’s nausea roiling in his stomach. His heart pounds like he’s panicking, not like someone’s finally kissing him. It’s been so long and he’s losing his grip on all his pieces, like everything is going to slip and crash until he’s absolutely falling apart.

“You do?” He wants to hold on. He wants something of his own that he can keep. But why would she want to keep him? He can’t trust anything. He definitely can’t trust this.

She gives him a strange look like he’s being stupid again. “No. I asked you out because I don’t want you. What do you think?”

He’s not sure what to think, but he startles when the front door opens. It’s only Ana though and she smiles brightly when she sees them and walks right up to him.

“Thank you so much for inviting me.” She stands very close to him and looks at only him. “I had a wonderful time. You’re so kind and thoughtful.”

He blinks and heat rises in his cheeks. “You’re welcome.”

“I hope we can do this again.” She turns to Taylor and gives her the same sweet smile. “It was so nice to meet you. I’d love to know more about your career. Do you get to choose the stories you work on? Or do they send you on assignments?”

Taylor looks at her up and down like she’s trying to figure her out. “A little of both. Mostly they give me whatever comes up, but if a have a lead and an exciting story, I always follow it.”

“Anything in particular you’re working on now?” Ana asks and then turns to Buck. “Christopher asked for you. He was helping in the kitchen.” She looks back to Taylor. “I’d love to hear all about it.”

Taylor’s eyes grow cold as she focuses on Ana but her perfect TV smile doesn’t falter.

Buck has no idea what is happening, but he nods to Taylor, promises to text her, and hurries into the house. He locks the door and leans against it until his heart stops pounding. He still has no idea what happened. But something happened.

What the hell is he doing? Why does it feel so complicated? It’s not. He’s single. She wants him. He’s been interested in dating her. Eddie is dating Ana. Which has no bearing on anything but it is a fact. Eddie has a girlfriend. There’s nothing wrong with Buck having a girlfriend.

It’s the timing. It’s the wound in his chest that keeps bleeding. That’s the problem. It makes it hard to breathe. It makes him unable to see anything but a clear, sunny day with blood sprayed in his face and all over him and spilling out into the street, and his partner, his best friend, his most precious and beloved person staring at him in shock and regret and pain as he falls.

Eddie almost died. They almost lost him forever. Buck still can’t. He can’t. It hurts and hurts and hurts and doesn’t do anything else but live there on the surface, waiting for him to remember so it can drag him back into the depths of that devastation.

He blinks hard. He breathes deeply. It’s fine. Eddie is home. He’s alive. Christopher asked for him, so Buck exhales slowly and goes to the kitchen to find him.

When he looks, he doesn’t see Christopher anywhere and Carla tells him, “Eddie was looking tired so we sent him to lie down. Christopher went with him.”

He’s not sure if that means Ana lied so Buck would go back inside and make Taylor leave or if she was simply mistaken. But that’s too much to think about.

Carla rubs his arm. “You doing all right, honey?”

He nods. Lies, but nods. “Can I help with anything? Clean up? Packing?”

Abuela appears and gives him a hug and a kiss on his cheek. “We have everything finished and put away for you. You call us if you need anything.”

He hugs her back and gives one to Pepa as well who also kisses him on the cheek before they leave, but guilt sinks into his stomach. What if they won’t be his family anymore? What if he loses them? What if he’s even more alone than he’s ever been?

Carla takes a glass from the upper cabinet, fills it with water, and somehow directs him to drink as he stands in the kitchen next to her.

He sips a little but quickly sets the glass on the counter as his hand starts to shake. “Thank you for staying last night and setting up this morning.”

“You cleaned the house. You had everything ready. The banner you helped Christopher make was beautiful. I just helped put a few balloons together. I wasn’t going to miss the party.” She smiles warmly and he wishes he could feel it when he smiles back at her. “Taylor is interesting. Quite a fiery person, isn’t she.”

He nods again. It’s stiff and he doesn’t know what to say. Whatever he was going to have or might have had with Taylor… this is not what he imagined. It wasn’t supposed to feel like cheating. It wasn’t supposed to be wrong. He’s not cheating on anything or anyone, but there’s sour, acidic heaviness in his stomach like epic guilt and like he’s f*cked up everything and he’s doing everything wrong.

Kind of like when Bobby fired him and he nearly lost everything and didn’t know what he’d do without the people he’d finally found who felt like they could be something, everything. He was so stupid and he doesn’t know how to be anything else. His parents were right to not want him. He’s a f*ck up and a loser and he doesn’t know how to be anything else. They were right to prefer Daniel. He doesn’t even know his own brother but he’s sure Daniel was far better than he can ever be.

He wanted to be excited about finally having someone. Eddie has Ana. Buck needs to not be alone. He can’t think of them anymore and have no one of his own. Would Taylor ever truly be his? In a way where they had each other? Not in a way where he owns her or something. God, she’d be angry at him for even thinking something like that. She’d never want to be considered one of his people.

As much as it feels like home when he’s here at the house, and as much as he apparently means to the Diaz family, it’s not real. He’s only temporary. The only way he wouldn’t be temporary would be…

Too awful to even comprehend.

Carla touches his hand. She takes it between both of hers. “I’m right here, Buckaroo. Talk to me.”

He doesn’t even know what to say. “I feel like a failure. Like I f*cked everything up. Am I doing the right thing? Am I ruining everything? I don’t know anything and it all feels wrong and I liked her. Like,” he quickly corrects. “I like her. I think.”

“You think you like her?” She gives him a look that’s both stern and full of disbelief.

He did. He thought a lot of things. “I don’t know. She’s cool. Interesting. I like that she doesn’t care what anyone thinks about her. She is who she is. I liked that. I thought she was fun to be around.”

“And? What is making you doubt all those things?”

His throat gets tight and his chest hurts and he can’t look at anything because everything is Eddie. It’s his house, his kitchen, his son’s caregiver, his pictures on the walls, his furniture, his everything. There is nothing but Eddie and Christopher and he can’t bear to think of what life would be like without them. “I’m not. Doubting those things.”

“You’re doubting something. You said you didn’t know anything and that everything feels wrong. Do you know why?”

Because. Because he could ignore it before. He could pretend that he was fine with the fact that Eddie found someone and would never want him. He knew Eddie wasn’t attracted to him. But then he nearly died and everyone looked at Buck like a heartbroken widower. They talked to him, hugged him, worried about him like he’d lost the love of his life.

Although. Even if it isn’t and never will be requited romantic love, he’s not sure it’d be wrong to call Eddie the love of his life. Eddie and Christopher. They’re his family. They’re who he loves most in the whole universe.

And he can’t stop feeling that moment where he was covered in Eddie’s blood and Eddie was nearly taken from him completely. Forever.

He picks up the glass of water to take another drink and makes sure to do it slowly so he doesn’t choke. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to be replaced. I don’t want to miss out on something real. I thought it would be nice to be with her. I’ve been alone for so long. No one has ever. Wanted me. Enough to keep me. But…”

Carla listens, like she always does, and only gives minimal prompting. “But?”

He can say it, right? It’s true. He was shocked when Eddie confessed to the whole firehouse that he’d gone on a date. Since when did Eddie do either of those things? And then Buck didn’t know what to do but keep busy and pretend like he wasn’t carrying around a broken heart the whole day. Even playing with Christopher that night had just been a reminder of how he was losing his family. He’d known it had to happen at some point. He just wished he could have had them a little longer. “But it was awful when Eddie started dating Ana. He didn’t say anything about it. I found out with everyone else. Then it was he’d gone on a breakfast date and he wants to move on and Christopher was so upset he—”

“I remember. He ran to you. But that is Christopher. What did Eddie dating Ana mean to you?”

He sinks and doesn’t want to think about it. He never wanted to think about it. They’d grown so close and he’d shared a bed with Eddie for months. But Eddie had to leave. He had to return to his real home, and Buck’s bed was empty and everything aches. It meant Buck would always be alone. “That I was losing them. That someday I’d just be a fun uncle they see maybe once in a while. Every few months. Once a year. If I were lucky.”

She pats his hand and shakes her head. “Buck, families come in all kinds of shapes and sizes. They don’t all look like what you’re thinking. You can’t seriously tell me you believe either of them would be happy with only seeing you once a year. Those boys can barely go a day without wanting you around.”

He’ll undoubtedly do something to f*ck that up. Maybe he already has. But he nods like he’s agreeing.

“Sometimes,” Carla says as she brushes nothingness off his shoulders. “It takes mistakes and doing the wrong thing in order to know what the right thing is. No one is going to begrudge you what you need to figure it out. Certainly not the two boys who love you more than chocolate and sunshine and coffee and dinosaurs.”

He almost smiles. He just doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

Carla pulls him into a hug. “Everything will work itself out, honey. Don’t worry. You’ve had a hell of a week. Give yourself a break. I think you know exactly what is in your heart. You’ll figure out what you need to do.”

He wishes he felt as confident about all of it as she sounds. He thanks her and walks her out, and then fusses with tidying anything he can find to keep his mind preoccupied. Until it’s time for Eddie’s pain meds.

He doesn’t know what to say or if he should say anything, but he has to make sure Eddie gets his meds. He brings him water and pills and tries to leave them, give them space and privacy, but Christopher cries and asks him to stay. He begs Buck not to leave them. How could he ever leave them? He would never. There is nothing more important to him than his Diaz men. He lies down on the far edge of Eddie’s bed and lets Christopher curl up in his arms.

Nothing is worth losing this. He can’t ever lose this. Christopher is everything. Eddie is everything.

And Eddie slips his hand underneath Buck’s face, like they’re still connected. Like Eddie still needs him and wants him around. He knows there are tears that fall onto Eddie’s palm, but neither of them acknowledge anything.

When Eddie has clearly fallen asleep and Chris is restless and hungry again, Buck helps him sneak out quietly so they can let his dad rest. They share some leftovers and look over his homework at the dining table, but he’s quiet. They’re both quiet.

Buck breathes deeply. He can do this. He needs to. It’s his responsibility. God, especially after… he still can’t comprehend. He’d be Christopher’s guardian. He’d be his parent.

How could he ever manage without Eddie?

Buck taps Christopher’s hand with one finger. “Buddy, can we talk?”

Christopher draws some kind of doodle on his homework and doesn’t look up. “Are you leaving?”

His chest tightens and how can anything still break his heart? “No. That’s what I want to talk about. I promised you. I will never leave you, and I mean it. You have me always. You are the most important thing in the whole universe to me.”

Christopher keeps drawing. Something that looks like a dying flower with falling petals. “Mom left. She said she loved me and that we had each other even if Dad didn’t love us and then she was gone.”

This poor kid. Buck bites his lip and just wants to hug him and protect him from ever being hurt that way again. And Eddie… how could anyone leave Eddie? “I’m not your mom. Your dad does love you. More than anything.”

“You could be my dad. You love me like Mom and Dad. I could have two dads. My friend, Erin, has two dads. Denny has two moms. Harry, too. He has three dads and a mom.”

He wishes. He wishes and yearns for nothing else. “I… It doesn’t matter what you call me. I’m yours no matter what. My… friend, Taylor. We just. We talked about. Dating each other. That’s all. It doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere. Okay?”

Christopher stops drawing but still doesn’t even try to look at him. “Dating is stupid. I’m going to bed.” He gets up from the table and leaves his drawings.

When Buck asks and offers to tuck him in and read to him, Christopher tells him no. He wants to put himself to bed. No reading a chapter, no kiss or hug goodnight. He dresses himself and brushes his teeth and turns off his own lights and crawls into bed by himself. And pushes the blue and yellow teddy bear Buck gave him onto the floor and out of his bed.

Buck curls up on the sofa, knees tucked to his chest, and flips through random articles and quizzes and reports on his phone.

It’s not until around nine that he learns Christopher started in his own bed, but did not stay in his own bed. That he’s currently sprawled out, fast asleep, in the middle of Eddie’s bed. And Eddie is awake, holding himself like he’s stiff and uncomfortable, but he sits at the other end of the sofa and rolls his neck as he tells Buck this news.

Christopher is angry and hurt. Buck can’t say he’s surprised or that it’s not deserved. As long as Chris doesn’t run away again. Buck would never be able to live with himself if he endangered Christopher and lost him again. No matter the reason.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else. Is he thinking of when Chris took the Uber? Is he worried about him? Is he regretting that thing he did over a year ago where Buck would be the one to look after Christopher? If. If he didn’t make it.

It’s too quiet. Everything is too still and uncertain. He’s slept maybe a total of eight hours in the last three days. And all he wants is to be wrapped around Eddie, feeling him breathing, listening to his heartbeat. It’s proof Eddie’s alive. Reassurance that he’s actually here with them. But he stays at the opposite end of the couch. “Are you hungry? Can I bring you anything?”

“Maybe in a minute.” Eddie rubs sleep from his eyes. “Very groggy. f*cking hate pain meds. And Chris is restless and kicked me in the hip. At least it wasn’t my arm.”

Buck frowns and understands the aversion. He doesn’t like taking handfuls of pills that make him feel sick and nauseous and weird. But watching Eddie in so much pain is worse. “I can go move him. If you want. He was in his own room. To start I mean.” It would likely just make Christopher even more upset with him, but that’s something he’ll have to live with.

“He’s fine for now. Can’t do any damage from here. Maybe when we go to bed.”

When… they? Go to bed? Together? Or does he mean before Eddie has to go to bed, Buck can move Christopher back to his own room and Eddie can have his bed and Buck will take the couch again? Or. Could they. Could he? Sleep next to Eddie again?

Eddie only glances at him briefly and then looks away. “Right. Sorry. I forgot. You probably don’t want that. What with the girlfriend you have and all.”

Doesn’t… he probably doesn’t want that? Doesn’t want to be held? Doesn’t want Eddie? Doesn’t want to be close to him and know he’s alive and warm and breathing? Doesn’t want to be home and with the people who make him feel like he belongs somewhere? “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s something. Isn’t she? Or was that kiss completely out of nowhere?”

Sort of. The first one definitely was. Why is it so difficult to believe her when she says she wants him? “I don’t know. She kissed me the other day and ran off and then showed up at my apartment while I was picking up clothes and said she wanted… I don’t know. We figured we’d give it a shot. I guess.”

Eddie nods and it’s too quiet again and he has too many thoughts and way too many emotions whirling through him. “So. You’re dating her.”

“You’re dating Ana,” he counters even though there’s no reason to bring it up. Right? The two facts have no relevance to each other.

Eddie is quiet again, staring at nothing, before he finally says. “I’m not anymore. We broke up.”

They… what? “You broke up?” His heart starts racing and what the f*ck? Seriously? Just like that? After everything? “When?”

“Last night. Before you showed up to see me.”

f*ck. God. Last night? She hadn’t said anything. Then… was the kiss he saw a goodbye? That can’t be it. They weren’t really broken up, were they? Eddie couldn’t be single again.

Not that it would mean anything if he were. But. f*ck. Jesus f*cking god, why now.

He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. Let alone talk about it. The first thing that comes to mind besides that happens to be, “Bobby got shot.” He winces. That was not a great alternative. Really not.

“What?” Eddie’s face pales. Like he’s not sure if he heard what he thinks he heard. But the words are true and taste horrible.

Buck’s jaw is tight, clenched so hard it hurts. “The sniper. They finally got him. Well, Athena did.” Athena who lost a man she loved to a gunshot wound and almost lost her new husband who worried she wouldn’t be there for him and be the partner he needed. But how could she not be? Buck can see it. He knew she’d walk through fire for him. Metaphorically and apparently also literally. Which is good because how can anyone survive losing their partner?

Buck’s going to start trembling again. He could so easily fall apart. He’s been trying so hard not to. But everything is slipping. There are too many things to process and comprehend. “He shot Bobby, too. Some kind of handgun though. But close range. He’s okay. He’s recovering. I didn’t get to tell you.”

Eddie closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head like he doesn’t want it to be true. “At least it’s over. God. He’s really okay?”

Buck nods. “Yeah. He is. Athena’s been keeping me updated. He’s doing well.” He didn’t lose liters and liters of blood like Eddie and make everyone worry about shock and heart failure and suffocation. “He’s supposed to go home in a few days. As long as he’s okay.”

Eddie lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for years. “Good.” There are tears that well in his eyes and it’s so heartbreaking when Eddie hurts. Buck reaches, offers, and Eddie takes his hand.

Their fingers entwine, clutching tightly. They’re still so distant even if they’re sitting on the same couch. But Eddie is holding on to him just as tightly as Buck is.

Eddie still doesn’t look at him. He rubs the side of his jaw with his one hand. Why can he never say anything while looking at Buck? “When did you and… When did it happen?”

And back to this. It doesn’t make a difference. It doesn’t. His loneliness and need for someone has existed far longer than he’s known Eddie. He’s probably completely misinterpreted his own feelings anyway. He and Eddie are just so close and so bonded and they fit so well together. But that doesn’t mean anything romantic.

Are Eddie and Ana really broken up now?

“Um. It was…” he tries to say and then laughs brokenly. “Also last night. When she came over and said. We could. We could date.” Dating is good, right? It’s fun. Sometimes. He and Ali had a nice first date. They talked for a long time and it felt like she was actually interested. Until she was always gone and couldn’t handle him keeping the job he loves. At least she was up front about it.

He nearly choked to death on his first real date with Abby. That should have told him something.

There were baristas before them and yoga instructors, a ton of personal trainers, a few surfers, some retail workers and line cooks, ranch hands when he was being a cowboy, other bartenders when he mixed drinks, the lifeguard who let him play drowning victim when teaching kids about water safety, and the other Evan who first called him Buck but dropped out of their firefighter training to be a nurse instead.

It’s a lot of people. He’s dated a lot. How many times has he made it past a first date? A single hookup? He always gets turned down. What does he do wrong?

Is dating really all that fun? Or is it just full of uncertainty and people who never call him again? Maybe Christopher is completely right. He doesn’t want getting to know each other awkwardness and games like playing hard to get. They are stupid. He wants a partner. He wants love and commitment. Something stable and comforting that he trusts and believes in.

He hates this. He hates everything. Why can’t they go back to how they were before? Just the three of them? They can pretend, can’t they? He’s good at pretending someone loves him and wants him. Eddie is gentle and affectionate. He’ll already hold Buck or let Buck hold him while they sleep. Buck can live with that much.

But. Eddie needs more. Doesn’t he. That’s why he found Ana. Eddie deserves to have everything he needs.

Why then is it over now? Just so Buck can ruin everything with the family he loves? He never, ever wants to hurt Christopher. He never wants to lose any of his Diaz family. He doesn’t want to choose anything but them. He doesn’t want to stop belonging to them. He’s never belonged anywhere.

What if he has a chance with Taylor? What if she could actually love him?

How the hell could that ever happen? Why would anyone love him that way. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but hurt. The phantom echo of something in his chest just aches. More than even the crushed leg.

“Buck,” Eddie says his name so gently. It’s so full of concern and tenderness, and then he scoots closer and rests his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “I want you to be happy. Please don’t think I would ever be angry with you for finding happiness. I’m not going anywhere. We’re your family. We always will be.”

How. How does he know? How do they know each other so well? How can he possibly deserve forgiveness like this? After ruining everything? He doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t want to fall apart. He’s just so… brittle right now. “Why?” He asks, low and broken. “Why now? What made you… After everything?”

Eddie’s breath is very careful. His tone, his words, he’s balanced and poised somehow. But he is very practiced at being moderated and restrained. “I realized it wasn’t right. My heart wasn’t in it. Never would be.”

Where is his heart where is his heart where is his heart where is it.

“I’m sorry. I know,” Eddie starts like he has something to say but doesn’t know how to finish the thought. “I know it hurt you. I know you worried you’d be replaced and I never offered reassurance. I never know how to… how to convey how important you are.”

Is that true? Or is Eddie just doubting because Buck has never had anyone except for maybe Maddie who is so determined to keep him, and has such a hard time believing it. “Yes, you do. You do it all the time. You tell me you know what I’m thinking because you have sisters, too. You listen to me ramble stupid trivia nonsense. You tell me I’m right to say to my parents what they made me feel. You want to protect me when I get self-destructive. You tell me I act like I’m expendable instead of indestructible. You trust me with your precious son, and I know he’s absolutely heart and soul and everything to you. You tell me I’m your family. You make me believe…” That they made something lasting. That they could be more than what they are. That neither of them would ever have to be alone ever again.

As long as Eddie is alive. He has to keep being alive.

Buck’s face is wet and he doesn’t know when it happened, but how can he keep any of it in? He knows what having Eddie’s love is like. It’s why he wants so badly to keep it a thousand times over in every way he can possibly have it. He knows Eddie understands him, gets him without Buck having to explain. He knows that no matter how badly he f*cks up and how stupid he can be that Eddie will forgive him if he keeps trying to make it right. He knows it’s everything he’s ever wanted. He knows Eddie would love him anyway.

If Eddie could just love him in one more way.

But. How much more wrecked would he be to lose it? Eddie nearly died. He was almost gone forever. Buck couldn’t do anything to stop it and Eddie almost died and it’s too much. How could he ever live without Eddie? He buries his face in shaking hands and can only picture blood and loss and being ripped in half forever.

“Buck,” Eddie says in the same soothing tone he used before. It’s so gentle. So soft and sweet wrapped around him. “It’s okay. I promise.” He pulls on Buck’s shoulder until Buck moves closer and leans against him. He tucks Buck’s head against his neck and left shoulder and holds him tightly with his one arm. “I’m right here.”

Some of the hospital smell on him has faded. He kind of smells like his own bed and maybe the warm scent of the Diaz house is permeating Buck’s senses, but it’s easier to breathe while he’s curled up in Eddie’s arms.

He slides his own around Eddie and can feel every slow breath that fills his lungs. His ribs expand and contract in a steady rhythm. His heart is loud and echoes through Buck’s whole body. They could share every beat, every breath. They could weave fingers, limbs, bodies, and souls all together until they’re one entity.

He nuzzles against Eddie’s neck. He could so easily leave a kiss there on his skin where his pulse flutters. Just one. Something tiny that would linger and remain and always be his to keep.

Why is this always so perfect? Just being close to him makes everything not so terrible. Eddie is warm. And he’s alive. Aside from this week at the hospital, it’s been… months? Since they’ve even hugged. Months and months and so many weeks since they’ve held each other like this. But it feels more like years. It’s been far, far too long. Buck aches. And he’s not sure anyone else could alleviate that pain. He needs Eddie.

How could he ever not need Eddie?

When he can breathe without feeling like he’s been stabbed all over, he tells Eddie quietly, “Sorry. I know I cry a lot. Everything lately has been making me lose it.”

Eddie hugs him close. His hand is in Buck’s hair like he’s also breathing in Buck the same way Buck breathes him in. Almost like Eddie needs this just as much. “You don’t have to apologize. Especially not for crying. I can’t even imagine the week you’ve had.”

The week he’s had? “I didn’t get shot.”

“No, but you had to watch it happen. I remember staring at you, terrified that you were hurt because I couldn’t do anything to help you. Yes, I got the physical pain and what is probably some more fun, surprise PTSD bullsh*t to add to the pile. You had to pick up all the pieces around you while you also took care of my son and kept working and I don’t think you’ve really let yourself stop and deal with any of it. You watched me almost die. That isn’t nothing. I know what it would do to me if our places had been reversed. If I’d watched you get shot? Buck, I…” Eddie’s whole body grows tense. His voice thins. His breath snags and gets cut to pieces. “I don’t even want to think it. I don’t know what we’d do if we lost you.”

Buck hugs tighter, nestles closer like he can mold them together and keep them from ever being separated. “You won’t.” I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. “I promise I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Eddie squeezes him and presses a kiss to Buck’s forehead. It’s so much like their last morning living together. Where they shared this kind of affection and intimacy every night. Where they existed in every part of each other’s lives and never grew tired of the other. Where the hollow ache inside him grew quiet and almost disappeared. “I don’t know what I’d do. If I lost you.”

His voice is so full of pain. It’s so small and lost. Buck lifts his head and presses his forehead against the side of Eddie’s face. He reaches up to caress Eddie’s cheek, stroking gently even as he holds them together. “I swear to you. Okay? I do. Because. I can’t. I can’t, Eddie. I don’t ever want a life without you.”

Eddie clutches him and whispers in a low voice, “Stay with me tonight? Sleep beside me? I need you with me.”

Heat and need and longing flare in the pit of his stomach even though he knows it’s an innocent request. “Are… are you sure? What if. What if I kick you, too? Or hurt you somehow?”

The smile that comes from Eddie permeates everything like spring sunrise over frostbitten terrain. “You don’t kick. You cling like an octopus koala. And you keep away nightmares.”

How can Buck argue with that? Not that he ever would. He promises the way he always does. Because it's special. Just for them, “Always. You always, always have me.”

When they manage to untangle from each other after Eddie’s stomach growls, Buck heats up dinner for him and sits next to him at the table. They don’t really talk, but there’s more said in the way that Eddie looks at him and thanks him and smiles at him than anything else.

Eddie coaxes Chris back to his own bed and tucks him in again with his blue and yellow teddy bear, and Christopher only refuses to go back to sleep until Buck hugs him and kisses his hair and promises again that he won’t leave.

Buck has to hold his breath while he helps Eddie out of his sling, out of his clothes, and into a soft shirt he can sleep in. His heart pounds too hard and he wants too many things that he can’t have. But Eddie urges him close and snuggles into his arms and lets Buck hold him to his chest. He’s protected and he’s alive. And he’s in Buck’s arms.

When he sleeps, it’s the first time in ages that it feels restful.

The first thing he does after breakfast the next morning is call Dr. Copeland’s office. His heart pounds the whole time though he’s not even in a session with her yet. But he knows he will have an appointment. He needs to. It helps and he knows that it does. She’s always very patient and gentle with her words even when he feels like he’s being stupid and like she should just laugh at him. But she doesn’t do that.

He just has to figure out how to say words instead of fall to pieces. It’s better after talking with Eddie and knowing he’s home and safe and alive. It’s better having spent the night holding him. Having him close.

He just wishes he could protect Eddie every second. Sure, it’s not at all realistic. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t worry every waking moment.

There’s an appointment available that afternoon. She’d had a cancelation. So, he spends most of the day until then trying to breathe slowly and think through what to say and how to describe. The difficult part is the feelings. Of course it’s always feelings. He feels too much, too intensely, and there are too many conflicting, confusing, painful things to tell her about.

Eddie watches him closely and takes his hand after they’ve had lunch with Christopher. “If you want me to sit with you while you talk to her, I will. I’m always happy to.”

Buck scoots his chair towards Eddie’s until their arms and legs are touching. He knows. When he’s had difficult days and difficult emotions and everything was agonizing to talk about, Eddie sat with him for his therapy. Not intruding, just supporting. The only thing he’d ever said was that he was there and it was okay. Most of the time, he’d have earbuds in and he’d listen to music or a movie so he couldn’t hear but was there for Buck to hold onto. So Buck had a physical tether, a hand in his own, Eddie’s steady reassurance beside him, and he’d know he wasn’t alone.

Sometimes, Buck wanted him to listen. Like when he talked about dinner with his parents and Maddie’s baby keepsake box and the brother he never knew about. Because Eddie already knew and would remember better what Dr. Copeland told him on how to process and handle everything. It was hard to remember when everything hurt so much.

It would probably help if Eddie were next to him for this. Because thinking about Eddie nearly dying is hard enough. Talking about it means explaining and describing and reliving and he’s relived every second of it more than enough. But. That… what happened… that isn’t really about Buck. It still feels unfair for him to talk about it like it’s his own trauma. He wasn’t shot. The more worrisome thing though, “Are… are you sure? Because I wouldn’t want to trigger something bad and hurt you. I don’t want to cause you any pain. Ever. And I still don’t. I don’t know. I don’t want…” He doesn’t finish. Hopefully, Eddie knows what he’s trying to say anyway.

Eddie squeezes tighter. “Buck. It did happen to you. It was different, sure. But it did. It’s okay to acknowledge that. Your therapy is for you. And I won’t listen if you don’t want. I’ll just be here next to you.”

Knowing and remembering and feeling Eddie alive and next to him would probably help. He can’t take a breath sometimes until he knows Eddie’s taken one. Which is probably bad. Co-dependent or something. It’s just. It’s terrifying. The image of Eddie falling, collapsing, turning pale, and bleeding out in the street keeps replaying in his head. And if he has to stop and focus on it, then he’s dying again and Buck is dying with him. And it’s just. Not okay.

“I’m supposed to have a session with Frank later this week.” Eddie’s tone is light even though the topic is not. He typically and very much dislikes such therapy even if he encourages and supports both Buck and Christopher having talk therapy sessions. But it was probably required by the department or something like that. As if reading his mind, Eddie adds, “I asked for one. So, you can return the favor. Be there after. Maybe during? Though I’d say definitely don’t listen. Not because it bothers me. Just because I think it’d bother you.”

Their fingers are tangled together and they are so tangled together but Buck really doesn’t want them to be any other way. “I’d do anything for you. Just tell me when.”

They sit together on the sofa, arms, legs, and sides completely pressed together. No space between them. He can feel Eddie’s warmth. He knows Eddie is alive. He holds the tablet in his hands, on his lap, and waits for her call. Eddie has ear buds and music and his eyes are closed and his head is resting on the back of the couch, but he’s there. He’s breathing.

When Buck describes, very briefly and without many details, what happened last week. That they’d gone on a call and Eddie had been shot. Dr. Copeland wears a heartbroken frown that completely lacks surprise. Like she was already aware of this and maybe she’s been waiting for his call since this happened. She could have seen or read about it. It was on the news. Buck hasn’t been able to look at any news reports, but knows they exist.

They talk about trauma responses and coping techniques and how it’s completely reasonable to need reassurance and connection right now. She’d expect them to depend on each other more than usual after something like this. How could he expect to function normally when nothing has been normal? She tells him things to keep in mind, that the reminders he’s been trying to give himself that Eddie is alive and safe are good ones.

She helps him talk through some of his convoluted feelings about dating. He can’t help glancing over at Eddie, who might be asleep but is still next to him. He admits he doesn’t know what he wants, which isn’t exactly true but is the only thing he can say.

It’s okay to be uncertain, she tells him. People usually are when they start something new. She mentions how it sounds like Eddie has already reassured him of how their relationship is a touchstone — it won’t disappear. Eddie wants happiness for Buck because he is a good friend and a kind person.

If Buck is feeling guilty, why is that? Is he worried he’s causing pain? What sort of wrongness does he feel he’s doing by dating?

They don’t get to talk very much on the subject but he schedules a few more appointments. At least he made it through talking about what he really needed to. It’s just going to hurt for a while. He can keep treading water. No one expects him to be okay after almost losing his person. Eddie is his person.

Buck isn’t sure any of the talk about seriously dating helps and he isn’t sure what she thinks of their relationship. She knows they’re partners and best friends. She knows they’re close and that Eddie sometimes sits with him when he has more difficult things to discuss. She says co-dependency isn’t inherently negative — it’s a problem when it trends toward self-harm, emotional abuse, mutual destruction, and enabling all those things with each other. It’s an inability to function as a person anymore by yourself. In normal, stable situations of course.

From what she’s seen, she thinks that Eddie is the complete opposite of that for him. That he has always been a voice of reason, of validation, of encouraging self-esteem, that they support each other and build each other up rather than cause harm.

She tells him turning to each other when they’ve both been hurt and need comfort is expected. And he has to wonder. He has to think. About what sort of comfort they could have.

When it’s Eddie’s turn for remote Zoom call therapy, Buck doesn’t listen either, but he sits beside him at the dining room table writing out a grocery list. He usually does it through phone app but physically writing words down on paper is somehow soothing. Eddie is very tense and he needs calm and soothing.

The grocery list quickly turns into random words and then random thoughts. When he looks at the paper, it’s a jumble of love and pain and emptiness and fear and home and family and loss and wishing.

And he can feel the anxious irritated buzzing coming off Eddie in waves. He slips his hand over Eddie’s and leans against him. Eddie doesn’t seem to react, his face is a hard mask, but he immediately clutches Buck’s hand. When he looks away from his laptop, he gives Buck a smile. It’s small, he’s so tense, but he’s trying. And he’s alive and just. So strong and soft and kind. And beautiful in every way imaginable.

Buck can’t look at him and see anything else.

Eddie sits outside in the backyard and it’s fine. There’s no one watching him. Except for his son when he looks up from his exercises and beams at him. But is it safe? Is anything safe? It’s warmer now going into June, but there’s still an icy shiver that coasts over his skin in repetitive waves.

He tries to reason with it. You’re lying to me. You have no power. It’s all in my head. I’m safe here. But since when does any anxiety listen to reason.

It’s fine when he’s inside the house. Confined within walls and the safety of an enclosed, unexposed space. But after a few days, it’s claustrophobic and too limited and there’s nothing to do because there’s not a lot he can do. Nothing more strenuous than placing a cup in the dishwasher. No lifting any more than five to ten pounds. No exercise more vigorous than light stretching or a walk around the neighborhood — that he can’t make himself go on.

And then. When he can’t do anything, he gets bitter and snaps when he knows Buck is texting Taylor and when Christopher doesn’t want to stop playing video games and get ready for bed. And it’s mean and not fair to them and he hates himself any time he loses control even that much. He’s not that person. He can be better. He has to be. He doesn’t want to have any more issues.

Sometimes. He doesn’t even feel like himself anymore. Who is he now?

Thank god he broke up with Ana because that would have imploded in the worst way if she spent any time around him now. He never let her see him as anything other than perfect anyway. She’d be cured of whatever attraction she had for him in a second if she saw how he truly is.

When he’s been inside and closed in and trapped for too many days, he dreams of being stuck underground, buried alive. But this time he can’t swim. He can’t move. His arm hurts. His shoulder aches. And he never returns home.

If he never returns home from the well, Christopher won’t have his Buck, he won’t be protected or loved as he should be, he won’t be allowed to take care of himself and do the things he’s completely capable of doing. And Buck won’t have either of them. He’ll be heartbroken. He’ll lose himself.

Eddie wakes up in tears. He can’t breathe. He’s still underground. He’s still bleeding out. He reaches but doesn’t know what he’s reaching for. What can possibly save him if he can’t save himself?

There are whispers near his ear and warmth that fights away the iciness on his skin. Buck pulls him close and curls around him protectively. His words are soft. Soothing. A sweet balm against abrasions. It’s not a cure. He doubts that even exists. But it helps. Having Buck always helps.

Buck never judges. He seems to understand the frustration. Of course he would. The crush injury to his leg had him barely mobile and sidelined for half a year. An injury like that never stops aching even if it heals completely. So, he stays at Eddie’s side, offering endless comfort. He helps even before Eddie asks. He cooks for them and cleans their house and rubs Eddie’s arm when it stings and aches. He helps with homework and plays legos and video games and Christopher is so happy. He’s actually never seen Christopher so happy. Which says a lot.

The whole first week Eddie is home, Buck is also there with them. He gets all his shifts covered and even though they’re also down Bobby and Eddie, Buck says everyone he asked was happy to trade or cover for him. And that he wanted to be here 24/7 at least until he was sure Eddie’s pain was under control. And to give Carla a break before she comes back to take care of both Christopher and Eddie while Buck works.

Every day that passes, even when it’s not a good one, just makes him think of how perfect it would be to have this for real. To wake with Buck’s arms — and legs — around him, to watch the two people he loves most smile and laugh and play together while they do chores or cook or study and do homework, to share every meal together, just the three of them, for Christopher to have two goodnight kisses and two parents who adore him, for Eddie to have someone in his bed who sleeps curled against him, someone he loves beyond all reason.

How long will he stay? How long can he keep pretending this is his and that Buck will sleep beside him every night?

What will he do when Buck isn’t here with them anymore?

Buck makes a decision after the first week, and taking a page from the Eddie Diaz playbook, decides not to tell anyone. It’s not a big deal. Not permanent or anything. So no one needs to hear about it. Both Eddie and Christopher had technically asked him to stay to take care of Eddie. Neither of them would be surprised to see a few more of Buck’s things at their house.

It’s sensible to move all his clothes and shoes over to their place. Eddie has very few things in his own bedroom and most of Buck’s favorite kitchen tools live at their house anyway. Christopher is ecstatic when all of Buck’s video game collection magically appears in the drawer with his own.

It’s not like Buck is spending any time at his apartment now and he won’t be there for a while. At least for the rest of the summer. So. He puts up a few posts online just to see if there’s anyone interested in subletting his place for a few months.

He immediately receives something like thirty responses, and they keep appearing nearly every minute.

So. There’s definitely interest. That’s great. Overwhelming, but his first shift back is the word they do not say, and Hen helps him sort through a few hundred responses in exchange for some of Buck’s very detailed and helpful flashcards for her study group.

She doesn’t ask why he’s not staying at his apartment. Though she does know where he is living, for the moment, and what he’s been doing since all of this happened. So, maybe that’s all she needs to know. Maybe he’s expecting all his coworkers to be nosier. They mostly ask him how Eddie is doing and tell him to pass along well wishes and tell him they’re glad everyone is okay.

He sets up interviews with a few people and tells Taylor he can’t meet her for lunch that day. Or for dinner that evening. She doesn’t text him for several days after that, even after he tries to explain he has people he needs to meet with and it’s time sensitive. He tries to bring her coffee afterward but she’s not at the station and doesn’t answer his calls. He doesn’t blame her. He’d be disappointed, too. Abby used to cancel on dates with him all the time. He wanted to be supportive and understanding, but it did hurt.

This is why she calls him a sh*tty friend. This is probably why she kept turning him down when he suggested they could be more than just friends. Plus there’s been the whole confusion and devastation over… recent events. He has people to take care of. He’s not sure what to do here to not be an asshole.

Most of the people he meets with are nice. No worries about someone trying to scam him or steal things. Not like Buck has much to steal. He’s considering an advertising intern who is a little on the flirtatious side of nice? But still nice. He’s the top choice for most of the afternoon. But then he meets Molly and Mirabel, a young college age couple looking for their first place together.

They remind him so much of… well. He’d say Hen and Karen, for obvious reasons. They hold hands the whole time and look at each other with nothing but starry, heart eyes. Like they exist in their own world, separate from everyone else, and communicate solely with brief glances and meaningful looks and affectionate smiles.

Their parents don’t approve of their relationship and they don’t have other family they can stay with, but they fell in love a little before quarantine last year and can’t bear to be without each other any longer. Mirabel is in nursing school and Molly wants to teach elementary aged children, and they tease and smile at each other in the sweetest way, and Buck can’t help thinking if he’d met Eddie when he’d left home and they’d been young, barely 20-somethings together. If they would be like this young couple. If this is what people see when they look at them together — the unfailing connection, the silent communication, the radiant happiness while in each other’s presence. Especially when they have Christopher with them and appear as two parents with their son.

Buck doesn’t want anyone else taking on his loft. He shows them pictures of himself with Eddie and Christopher and tells them that’s why he’s moving out for now. They’re both so excited and so touched, they hug him. He promises if they ever need help or protection or a big brother, he’ll be there. They happily sign papers and will move in as soon as he lets them know the apartment is ready.

He’s never had many belongings. It’s easier to move around that way. He has accumulated some things since he’s had his own place. There still isn’t much. He has a few obscure books that don’t have electronic versions available to download and then his bike and rack of dumbbells. There’s toiletries of course but that’s only a small bag.

The most important, irreplaceable thing he has is a shoebox decorated with stars and hearts and pirates and dinosaurs and spaceships drawn by a certain young artist. The inside holds cards and letters mostly from Maddie and Christopher but a few from Abuela. There are also more drawings, a few photos, some ticket stubs, a homemade Christmas ornament of three interlocking hearts, flattened novelty pennies from the zoo and the aquarium and the mini golf course, a quartz crystal “moon rock” Christopher had found and insisted he keep because he’d found it on his travels through the galaxy. And a small box with a dried rose.

They had looked red or deep orange on the outside when they appeared in his hospital room and were barely open. He’d received more than a few arrangements and get well cards and little gift baskets after people saw him on TV trapped and crushed by his fire truck. Some were anonymous with only attached well wishes and expressions of sympathy and definitely from people he didn’t know and had only seen him, but most were from other members of the 118 or from Maddie’s friends and fellow dispatchers. They’d all been delivered and left on the perimeter to decorate his depressing hospital room. Even the bouquet of white lilies and purple hyacinths that Ali brought, she’d placed with the rest of the collection.

The roses were different. They’d been left beside him. In a small vase without any card. They appeared after he’d woken up from his second surgery and weren’t store-bought or made up with leafy fillers or fancy paper. They’d been cut, with permission of course he was later told, from a neighbor’s yard.

He’d seen the house many times. He knew those roses. He knew the nice lesbian couple who grow roses of every color all around their house and also take their dog for walks in front of the Diaz house down the street from them so Christopher can pet her every time they pass by.

Buck had been brought six perfect, beautiful, homegrown roses. They were yellow on the inside, a sunny bright golden yellow that washed into fiery orange and red on the edges of the petals.

Maybe Eddie’s neighbors simply made a suggestion or maybe they’d been chosen on looks alone or even smell because they gave off the sweet, classic aroma, exactly how you’d want roses to smell, not like the ones that show up in grocery stores that have had fragrance bred out of them in favor of being longer lasting. Eddie couldn’t have known meanings behind rose colors. Buck hadn’t. He had, however, looked it up later.

Yellow roses were typically for friendship. That made sense. Red roses were of course love. Deep everlasting romantic love. But his roses weren’t red. They just had edges of it. Orange roses were for joy and happiness and enthusiasm. And also passion. According to some sites. But. Blending all three together in a “yellow petals with red tips” — like the ones he had to dry and save as best as he could — was also a thing. Everything combined.

They meant falling in love.

It didn’t mean that. It couldn’t. But. It was a sweet thought. At the very least, he was touched Eddie, and likely Christopher, brought him flowers.

After Buck packs his keepsake box, there’s really nothing left that he cares about at his loft. There’s only furniture and random cheap artwork Maddie picked out to make it more homey. He would take his bed because it is bigger and nicer than Eddie’s, but this is only temporary. Just for the summer.

Thankfully, he can still move around quickly. It only takes a couple hours to pack and organize then load up everything and clean. He’s not sure what that says about his life still. That even after a few years in his own place, he’s still vagrant. Without a home.

But then Christopher is waiting at the front window when Buck pulls up to the curb beside the Diaz house. He rushes out the door to meet him in a giant, flying hug and insists on helping so Buck gives him small items to carry into the house even though he drags the duffel bag full of clothes nearly all the way up to the front door.

It takes minutes to unload his car, and Eddie watches him from the doorway as he grabs his pillow and the last little bag. Buck bites his lip since he didn’t exactly ask, but they’d already discussed Buck staying to help and really, if he needs to, Buck can be packed and out the door on a moment’s notice. So, it’s not a big deal.

He holds the strap of his bag on his shoulder and looks up from the lower step with his pillow tucked under his arm. “I just brought a few things. I don’t have much. As soon as you’re okay and don’t need me around, I’ll… you know. Grab my stuff and go.”

Eddie shakes his head but says nothing. He reaches for Buck’s pillow instead, since he’s allowed to carry a pillow, and goes back into the house. Buck learns later that Eddie placed that pillow on his own bed. On Buck’s side of the bed.

Where else would he put it? That’s where Buck sleeps. That’s where he always wants to sleep.

Taylor finally messages him that evening and he’s in the middle of cooking dinner. He can’t invite her over. He can’t stop what he’s doing and meet her somewhere. Christopher looks at him with a mix of fear and sadness, like he knows Buck is being asked to be elsewhere. He gets very quiet and asks if they’re still going to have calabacitas with pasta and spicy grilled chicken.

“Yes.” Buck’s answer is immediate. He doesn’t even have to consider. He’s not stopping and he’s definitely not upsetting his best little friend. Christopher is more important. Christopher and Eddie are the most important right now. And always. Nothing could ever change that. Nothing should. They’re his family. He doesn’t want to give that up. They’re all he’s ever wanted. The only thing missing is something he doubts he can ever have with anyone. “Of course we are. Diaz family calabacitas are my favorite. I wouldn’t ever miss it.”

Christopher smiles quietly. “I like yours even better than Abuelita’s.”

Well, as long as no one tells her that. “It’s her recipe. I just use habaneros instead of jalapeños. Because my Diaz men like it spicy.” He grins at Christopher and touches his nose with one finger.

His smile is instantly bigger and brighter. “You add cheese, too.” Christopher stretches up and peers into the simmering pot of corn, zucchini, spices, and habaneros. “You can add more cheese.”

Because cheese is someone’s favorite. “We will. At the end.” He texts Taylor that he’s in the middle of dinner already and can meet her tomorrow night after his shift, then tucks his phone into his pocket and forgets about it the rest of the night.

Eddie leans on the fridge and watches them cook with a peaceful smile on his face.

When Buck goes to retrieve said cheese from the fridge, he places a light, protective hand on Eddie’s upper arm, careful not to bump into or jostle his shoulder. As he moves around him to open the door, Eddie’s hand comes up and covers his. Buck looks at him, waiting for Eddie to say something, ask for something, maybe bring up the fact that Buck could be elsewhere but does not want to give this up in the slightest.

But they don’t say anything when they look at each other. He squeezes Eddie’s fingers, snags the cotija cheese from the fridge, and gives him a smirk with a head nod as he goes back to cooking.

It turns out Taylor is busy the next night anyway so they continue to postpone.

He showers at the station after his shift and dresses in warm gray-brown, slim fit pants and matching suit jacket with a pale, orange-pink button down underneath. He’d shaved quickly, just to touch up his face after the twelve plus hours on the clock, and borrowed some of Eddie’s aftershave since it was still tucked in the locker they share. He fusses with his hair and can’t decide how it should be, if he should leave the natural curls or slick them away like usual. He stares at himself in the mirror for at least a whole seven minutes before brushing out the curls and lightly gelling them back.

He bites his lower lip and stares for a few more minutes and tries to remember to breathe.

He used to be so good at this. It used to not matter at all. Maybe it still doesn’t. It’s just dinner. He’s met her and had meals with her before.

What if he f*cks up though? What if he already has? It’s been nearly two weeks since she said she wants him, and he can never tell over texts but she seems irritated. Maybe he’s just expecting the worst. A date is supposed to be fun is what Dr. Copeland said. It’s getting to know someone, spending time with a person you enjoy being around, learning if you want to keep seeing them. No pressure. Nothing serious.

There are relationships that are fleeting and there are ones that are lifelong. He knows what kind Eddie and Christopher are. They’re not going anywhere. If Buck wants a romance, with all the passion and affection and emotion that go with it, there’s no reason he shouldn’t have it. He can have both. That’s what she told him.

He’s just nervous. He can’t really say why. He doesn’t want to think about it or look too closely at it. It gets more unnerving when he does. Jitters are normal. He just wants to do it right and not f*ck up or hurt anyone. That’s all.

He meets her at a restaurant. One of her favorites. It occurs to him only after he’s already walked in that he should have brought her flowers or something. He’s so off his game. He waits for her at a table in the corner and slowly sips on water. After more than twenty minutes and a waiter coming by twice to check on him, he wonders if this is on purpose and if she’s going to show up at all.

When he checks his phone, there’s a message from Christopher with social studies homework questions and another from Eddie telling him not to worry about it and that they’re working on it all by themselves. Buck writes back to both of them, encouragement and thanks and that he’ll be home soon. He tries not to miss them and tries not to think about how he could be home with them because it’s not really his home. It’s temporary. He wants a date. He wants a romance. He wants to be loved and kissed and touched like he’s loved and important.

Taylor appears fifteen minutes later, she got stuck on scene reporting and barely managed to sneak away, but she didn’t bail on him. She’s clearly in her work clothes and now he looks way overdressed. He tucks his phone away and kisses her cheek when she slides into the booth beside him.

The waiter comes by and makes a joke about how everyone was beginning to think Buck had been stood up, and now there are going to be some very disappointed kitchen staff who were ready to offer to have dinner with him if he had been abandoned.

Taylor’s eyes narrow at him, at both of them, as if Buck had something to do with it. But she smiles, toothy and vicious at their waiter and slides her hand along Buck’s neck under the collar of his shirt. “No. He was just early. He’s very eager to please.”

He’s not sure what to say to that. He just tries to smile politely at their waiter and shift attention to ordering dinner. She relaxes a little after the man leaves and drinks a good half of her wine in one go.

They talk some about their respective jobs. They haven’t had many interesting calls lately. That or he’s just blinded by being partnerless and there’s also no Bobby and nothing seems as fun or joyful when Eddie isn’t there. So, he mostly listens to her. He should be attentive. He wants this to work out. He wants something to work.

At least this part is normal. It’s what they usually do. Meet up, drink, sometimes order food. It’s weird not sharing though. He’s so used to splitting an entrée or at least trading several bites. But she eats her black pepper shrimp and vegetables. So he sticks to his Szechuan squash and mushrooms.

“You know I went over to your apartment a few times.” She stabs a shrimp and twists so her fork scrapes against her plate. “Some random woman answered the door. And you weren’t there.”

Buck freezes. And maybe that’s the real reason she was over half an hour late. He swallows a hard lump of squash. “The loft isn’t technically mine right now. I mean it is, but I’m not living there. I’m subletting it for the summer. To a young couple. They're subletting from me.”

She looks unconcerned by any of it. “Where are you staying then.”

He doesn’t answer. She knows the answer, and he doesn’t really want to talk about it. Especially not like this. They’re his family and they need help right now. They went through an awful trauma. His throat is too dry and he takes a long drink of his water, and when that isn’t enough, he finishes his glass of wine.

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “So, you’re still sleeping on that couch?”

He takes in air but it has nowhere to go. She sounds so flippant. Maybe teasing? He can’t actually breathe. He should say no. But he shouldn’t lie. But she wouldn’t understand. It’s not… like that though. He’s not cheating. Okay, maybe there are some feelings. Were some feelings. He can’t help what he used to feel, and it’s not relevant because Eddie doesn’t feel the same and they’re never going to be together. Buck is moving on. He’s going to date Taylor. He might have had some longing fantasies — in the past — but they’re only fantasies and he’ll get over it.

He’s not going to feel anything anymore. He’s done with feeling anything for now. Anything at all. He’s not lying or trying to be underhanded. He’s getting over it. He’s committed to this. To Taylor.

He takes too long to give her any response, and she sets down her silverware and turns to him with crossed arms. “Wow. Really? You’re sleeping in his bed. Aren’t you.”

f*ck. Just. f*ck. “What does that matter? We’re not having sex. We lived together before. We share a bed all the time. Sometimes at work. It’s not. It doesn’t mean anything. He was shot. He needs help. He’s my best friend. I’m there in case he needs help. He can’t even move his arm without hurting right now.”

Her hard look fades a little but it doesn’t make Buck feel any better.

Is he in the wrong? Is he not supposed to do this? Just because he’s bisexual, just because he’s had unrequited feelings, just because he needs to be close to him right now — it doesn’t mean he won’t be faithful to Taylor. “Is it… Does it actually bother you? Honestly?”

She shrugs and sips her wine. “Seems like your mind is made up on it. So.”

“It’s only temporary. I’m there to help him through his recovery. It’ll be a couple months at most.” He wishes those facts didn’t twist like knives in his chest. He really has to get better at shutting everything off.

“Then you still want to do this with me?”

Buck nods. He’s not gutted. He’s nothing. He doesn’t feel anything.

She eyes him and crooks a finger at him until he leans in to kiss her. It’s sharp and possessive and her fingers scratch his neck and grip his hair. A younger, earlier, less broken version of him would have melted and begged for more, for anything he could have. But 4.0 must be missing some patches because he just feels empty. He’s hollow and cold.

Their waiter comes by to offer desserts and she releases Buck, takes the menu and shoos the man away. Buck can’t even look at him anymore. He just finishes his dinner.

She teases about ordering cheesecake because she remembers the worst date in the history of all dates.

But they also offer alfajores for dessert, shortbread cookies with dulce de leche filling, and he remembers real ones from Peru and attempting to make something like them for Christmas while Christopher helped and they froze theirs and dipped them in chocolate and got chocolate and dulce de leche absolutely everywhere, and Eddie threatened to hose them both off outside but they offered him cookies and he just. He had this look when he tried their creation. This smile. That was blissful and rapturous and amused and gorgeous. And he couldn’t be mad about anything. Buck promised he’d clean every inch of their kitchen before going home.

They’d cleaned everything together and piled on the sofa with Buck in the middle and ate cookies and popcorn and watched a ridiculously cheesy holiday movie about a maid who falls in love with a widower king while befriending and caring for his daughter. Because Christopher insisted. For some odd reason. But it was sweet. For what it was. And Buck never ended up back at his apartment that night.

Taylor looks at him sideways. “That’s the first time you’ve smiled all night.”

Is it? Has he not been smiling? He was trying to listen and focus and be a good date. Or he was trying to avoid making her feel angry or ignored.

“What were you thinking about? My cheesecake joke wasn’t that funny.”

He shakes his head and shrugs, but tries to give her a big, bright smile. “Nothing. Cookies.”

She raises an eyebrow and picks up the check even when he reaches for it. “This was my pick. You can get the next one. I make more money than you anyway.”

The next one. There will be a next one? There’s no reason there shouldn’t be. Right? It was a good date. Good enough. It wasn’t bad or anything. Not too much anyway. He’s just not used to second dates.

He walks her out to her car and she wraps her arms around him and pulls him toward her. “You want to follow me home? We can have some real dessert.”

Nausea rolls around in his stomach, and it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t. She’s hot. It’s been a long, long time. But. What if sex is all they do? What if that’s all they are? What if wanting sex with Abby and having sex with her was what made her leave him? She’d had enough. What if that’s all Taylor wants from him, too? That was all they did when they first met. It was just sex because Buck is too needy and lonely and it’s all he thinks about. Or all he used to think about. It was the only thing that used to make him feel better but then he slept with Abby and she left and it didn’t feel good anymore. “I’m… I don’t. I’m not ready for that yet.”

She frowns but looks more confused than anything. “Then what will it take for me to have you again? You remember that we’ve already f*cked, right? It’s not anything new. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just sex.”

And that is exactly why. “I know. I don’t want… just sex. I have to get home anyway.”

She lets out a heavy sigh and pulls him down into a kiss. He places shaking hands on her and closes his eyes. It doesn’t last long after he kisses back. Which is fine. He steps backward to a respectable distance.

There’s disappointment wafting from her but her face is perfectly schooled. “Okay, Buckley. It’s on you. I want a good time. You better make waiting worth it.” She winks like she’s teasing and gets into her car to leave, but he’s certain she means it.

He watches her drive off and remembers being left in a parking lot with his pants open while she sped away to a fire of all things. Is it a mistake saying he wants something more? Should he just have sex with her? Would that make her less disappointed with him? Probably. She’s suggested multiple times that they should f*ck. What difference would it make anyway? She’s right — they have had sex and made out before. And she wants another date with him so she’s not tired of him yet. Of course he also keeps turning down sex with her. Is that all she wants from him? When she says she wants him, is it only that part of it? He wonders all the way home and still isn’t sure.

It’s late when he arrives and he tries to unlock the door quietly in case Christopher is asleep. He immediately goes to the kitchen and pulls out a beer. It’s smooth and cold and he runs his hand through his hair then back and forth over his temple where his head is starting to ache as he closes his eyes.

Eddie’s voice startles him. “How was dinner?”

Buck turns to him and tries to catch his breath. “Fine. Good. Interesting mix of Chinese and Peruvian food. But then I kind of missed real Peruvian food.” And Christopher and experimenting with Christmas cookies. And he missed Eddie. “How was your night?”

“You know. The exciting life of a single dad. We did math and social studies and finished a lot of leftovers.”

Sounds better than whatever his night was. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Still attached? Which I would say is a win. Considering someone tried to shoot it off of me.”

God. Eddie and his snarky, morbid humor. Buck laughs and shakes his head. But it feels easy to do. It’s warm and real when he smiles for him. He doesn’t have to try to force anything.

“You look good,” Eddie says softly, the corner of his lip pressed in his teeth.

Buck looks down at his clothes and the words are so heartfelt and genuine and Taylor didn’t dress up for him at all which is fine, he doesn’t want to date her just because of her looks, but he spent a long time trying to pick something out and look good for her. But she did want to have sex with him so maybe that was something.

But Eddie just looks at him so, so sweetly that Buck hurts and aches and needs that. Exactly that. The authenticity and gentleness in his eyes and something that could be affection and appreciation. Just. Something. He swallows hard and meets Eddie’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment longer and he has to be able to read something because he always knows. “You want to watch something with me? We could find a movie that isn’t made for children.”

“Yeah. I do. I’m going to change first. I’ll be back.” He downs another long drink and then tucks it back in the fridge. He’s been trying not to drink in front of Eddie while he’s still on medications and isn’t supposed to have any alcohol, but when he returns from the bedroom in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his half-drunk bottle is on the coffee table.

“It’s fine. I didn’t want you to come back to sad, old beer.” Eddie smiles and stretches out on the sofa. Which means he’s expecting Buck to take a chair. Or Buck could slide onto the couch beside Eddie and curl around him.

He starts at the opposite end of the sofa and pulls Eddie’s feet onto his lap. But quickly changes his mind and sprawls half on top of Eddie and half against the back of the couch. He slides an arm around Eddie’s middle to hold him close while Eddie drapes his good arm around Buck’s back. He rests his head on Eddie’s chest and good shoulder, breathes in the smell of eucalyptus and pine that always makes him think of protection and kindness.

After a few minutes, he no longer hurts so much. Eddie holds him for the whole movie, and when they go to bed, he lets Buck hold him the rest of the night.

So. Date number two. What the f*ck does he do for a second date? They already went out to eat. Can’t exactly go to a movie theater yet. He could make her dinner? But that seems too personal and he doesn’t have his own place at the moment. He’d have to cook at her apartment and not make a kitchen disaster everywhere.

What would he even make for her? He knows how to make kid food, things Christopher likes, things Bobby typically makes, Eddie’s favorite meals, and Diaz family recipes that Abuela and Pepa have taught him. It would be weird to make her a family recipe. He can’t share those with her.

He needs help. Normally, he’d go to Bobby but he’s more than a little out of commission still. He can’t talk to Eddie. That wouldn’t go well. And he still hasn’t received a response from his last, “How are you?” to Maddie. So. That leaves… other people.

He asks for them to meet at the dining table upstairs after they return from a call and finish cleaning up. It’s too early for family dinner and they had breakfast not too long ago, but Hen and Chimney, and Ravi apparently since he’s been acting as their Eddie and Bobby compensation, are happy to help.

They all take a seat and look up at him, and there’s just far too much mischief in their eyes for him to feel at ease. But this is his best shot. They know what they’re talking about. Hen is married and Chim has Maddie. He’s not sure about Ravi but that wasn’t planned. Maybe Ravi will be the runaway surprise.

Buck stands at the head of the table, slightly near the kitchen. “So. I need your help. I have a date. A second date. It has to go well. And I have nothing. No ideas. What can I do?”

Hen and Chimney look at each other immediately. Eyes widened, definitely surprised, but they grin like they’re excited. And oh, god, what has he gotten himself into.

“A date?” Hen asks.

“A second date?” Chimney echoes.

“Who are we dating?” Hen grins. “It’s important we know so that we can help you pick an appropriate activity for this person.”

“Right,” Chimney is now also grinning. “Tell us everything. We’ll help you come up with the perfect thing.”

Ravi looks at them and then up at Buck, then back to Hen and Chimney, but doesn’t add anything.

Buck takes a deep breath. “It’s not a big deal. We’ve known each other a while. We just recently started... dating. So, it has to be something worthwhile. Show stopping. Or special? I guess?” Otherwise it will be over before they get anywhere. Or he’ll have to sleep with her before he’s sure he’s ready for that. And he’d really rather not.

Hen and Chimney share another look, a wider grin, and make some kind of motioning gesture to each other that must mean something to them but Buck has no clue.

Chimney goes first this time. “Well, what do you usually do on dates?”

“The PG rated things,” Hen adds quickly.

“Good catch.” Chim wags his finger. “What PG things do you do for dates?”

Well. There were some things. Movies of course, carnivals, theme parks, concerts, picnics, rock climbing, paint balling, surfing, hiking, arcades, the zoo, the aquarium, a cool science museum, or one on natural history, or the planetarium… He took a guy on a helicopter ride over LA once and that was really fun, but Taylor wouldn’t find that fun or exciting or different. She doesn’t strike him as an outdoor sort of person, nor as someone who would appreciate something ordinary or messy or juvenile. “That’s the thing? A lot of places are closed still? And I don’t know that a picnic or a hike or something would be acceptable.”

Chimney’s brow furrows. “Why not?”

Hen taps his arm and gives him a look and Chimney suddenly understands the universe. Buck understands nothing.

“Ohhhh,” Chim says. “Right. Right. Well. What did you do for your first date?”

Hen smiles. “Yes, tell us all about it.”

Even Ravi looks curious, if not still confused.

Buck shrugs. “We just went out to dinner. Nothing that exciting.” And then she wanted sex and he turned her down and what the f*ck is he even doing? Who would turn down sex with her? Not that he always has. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just sex. What else can he do or offer that’s worth waiting for?

Hen’s smile fades and she stares at him longer than he’d prefer. He’s not sure what she’s looking for or what she’s thinking, but he’s sure she’ll find it. Whatever it is.

“Why don’t you cook something?” Chimney suggests. “You’ve gotten really good. I hear from Eddie all the time how much he loves when you cook for them.”

“I don’t…” Buck doesn’t know where to look but no longer wants to look at any one of them. “For one, I don’t have a kitchen of my own to cook in—”

“You could make something here,” Hen suggests. “We’d even help. Or we’d help certain people stay out of your way.”

That’s… not a bad idea. He hadn’t thought of the firehouse kitchen. At least then the disaster wouldn’t be all over Taylor’s apartment. But… would she even eat what he might make? She’s a lot pickier and more discerning than anyone else he’s ever cooked for. “I don’t know that I’m good enough to do that? I know how to make kid food. Pasta and chicken fingers and roasted veggies. And I know family recipes? I guess I know a few of Bobby’s but most of his are for us. For hungry firefighters. And I don’t… I don’t want to spend hours cooking and then find she doesn’t like it or refuses to eat it. What if she makes fun of how immature or unsophisticated it is?”

Hen and Chimney and Ravi all give him the same blank, confused, slightly open mouthed and brow furrowed look. Identical. In triplicate. Silence. Too stunned now to even comment.

Why is it so confusing? Or strange? Buck sighs and twists his hands together. “Ravi, my man.” He has to have something. “What do you got for me? You gotta have something, right?”

Ravi tips his head to the side, glances at Hen and Chimney for something that he seems to find because when he looks back to Buck, he says, “Did you and Eddie break up? Or… or is this an open relationship thing? Because I’m really not comfortable helping people cheat. Don’t you two have a kid together?”

Buck stares back at him, and breathing is a thing. Air moving in and out of lungs. It’s important. But he can’t. He just stops. “We… we’re not…” he tries to answer, but he has no more words and no more oxygen. Is that what they all assumed? Is there something that obvious? What sort of sick joke is the universe playing on him? That everyone thinks he and Eddie are together when Eddie would never want him that way? Why is it always this?

So, he leaves, walks quickly but without rushing down the stairs, out the door until he’s outside in the fresh air by himself. He sits down against the wall of the firehouse and rests his arms on bent knees.

It’s not long until the alarm rings and he has to gear up and head to the trucks. Hen and Chimney take the ambulance so Buck doesn’t hesitate to take Bobby’s usual shotgun spot in the truck. Thankfully, they’re all busy the rest of the shift and don’t have a chance to continue the discussion any further.

He showers again at the end of his shortened shift and doesn’t bother to dress up. Just his usual button up and skinny jeans. He does make sure to shave and clean really well everywhere and put on nice cologne. What else is he good at if not sex?

He orders take out from a place he knows she likes and stops at a store this time where he picks out a nice bottle of wine. Something dry and rich with dark, deep flavor. He finds a sweet, beautiful bouquet of deep pink and purple flowers, and sits in his car for at least fifteen minutes trying to mentally prepare himself.

It’s fun. It feels good. It’s been a long time. He’s making it out to be something it’s not. She’s right. It’s just sex. He’s had meaningless sex with so many people. Maybe it will be better between them afterward. Not so much pressure. He used to do it all the time to make himself feel better. It’s nothing. They’ve already had sex before. He’s had his tongue on her. It will feel good. It will be a relief. He hasn’t been close to anyone like this since Ali. Though he can’t say he felt much of anything for her. He’d felt something for Abby and she’d left him and never loved him and maybe he’s just not a person who can have this kind of love. He has other kinds. Ones that mean more to him than anything.

He looks at the flowers he’s bought and can’t even see her caring if he brings them to her. She’s not really into classic romance and he knows that.

But. He does know someone who loves pink and purple. Who needs love and support. Who always loved him when no one else did. Who he really really misses and aches to see. She would appreciate it far more than Taylor. He texts her that he’s going to be a late. And drives across town to a different apartment building.

He’s not sure if the door will be answered and maybe he’ll have to just leave the bouquet on the doorstep, but somehow. Miraculously. The door opens. He tries not to cry just at the sight of her.

She looks almost as exhausted as he feels. Her hair is tied back in a messy ponytail instead of curled in nice waves like usual. She has no makeup on and is only wearing pajamas. But her eyes widen a little and a small smile spreads over her face. “Evan,” she says, the only person — except for Eddie now? — who ever calls him Evan with love and affection. “Hi. I’m not really… dressed. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t text. I just. Miss you.” His chest is tight and his eyes are filling with too much. He offers the bouquet of pink and purple. “I wanted to bring you these.”

She covers her mouth with both hands and her tears overflow. She takes the flowers at the same time as he steps forward and wraps her tightly in his arms. He kicks the door shut and clings to his sister as hard as she clings to him. Neither of them willing to let go.

Chapter 10: Partners

Chapter Text

The world is quiet and gray. He’s always been unwanted. He’s always been alone. With a single, miraculous exception. How many times have they clung to each other in despair and solace, with only each other as a life raft? They have other people now who love them. Children who rely on them. But sometimes, the only place he can turn to is still Maddie.

He knows they’re both crying. It’s been too long and he doesn’t know how to help her or what exactly is even wrong with life on her end, but there’s something. He knows there’s something. He’s been worried for weeks now. Everything feels wrong except this. And being home with Eddie and Christopher but that’s never been in question. He isn’t going home tonight. But at least he and Maddie have each other.

He clutches her head to his shoulder and rubs his other hand over her back as he curls down around her. She grips him and cries so quietly, like she’s so used to suffering in silence and having no one notice or care. It just makes him want to hold her and protect her forever. Like she always did for him. He nuzzles against her shoulder and murmurs again about how much he misses her.

“I’m sorry,” she says and lifts up from him. Her eyes are red and still leaking, but she cups his cheek with her free hand. “I’m so sorry. I know you’ve been going through hell and I haven’t even… I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head and covers her hand with his. “No. Maddie, no. It’s okay. I mean what happened wasn’t okay. I still can’t…” Can’t think about it, talk about it, drive anywhere near that area of town where it happened without feeling like he’s being flayed alive. “I’m okay. Mostly. Eddie’s okay. But you don’t need to apologize. I know… I know you’ve been. Hurting.”

She lets go of him to wipe away her own tears and clutch her bouquet of flowers close to her. “Did Chim tell you?” Her voice is so small and lost, and he wishes he’d thought to just show up here weeks ago.

“No. He didn’t say anything.” Though Chimney has been distracted lately, too. They all have. If everything could calm down for even two minutes, that would be great. Still. Chimney didn’t have to say anything. Buck can tell. They haven’t talked or had Zoom lunch or even been texting. She gives one word answers if she answers. There’s so much less joy and kindness in the world when Maddie isn’t shining. “I know when you’re hurting.”

She bends her head and more tears fall.

He pulls her close again and kisses the top of her head. “I’m sorry, too. I should have… I should have been here.”

“You’re here now.” She sighs and relaxes a little in his arms.

He is here. He’s so glad he decided to be here. “I’m always here, okay?”

When she pulls out of their hug this time, she smiles a little. Not much but it’s definitely real.

He takes the flowers from her and rummages through the lower kitchen cupboards where he’s pretty sure there are a couple vases. When he finds one, he fills it with water and places her bouquet in it and on the table at her request. She offers him coffee or tea or water or even wine, but he just wants to sit with her and forget about what will have to happen later tonight.

They sit on the couch together with arms around each other and her head against his shoulder, and he remembers the first winter holiday she had after moving out where she came back home and he curled against her like she’s curled against him now and cried for hours. He’d been about Christopher’s age then, and so lost and alone without her. His whole life was absence and emptiness back then. When she wasn’t around. Sometimes, if he wasn’t in school, he’d go a whole week without really talking to anyone.

He leans his head against hers. Her hair smells like baby shampoo. “You can always talk to me, you know. If you need to. I know you probably look at me like someone you need to take care of instead of someone who would take care of you. But I would. I love you so much.”

She squeezes him tightly. “I love you, too.”

“And… And if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay, too. We can just sit here.” He doesn’t really want to leave here. Unless he’s going home. But he isn’t going home tonight. He’s not going home. His breath catches and his chest hurts and he wishes he knew how to squish things down like Eddie. Just close it up and shove it away and make it not an issue anymore. Even if he’s pretty sure a lot of what Eddie talks about with Frank is how to not do something like that because it isn’t exactly a healthy way to handle emotions.

He’s not going home tonight.

Maddie lifts her head and rubs his arm. “Buck? You can talk to me, too. I don’t know how much help I might be right now, but I’ve been so worried about you. Eddie and Christopher, too. I watched all the news about it and I just… I can’t believe someone did that. I’m so sorry. I will always listen and be here for you.”

“I… I know, Mads. I know you would.” He also doesn’t want to dump all his issues on her and force her to take care of him instead of herself.

When he doesn’t continue, she looks at him with a sad, half-smile. “I’ll make you a deal? I’ll talk if you talk? Then neither of us is burdening the other. We’re helping each other. Okay?” She lifts her hand and extends her pinky.

He supposes that’s fair. He links his pinky around hers, and tries to start at the beginning. He tells her about the day everything started, the gunshot that nearly took everything, being frozen in shock, the hospital, so much blood, the nurse who cleaned him up, crying in front of Christopher when Eddie was finally out of surgery. He tells her about being lost and ripped in pieces and worried he’d lose his little family and all the hours before Eddie woke up, the hospital visits, pleading with the unconscious half of his soul to wake up and make it through this. He tells her about working while the sniper was still alive and hunting firefighters, conversations with Bobby and Athena about losing a beloved partner, helping her save her husband who was also shot by that man. He tells her about Ana and Taylor and helping Christopher with a welcome home party like his mother did when Eddie returned from Afghanistan, and then there’s the breakup, the first date, and finding a nice couple to sublet his loft so he could move home for a few months.

He tells her what Eddie revealed the day he was discharged, the thing he did a year ago to forever tie their lives together. To make sure Christopher and Buck have each other if they don’t have him. He’s still not sure how he could cope without Eddie. He would do it for Christopher. He’d do anything for Christopher. But. How is an unanswerable, awful question.

He usually feels like his heart is gone. Given away in pieces. That he has nothing of it anymore. But there are times when he still feels it. When Carla worries about him and offers to talk with him. When Hen gives him a welcome back cupcake and helps him sort through applicants. When Chimney unbuttons his bloodstained shirt and takes care of it. When Bobby insists they cook together because Buck is quiet and feeling down. When Athena promises she’ll find the man who did this to them. When Abuela calls him nieto. When Pepa says she knows and loves how he protects Eddie. When Christopher wants to hear their story and won’t go to sleep without Buck hugging and kissing him goodnight. When Eddie looks at him, so softly and sweetly, like he knows and still cares, like he knows him and loves regardless.

Those are times when his heart is beating and he’s happy to have given himself to people he loves who love him in return. He’s hollow now but he still has hope. He could have something living and beating again. He knows Christopher wants to give him stars and planets and comets and all of the universe to build back his heart of gold. He knows Eddie would give him living vibrant beautiful flowers to do the same.

He’s not sure he’d be able to feel anything of his heart if Eddie died. It would probably die with him.

Maddie hugs him and cries with him and tells him about how she doesn’t feel like herself. She only feels like a failure. She’s constantly exhausted even when she does nothing all day. She quit her job and never wants to get out of bed. She wishes she could sleep because if she sleeps, she doesn’t have to hurt so much. She says Chimney is so worried and wants to do anything and everything to help her but it’s hard when nothing helps.

It’s in the middle of listening to her that Jee-Yun wakes and cries loudly from the monitor on the coffee table. But it’s so loud, he can hear her from the living area without it. Maddie immediately starts crying again and looks so helpless.

Buck untangles himself and rubs her arm. “It’s okay. I’ll get her. Don’t worry.” He hurries down the hall and to the crib of the human fire alarm. He’s been dying to see her and hold her, too, and gently lifts her into his arms and cradles her in the crook of his elbow. “Hey, sweetheart. You are very noisy. I think you scared your poor mom.” He bounces her just a little and can’t believe he’s actually an uncle. He can’t believe they’re related, that Maddie made her. She’s just. She’s so beautiful and he’s so completely in love with her already.

His heart always clenches when he gets to hold a baby or rescue a child and offer them comfort and protection, but this is a thousand times more. She’s his niece. She’s his family. He wishes. He wishes he could have his own child. He wishes he could have Christopher without the unimaginable contingency of utter devastation. He wishes… wishes for a partner like the one he has as his best friend, one who would raise a child with him and love them both.

He checks her diaper and changes her and her cries quiet a little. He swaddles her back up in her blanket and holds her to his chest, and then notices Maddie standing at the door watching them with a mix of adoration and gratitude and sorrow.

“I have a bottle warming up for her,” she says and breathes deeply. “If you want to feed her. She’s probably hungry.”

His heart skips. He can keep holding her and he can feed her while he does and she’s his niece and he’ll get to be her uncle for the rest of his life? “Really?” He looks down at Jee and she wiggles and fusses a little but looks up at him with big eyes. “You want to do that, Jee? Are you hungry? Uncle Buck will help you with your bottle! I’ll always take care of you.”

Maddie gives them a real smile.

They return to the living room and snuggle back into the cushions where they were. Jee-Yun reaches and wiggles tiny fingers and holds onto Maddie’s hand when she reaches back. When her bottle is ready, Maddie brings it to them, checks the temperature on her wrist, and hands it to Buck. He holds it up and offers it to Jee-Yun and she immediately scarfs it into her mouth.

Buck laughs lightly. “She’s a little baby shark.”

Maddie crosses her arms over her chest. “Yeah. That is exactly why she gets already pumped milk. She has teeth now.”

“You’re so big now,” Buck tells her. Has it really been that long since she was born? It seems like barely a few weeks ago. But it was April. So, already more than two months. “You have to be nice to your mom though, okay? She’s a really good mom.”

Maddie is quiet for a while but finally says, “I don’t think I am.”

Buck looks up from the baby in his arms, but holds the bottle steady. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not. I don’t know what I’m doing. Everything feels like I’m doing it wrong. Chim is so good with her. You’re so good with her, too, and you haven’t even gotten to be around her. I don’t know why I thought I could do this. I’m just going to end up hurting her and failing her like…”

Like their own parents? Buck balances Jee-Yun and the bottle against his chest and with his one arm and chin so he can hold onto his sister, too. “I know it feels like that. I do. I get it.” Everyone always expected him to be a failure and a deadbeat loser who did nothing with his life. “I mean, you want to talk about not knowing what you’re doing and doing everything wrong, I’m probably the world’s foremost expert? Ask anyone who knows me.” He says it lightheartedly, it’s teasing, everyone jokes about it. Maddie just frowns at him.

And that’s exactly why he’s right about this. “You’re an amazing mom. I know you don’t feel like it and I know you’re scared and worried and hurting. But you will never be Mom and Dad.” He hugs her and then goes back to holding the bottle up for Jee-Yun. “You love her. So much. I can see it. And you know how to take care of kid. You did it when you were a kid. You raised me when you honest-to-god literally didn’t know what you were doing, when you weren’t even a teenager yet. You fed me and bathed me and bandaged me and were the only person in my whole childhood who cared about me at all.”

His chest hurts and breathing hurts and if he blinks, tears will fall. What would he have done if Maddie hadn’t loved him? If she hadn’t sacrificed her own self so many times to care about him? “You shouldn’t have had to be my mom. But you were. And I’m sure I wouldn’t be alive now if it weren’t for you. I know you don’t feel like it. But you are so strong and so amazing and you’re full of so much love and compassion for others. Jee is so lucky. I know she has the best mom. Because you were my mom, too.”

More tears leak from her eyes and he can’ t stop himself from crying if she is crying. She leans against him and puts her arm around him, around the arm he’s using to hold Jee like she’s holding her, too. He rests his head on hers again and only moves when Jee finishes her bottle. She makes adorable squeaky noises and he doesn’t ever want to give her back.

After some burping and spitting up on his shirt, her eyes get droopy and she falls back asleep, content with the whole of her life. If only it could stay that easy.

He should probably put her back in her crib and go. He’s so late. He never intended to stay so long. But. Maddie and Jee-Yun are his family, too.

He doesn’t get to go home tonight.

Nausea sloshes through him and he stops breathing. His throat is closing and the scar there hurts. Will it even be enough? If he sleeps with her? He’s supposed to make it all worthwhile and show her a good time and it’s easy to give to Maddie and Eddie and Jee and Chris even when he’s drained and has nothing. They love him. They give things back to him.

He’s just overthinking. Taylor wants to give him sex. That’s something. It should mean something to share intimate physical affection with someone. Not like he hasn’t shared his body with pretty much anyone who wanted him. Maybe she’ll surprise him and take it as a sign of developing their relationship. Building something together? Maybe?

Why would she though. He’d told her in the beginning he wanted to be responsible and take it slow. And then they f*cked in a bathroom. He’s too needy. She’s right. He’s weak and sex was always his crutch and if he does this, he’ll probably feel better. At least for a few moments.

He doesn’t know about tomorrow. What it will feel like in the morning, in the light of day, when he does get to go home and everyone will know. Will it feel as wrong and weird as the first time? He was so disappointed in himself. He wants to be at home.

“Buck?” Maddie squeezes his arm. “Evan? What is it?”

He shrugs and looks at little Jee, asleep in his arm, and wants a child and family and a home and a spouse who loves him. He can just. Not go anywhere. He can keep holding Jee the whole night. Chim isn’t off work until the morning. Buck can stay and help Maddie. He doesn’t have to go. He could stay here. He wipes wetness from his face and tries to explain. “I’m… I’m supposed to. I have a date. Tonight. I’m supposed to be on a date.”

Maddie studies him carefully. “With Taylor?”

He nods and touches one of Jee-Yun’s hands. She squeezes his finger even while sleeping.

“Why do you look like this is the worst thing that could ever happen?”

He breathes slowly. It’s all he can manage. “It’s not. I just. Don’t know what to do.”

She looks at him with such gentle concern, he can’t help but think again that she’s the best mom. “What do you mean?”

“I thought about it a lot before. Dating her. But I was lonely. Eddie found Ana and they were dating and everyone was paired off and I was alone. Sad and lonely just like you said.” And he’d dream of Red and dying alone and of having to be a best man at a wedding where he’d feel like dying even with as much as he wanted Eddie to be happy. He still doesn’t know if his heart could make it through watching Eddie marry someone else. “So, she kissed me. She says she wants me. We were going to try. Dating. We are dating, I guess.”

“You guess? You’re making it sound like you don’t want this at all.”

“I was different before.” Buck 4.0 is very different. He’s fractured and wounded and still downloading. His processing capabilities are very slow. His emotions upon initial creation were panic and devastation and they’re still set as the default. “I can’t feel anything right now. It’s too much. I thought emptiness might be a good thing for a while, but it’s draining and I feel worse. I have nothing to give her. I have nothing left. But I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to keep feeling like this. I just want someone who’ll love me. And I wanted that before. I don’t want to just… have sex and nothing else. I want something real and meaningful. We’re supposed to have our second date tonight and she’s expecting ‘worthwhile’ and exciting probably. And I have nothing. I don’t know what I can offer her. Besides the thing that she wants.”

Maddie raises an eyebrow. “I take it she wants sex. Is that it?”

He doesn’t look at her, but nods.

“And you feel like if you have sex, it won’t be in the real and meaningful category?”

He bites his lip. That is what it feels like, isn’t it. Just another hook up. Maybe she’ll be tired of him after that. Maybe she’ll leave him in another parking lot. “Yeah.”

“Then why are you wasting your time with Taylor?”

Is he wasting his time? What if he is? He thought they were trying to see if, what? If they’re compatible? That doesn’t sound right. If they’re a good match? He’s not sure if they are. He can’t see her wanting kids. He can’t see her caring about him at all. But could anyone else care about him either? “She’s all I can have.”

“Why do you think that? I mean, I have an idea of why, but it’s not true. You deserve so much more. From what you’ve told me, she sounds incredibly self-absorbed and cruel and wrong for you.”

“She… she’s not cruel and self-absorbed. She’s just. Independent. She’s driven and she’s working in a super misogynistic workplace so she has to be tough and relentless.”

Maddie shakes her head. “Buck. Every workplace is full of misogyny. The whole world is. It’s not an excuse to treat someone badly.”

“She doesn’t treat me badly.”

“Does she treat others badly? When you’re at a restaurant, how does she talk to the waitstaff? How does she talk about her coworkers?”

No one is perfect. He doesn’t want to be judgmental. Taylor’s just not a particularly nice person. Doesn’t mean she’s a bad person. She’s just direct. He’s done plenty of awful, stupid things before. He was such an asshole to Eddie when they first met. He still doesn’t know why Eddie was so patient and kind to him. Other than Eddie is the best person he knows.

“There’s no reason you can’t have someone who honestly, genuinely loves you. Someone who respects you and doesn’t senselessly hurt you. And for the record? You should never have sex with someone if you don’t want to. That takes it out of consensual and puts it in a whole other category called assault and rape.”

Well. It’s a good thing he hasn’t told her the story about that first therapist he had. Dr. Copeland was horrified when he briefly sort of mentioned what happened when he’d first tried therapy.

“Second of all, you don’t have to settle for something just because it’s available and you think that someday, maybe she might love you. Trust me. That is not the kind of love you want. If she is not giving to you as much as you give to her, and I’m talking emotionally not physically, then you will always be miserable and lonely and wishing for something you will never receive from her. Why can’t you have something you want? Or someone you want? Just. Think about the future you want to have.”

He looks down at Jee holding his finger, but thinks of Christopher. Of Christmas cookies and special skateboards and science projects made of food, of homework and bedtime stories and pancake batter on his cheek. He wants to tuck Christopher in every night and cook breakfast with him in the morning. He wants to be there for every milestone of his life. He wants to be the person Christopher runs to when he’s upset and the person who can always be there to make him feel better.

When she’s given him a few minutes to think, she adds, “Think about what you really want and need in a partner. Think about someone who makes you feel safe and happy and comforted and loved and good about yourself. Your spouse should be someone who protects you from all the harm and pain the world throws at you. Someone who looks out for you and supports you.”

Like someone who swore to have his back and who makes him get out of bed when he can’t do it himself? Someone who trusts him with his son and puts Buck in his will and lets Buck take care of him even when he hates asking for help and feeling useless and unable to do anything? That someone? Because he’s everything. He’s all of it and more and all Buck wants in the whole universe.

He looks at Maddie and doesn’t know what to say. People have assumed things and mentioned them about his relationship with Eddie. All the time. But. Maddie knows Buck. So maybe he doesn’t have to say anything.

“You shouldn’t force yourself to settle for something you don’t really want. Every minute you keep waiting for it to get better or be what you want is another minute you won’t get back. If she doesn’t fill you with a rush of joy and excitement now, she never will. Believe me. It won’t get better. No matter what you do. No matter how long you wait. We already have so little time. Life isn’t that long. Don’t waste it.”

And it’s so easy to lose what you have. Even before you ever have it. He thinks of all her words, of all the love he does have from people who mean everything. Maybe he can’t have exactly what he wants, but they could go back to how they were before. It’s all he can honestly hope for.

He leans against Maddie and savors being close to her while he thinks of what to say to Taylor.

Eddie is going to walk to the mailboxes. It’s nice out. Warm and sunny and even getting that far out of the house will be incredible. It will also be the opposite of incredible. He has the key in his hand and this task is nothing. He’s done it almost every day for the last three years. The only time he doesn’t is when he’s on shift and Carla does it for him when she’s around. Or Buck does it if he happens to take the keys and get to it first.

Buck has done it every day for the last three weeks. Has it really been three weeks? One more week and they might tell him he doesn’t have to wear the sling all the time. It will be strength training exercises and flexibility stretches after that. Minor ones at first. Slow and easy and careful. And frustrating. Necessary maybe but he hates doing nothing and being able to do virtually nothing. Not exactly relaxing when a burning ache is throbbing in his back and shoulder and arm and chest. At least it’s better than it was.

There’s a nice breeze outside. June isn’t too hot yet. It’s still light out but it’s later in the evening. Seven thirteen the last time he checked. There are kids playing down the street, laughing and riding bikes. Doing something with bells and basketballs and racing around the cul-de-sac. The air always kind of smells like metallic exhaust but not as much here as downtown.

He stands on the porch with the front door open, breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. Slowly. Mildly. Nothing harsh or sudden. It’s just a short walk to the mailboxes. He needs to just do it. Get over it. Forget about anything else. Because all of it is stupid. It’s nothing. He can do this.

He keeps turning Buck down when he suggests they take Chris to the park or pick up the groceries together. Buck even tried to bribe him with a coffee run and it hadn’t worked. He just couldn’t. Even if they stayed in the car the whole time. He doesn’t know why. Well, technically he knows why. But he’s been through so much worse. Being outside is nothing. It’s hardly related.

But it also makes goosebumps appear on his arms and the hair on the back of his neck prickles and everything in him just screams that it’s Not Okay. He’s exposed and vulnerable and out in the open without any sort of protection or warning.

He breathes in through his nose and tries again. Everything is fine. Nothing is going to happen.

Except for an unfamiliar car that pulls into his driveway with an unfortunately familiar person in the driver’s seat. At least hate and annoyance are louder than his anxiety. He closes the front door behind him so Christopher won’t hear anything, rests his free hand on his hip, and waits for her to walk up to the house.

Taylor looks around when she gets out of her car and gestures with the phone in her hand. “I don’t see his car. Do you know where he is?”

If he’s making assumptions on who she’s after, then as far as he knows, Buck is supposed to be with her. “Hello to you, too. I do not. I thought the two of you were having dinner.” He gives her a smile. Just to be polite.

Her expression is pinched. She doesn’t return any civility. “Don’t f*ck with me. You have to know where he is.”

The way she’s demanding answers after he’s already given them makes him not quite sure he’d tell her even if he did know. “I really don’t. I know he went to work around five this morning and was going to have dinner with you. That’s the extent of my knowledge on the subject.” If she’s expecting Buck to be hiding out here, the fact that his jeep is nowhere in sight should tell her something. In theory.

“He was supposed to meet me over two hours ago. He said he was going to be late and then I’ve heard nothing.”

Is she actually worried? Or just pissed off because she’s been inconvenienced. Honestly, he hopes it’s the former, but he really can’t tell. Two hours might seem like a lot if you are just waiting. But it’s nothing when you’re in the middle of emergency crises. He blinks sometimes and it’ll be six hours later. “He might have gotten stuck on a call. It happens sometimes.”

She stares at him like she’s trying to decide if he’s telling her the truth. “Then you know nothing. You’ve heard nothing from him since this morning.”

He’s going to assume she’s just worried and scared and ignore the volatile tone in her voice. “He told me around lunchtime he was contemplating saying ‘the q-word' because he was bored and the day was dragging. I told him it’s still not a real thing, and that was the last I’ve heard from him.”

“I don’t believe you. He tells you everything.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Okay. Sure. I still don’t know where he is. I don’t keep tabs on him 24/7. He’s a grown man, and I trust him.” Little bit of a cheap shot but he’s not the one trying to storm into her home. So, he doesn’t feel that badly about it.

“Someone should look out for him,” she snaps. “I bet you don’t even know what he did when you were unconscious.”

He knows enough. “He did his job. It can be dangerous.”

“Then you’re fine with him being a giant sniper target for over an hour in the middle of hundreds of skyscraper windows where he’s completely unprotected, and anyone could have shot at his stupid, thick head, and if he hadn’t been killed instantly, he would have plummeted to his death on the sidewalk? You’re fine with that? Because that happened. There are viral videos everywhere. He climbed up hundreds and hundreds of feet alongside a building and had nothing to shield him from anyone who might’ve decided to make him the next gunshot victim.”

No. No, he is very not fine with that. Any of that. God. No wonder the team hadn’t wanted to tell him. The gooseflesh on his arms tingles and his hair prickles and nausea flutters right in the center of his torso. But he trusts Buck. He had to have done it for a reason. Maybe it’s the exact reason he fears — that Buck sees no value in himself and his own life. But Buck is working on that. Eddie’s trying to help. Dr. Copeland is as well. He can’t change the past; he can only try to make the future better.

In a calm voice, he tells her, “If there were a problem, a real problem and he were hurt, someone would have contacted me.”

There’s a flare of something in her eyes. “How do you know? Why would they do that?”

Because that’s how the family notification, phone tree system works? “Because I’m his primary emergency contact. They would call me.” Maybe there is something wrong and they haven’t been able to call him yet, but he still doubts it. If Buck said he was going to be late, it could mean minutes, it could mean hours. That’s how it works sometimes when they’re doing the job that they have. But, just in case, he holds up a finger and texts a simple, carefully worded message to him.

I have someone here who is worried about you. Are you okay?

It takes less than a minute for his phone to chime with a response.

yes. why? is chris okay? are you?

Of course he would worry about them. Eddie almost hesitates, but she seems like a person who won’t believe until they see it for themselves. So, he holds his phone out toward her for her to read.

Her jaw clenches and she exhales through her nose with a sharp puff. “I texted and called him and he didn’t answer.”

Eddie types a message back to him, reassuring Buck that they’re fine. “Like I said. He’s probably stuck on a call. He doesn’t like to answer his phone when he’s at work.” Not unless it’s Eddie or Christopher. Sometimes Maddie. “He wouldn’t stand you up. That’s not like him. He’s probably working and running late.”

Her eyes grow cold and angry and he’s not even sure why or where it came from. But there are daggers when she looks at him. “You’re loving this aren’t you. He bails on me and doesn’t f*cking answer when I call him, but for you, he jumps the second you tell him to.”

Well. Buck has a bad history with a woman who liked to call him in the middle of his work day. Eddie can’t change that. “He’s working. He answered me because he worries about Christopher and knows I wouldn’t contact him at work unless it was important.” Which isn’t entirely, precisely true, because they often message each other throughout the day. Especially on the rare occasion that they have different shifts or one of them has had some kind of medical leave like this and they have to work separately. But Taylor doesn’t need to know that.

Because Buck also worries about Eddie and he has been taking care of them both, so of course he would answer to make sure they were fine.

She scoffs and drips with sarcasm. “Yeah. That’s the only thing he cares about. Your f*cking baby-trap.”

The iciness sinks into his chest and he grits his teeth. “Excuse me.”

“Every other word out of his mouth is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. He won’t even consider going out when you’re available. He ignores his phone 90% of the time he’s here. Everything is always, ‘I’m already making dinner’ or ‘I have other plans’ or ‘I have to get home.’ Except he never refers to his own apartment as his home. Did you know that? He f*cking moved out of his loft to live with you. Because this is what he considers home.”

Not as if the moving was something Eddie demanded from him. He did ask Buck to stay, he always would, but subletting his apartment was something Buck didn’t even mention until it was already done. Not that he owes her any sort of response. At this point, he doubts she’d believe it. Or that it would make any sort of difference. “He’s staying to help me and Christopher while I recover. In case you missed it, I got shot a few weeks ago. Or do you not keep up with news that isn’t your own?”

“Yeah, and where does he sleep? Because I’ve been in your house. I know there are only two bedrooms. He complains when he has to sleep on the floor or a couch or an air mattress for more than a few nights.”

The only time he’s ever known Buck to complain about not sleeping in a bed was the week Eddie was in the hospital and Buck said he was too old to sleep on a couch every night. But even then, he’d implied his difficulty sleeping wasn’t the location but the lack of Eddie beside him.

Because Buck will sleep almost anywhere. It’s handy when you typically work 24-hour shifts and get stuck in random locations. But that isn’t what she’s commenting on. “Has he complained to you? Because he doesn’t complain to me no matter where he is.”

“No. He hasn’t. I know exactly where he’s sleeping. I bet neither of you even try to keep your distance. You probably wake up touching and do that stupid f*cking straight man thing where you pretend it never happened and refuse to look at each other. Does it even cross your mind to feel badly about it?”

“Do I feel badly about pretending to be straight? Because I’m not straight. Not going to pretend I am.” Not anymore. Never again. He’d feel badly about saying it but she kind of walked into that one.

As far as what she actually meant, she couldn’t even begin to understand what it means for them to sleep next to each other or why they need each other or how they both keep each other from drowning and panicking and succumbing to nightmares. So, no. He can’t bring himself to feel badly about that either. It’s not sexual, not even inherently romantic. He’s not going to feel guilty about holding Buck when he is frightened or broken or crying. He’s not going to feel badly about needing the protection and solace Buck offers him in return.

She steps closer and her voice gets sharper, even more full of anger. “You know he was practically begging me to f*ck him, begging me to put him on his knees again for months. Months he was so goddamn needy and hard-up for me it was pathetic. But then you dump your girlfriend and show him one ounce of attention, and all he does is cry over you.”

Jesus. What the f*ck. Is she completely heartless? Does she not understand anything of what Buck has gone through? Not just this last month, but in his whole life? She probably doesn’t. She doesn’t deserve to know. She doesn’t deserve Buck. “If you think he picks me over you because I show him a tiny scrap of attention? I don’t even know what to tell you.”

“I know he says all the time that he would do anything for you. You know damn well he’s so wrapped around your dick he’s practically choking on it.”

“And clearly you’re threatened by me.” How is this the conversation they’re having right now. How can he make her this angry and insecure? Whatever she thinks is going on with Buck is not… It’s not Eddie. It has nothing to do with living here or even sleeping in the same bed. Part of it is probably right though. Buck would do anything for Eddie the second he was asked, but Eddie would also do the same for Buck. He can’t honestly believe Taylor would reciprocate if Buck needed something. That’s the difference. “So what would you like me to do about it? Because if your solution is anything like telling me to stay away from him or give him over to you and keep my distance, you can f*ck right off. You think you deserve anything of him? You don’t. You never will.”

She stands straighter with her hands on her hips, but his hit definitely landed. “Luckily, that’s not your decision.”

He clicks his tongue. “Not yours either.”

Her smile turns dark and lascivious. “There are plenty of ways to take his mind off you. I can make him forget his own name. He definitely won’t care about yours.”

Eddie shrugs with the one shoulder he can still do that with. “If you make him choose, he will not choose you. Plus, in order to do to him what you’re implying, he’d actually have to be having sex with you. And he’s not.”

She turns on her heel and storms back to her car, then speeds off without looking back.

He tried, right? God. Probably not enough. Could have handled that a lot better. But what in the f*ck. He just… hopes he’s right. That they won’t, that he won’t lose Buck over any of this. He doesn’t think he would. But. Who the f*ck knows anymore.

He pulls out his phone and texts,

Just a heads up. The message I sent earlier was about Taylor. She was here, she was angry, we had an argument. Didn’t go well. She’s probably going to be really pissed at me when you see her. I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to her, too when I have a chance.
Hope you’re doing all right.

It doesn’t feel sufficient. But at least it’s out there.

A minute or so later, and he receives a picture and a,

i’m good. better. with Maddie :)

So it wasn’t work after all. He went to see his sister. He found much better company. Which is good. He knows Buck has been worried about her. The picture is the two Buckley siblings on a couch, smushed together with their heads tilted toward each other and wearing matching smiles. At the bottom corner of the picture, there’s a baby cradled in his arm and asleep against his chest.

Eddie doesn’t remember anything else about the last hour. It’s only Buck with a beautiful, happy smile, holding his baby niece. His heart beats too heavily, it’s too full, and there’s too much to contain. He sends three red hearts. It’s all he can even think while looking at them.

It’s not long before he receives three back, and a,

don’t worry about anything. i’ll be home soon. isn’t Jee the cutest?
also Maddie sends love 💕
(pink double heart = Maddielove)

Well. He thinks something is the cutest. But it isn’t exactly the baby. Buck with a baby girl though. He loves kids so much and he’d make such a good dad. He already is a really good dad. Eddie stares at the picture for a little longer, taking in how sweet and beautiful they all are together, then texts back,

Love for Maddie as well. Let her know I’m here for her, too.

Eddie looks out toward his front yard and the sidewalk, and takes quick but definite steps until he’s at the mailboxes where he retrieves the mail and returns to the house victorious.

By the time Buck picks up remade food, that he tips way extra for, and makes it to Taylor’s apartment, he’s still not sure what to say. There are so many ways this might go. He knows what Maddie thinks and apparently Taylor is already angry, which is completely his fault. He stayed way too long at Maddie’s trying to figure everything out. But she also doesn’t know Taylor like he does. He thinks. He hopes.

When she answers the door, her whole expression is closed off. All her features look sharp and angry. She doesn’t step aside. “Three hours, Buck. You were supposed to be here three hours ago.”

“I know. I know and I’m sorry. Something came up. I lost track of time. I brought you dinner though. I had them remake your food. I’m really sorry.” He offers it to her and hopes she’ll at least take it even if she doesn’t let him in.

She looks down at it and then back at him. “Why.”

He blinks at her. “Why? What do you mean why?”

“Why bother? It’s obvious you don’t give a sh*t about dating me. You keep cancelling or postponing and the one time we go out, you turn me down and don’t even really kiss me. And tonight? I’ve been waiting for you for three f*cking hours. I mean I knew you were a sh*tty friend but I was hoping you’d learned a little something from that double date nightmare. I was hoping you wouldn’t do it to me again. But that was my dumbsh*t mistake now, wasn’t it.”

“I-I know you’ve been waiting. This wasn’t…” It wasn’t like that night. He didn’t think she was expecting a real date then. Obviously, he knows now that he should have told her what it was. He just hadn’t thought it would be an issue. For all he hated and felt betrayed by the whole Albert and Veronica thing, he had wanted to make it right with them. Why would Taylor have thought he’d asked her on a real date? She’d never been interested in dating before then. When they’d met up before, it was just for sex. All of it is still too confusing. “I’m sorry. For that night. For this. I know I f*cked up. I can’t do anything but apologize and try to make it right.”

“Do you think you even deserve another chance?”

Of course not. “No. I don’t.”

“Then why are you here? You tell me you don’t want to feel like you’re not good enough, but so far, you’re not. You just want to make me feel that way. You were hitting on me for months and when I said yes and that I wanted you, you suddenly changed your mind? I’m not going to fight for your attention. I’m not going to put up with you ignoring and ditching me. Unless you can prove you want me and that you deserve me, I’m done with you. So. Why the f*ck are you here?”

He breathes deeply, slowly, and offers the food again. “To apologize. Because I told you I would be here, so I’m here.”

She takes the to-go bag and drops it to the side. It lands with a loud thud. “That’s all you have to say?”

He could say a lot of things, all colored with guilt and regret and the ways he knows he f*cked up. There are a lot of ways he’s f*cked up. “No. I think we should talk. But if you don’t want to, then I’ll go.”

“And we’ll do what. Go on more dates where you are completely absent? You told me you wanted a meaningful relationship and all you’ve been doing is phoning it in. If you even answer your damn phone. So, what the f*ck are we doing here? Are you going to prove you deserve me or not?”

Ultimately, even if he wanted to, there’s no way to prove he deserves her. She’s always going to look at him like he’s not good enough. He could apologize a thousand times and do anything she asks of him; he’d still never be good enough. And he’s done putting himself out there for someone who doesn’t sincerely, legitimately want him and accept him as he is. “No. I’m not. We shouldn’t have been doing this. I’m sorry.”

She stares at him like she wasn’t expecting that answer at all. Her voice is not as jagged and angry when she asks, “You’re saying you want to end this?”

Is there anything to end? Besides a horrible situation where they keep hurting each other? “I am. Yeah. It was a mistake. If you want to talk, we can. I’ll explain if you want me to. But the whole dating thing… I don’t want to do that. We’re not right for each other. I’m not in a place where I can have something just casual and purely sexual. I’m sorry I was too f*cked up to say it or to even realize. But I’m done, too.”

She deflates and simply looks at him with confusion. “Why did you keep hitting on me then?”

A lot of reasons. He was alone. Everyone else had someone. Even Albert. Taylor showed up again. He thought having something was better than having nothing. He didn’t want to feel anything because everything was hurting. Is hurting. But the long and short of it could probably just be, “Because I liked you.”

“And you don’t like me anymore.”

He sighs and might laugh just so he doesn’t have another breakdown. “Do you like me? Do you feel anything for me? Do you want to?”

She turns, retrieves the food, and walks away from the doorway, but she does leave it open for him to follow.

But that was pretty much the answer he expected. He takes two steps into her apartment, unsure if he should close the door. But they should actually talk. It’s been a problem from the beginning of whatever failure this is. So, he shuts the door behind him and follows her.

She’s in her kitchen with her container of cashew chicken in her hand and she retrieves a fork from one of the drawers. She opens the little box and shakes her head as she stares at it, but it’s clearly not at her dinner. At least he hopes not. “I don’t get you,” she says without looking up.

Yeah. That part is pretty obvious.

She stabs her fork into the container and spears chicken and celery on it. “At all. I don’t know what the f*ck is going on with you. We had fun before. We’ve been hanging out. What happened?” She eats her bite and looks at him like she doesn’t know the answer.

How could she not know the answer? She was there. She saw him. She touched his hands and realized there was still blood stained into the creases of his knuckles. She recoiled.

“You want me to say it?” His voice comes out more broken than he expects. Though he doesn’t know why it would be anything else.

“I asked, didn’t I?”

He bites his lip and nods. Okay then. “My best friend was shot and nearly died.”

She looks at him, stares at him, and shakes her head again when she looks away. “I know that. It’s been a month. He’s fine. He lived.” She huffs an aggravated laugh. “He was ready to completely take me down today. So, I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s fine.”

Well, she doesn’t see the parts where he isn’t fine. He doesn’t even want to trust Buck with them, but he does. What would Buck ever do if not be there for him through the worst days? Eddie isn’t fine but they’re working on it. As much as anyone can.

Although… why would Eddie… completely take her down? Or argue with her? What in the world happened earlier?

The point, though, is how can Buck be over something like this?

The image still haunts him. How Eddie looked at him with slow realization and fear, how he collapsed and turned pale, how his life was splashed everywhere and pouring out of him, and Buck could feel him slipping and falling from his grasp and then he couldn’t touch him anymore, he had to let go so they could save him, but all he could feel was Eddie’s life draining out of him.

How do you ever recover from that?

“I’m not,” he says. It’s a simple confession. But it’s loud and screaming at him, and how can he ever touch Eddie again without fearing he’ll be ripped away? How can he ever sleep unless he knows Eddie is breathing and beside him? “I’m not okay. I haven’t been since it happened. I’m never going to be the same.”

She finishes her bite and waves her fork around. “I understand that. You’re traumatized. I saw you that day and that week. I’ve been trying to give you something to take your mind off all that. Especially before you do something really stupid like get yourself killed. What exactly were you trying to prove? The sniper wasn’t that dangerous? That he wouldn’t murder you while the whole world watched? It can happen to other people but it won’t happen to you because you’re the toughest and strongest and most manly, audacious, and unbeatable?”

He tips his head and studies her. Is that really what she thinks of him? Did she honestly offer sex so that he wouldn’t dwell so much on what happened? Does she really think he wanted to stare down the barrel of a very literal gun just to prove it wouldn’t have any affect on him? “That’s not… I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”

“And if the sniper had taken a shot at you, how the f*ck would you have survived?”

He probably wouldn’t have. The only regret he can really muster is if he’d left Christopher without both him and Eddie. “I didn’t care. I just wanted to save that man. Cliff. His name is Cliff. I wanted to save him and I wanted to protect my team so no one else would be hurt.” Because the idea of anyone else going through what he did, and what Athena did, it was far too much. He couldn’t lose anyone. He couldn’t watch any more people hurting. He was full. He couldn’t handle any more emotions and heartbreak. “People think I risk my life and do things they call reckless because I think I won’t die. That was exactly what you said to me. And that’s not… I’m not invincible or indestructible. I’ve never thought I was. I know very well that I could have died. I could have been shot. I didn’t care. I don’t care.”

She stops chewing on another bite of food as her eyebrows furrow. “Why not? How could that be okay?”

He shrugs. “Because my team, my family, they’re more important to me. Because I’d rather I get hurt than watch anything happen to them. I don’t matter.” At least. He didn’t. But there’s a child who needs him to come home. There’s a man he doesn’t want to be apart from for a single moment. He’s always lived in a lost world of pain and absence, disappointment, neglect, abandonment, and he’s never really managed to escape. Until they loved and needed him.

How is it actually real? How is it that he’d be Christopher’s legal guardian? How can he wish for that knowing that it would only happen if they lost Eddie?

She stabs more chicken and vegetables onto her fork so they’re expertly skewered. “Why wouldn’t you matter?”

He almost laughs. “Don’t have the time to unpack all that right now. Haven’t even gotten through it with my therapist.”

“Okay, whatever. Your sense of self-worth is obviously concerning. But I still don’t understand. Why did you suddenly not want to have sex? It’s not a big deal. I know you used to sleep around. When I feel like it, I do, too. I am not going to be ashamed of it. It’s supposed to feel good. That’s literally the extent of it. It’s not anything we haven’t done before. Including with each other. And I hate when people make it out to be something more than what it is. It’s just f*cking. It’s not some life altering, permanent ordeal. It usually lasts, what, maybe half an hour start to finish if you’re really into it and take the time to make out before? I thought of all people, you would know that.”

He takes a deep breath. Sure. That was all true. Except… well, obviously it isn’t permanent or anything. But. It means something to him. “It’s not like that for me. Maybe it was. But. That first time. When we had sex. Was also a mistake. I didn’t…” How does he say this?

How can he explain all of the years of f*cked up sex he’s had? How he started fooling around with classmates when he was far too young to understand the emotional consequences. No one really talked about emotional consequences. How he used it as a desperate way of connecting to someone, anyone he could, even when they hated him or were cruel to him. How it was one of the only things that didn’t make him feel alone and unwanted and terrible about himself. At least while it was happening. How he sought out and said yes to anyone who would have him because he needed some way to feel better.

How it was so much better when it felt like he meant something to the other person, even if it wasn’t true and she never really loved him and ultimately ended up leaving him. “I didn’t want to have sex that night.”

She looks at him and sets down her dinner. There’s something like shock but mostly utter confusion on her face. “What do you mean?”

What does he mean. How can he even talk about it. “I’m not saying it wasn’t consensual or that I’m blaming you. It wasn’t you or your fault. I chose to do what I did. I just… It wasn’t what I wanted. I was mad at myself for a while because I did that. I let myself do that. I even felt like I used you and hurt you because I involved you in my bad choices. It wasn’t… It wasn’t good for me. To have done that.” Maybe on a physical level it was better to feel something other than abandonment and losing the first person he thought he loved. But it didn’t feel better afterward.

There’s still confusion on her face, but a faint wash of something else colors her features. She opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

So. He tries to continue explaining. “I used to think I was a sex addict. I’m still not convinced it isn’t true. The way I approached sex wasn’t healthy. It was like a drug and a bad coping mechanism that I thought helped but always left me feeling worse. I got fired over it. Bobby fired me. Because I seriously f*cked up. A lot. I nearly lost everything I had that was good in my life. So, I couldn’t. I can’t. And I’m sorry. I don’t want sex just because. I don’t want it to be a sad replacement for everything else I want. I can’t do that anymore. Maybe it is just f*cking and it’s not a big, life-changing thing, but I can’t have sex for the wrong reasons. I would completely f*ck up my whole life if I did that. If I let myself do that again.”

She looks at him with such a sad, unguarded expression, like a glimpse of the person she hides away underneath everything, that he remembers why he liked being around her. She shakes her head like she’s mad at herself. “I wish you’d told me all this. Before.”

Well. She hadn’t wanted to talk. She wanted to run away. But it didn’t really matter now. “Yeah, me too.”

She’s quiet for a while but then picks up her dinner and takes another bite. “I didn’t know what to do. How do I show you I want you if we’re not having sex? How do I compete with everything else in your life when you already have everything you want? Except sex.”

Since when does he have everything he wants? Since when is he not still alone?

Because Evan. You become Christopher’s legal guardian. Because you act like you’re expendable. But you’re wrong. Because Evan. Because you’re wrong.

They need him. They’re his family. They look at him and see the truth of his heart. And they still want him.

There are a lot of ways to want someone without making it sexual. Relying on someone, listening to them, reassuring them, trusting them, caring for them when they can’t care for themselves.

Maybe he does have everything except sex. At least. Until Eddie finds another pretty, beautiful, nice woman or something. One he has a future with.

And this is how he ended up thinking dating Taylor was a good idea. Because it hurts when he’s alone and has no one and has to think of someone else taking his partner and taking the child he knows isn’t his but feels like his anyway.

Taylor snaps her fingers at him. “Hey. Where did you just go?”

He shrugs. To the land of bad decision making. “I’m sorry I f*cked all of this up. I’ve been in a really bad place.” Maybe since the sniper happened but maybe since Ana but maybe since the morning Eddie moved out and the night Buck was alone for the first time in months and he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t breathe without crying loss and loneliness.

She sets down her takeout box and reaches toward him so he steps forward until his hand is squeezed in hers. “Have you told him?”

He tips his head. “Told who what?”

“Eddie. Have you told him.”

“What am I telling him? He knows I lost it when it happened.”

She looks unamused and shakes her head. “No. The reason you ‘lost it’ the way you did.”

Because Eddie is his best friend? His partner, his everything, the person who lets Buck take care of him and look out for him, the person who forgives him when he’s impulsive and selfish and protects him when he’s depressed and entrusts him with his precious beautiful son? What reason would Eddie not know about? “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Buck. Seriously. Why was the idea of losing him such a huge thing? Why did you fall apart? What made you go out looking for something meaningful when he started dating that teacher? Why, after months of begging to be something other than friends, did you completely change your mind about being with me when he got shot? Or was it when he dumped her? You’d have to tell me. Either way. Every time I tried to joke about it — because I figured that’s just how you two are and maybe we could laugh about it and the assumptions that straight people make — you reacted like I was accusing you. Because it’s not a joke to you. It’s real.”

Oh, that’s what she wants him to admit. She knows? He supposes she’d have to. Strangers see something between them. Their coworkers seem to as well. Maybe even their family. He supposes he should say it. Since he hasn’t exactly. Not like speaking it into existence will make a difference when it’s already alive and beating in his chest. He swallows hard and tries to keep it from overflowing. “Have I told him I love him? Is that what you’re asking?”

“Close. But I suppose that’s what it boils down to. Have you?”

He shakes his head. Not in as many words. He tries to speak through actions. They’re usually more meaningful and less inaccurate. “I was trying to... you know. Date you. I'm not. Eddie and I... You joke about, everyone jokes about it. But we're not like that. He's my best friend. He's everything to me. But. He... He's not...”

“Did he tell you about what a horrible, evil person I am?”

Did he… what? “Why would he do that?”

“I went to his house today. When you didn’t show up. Did he not tell you anything?”

The argument they apparently got into? That he still has so many questions about? “He told me you were worried about me and you two got into an argument. That you’d probably be really mad at him when I saw you. And he was sorry and he’d tell you that, too. That’s all I know.”

“f*cking. God.” She tips her head backwards in some kind of long-suffering frustration. “Seriously? He can’t be that nice. No one is that nice. What the f*ck.”

He’s not sure what is going on but he can’t imagine Eddie wouldn’t tell him the truth. “Why? What happened?”

“I’m not going to tell you now. It’ll just make me look bad. I was angry. I was really angry.”

“Why were you angry?”

“Because, asshole, I was worried about you. When you don’t show up and don’t answer and it’s been hours, what else am I supposed to think but you got yourself shot or blown up or set on fire. And then he’s just so perfect and you love him so much. It’s nauseating. I’m nauseated now. God.”

Buck smiles slowly and chuckles. “I like this. Us like this.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well. Me too. Are you going to eat your dinner? Or are you going to rush home to your husband and child?”

He looks elsewhere. Nowhere. Somewhere lost in the multiverse of possibilities. “Not really hungry.”

“You’re doing that thing again.” She goes to her kitchen and opens a bottle of wine. “Pining. For something you already have and won’t admit.”

He wishes that were true. If wishes came true. “I suppose I should get home. Unless you want me to hang out a bit more?”

She raises her full glass and takes a drink. “Not unless you want to f*ck. Because that’s what I’m going to do. So. Either get out or get naked.”

At least she's direct. He chuckles lightly and starts for the door. “I’ll go.”

She follows and stretches up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

He’s not sure what the words are for or what she means, but he squeezes her hand before he leaves her apartment building and drives home.

The sunlight is almost done fading for the night, but the sky is still golden and streaked with pink, orange, and purple. The air smells like summer already, something carefree and heated, full of camping and popsicles, festivals, carnivals, state fairs, where there are echoes of wild, happy, school-free children who can stay up late and play all day.

His own child is inside now, getting ready for bed. He’s been wanting more independence, which Eddie always wants to support and encourage, but then he also mourns for the time he missed out on where his son needed him and he was half a world away. He missed out on so much. He’s spent so long being terrified and stifled. Why has it always felt wrong to listen to his heart rather than his head? Why has he wasted so much of his life running and ignoring?

He leans back and lays down in the grass of his backyard, very slowly so his shoulder blade doesn’t hurt, where he can watch the sky. It doesn’t feel so unnerving right now. Being outside. The grass smells good. It’s still mostly green since Christopher has been playing in the sprinkler Buck sets up for him almost every afternoon. It’s sleek under his hand, freshly mowed a few days ago. By Buck who did the chore shirtless while Christopher directed and Eddie watched, probably too much.

There are a few stars scattered between the city haze and layered colors of sunset. They appear more prominently the more the sky turns to deep purple and navy blue. They might be planets because they’re so bright, but he doesn’t know which ones. He’d have to ask the expert. The whole sky now makes him think of Christopher, and his heart that’s big enough and beautiful enough to be galaxies and entire worlds. He should get Christopher a telescope so they can see all of it better.

The door to the backyard opens and he doesn’t have to look to know it’s not his son. The sound of the door sliding open and then closing, the light, slow footsteps, it’s too delicate and restrained to be Christoper. There’s someone who lies down next to him so their arms and legs and shoulders are touching, and Eddie’s heart beats harder.

He’s home.

He’s home and he’s not with her, and he came home for the night. Eddie takes a steadying breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. Buck never said anything, but he'd been avoidant and shifty enough about his date tonight that Eddie didn't want to think anything about what was going to happen. God, he hopes nothing happened. The day she is out of their lives forever can not happen soon enough.

“Hey,” Buck says softly.

Eddie smiles and wants to hug him hard and not let go. “Hey.”

“What are we doing?”

Eddie looks up at the sky and breathes deeply again, like he can take in all the air of inevitable summer and promises of happiness. “We’re being outside. Watching stars come out.”

Buck hums and watches quietly for a moment. He breathes faster than normal but seems to try to change this so that it’s more in sync with the rise and fall within Eddie’s chest. “That’s a planet,” Buck says and points to the glowing speckles far above them. “Pretty sure that’s Venus. It’s usually the brightest thing in the sky after the sun and moon.”

The brightest thing in the universe is inside getting ready for bed and also lying right beside him.

Buck wriggles a little. “There’s probably a lot of bugs in the grass. Did you know lawn gnats, fungus gnats, that like to swarm over big, tall grass don’t actually bite? They only consume liquids so people are not at all appealing. But they’re everywhere and usually freak people out.”

Eddie grins and almost can’t breathe at all with the waves of adoration that flood through him. How can he ever be more in love with anyone in the history of existence? “I didn’t know that, no. But I do now.”

“It’s really fascinating. All the life cycles and behaviors and varieties of insects. They’re all so different but kind of similar sometimes? I always loved reading about them.”

That he does know. He doesn’t know why. But the first thing that comes to mind is Liam. So, he tells Buck, “I was in love with someone once who wanted to be an entomologist. I think is an entomologist now. Very long time ago. My first love.”

Buck looks over at him like he’s stunned. Probably is. Eddie’s never been able to talk about what he lost and what he wanted and how he’s never let himself feel anything like it. He never wanted to unbury his heart and let it free so he could share it. Not until now. Not that he actually can. But. Minor details.

“Really?” Buck asks, so softly, so enthralled and hanging on words. “What was she like? How long ago? What made you love her?”

His heart pounds a little even though he knows Buck wouldn’t judge or be disgusted. “Him. He was sweet. Quiet but would always spit venom at bullies. He was easy to talk to. We could talk about anything. He loved biology. And insects, obviously. I don’t know exactly what it was, but we always did everything together. I was fourteen.”

“You…” Buck says, voice barely more than a whisper of breath. “You’ve never said anything.”

“I know,” Eddie says and knows Buck isn’t talking about the fact that he is just now mentioning someone in high school he loved. That isn’t a revelation. “I couldn’t. Even to myself.”

Buck’s hand moves and curls around Eddie’s so their fingers are threaded together. “I broke it off with Taylor.”

There’s a leap of nonsensical, illogical, glorious hope in his chest. Eddie looks over to him, searching for reasons and answers and any hint of possibility in a world of impossible. It's over. It's over and Buck came home to them. Buck is home.

Buck shrugs like he knows what Eddie is asking even if he can’t bring himself to actually ask. “She’s not what I want. Maddie told me I shouldn’t settle. That I could be loved the way I want and need. I want someone who loves me. Someone I love.”

It takes everything Eddie has to not clutch Buck to him and kiss him until they can’t ever be separated. Until any and all gods would have to send them back from the afterlife. Because nothing, not even death would be able to keep them from each other.

But he can’t. Not until he’s sure. Not until he can breathe and speak and bring it into existence. If it is possible to create such a thing between them.

“Did you even have dinner then?”

Buck shakes his head. “No. I brought her food, but couldn’t eat. What happened earlier? What was the argument you had? Why was she here?”

Eddie sighs heavily. Well. If he really wants answers. “She came here looking for you. Because you were late and she hadn’t heard anything. I told her you’d been at work and might’ve gotten stuck on a call. She was displeased.”

“That was it?”

Well. There were plenty of other things that he isn’t sure they’re ready to discuss. Eddie might feel something but it doesn’t mean that Buck does. “Mostly? She was angry because you answered me and not her and thought you’d pick me over her.”

Buck nods and looks back at the sky. “I had her on silent.”

Eddie looks at him with wide eyes because holy f*ck that’s a bold move. Interesting move. Even for someone he just broke up with. But Buck has been conflicted about it recently, so maybe it’s not that shocking at all.

“I was trying to figure out what to do.” Buck shrugs and taps the fingers of his free hand on his stomach. “She wanted me to prove I deserve her. But there’s nothing I could have done to make her believe that. I would never be good enough for her.”

Yeah, unfortunately, Eddie can 100% see her demanding that and nothing would change her mind and she’d just make Buck feel worse about himself. He has to consciously unclench his jaw when he realizes he’s gritting his teeth.

“And I would. Pick you.” Buck squeezes his hand. “That’s not even a question.”

Eddie squeezes back. He might have known this deep down, but the affirmation is everything. “I told her if her solution was for me to give you up and stop seeing you, I wasn’t going to do that. Might have told her she could f*ck off.”

That makes Buck look at him with big, stunned puppy eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really. She doesn’t deserve you. And I wouldn’t give you up for anything.”

A beaming, beautiful smile spreads across his whole face. “Even… even if Christopher wanted you to?”

Eddie scoffs but it’s halfway to laughing. “Christopher does not want to give you up. If you haven’t noticed. He wants to keep you forever. So.” He gives Buck a smile and a smug head tilt.

Buck’s smiles only grows. “I wasn’t going to give you up either.”

The door opens again and Christopher calls to him but then notices who is home and excitedly yells for Buck. He'd been moping most of the evening with the knowledge that Buck probably wasn’t coming home tonight. But he is home.

Buck squeezes Eddie’s hand again and then lets go to push himself up from the grass and meet Christopher on the little patio between the house and the backyard. He gets tackled in a hug and shrieks of happiness.

They’re always warm and affectionate and they love each other so much, but it still amazes Eddie every time just how perfectly they fit together. They urge him to get up and come inside because Christopher wants them both there to tuck him in. So, he follows them to Christopher’s room and sits on one side of the bed while Buck sits on the other and Christopher snuggles in between them.

They take turns reading a chapter of a book of ridiculous silly stories that make Christopher and Buck dissolve into giggles, and they both kiss him goodnight when it’s finished.

It’s Buck who turns to him afterward, who wraps around him in the hallway and pulls Eddie into a close hug. Eddie still only has one arm he can use to return the embrace, but he tries to make the most of it.

Buck relaxes against him and tucks his face between Eddie’s neck and good shoulder. He smells clean and like faint cologne that has notes of something bright and citrusy with undertones of musky vanilla sweetness. He’s warm and so solid, pressed so close they could easily blend together. They’re not meant to be apart. Eddie could do nothing but hold him like this for hours.

Buck lifts his head after a while and takes a stilted breath. His hand rests on Eddie’s good shoulder but slides to Eddie’s chest, over his heart. It beats harder, faster under his touch. His fingers move lightly over the fabric and finally end up touching the tiny St. Christopher pendant. Like the day he brought Eddie home from the hospital. “You don’t think I’m a complete f*ck up, do you?” Buck’s voice is so small and he doesn’t look at anything but his own hand. “You still think I’m good enough?”

Eddie covers Buck’s hand with his own then pulls it around him so Buck is holding on to him.

“I know the answer in my head,” Buck says before Eddie can respond. “I do. You never make me feel like all I do is f*ck up and ruin everything. I just. I’ve been living my life like it isn’t worth anything. I know I have. And… I think…”

“You need to hear it?” He reaches up so he can slide his hand around the back of Buck’s neck. He lightly strokes down the muscles from his hairline to his shoulders and watches Buck’s eyes flutter at the touch. “I think you bring kindness and joy to everyone you meet. I think everyone who gets to know you is lucky. I think you are so clever and amazing at what you do. What we do together. I rely on you to keep me safe in the face of any kind of danger.” Like when ex-cops decide to hold stupid grudges. Like when he needs someone to make it through the worst moments. Especially when Eddie can't f*cking do anything for himself.

“There’s no one I’ve ever met who is as loving and devoted as you are," he continues because Buck is a gift. He's someone to be treasured. “I trust you and only you to take care of me. I trust you with my son. I want my son to have you. All the time. Every day. I think you don’t have to do anything but be your amazing, big-hearted self, and you’re not just 'good enough.’ There’s no one better. You are everything to both of us. You are so much more than ‘good enough.’”

Buck doesn’t look at him. Probably can’t look at him. His shoulders start to shake and his head ends up back on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie holds him tightly and hopes he can believe it. He strokes Buck’s hair and rubs his neck and presses his cheek against Buck’s as they’re clutching each other.

“You are, too, you know.” Buck says softly. “More than good enough. Everything. You’re everything.”

Eddie bites his lip and then presses a kiss to the high curve of Buck’s cheekbone. “Why don’t you go find something to eat, and I’ll be right there. I’ll sit with you.”

“Okay.” Buck manages to unwind himself and let go, and Eddie takes a moment to go back into Christopher’s room. He doubts the almost eleven year old is asleep yet.

Sure enough, Christopher lifts his head from his pillow as soon as Eddie pushes the door open. “Dad?”

“Hey, buddy. Just have a quick question for you.”

His eyes immediately flash with eagerness. “Yeah?”

Eddie sits on the edge of his bed and leans down to speak with in a hushed voice. “Do you want to help me with a project? A very secret project that needs your amazing artistic skills? Because I could really use your expertise. It’s something for our Buck.”

Christopher grins and gives a vigorous nod. “Yes! What project? What are we doing?”

“Good.” Eddie grins back. “We’ll talk about it when he’s at work. Okay?”

“Okay,” Christopher sighs but still can’t be anything but excited. “Is he going to stay with us? He should. He needs to live here forever. We’re his family.”

God, he hopes so. “And he’s ours. That’s what we’re going to work on. Deal?”

“Yes!” Christopher reaches until Eddie hugs him one more time and then leaves him to sleep.

He sits beside Buck while he finishes a mishmash bowl of leftover sautéed kale and mushrooms, random roasted vegetables, cooked pinto beans and Spanish rice, with some kind of sauce. Then they return to the backyard and sit together in the darkness. The sky usually carries some kind of hazy smog and city pollution, but it fades sometimes especially in the summer and stars shine through. Venus is still bright and prominent, and Buck slips his arm around Eddie’s and weaves their fingers together.

Eddie still hasn’t told them how gold is created. Where it likely came from. How it’s tied to the stars and the endless, celestial universe. But he knows. He knows what can bring gold into existence.

He’ll tell them. He’ll show them both. He knows how to heal and restore and love. That’s the power they gave him. Maybe their own ever after as a family isn’t so impossible and out of reach. They can be flowers and gold against a backdrop of galaxies.

Chapter 11: Passionate

Chapter Text

There is something Buck knows without question. Something he feels when he’s alone and listens to more than most anything else. It’s paper that every thought is written on. It flows through him like blood keeping him alive. It’s built into bone and muscle that make him strong and resilient and full of empathy. It’s part of his soul, his consciousness, his spirit. Whatever there is that exists as his pure self.

The thing that has become so intrinsic, so instinctive, he can’t imagine it being anything but infinite. Permanent. As long as he’s living.

He loves Eddie Diaz.

What he doesn’t know is how to understand this fact beyond knowing it is a fact. It’s irreversible. Incontrovertible. It’s part of him and always will be. It’s overflowing in his heart, mind, and soul, in every language, both spoken and demonstrative. Words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time, receiving gifts. Touch.

The thing about falling in love with your best friend is that they’re already a person you love with your entire heart and soul.

They’re someone you never want to live without. Someone who sees you and knows you and understands you in ways no one else ever has and maybe ever will. Someone who stands beside you during the worst moments and excitedly shares all the best ones. They’re someone who easily means everything, someone you would give your life to protect, someone you would do anything to help and anything to ease their suffering, someone you want to have in your life as long as you are living. Maybe even beyond that.

He’s not entirely sure if it happened from the beginning. If they immediately fell into each other and fit together and ran with it, or if there was a point somewhere along the way where they could have stopped and stepped apart, but they missed it and never looked back. Or if every look, every touch, every promise, every smile wove them both together. And only now can he fully see that everything they are is inseparable.

Where does he carry this knowledge from here? Is it something to simply hold onto and take with him anywhere and everywhere he goes? Is it something that can be built upon?

Is it something ingrained and now inherent for Eddie as well? The way it is for Buck?

How does he wade through a love as big as oceans and the universe and the entirety of existence and look at every drop and star and piece of it in order to know if what he feels is not just his best friend and partner and soulmate and confidant and comfort and happiness, but also desired and lover and romance and maybe husband?

Because he is almost starting to believe that what he’s always felt, what he knows and accepts as irrevocable truth, might be something Eddie feels, too.

When they wake up together, caught in the softness of morning and young sunlight where dreams are so close to the surface, neither of them are willing to untangle or let go. He holds Eddie close to his chest so there’s no space between them, rubs fingers back and forth over whatever skin he can reach, and breathes in the smell of his hair. Or he wakes with Eddie’s heartbeat in his ear, and Eddie's chest rising and falling under his head. While he's wrapped securely in Eddie's arms.

Lately, before they get up every morning and leave the comfort of each other and the bed they’ve been sharing, Eddie now kisses his hair or his forehead or his hand before he lets go.

And Buck forgets for a moment that he’s ever known loneliness.

Because when they have a day at home together, just the three of them, they fall into a routine like they’ve practiced for decades instead of a few years. They’ll do exercises together and make breakfast and Christopher will tell them about what he wants to do or play or learn or know while they eat together. They split housework and pick out groceries and family meals and sometimes they finish the night playing games or watching TV all snuggled together. Sometimes they have their own quiet space but it still feels like they’re connected and comfortable.

There are bad days and rough moments and any one of them can be exhausted or painful or sad. But what he keeps finding when those days happen is that Christopher will always come and hug him, sometimes after a few hours, sometimes after a few days, but he always brings hugs. And Eddie still reaches for him at night and either offers comfort or silently requests it. Buck would never deny him.

Buck never has to think anymore about where he might sleep or the fact that he might be alone. His clothes are hanging in Eddie’s closet and taking up half of Eddie’s dresser. His pillow lives on Eddie’s bed. His phone charger, tablet, his watch when he’s not wearing it, and even the hand lotion he’s taken to carrying around because sanitizer dries out his skin — they all live in the nightstand that used to be empty. The one further away from the side of the bed that Eddie likes to sleep on. As if Buck truly belongs here. With his two favorite people.

Because all of it is the same, it feels the same. They’ve always needed physical contact. They’ve always shared a sleeping space. They’ve always turned to each other on bad days and talked through pretty much everything. And he can’t speak for Eddie, but he’s never wanted to stop being around him. They work together, live together, sleep beside each other, and it’s still not enough. They’ve always shared a home and a son and their lives.

Because all of this happens and has happened nearly since they met. And he can’t comprehend a life that is anything but this. The way Eddie looks at him softly, knowingly — with such fondness and adoration it makes Buck’s heart bleed — is the same way he’s looked at Buck for so long. The way he touches Buck gently, like he doesn’t even realize it’s reflex and habit to place a hand on his back, to let their knees and thighs touch, to press their shoulders together when they stand side by side, to hug him so solidly like nothing could ever make it past the shield that is Eddie’s arms. The way they can talk and reassure and understand each other and even when they don’t agree, it still feels safe to open up. The way they need each other and find comfort in each other and could be everything both of them have always wanted.

Everything is the same. It’s how they are. But it’s different somehow, too. He swears it is. But it’s so hard to tell. He can’t bear to have hope like this. Not for something of this magnitude. It took Buck so long to even realize how to name the feelings pulsing in his chest. He knew he wanted something, he knew they were everything, but how can he put words to emotions when they are so much.

What if the horrible day that opened a Pandora’s box of blood and despair and agony and terror and devastation, also left hope at the very end?

Can he ever dare to hope that someone as incredible and caring and beautiful as Eddie might actually love him the way he’s always longed for? Does the world of sadness where he’s always lived, where he’s always been alone, actually have a chance for healing and living?

Can it become a golden universe of stars and flowers where families exist and they all can be together?

Could they actually make every kind of love exist?

Christopher is playing in the backyard, so Eddie is watching him from the shade near the house. He’s created some kind of game with a ball and one of his crutches as he sprawls out in the inflatable pool Buck bought for him. The pool has pirate ships and cartoon fish on the sides, which apparently means it was a necessary purchase and that Christopher could not possibly be expected to live without it.

Eddie might have argued but he wasn’t exactly the best example of not splurging on gifts for Chris. He’d do anything to bring happiness to his son. And it’s so easy to feel like everything is happiness when the three of them are together. How could he deny either of them anything?

It’s taken a few weeks of having Eddie home all the time, but Christopher hasn’t been vigilantly following Eddie — or Buck — around as much. He doesn’t ask for as many constant hugs and cuddles though he’s still affectionate when the mood strikes. He seems to worry less about losing one of them. Though Eddie can’t know exactly what he’s thinking.

But even if he does still worry, Christopher is settled and content in a way he’s never really been before. He’s usually happy to help with tasks he’s able to accomplish, but doing anything with Buck is automatically special. He is so excited about cooking and learning from someone who has more skill than Eddie. Buck also teaches him different stretches and exercises he can do. He’ll play games and make-believe and anything Christopher wants for hours on end.

Chris loves Buck so much. Not that it was ever in question. But watching it happen is both incredible and touching and heartbreaking and perfect, but not fully actualized.

The worst part is having Buck around does the same thing for Eddie that it does for Christopher. A typical day now means Eddie is stuck doing nothing and is usually painful. His bones ache and his joints and muscles are sore from not being able to use them like he typically does. There’s something that crawls under his skin at the thought of leaving the safety of his house, but they’ve made a few quick trips for coffee and driven around the neighborhood, and it’s getting better. They're working on it. It's always a process.

It’s frustrating and embarrassing and awful, but then Buck is there. With soothing words, reassurances, gentle hands. He’s dismissive of how huge and important it is to help Eddie like this and it might be his own low self-esteem or devaluing everything he does, but it weirdly helps it not be so much of an issue. Buck is easy to rely on. Eddie is used to this. He trusts this.

Eddie doesn’t worry so much about anything when Buck is with them. If he’s carrying the weight of world simply by being an unmarried, working father, and recent gunshot survivor, then Buck helps him carry it.

He’s easy to talk to. He’s fun to be around. He’s radiant sunshine and friendliness and compassion and empathy. Who wouldn’t love to know someone who is so attentive and enthusiastic about your interests? Who researches and finds joy in the most ridiculous and mundane things? Who always tries to see the best in people even when they hurt him.

He makes every day brighter. Having him around banishes loneliness, even a good amount of pain and anxiety. Christopher might be content with fewer hugs, but Eddie is not. He soaks up every single second that he’s allowed to have Buck in his arms.

It’s as if sadness and isolation, aren’t something that can take over and control Eddie’s entire existence when Buck is with them.

It’s so comfortable having Buck around all the time. It's too easy to forget they’re merely playing house for a few months, like they were able to do when they quarantined together. Domesticity comes so naturally to them. It never feels wrong or out of place. But why would it? He’s their Buck. And their lives fit together. They always have.

There’s just a nagging, gnawing little voice in his head that keeps reminding Eddie this is temporary.

Eventually, Buck will move back to his apartment. He might even start dating again. Probably not soon. Eddie knows he still feels wounded and fragile. He’s processing and trying to handle what happened to them. It’s time consuming and difficult. Always is. Eddie’s sure he’s only scratched the surface of his own trauma over it. But for now, at least it’s mostly the dull ache in his back near his scapula, the sharp shocky tingling down his arm, the soreness in his whole shoulder. And the uneasiness existing in a dangerous world.

Buck opens the door to the backyard and sits heavily in the plastic patio chair next to Eddie. He’s a little pale, his eyes are unfocused, and he lets out a very long breath.

Eddie automatically places his hand on Buck’s thigh and squeezes. He’d wanted to make it through a whole therapy session talking about “that day” by himself. Or he thought he should. Eddie promised he would be there after or whenever Buck needed. So, Eddie is gentle when he asks, “How did it go?”

Buck shrugs and looks more than a little shell-shocked. “Okay. As expected? We’ve been talking a lot about trauma therapy in general. How there are techniques where you try repeatedly talking in depth about the thing that happened to try and desensitize yourself basically? And then healthy coping mechanisms like not isolating yourself and making sure to take care of yourself and how taking care of others can help, too, because it gives you a positive thing to focus on. As long as you don't neglect your own needs. We try to talk about how it affected me, how it changed the way I think and feel about myself and everything without bringing up too much.”

Eddie nods, unfortunately very familiar with the majority of that. He hates talking about the same trauma over and over, doesn’t want to talk about it in the first place. Though sometimes it helps to vent everything and leave it behind. He wishes he were better at any of it.

“I just…” Buck takes a fractured breath.

Eddie immediately looks over at him. He’s oddly stone-faced. Maybe numb? That happens. The body has pain thresholds. If you’ve been overloaded with too much fear and panic and pain, it’s easier to shut off everything. At least in the moment. Never turns out well in the long run. But what can you do when you're overloaded and can no longer cope?

“So, my homework?” Buck says. “I’m supposed to talk to you.”

Eddie finds Buck’s hand. “Talk to me.”

Buck doesn’t move or acknowledge or look at him. Maybe it’s easier not to. He clearly swallows and looks like he’s working hard to breathe slowly. “I think, and she thinks, too. I’ve been stuck in that moment. Where I wasn’t sure if you’d make it. Where I was…” His eyes dart toward Christopher but Christopher is completely distracted with a pirate ship and rescuing a family of rubber ducklings. Not paying attention to them.

Buck’s voice is too quiet to carry that far. “I was covered in your blood. I thought I’d lost you forever. And I don’t know how to cope with that.” He presses teeth into his lower lip and tears well in his eyes. He tries breathing slowly again. “I don’t know how to lose you. I can’t. I can’t even think about it. It’s too… It hurts too much. It scares me more than anything. I can’t bear the thought of you dying.”

Buck squeezes his eyes shut and his hand shakes, his whole body shakes, and Eddie aches and hates how hurt Buck is. But Buck wipes at his eyes and keeps trying. “So. We, um. We talked about grief counseling. And how… how someone might handle the death of a partner. I told her about you and Bobby and Athena, all of you losing someone you love. I just. I don’t know how to do that. I know I would do anything for Chris. I know that’s part of why you’d want us to have each other. But I don’t know how to not need you. I don't know how to be okay with the thought of living the rest of my life without you in it. I don’t ever want to be without you.”

Buck turns finally and looks to Eddie with wet eyes. “I could have all of you forever and I don’t think it would be enough.”

Eddie lets go of his hand only to wrap his arm around Buck’s shoulders and pull him closer so their foreheads are touching. “You know it’s the same for me? The thought of not having you in my life, the thought of losing you? I hate it. You mean so much to me. And my son. And my family. No one will ever be for me what you are. You make everything in my life infinitely better. I'm closer to you than anyone in my entire life. Even Christopher says I was always sad. He doesn’t say that when we have you.”

Buck reaches for him with both arms until he’s holding on as much as he can.

Eddie caresses his cheek and runs fingers over his hair until he’s cradling Buck’s head and keeping them together. “When it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t feel like anything. But being this close and being this much to anyone means it hurts to even consider losing it. When it happened and I was staring at you. All I could think was that I should have said it. I should have told you. I didn’t want to die without letting you know how much you mean to me. I know losing each other would ruin both of us. We might exist after. But I know I would be wounded beyond repair. Bobby always tells me that it never really heals. You don’t get that part of yourself back once it’s gone.”

“I wouldn’t want it back. It belongs to you.”

Eddie squeezes Buck to him and pulls away just enough to look at him. “That’s the thing. Exactly that. If I had to choose, knowing that I’d never get it back even with as much as it would hurt, and I know exactly how much it would hurt. I’d still pick having you. Because the only thing worse than losing you would be never having you in my life at all. I would much rather give you everything. I would take any pain, as much pain as I had to, if it meant I would also have you.”

Buck looks down and his eyes are still watery, but when he looks up, he smiles that beautiful, breathtaking smile. “When you put it that way. I would, too. You and Chris are everything to me.”

Eddie smiles back at him and cups Buck’s face. Buck tilts toward Eddie’s palm like he’s savoring the touch.

Eddie only lets go when Christopher yells for him to take cover because there’s a robot incoming, and he splashes all around in his little pool. Eddie leans forward, places a kiss on Buck’s forehead, and goes to help his son fight off the — hopefully — imaginary Hildy bots.

Eddie is quietly researching, looking through a few very informative websites and minding his own business when there’s a sudden loud thud and several high pitched squeals in the other room.

When he goes to the kitchen, Buck and Christopher are staring at each other with something liquid and green splattered all over them. And the rest of the near vicinity of the kitchen. And also somehow all the way up to the ceiling?

“We’re fine.” Buck holds up his hands like proof he’s unarmed. “It’s all fine.”

Christopher giggles and covers his face and then whatever is on them is also on his hands.

Eddie grabs a clean kitchen towel and turns the water on in the kitchen sink. “What in the world just happened?”

Buck looks around, presumably for more towels, but probably can’t see very well with green goo splattered all over his face. “Um. I lost a fight with the enchilada sauce.” He picks up a giant, open can from the floor that is dripping everywhere.

Eddie shakes his head and soaks and squeezes out the towel once the water is warm enough. “Hands,” he tells Christopher and then cleans them off before wiping down his shirt. “Now face.”

“You have to kiss it clean and fixed, too,” Christopher tips his joyful, amused face up toward Eddie. “Mom always did.”

Eddie folds the towel with one hand, wipes off his little face, and then bends down to leave a kiss on his nose. Christopher beams at him and then Eddie returns to the sink, rinses and squeezes out the little towel again, and then turns to Buck. “Okay. Your turn.”

Buck bites his lip, looking sheepish but completely adorable. He doesn’t have sauce on his hands, it’s more on his shirt and face. So, Eddie starts with his dark, rust colored t-shirt and quips, “Look at it this way. You could’ve been using red sauce.”

Buck gives him a very unamused look, but rolls his eyes and smiles a second later.

Eddie folds the towel over again and uses a fresh section to carefully clean the sauce off Buck’s cheeks and forehead and nose. He incidentally brushes Buck’s lips with his thumb and swears Buck’s eyes go dark.

Once he’s finished, Christopher so very helpfully reminds him, “Buck needs a kiss, too.”

Eddie’s heart stumbles and speeds. Just a little. It’s fine. He has innocently kissed Buck before. On the forehead and in his hair and it’s not a big deal. Just this morning, he woke with Buck spooned behind him and he lifted Buck’s hand and left a kiss on the side of his wrist before he got out of bed.

Buck’s cheeks and the tips of his ears are very noticeably pink though. But he looks… hopeful? Maybe?

Eddie tosses the towel into the sink and rests his hand on Buck’s chest so he can lean closer. He feels Buck take a very long, deep breath as he tilts his head and presses his lips low on Buck’s cheek, not quite at the corner of his mouth, but close to it.

When he pulls back, Buck’s eyes are closed. But they open slowly and search Eddie. And he has to wonder. If Buck wanted a different kind of kiss.

They stare at each other until Christopher giggles more and asks if they can make another mess and do it all over again.

Buck quickly turns away to clean up the rest of the disaster. But every few minutes, he’ll look over at Eddie. And Eddie can’t look away from him.

The day he’s allowed to take his sling off and use his arm — within a very limited and strict, short list of activities — is the day his whole shoulder decides to radiate pain up his neck and down his back. It makes his chest tense and everyone can forget about breathing or even moving because that's not going to happen.

When he tries to see if putting the sling back on will help, it doesn’t at all. And it’s not that the whole wound hasn’t been painful up until this point, but it’s angry, so f*cking pissed off angry, and he’s supposed to try a few exercises like rotating his shoulder and stretching but f*ck if that is going to happen.

He has some pain pills left. Quite a few actually. Because of the usual reasons. But they only do so much. And are also tools of the devil that make him nauseous.

He lies on his bed with his eyes closed to keep tears from doing something stupid like spilling out. He tries to breathe slowly, deeply, through the tense, constricting weight crushing his chest. He can’t get comfortable. Everything aches, it’s throbbing, and even when he lies still as a corpse, it only makes the rest of his body ache as well. He’s sweating, trembling, but only feels cold.

He yearns for even a moment of warmth. Real warmth brought by sun and liberation. And happiness. But he’s cold and trapped and buried and can’t get out. He’s hypothermic. There’s no more oxygen. Everything is closing in. He can’t get out.

Carla diligently keeps Christopher occupied and hopefully unaware, but she checks on Eddie every half hour and has to know today is not a good one.

It doesn’t surprise him at all when Buck quietly knocks on the door to their bedroom and appears at home four hours before his shift is supposed to end. But Eddie also isn’t expecting it and can’t hold back tears when Buck gingerly sits beside him and rests a hand in the middle of Eddie’s chest.

Buck came home for him.

He reaches until Buck leans down into a hug. It’s too brief but Buck’s hand his warm and soothing just resting on his sternum. He’s warm. There’s warmth. Eddie needs it so much.

Buck rubs his hand in slow circles and whispers like he’s worried, “Did you take your pain meds?”

Eddie nods. “Few hours ago. Didn’t help. Also nauseous now.” And cold and shivering from something that isn’t cold but is very much present even though it’s stupid and it shouldn’t be.

Buck frowns with endless empathy. “Do you want your other ones? Or something to make you sleep through it?”

Not really. But if he has to. He hates being groggy and woozy, but maybe it is better to sleep it off. As long as he doesn’t dream. But Buck is home, so maybe it will be all right? He concedes and Buck strokes Eddie’s jaw before he gets up and goes to their bathroom. He returns with water and pills, and helps Eddie sit up enough to take them.

Once Eddie is lying down again, trying to breathe through constricted lungs, Buck leans over him again and brushes away wetness on Eddie’s face. “Where are you hurting?”

Everywhere. “Down my neck and back. Muscles around the scapula and clavicle.”

“Can you lie on your side? Or if you sit up, I’ll help you out of your shirt. I can try massaging.”

It does sometimes help. Buck’s hands are warm and strong and gentle. It would be so much better for all of this to be in a different context though. He’s pretty sure he has a vague recollection of Buck’s hands ripping open his uniform and Buck lifting him off the ground like he weighs nothing, and it is very unfair and also the worst f*cking joke ever that he only possibly knows this because he was kind of dying at the time.

He holds onto Buck’s shoulder with his good arm and lets Buck pull him into a sitting position just long enough to slide his shirt up and off. The nausea churns in his stomach but as soon as he lies back down, turned on his side and facing away from Buck, it’s better. A little better.

Buck touches him lightly at first, fingertips down Eddie’s back in a sweet, soothing gesture instead of an actual massage. But he’s here and he’s home and it does help Eddie breathe a little better.

The moment Buck presses fingers into tense, strained muscles, Eddie lets out a pitiful groan. It feels so good. Buck’s hands are so warm, the heat is soothing, there’s heat that touches him, and Buck’s done this enough times now that he’s learned how and where to avoid to keep from causing pain. He’s methodical and supremely careful around the healing hole punch. He slides fingers and palms along the muscles in Eddie’s neck and back and lightly over his shoulder. They work gently, firmly where he knows it won’t hurt, and Eddie would lie here forever like this.

Hopefully without the whole excruciating pain part, but as long as he has Buck’s warm hands on him, he won’t complain.

He breathes slowly and his chest is still tight but the longer Buck massages, the more everything eases. There’s still throbbing pain, but not as much when he can relax. He starts to forget about being trapped and cold. Buck is magical. Incredible. Even though he’s not supposed to be home yet.

“You skipped out on work early, didn’t you,” Eddie asks. “Won’t Interim Captain Han be mad?”

Buck moves his hands in slow passes over Eddie’s whole back, spreading warmth over bare skin. “He told me to go. And if he does get into a mood, then I just turn on Fire Marshal Buckley. Until Hen threatens to stage a coup and get rid of both of us.”

Eddie laughs, attempts it, but then it hurts and really doesn’t help the nausea. Which is unfair. “I’m sure she misses Bobby most of all.”

“Probably.” Buck moves his thumb just beyond the medial edge of the scapula where it hurts the worst and Eddie could seriously cry. Again. It’s so good. Buck is so good. “You should have texted me. Or called me. Something.”

Should he? Buck’s already missed so much work because of him and this sniper wound bullsh*t. And sometimes, wounds like this just hurt and there’s nothing to be done. “You were working. Nothing was helping. Wasn’t necessarily anything you could do. I just have to deal with it.” This feels so good though. The gentle pressure and warmth on sore muscles. Buck is warm, he’s made of warmth and sunshine, and Eddie’s been cold for so long.

“I know how tough you are,” Buck says as he presses fingers up and down the back of Eddie’s neck. “I know you could ‘just deal with it.’ I know you won’t ask for help no matter how much you need it. I know sometimes nothing helps. But I could be here.” The words are so soft but so fervent. He’s so adamant. “I don’t care if I can’t fix it. If you’re hurting this much, I want to be with you. Even if all I’m doing is sitting with you through it.”

Buck wants… to just be with him? Just to take care of him and keep him company when he’s in pain?

It has been easier. Knowing Buck is here for him and doesn’t judge him. That he takes care of anything without making it a big deal. It helps. It doesn’t have any logical reason to help but it somehow does and he has to swallow hard.

Eddie looks over his shoulder and stares up at him. There’s so much raw need and vulnerability in Buck’s eyes, but he can’t tell which one of them is the refection and which is the source.

There are still nights where their firetruck explodes in his dreams and flips onto its side and Buck’s agonizing screams rattle through Eddie’s psyche. He knows Buck wakes in the middle of the night, holding his breath until he somehow feels Eddie alive beside him. The most awful thing in the whole of existence is watching someone you love be in pain and not being able to do anything.

He reaches until Buck offers his hand. “Okay. Deal.” He shakes Buck’s hand even though he’s only gripping a few of Buck’s fingers, it’s not the right angle for an actual handshake, and he’s more doing it as a joke.

But Buck smiles at him. “Do you want me to keep going? Or let you try and sleep? Would you want me to stay?”

God, please. Please stay. Please never leave. “Stay with me? Hold me until I fall asleep?” He’s sure he will. Everything is starting to feel heavy.

Buck stands only to strip down to his t-shirt and boxer briefs and walk around to his side of the bed. He slides into bed, arranges the blanket around them both, and lets Eddie nestle into his arms. It’s so automatic now. So practiced and familiar how they fit together. And he’s not cold anymore.

When he wakes hours later, his shoulder has finally calmed down and he’s sore and groggy but it’s tolerable. Buck is still beside him, tucked under Eddie’s head like a pillow with an arm loosely draped around Eddie’s back.

He stayed. He didn’t have to stay the whole time but he did. He left work simply because he knew Eddie was in pain and he wanted to help. And Buck is here with him like he’s meant to be here. Would he stay forever like they always need him to? He seems to want it as much as they do. He seems to want and want and want, but he never says anything. But he does come home early. He stays beside Eddie because Eddie needs him.

What if Buck needs him, too? What if Eddie could be his answer?

Now he can’t breathe again for an entirely different reason.

He pushes himself up on his good arm, bracing on his elbow, and can’t look away from Buck’s face. It’s so relaxed and peaceful, he must be asleep. His hair is mussed now. His eyelashes look so long. His lips are perfect and pink. He’s really… so beautiful. His heart most of all. He wants to be with Eddie through his pain and he comes home and he stays, and Eddie aches with how much he loves him.

He leans down until he can touch his lips to Buck’s forehead, the only way he can manage to thank him and properly express how much it means.

Buck’s eyes flutter open like a sleeping curse has been broken. He looks up at Eddie in a dreamy, bleary fog. His eyes are so blue, so clear and pure. His gaze falls to something below Eddie’s nose and then flits back up like they’re searching. His tongue slides out to wet his pretty lips. There’s a flush to his cheeks. His breath falls heavily from his mouth. He stares like he’s pleading, like he’s starving.

Like all he wants is another kiss. A real one this time.

Eddie’s heart thunders and pounds and screams at him. It can’t be true. Can it? He has to be imagining this. He’s dreaming. He’s misinterpreting. Maybe he’s always wanted it to be possible. But how can it ever be possible? He was sure the most he could have would be this close, intimate, affectionate, but still mostly platonic whatever it is they have now.

What if they could have more?

What if they’ve been standing at a distance, staring at each other through a wall of glass or a sheet of ice, never daring to touch outside the boundaries because everything could shatter or melt?

What if this canyon that separates them, where they’ve been standing at the edges, afraid of falling and unable to hold on, doesn’t matter at all because they’ve already built a bridge to cross it and can reach each other if they step onto it and try?

What if this connection, this bond, this love that exists between them could have another layer to it? What if everything both of them have ever wanted could be found in each other? Partnership, companionship, acceptance, affection, family, love?

He reaches slowly, brushes fingers over Buck’s cheek and then through his hair. It’s soft enough, subtle enough. He’s done it plenty before. But Buck’s eyes flutter and his breath hitches in a way Eddie’s never heard. It’s aching, yearning. Such a quiet, desperately wanting plea as Buck’s fingers dig into his side.

Eddie’s heart goes up in flames. He wants, he wants so badly, and it’s more than want, it’s yearning and aching and dying of thirst and he needs Buck’s breath against his mouth like he’d suffocate without the air from his lungs. He needs to give Buck all the love and affection he was always denied because Eddie wants him to have it and Eddie would never deny him. He needs this limitless, incomparable love. They both do. It’s always been freely, wholly given between them. Just never acknowledged. But he’s burning, his heart is alive and released and screaming like maybe everything has been screaming at him, and there’s nothing in this room but them and sparks that are trying to catch fire.

Buck stares at him like he’s still pleading but uncertain if he’s woken up. His lower lip quivers and his fingers are trembling even as they try to grip and hold on but only find Eddie’s bare skin that might not do anything right now but burn him because he’s burning. Eddie is burning. He wants nothing more but to press his mouth against that lip and seal all of this heat and love and longing between them.

He leans down, so close the tips of their noses touch, and Buck’s other hand curls around his arm. Clutching him. Like Buck needs him.

There’s a knock on their door before they get any closer and it’s gallons of ice water dumped all over him.

Eddie drops his head and sags onto Buck’s chest with a heavy, frustrated sigh. But holy f*ck, Buck’s heart is rabbit speed racing.

Buck lets out a pained whimper and Eddie doesn’t think twice about nuzzling against him and stroking his hair to comfort him. Buck’s chest, his whole body is so tense and solid and warm beneath Eddie and maybe all that sudden crash of cold water isn’t at all enough to dim this thing that’s ignited between them.

He wants to feel Buck underneath him, on top of him, all around him, all his hard muscles and warmth. He wants to know if Buck would be pliant and receptive or if he’d rush and demand and grow impatient. Maybe all of it. He can hope.

Emboldened by everything still rushing through him, Eddie holds on and leaves a kiss pressed to the side of Buck’s neck. Something sweet and wet and open like a promise, before he gets up and goes to the door.

“Hi—” Carla starts quietly before she realizes it’s Eddie at the door. “Hi! Are you feeling better?” Her eyes flick down toward his shoulder but she quickly looks back up at him with a different expression. Slightly wide eyes and a raised eyebrow. Because he’s still shirtless. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

A little bit. But he swallows hard and tries to keep anything from showing on his face. Not that he’d mind, in theory if she knew, but he doesn’t even know what happened yet. What might happen. So. “Buck massaged my shoulder. And yes, I’m better. Much better.”

She smiles, a perfectly reasonable smile that says she knows he’s not divulging something. But she’s discreet and doesn’t push. “Good. I’m glad. I knew all you needed was a little TLC. Are you three all right then if I head out? I’ll stay if you need anything. Christopher has been coloring up a storm all day. He’s taking a break now with a game.” Her eyes sparkle like she knows there is a Project in the works and must have seen at least some of it.

“We’re good. Thank you. For everything.” He smiles and gives her a quick kiss on her cheek.

“I’ll see you boys on Friday then.” She pats his hand, gives him a look that he knows means they’ll be talking later, and shows herself out.

Buck is sitting up in bed now, one leg bent and tucked under him, hands clutching it and covering his lap. He looks at Eddie with uncertainty, and Eddie isn’t sure what to do from here.

Maybe it wasn’t anything. Maybe they just got caught up in a moment. They’d just woken up. They’re so intimate and unafraid to share everything with each other. It’s become a given for both of them to turn to each other for comfort, for laughter, for everything they might need. Maybe they both just needed in that moment and directed it at each other because that’s what they always do.

Maybe that’s enough ocean of ice to kill any sort of heat he thought they’d finally made it to.

“You’re feeling better?” Buck asks quietly.

Eddie nods, experimentally rotates his shoulder and it twinges but it’s so much better. He remains standing at the door, at a loss as to what he should do.

“Good.” Buck tries to smile, but it’s fragile. He looks away and he’s closing off and shutting it away and must be rationalizing just like Eddie was. “Are you hungry? I can go start dinner—”

“Did I completely misread that?” Eddie’s not sure how he found his voice or any words to use. But there it is. Something at least. “Were you…” His breath stills, he has to hold it, he can’t move, can’t do anything until he knows. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Buck looks at him like he also can’t breathe. He’s standing on the edge of that canyon and doesn’t think he can do anything but fall and break apart. He opens his mouth, wets his lips, seems unable to make words work. But. He nods. Just a little.

Air rushes from him like it’s been knocked out of his lungs. Buck does want this. Buck wants him. Eddie wants to dive at him in a flying leap until they crash into each other and all their pieces weld together permanently.

Buck bites his lip like he’s so afraid of this admission. He's struggled so much with feeling good enough, with realizing he’s wanted for more than sex. Maybe he wants but can’t see anything but wreckage and loss if they do cross this line. “Do you… Do you. Want that? Do you want me?”

Eddie can’t do anything but go to him, reach for him. He holds Buck’s face in his hands. Both hands because he can do that now, even if there’s a dull ache and limited mobility, he can touch him with both hands. He can hold onto him. He wants to answer, to reassure, there’s so much he still needs to say, but the only thing that comes out is a soft, pleading, reverent, “Evan.”

Tears well in Buck’s eyes and he tries to keep looking up at Eddie, but his shoulders shake. Eddie pulls Buck into his arms, holds him against his body, cradles Buck’s head to his chest. He rests his own head on top of Buck’s and keeps him close. He doesn’t cry for long, if he cries much at all. He leans back and looks up at Eddie with the same look of pleading and desperate yearning is all over his face. Like it’s too much to hope for but he’s trying anyway.

Eddie runs fingers through his sleep-disheveled hair, the longer locks on the top, the soft, shorn fuzz on the back and sides. “I want everything with you,” he says then realizes. “That would probably sound far more romantic if I weren’t half naked.”

A beaming smile touches Buck’s face. “It’s okay. When I first saw you, you were also half naked. No complaints here.”

Eddie smiles back and figures why the hell not. “I want you. I want everything with you. I want to kiss you every day. I want to love you like you’ve always needed and deserved.”

Buck’s expression turns into something soft and full of awe. It’s almost uncertain, disbelieving. His fingers tremble against Eddie’s back and dig into muscles much like they were just a moment ago. “You… you want to love me? You love me?”

If only this wasn’t the exact reaction Eddie expected. He aches and aches to give Buck all the love and affection he’s never had. Eddie needs it, too. He needs Buck. He needs everything they could have together. He leans down and kisses Buck’s forehead, his nose, the arch of one cheek, the dark pink skin above his eyebrow, and promises, “I love you. I’m so in love with you. I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t remember not loving you.”

There are tears that leak from Buck’s eyes, but he pulls gently until Eddie leans down and kisses him one more place.

Buck’s lips are soft against his own. He holds on so tightly and Eddie wants to melt into him and shower him with endless kisses forever. It’s so sweet and so needed and his heart is finally alive and bursting with hope and joy. Buck somehow tastes like summer. Like heat and freedom and carefree happiness. Like everything falling into place and making sense and being known and being found and being home.

He feels like belonging, like they belong together and to each other. Buck should be paired with every part of Eddie. Because they’re magnets that aren’t meant to be apart and puzzle pieces that link together and maybe soulmates don’t exist in the way that they were created with a singular fate, but how they’ve forged themselves and fought for the lives they have and built this bond they share with vows of support and devotion make him believe they are now. They made themselves for each other. Universe be damned.

Buck leans backward and takes Eddie with him. He doesn’t let their lips leave each other. When Eddie follows, he covers Buck with his body and basks in the warmth of finally, finally kissing him. As many times as he can. Slowly, sweetly, more urgently every second as they share breath and not quite accustomed touches. He’s touched Buck so much, so often, his body is so familiar. Eddie knows the width of his shoulders, the power in his muscles, the gentle strength in his hands — but he’s never known him like this.

Buck’s thighs fall open and slide up around Eddie’s hips as he holds on with arms and legs. He whimpers as he clutches Eddie’s back. Gently though. So cautious even now and worried about causing pain.

Eddie distantly knows that he’s still shirtless, but he’s more concerned with how Buck is clothed. He slips a hand under Buck’s t-shirt and brushes fingers over warm skin. “Do you want…” His words are breathed against Buck’s lips and he’s too dizzy and overheated to think coherently. “Do you want this? Do you want more? I want you. So much. But we should wait, right? This is kind of rushing? We’d have to be quiet, too. And quick. f*ck. I want you for hours.” But he finally has this. He finally has Buck in his arms, in his bed, their bed, and he has the taste of his mouth and the feel of their bodies pressed so closely together. He can’t not want him.

Buck smiles and arches against him, and Eddie’s fairly sure he loses brain cells. “Kinda think,” Buck says, soft, breathless, and wet against Eddie’s lips. “We waited long enough. We’ll have time. For longer. I need so much. I need you now.”

“Trust me. I’m going to give you everything you need, sweetheart.” Eddie grins and leans back on his knees, then tugs at the bottom of Buck’s shirt.

Buck quickly whips it off over his head and tosses it elsewhere, and then his hands find Eddie’s ribs and slide all over his bare chest. Before Eddie can lie back down on top of him, Buck touches very lightly near his right shoulder. “Are you okay? You’re not hurting?”

f*ck, even if he were right now, he wouldn’t let that stop him. It’s sweet though how much Buck worries about him and cares for him. “It’s fine. A little achey. But I need you more.” He could probably breathe fire at this point. He pushes Buck down into the bed and kisses him with all the years of longing he’s carried around. “Not stopping unless you tell me to.”

“Please don’t stop,” Buck says immediately, trying to touch him everywhere. “Never stop.”

Eddie slides his tongue over Buck’s wet, swollen lips and wins a sweet moan. They hold on to each other and rock together, unable to stop kissing, unable to part long enough to even remove the rest of their clothes. They have to be quick anyway. But they finally have each other and Buck is completely right. They’ve waited long enough.

He’s lost in heat and the fire burning all around them. He’s lost in the wet, languid way Buck kisses him and pants softly against his mouth. He holds on to Buck’s hair, clutches his head and thrusts against him, too eager and in need of him to even think about finishing in a different way. It’s too good like this. Just his hands and his mouth and his long legs around Eddie’s hips and feeling so very clearly how much Buck wants him.

Eddie sucks a spot on Buck’s throat below his jaw and has to speed up how they’re grinding against each other. He whispers with hot, heavy breath in Buck’s ear. “I want to be inside you. Just like this. I want to know what you feel like around me. I want to know what you taste like.”

Buck whimpers brokenly and moans Eddie’s name in the quietest, most beautiful and breathy sound imaginable.

Eddie kisses him deeply and feels him shudder and sob and fall apart. It doesn’t take much for Eddie to follow him.

Buck grips him hard and doesn’t let go, so Eddie sags onto him and nuzzles at his neck. Eventually, he leaves more kisses there, slow and wet up the column of his throat. Buck’s heart pounds in his ear but gradually returns to something more normal.

“I love you, too.” Buck runs his fingers over Eddie’s back and gently presses along Eddie’s muscles around his shoulder blades like he did earlier. “I hope you know that.”

Eddie lifts up enough to give him a smile and another sweet, lingering kiss.

They stay tangled together for a moment longer, savoring even this much of what they are going to have together, before they go clean up and find new clothes.

When they leave the bedroom, they both give Christopher a kiss on top of his head while he’s immersed in his video game — no hugs because he’s in the middle of a very important tournament thank you very much — and go to the kitchen to make dinner together.

For the first time in ages, he feels like he is actually alive. Not trapped. Not buried. Not stifled. Not locked away. Buck even lets him help with what he deems not that important or not too easy to ruin. But mostly he smiles and basks in the company and the attention because they can hardly stop touching each other.

It’s simple. Innocent. Mostly. But they’ve stepped out on a bridge and that sheet of ice is melting under every brush of fingers against wrist, the weight of a hand curled on a hip, the arms Eddie slides around Buck as he hugs him from behind and kisses the back of his neck. The way Buck pulls him close and threads fingers through Eddie’s hair as they rest their foreheads together. Every kiss they finally share. That they can’t help but let linger and burn through both of them.

It’s a wonder they don’t set fire to their dinner.

He wakes far too early when there’s nothing but darkness outside, but Buck is curled around him. Eddie’s lost count of how many times this is now where Buck is tucked under his chin, resting on his chest, snoring lightly. It’ll never be enough no matter how big the number gets.

Sunrise gradually filters into their room and Eddie runs his fingers through soft, mussed hair without ever consciously thinking of it. It’s habit. Deeply ingrained muscle memory, and he wonders if the same is true for his heart, if Buck is permanently written there, helping his flowers bloom. It is a muscle, too, after all.

Buck stirs and nuzzles Eddie’s bare chest before leaving a sleepy kiss on it. “I dreamed of you last night.”

Eddie traces the thick, muscled arm wrapped around him. “You did? What did you dream?”

“My birthday. When we went to the mini golf course.”

One of Eddie’s favorite days. He’d watched Buck and Chris laugh for hours as they attempted to defeat the whole course multiple times. He couldn’t stop watching them. He couldn’t stop loving both of them more and more every second. “That was a good day.”

“It was.” Buck halfway lifts up but only to slide his naked body completely on top of Eddie’s until his legs are braced on either side of Eddie’s hips. His hands thread through Eddie’s hair. It’s getting long and he probably needs a haircut, but every time he thinks of it, he goes gooey at the thought of Buck gripping it when they kiss or slowly stroking fingers through it when he wants to be affectionate.

Eddie runs his own hands over Buck’s back. His eyes are so vividly blue. They always change color with the lighting, and Eddie loves the softness, the flecks of different shades. “What about it were you dreaming of?”

Buck smiles and licks his lips. “Slushies. The taste of slushies.”

Eddie can’t help mimicking the gesture. He’s parched. Dying of thirst. “Slushies, huh?”

“How your tongue looked bright blue and I wanted to taste.” Buck rocks against him, very noticeably hard.

Eddie arches up, chasing how it feels, needing more already. “You should have. Might’ve saved us so much trouble.”

Buck leans down into a deep kiss that floods and claims every part of Eddie’s heart and soul. “I have you now.”

He’s breathless, burning, aching, and reaches for another kiss. “You do.”

Buck beams and shines brighter than anything. He murmurs against Eddie’s mouth, “That’s all I care about. Having you now.”

Eddie holds onto Buck’s thighs and writhes under him. “Now and always.”

Buck licks into his mouth, grinds down against him, and doesn’t stop until Eddie is desperately gripping him, breaking to pieces in his arms, and they’re wet, sticky, and covered in each other.

There’s an afternoon where Christopher desperately wants to get out of the house, and Eddie—

He wants to. He would. He tries to psych himself up for over an hour but the idea of being out in public? It’s not good. He’s working on it. It’s better. But he can’t today. Something bad is going to happen. He knows it.

He hates that he can’t do this. For so many reasons. It’s stupid and frustrating and he tries to force himself into a mantra of, everything is fine. Nothing will happen. You’re being unreasonable. You can’t just stop going out in public. That’s ridiculous. And then he can’t breathe at all and might actually faint from oxygen deprivation.

Christopher hugs him and tells him it’s okay. Carla is happy to take him and they will see him when they get back from the park and getting ice cream. Eddie is still so pissed at himself for not be able to do this simple thing for his son. He’s got to work harder on it. The whole talking it out with Frank just isn’t enough. But both Carla and Chris are fine if he stays home to rest and they promise to bring back chocolate ice cream with extra hot fudge for him, too. Even when he tells them they don’t have to. But they know he loves chocolate.

He sits in the empty quiet house for a few minutes and contemplates options for speeding through this bullsh*t anxiety. He’s not sure what the f*ck to do though. He probably just has to live with it and push through to the other side. It’s so f*cking stupid. He shouldn’t be this affected. He shouldn’t. Maybe he calls Frank? He probably needs to do that. He doesn’t need to panic. He doesn’t want to panic.

His mistake is answering his phone without looking.

It was supposed to be Buck as soon as he finished his shift and was on the way home. It was not supposed to be his parents.

“Eddie, we’ve hardly heard anything from you,” his mother says. “We know you were attacked and nearly died and now we’ve hardly had any contact for months?”

He breathes slowly. Deeply. He loves his parents. He does. He just really wishes he didn’t have to talk to them or see them at all. He’s tired. “I’ve been recovering, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s been over two months now. You still aren’t healed? Is there something else wrong with you?”

He huffs. There’s so much wrong with him. “It’s better. I’m better. It just takes a lot of time.” Too much time. Why does healing have to be so frustrating? “Believe me, if I could instantly be healed, I would be.”

“Then what have you been doing for Christopher if you can’t take care of yourself enough to even call us?”

He sits down at the dining table, puts the call on speaker, and plants his forehead firmly on the table. “Chris is fine, Mom. He has plenty of people who take care of him.”

“What’s this we hear about Ana?” His father’s voice.

Eddie peers over at his phone like he can maybe will it to disappear. “What about her?” He hasn’t heard anything from Ana since the day of his welcome home party.

“She was supposed to move in with you,” his mother says like Eddie should know this. “We wanted to support your relationship. She’s a lovely woman. She was supposed to be taking care of Christopher and you. Now, we hear that she hasn’t? She’s still living alone all by herself? How in the world have you been managing? How could you do this to Christopher? If we’d known, we could have made arrangements. We could have taken him. We could have helped her so that she can care for you.”

Eddie rests an elbow on the table and his head in his hand so he can massage away the growing ache. “Mom. Christopher is fine. He’s good. He’s happy. He’s completely taken care of.”

“Then what about your girlfriend? Is she helping out? She’s the most qualified. She has a doctorate in education.”

In what reality does that make her the most qualified to take care of a child? He sighs heavily and takes too long to answer because his dad starts in again.

“Have you even seen Ana recently? Have you been attentive to her? Women need to be taken care of. You can’t build a solid relationship if you’re not providing for her and making sure she feels beautiful and special.”

God. How old is he? Is he a child now? Being forced to listen to sexist garbage? Because honestly it’s ridiculous at this point. He’s nearly thirty four years old. He has a ten year old child. “This has been fun and all, catching up, but I have to go.”

“Don’t you dare hang up yet, Edmundo.” She’s angry. Probably hurt. Or at least she’ll say she is. She’s his mother. He loves her. Why the f*ck does he still have to do this. “This is very serious. We know you nearly died, and we’re both very worried.”

“I know.” What are they very worried about is the question. Maybe it is him. Maybe this is just their way of showing it. “I’m fine. Christopher and I are fine. We don’t need anything. We have people. We have family here. Pepa is here and Abuela, too. We’re good. You don’t need to worry about us.”

“And what if you hadn’t been fine? Have you thought about that? Have you even considered what would happen to Christopher if you never came home?” She does genuinely sound distressed at this thought, and he doesn’t ever want to hurt her.

It’s the only reason he can keep up with this f*cking conversation. How could anyone say he never considers Christopher’s needs? That Eddie doesn’t constantly worry about his son’s happiness and how to give him the best life? And doesn’t hate himself when he fails? Because he never thinks about Christopher’s future? Every f*cking thing in Eddie’s adult life has been for his son. Everything is ranked according to Chris as his number one priority. How can she say otherwise? “I have. He would be fine. He’d be taken care of.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, as if they were not expecting this at all. Or maybe they’re just wondering who.

“Did you ask Ana?” His mother.

“Did she move in? It sounded like she hadn’t. Have you proposed? She was too shy to tell us anything. But she would make the perfect wife and mother.” His father.

So, this is going to be fun. He can already tell. “No. Not Ana. Ever. We’re done. I broke up with her.”

“You broke up? Already?” his mom asks. “We thought you were serious about her. We were trying to give you both our blessing.”

Oh, how nice and thoughtful of them. It just makes Eddie nauseous. “It was never going to work. Being with her was a mistake.”

At least she drops it and moves back onto, “Then who would raise Christopher? Because you’ve never talked to us about this. We want to make sure he’s taken care of. Of course, we’d be happy to have him here, but it would have been nice to discuss it beforehand.”

God, he’s going to need a drink. He’s going to need so many drinks. “No. He wouldn’t go to you. He has family here.”

“Who? My mother can barely take care of herself anymore. My sister should be retiring and relaxing. Or would you send him to one of your sisters?”

“Both Sofia and Adriana said he never asked them to take Christopher,” his mother says. Clearly not to Eddie. What she does ask him is, “What would happen to Christopher if, God forbid, something worse happened to you? Do you have a plan at all?”

Eddie rubs both of his temples. Not like anything he might say would make it better at this point. So, he answers honestly. “Yes, I have clause in my will about Christopher and who would become his legal guardian in the event of my untimely death or debilitation. Chris would be loved and taken care of the way I want him to be, the way he should be.”

There’s eerie silence on the other end and it can’t have been enough to satisfy their nosy curiosity. He knows they’re worried. He knows he hardly comes off like a model father. But he’s trying. He would do literally anything for his son.

And he knows Buck would, too.

“Who, Eddie? We need to know who would raise our grandson.”

Eddie huffs and could contain his anger. He could. He’s very good at biting his tongue and shoving everything down. But he also doesn’t want to. Not anymore. “Why? Why do you need to know? He’s my son, it’s my choice. I don’t want him to grow up the way I did. I don’t want him to think that he has to cut himself down and fit himself into a stupid box and live his life without his heart. I don’t ever want him to believe that he’s not enough or that he can’t have the love he wants. I don’t want him to feel like he has to be lonely and miserable and stuck in a life that doesn’t fit. I won’t do that to him. Ever.”

There’s nothing but silence in return.

And for a moment, Eddie is sure the call dropped or something and they didn’t even hear it.

But then his father’s voice comes over the line. It’s gentler, more careful, maybe even pained. “Eddie. Eddie, we— we don’t want that for him either.”

A hard lump sticks in Eddie’s throat and his eyes burn and sting, there’s fire and anguish raging in his chest, trying to compete and see who gets to infect more pain. And he doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t want to be so hurt. But he’s so tired of choking down everything. He’s so very tired of it.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” He snaps but it sounds more like despair than it does anger. “You did it to me. My whole life— all I ever tried to do was be what you wanted me to be. I tried to help Mom, I tried to take care of the girls instead of going out with friends, I got decent grades, I went to Mass, I enlisted to provide for my family, I would have happily died just to take care of my son and ensure that he is happy, I tried to be the man you wanted me to be. I tried to be like you. But I’m not you. Okay? I’m not. I know I failed but I can’t change who I am. I’m not going to try anymore. Do you understand? It was killing me. All of this is killing me.”

His mom’s voice is quieter and the sharp edge has been filed off. “Eddie, sweetheart. We don’t— that’s not what we want for you either. We never would have. If we’d known.”

Jesus f*ck. He doesn’t know which is worse. Thinking it was on purpose and they knew and tried to change him. Or thinking they really don’t know or comprehend. “How could you not know?”

“Eddie,” his father this time. The most sincere he’s ever sounded. “We’re sorry. We love you. We don’t want you to feel like you have to change for us. Or anyone. We never wanted to hurt you. You don’t need to be anything but our beautiful, loving son.”

Are— are these words real? Is this really happening? How the hell is this happening?

Eddie blinks and his eyes overflow and he doesn’t even know what to say.

“We know,” his father says, still tempered and gentle. “We know you’ve been alone. That you feel very alone.”

“That’s why we thought you loved Ana,” his mom adds. “We thought you’d be happy to know we support her becoming your wife. Isn’t that what you want?”

What Eddie wants is to not burst into bitter, tearful laughing. But he doesn’t really have a choice there. Maybe they really don’t know? Maybe it wasn’t obvious? Maybe Eddie was better at hiding and lying than he even knew.

Why wouldn’t he be? He lied to himself basically his whole life.

He never wanted to put on a label. It was another constricting box. Is he bi because he loved Shannon and didn’t mind sex with her? Is he gay because he’s only fallen in love with men and doesn’t want anything like what he forced himself into with Ana ever again? Does it make a difference that he loved Liam before he transitioned? How do you even quantify attraction to a specific gender or genders when gender itself is vastly complex and different for so many people? Has he ever truly wanted or desired anyone the way he does Buck? What if his heart was always the most important factor?

Maybe, someday, he’ll feel more certain. Or confidant about what to call himself. It’s a journey. He’s working on it. But it doesn’t feel wrong to finally tell them, “I don’t want a wife. I want a husband. I want— My partner would get Chris. He’s already Christopher’s other father. He’s a really good dad. I want him to be that. And that’s who Chris wants. Buck loves him the way I do, Buck would do anything for him including die to protect him. He almost did. He did it for me, too. The only reason I am alive right now is because of him. He’s unconditional love and unfailing protection and devotion. For both me and Chris.”

“Buck,” his mother says slowly, maybe trying to comprehend? And Eddie’s heart anxiously races. “Your work friend? That Buck?”

“We thought he was your work partner,” his dad says. But it sounds stunned rather than judgey.

“He’s—” Eddie starts and wipes at his face. But his heart is so loud. It’s loud and he’s listening and it’s overflowing. “He’s my everything partner. I love him. I’m in love with him.”

It’s not until he looks up that he notices Buck standing off near the living room, definitely in earshot. He smiles sweetly at Eddie and adds, “He loves you, too. More than life.”

Eddie laughs, a little brokenly, but also with so much weight lifted from him. “He loves me, too. That’s what he just said.”

His parents are quiet, maybe discussing by themselves, but it gives Buck time to set down his work duffle and come to him. He hugs Eddie tightly and kisses his forehead.

“We love you, too, Edmundo,” his father says. “Please let him know we would be happy to have him as part of our family. We apologize if any messages to him were hurtful. We didn’t realize your situation. He’s been very kind to us and to you. We’ll let you go. Please let us know if you need anything or you aren’t doing well?”

Holy f*ck, this is happening. They just— Eddie came out and they’re fine? Not that he thought they would really persist if he did have a breakdown about this. Maybe he did? God, he doesn’t even know but holy f*ck. “I love you, too. I’ll do that. Promise.”

The call ends and Eddie—

Is still in so much shock.

He turns in Buck’s arms and hugs him tightly. “That just happened, right? You heard it? You were there? That happened?”

Buck laughs lightly and hugs back. “We could be having a joint hallucination but yeah, I heard it, too. Also they were never mean to me or anything. I didn’t think it warranted an apology. It sounded like they were confused and expecting Ana to be here.”

“Yeah. I guess,” Eddie says and might try to replay that conversation in his head to try and convince himself it is actually real and did just happen. But Buck is so warm and soft and strong and he smells so good, and how did Eddie get this lucky?

He chose. He listened. He couldn’t hide anymore and couldn’t pretend anymore and let Buck set his heart free. He rubs both hands over Buck’s back, savoring the feeling of having him close.

“You’re a really good dad, too. You’re the best dad and I know how much your selfless, unwavering love does for him. Chris adores you.” Buck curls down until he can nuzzle against Eddie’s neck and rest his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “I feel it, too. The way you love me. It makes everything in my life so much better.”

Eddie nudges him up until he can hold Buck’s face in his hands and bring him into a kiss. It’s sweet and simple, but it lingers with lasting warmth, and flickers with heat.

Buck looks dizzy when they part. His hands clench in Eddie’s t-shirt and he grins like devious sunshine. “I know that look.”

“What look?” Eddie tips his head, feigning innocence as he slips his hands between them and starts unbuttoning Buck’s shirt.

Buck’s hands move to Eddie’s hips and sneak beneath the hem of his shirt. “Oh, the ‘I want to f*ck you into oblivion’ look. Starting to get very familiar.”

“Really?” Eddie finishes the last button and skims his fingers over bare skin. He traces clavicles and throat and flattens his palms over Buck’s solid, muscular chest, and swallows down a rush of love and lust and want. The mix permeates his whole being. “Because I was actually thinking the other way around.”

Buck’s eyes fix on him, a little wide, but mostly hungry. He’s breathless when he says, “You want me to f*ck you?”

Hey, he’s been repressed and closeted and denying himself for long enough. They haven’t actually done this yet. They’ve touched each other and sucked each other and Buck did finger him while he did it once. And he keeps thinking about what it would be like to have Buck underneath him, all around him, clutching Eddie like he always does. But right now? This is what he needs. Something as far from feeling forced into heterosexuality as possible. What better way than having the man he loves f*ck him senseless?

He tugs Buck’s shirt off and pulls him into another kiss. This one simmers and sparks and burns through him. He tastes Buck’s tongue as it slides against his and he sucks his lower lip hard enough to leave it red and swollen. “I want to have you so deep inside me,” he whispers. “I never want to be separate. I need you.”

Buck lets out a helpless whimper. “Eddie,” he says, still breathless, maybe even more than before. He kisses back with ferocity and tugs on his hand like he wants to take this to their room.

“Go get what we need,” Eddie tells him instead. “I want you right here.”

Buck’s eyebrows raise and he’s trying to figure out exactly what Eddie has in mind, but clearly can’t. His mind is whirring and working but doesn’t land on anything.

Eddie kisses him and smiles. “Go on.” As soon as Buck darts off, Eddie picks up his phone and texts Carla to not rush back for at least and hour. Maybe two if possible?

She answers quickly.

Take the whole night, honey. You two deserve it. Christopher is happy to have a sleepover at my house. I’ll bring him home in the morning. 😊♥️

Well. She has been offering for a while now, and Chris did want to be out of the house. He sends back endless thanks and two hearts. One for her and one for Christopher. He grabs a throw blanket from the sofa and drapes it over one of the dining room chairs.

When Buck returns, Eddie takes the supplies from him, tosses them on the dining table, and crushes Buck against the wall. He licks into Buck’s mouth, intending to steal all his breath, and earns a gorgeous, deep moan. “We have the house to ourselves the rest of the night. Chris is going to stay with Carla.”

Buck grips him and tugs at Eddie’s shirt. He smiles so wide and so brightly, Eddie can’t remember anything else so beautiful. “Good. Because I need you so badly. Not that I don’t love Chris. I always want him around. You know I do. I just—”

Eddie chuckles and cuts him off with a kiss. “I know. Can’t have loud, filthy, uninhibited sex with your son in the next room.”

Buck bites his lip and gives him a gooey, enamored look. “My son.”

It doesn’t even sound like a question, and Eddie grins. “Mmhmm. Yours and mine.” He presses his teeth into Buck’s neck and sucks a mouthful of delicate skin and fluttering pulse.

Buck tips his head to the side and arches against him. His heart is already racing. Even before Eddie works his fingers into belt and button and zipper and pushes until Buck’s pants drop to the floor. He runs a hand over the front of his briefs where Buck is already more than halfway to fully aroused. Buck whines and shivers so hard it goes through his whole body. Eddie kisses him, kisses the middle of his chest, kisses his taut stomach until he’s kneeling at Buck’s feet.

The way Buck looks at him with barely comprehending surprise and desperate, earnest want is something Eddie can’t wait to see again and again. As many times as possible. He slowly draws Buck’s underwear down his legs and leaves teasing sucks and bites on his thighs and stomach. It makes Buck’s legs waver long before Eddie even touches and takes him into his mouth.

Buck tries to brace himself against the wall, but Eddie wants to swallow everything. He loves how Buck sounds, he loves listening to his whimpers grow higher in pitch and more beautifully broken. He loves how this feels, he loves how Buck tastes, he needs this heavy delicate weight on his tongue and this length down his throat and in him and f*ck, he wants to be wrecked by him.

Buck reaches and pets at Eddie’s hair as he gasps for breath. Eddie reaches back and rests his hand high on Buck’s stomach. When he does, Buck laces their fingers together and holds their hands to his body. It’s so sweet compared to all of the filthy thoughts and needs running through Eddie, but it’s perfect, too.

He doesn’t want to wait anymore. He reluctantly lets go with a few added licks and sucks at the end just because he can and just to feel Buck’s legs turn to jelly, and then stands and takes hold of Buck’s hands. He pulls Buck into a sloppy, messy, wet kiss, helps him step out of his clothes so that he’s gloriously naked, and then directs him to sit on the chair he covered with a blanket.

“I was wondering why the blanket was there.” Buck watches him, so trusting and flushed, and he still looks at Eddie with unwavering affection. He tugs at Eddie’s shirt and jeans. “Why are you not naked?”

Eddie pulls his shirt off with a smooth, very practiced, one handed and one armed motion, and then undoes his jeans, shoves them down with his briefs, and kicks them both away. “Better?”

Buck beams at him and pants breathlessly again. “So much. You’re so gorgeous. Everything about you.”

Eddie’s heart flutters at the words. It’s so. Unusual. Plenty of people have told him he’s attractive. Handsome. Everything along those lines. He knows what he looks like. But it never feels like this. When Buck says it, he knows the words are more than appearance. He knows Buck would call him gorgeous no matter what he looked like. It’s saturated in his tone, his smiles, his soft gaze.

Eddie drapes his arms over Buck’s shoulders and slides onto his lap until he can hold Buck’s body between his thighs. It’s easy to find his mouth for a kiss now. They held back for so long, uncertain of how to trust something they’ve never had, and worried the magnitude of what they feel for each other was a singular direction. But for as new as this is, it doesn’t feel anything but right. Buck is so warm against him and all soft skin and hard muscles. He smiles so much more lately and Eddie just wants him, needs him, he has to have every part of him.

“Need you,” Eddie pleads between kisses. “All of you.”

Buck reaches for lube and nuzzles against Eddie’s neck and shoulder. He slicks his fingers and Eddie lifts up so Buck can tease him with promises of what’s to come. He’s so careful and gentle, only pressing one finger in and moving when he’s absolutely sure he won’t cause pain.

But Eddie is dying for him.

He runs his hands all over Buck’s hair and grips a handful of it as soon as Buck finds that spot and presses. Just lightly. Eddie’s whole body sparks and jolts and he arches against Buck, impulsively grinding himself against Buck’s stomach and shoving himself onto his finger. His head falls back with the flood of vibrant pleasure and he gasps as if he’s never known air.

“Jesus, Eddie,” Buck shudders under him already and leaves hungry kisses on his neck.

Eddie pants hard, heavy breath and he’s more than ready. He can’t stand not having Buck any longer. He digs fingers in Buck’s chest and shoulders and bends to kiss him breathless. “Now. Need you now. Love you. Need you.”

Buck withdraws his fingers, slicks himself with more lube, and wipes off the remnants with a wash cloth. “I’m all yours. Whatever you want. I love you so much.”

Eddie shifts closer and holds onto Buck’s shoulder with one hand while the other guides and positions them both. He tries to be slow. He’s very restrained. He’s just also very, very done with restraint. But he manages somehow to only take a little at a time and wait before completely sinking down and taking everything.

It’s perfect. Buck is so perfect. Nothing has been or ever will be as good as finally having him, finally having their family, finally being free.

Buck sobs and clutches him, but ends up with hands flailing and scrambling against Eddie’s back and hips and thighs, like he can’t decide how to hold on. Or maybe he just needs so much, too.

Eddie bends to claim Buck's mouth as he starts sliding himself up and down, letting himself feel every single inch. Buck is so thick and long and so deep, and it doesn’t really hurt or burn just being stretched and filled, but Eddie is absolutely aching in other ways.

He lets his head fall back again and moans with how good it is. He uses Buck’s shoulders for leverage and shoves himself down onto him, shivering with the electric fire building in his whole body. He wants to be split apart. He wants nothing left of who he was before. He wants Buck in every single part of him.

Buck carefully lifts up to meet his rhythm, never pushing too hard. He watches Eddie with dark, glassy eyes and touches him everywhere he can, but he’s so controlled, Eddie almost can’t believe this is his ridiculously wild, impulsive partner who thinks rope rescues are the most fun he can have in a workday. But Buck also worries about hurting him.

Eddie slows after a moment like he’s catching his breath. He licks his lips and runs his hands over Buck’s hair until he can hold his face and kiss him. When they break apart, he doesn’t let go. He waits until Buck meets his eyes, then demands in a low, sweet voice, “Pick me up. Put me on the table. I want you to f*ck me.” He lifts an eyebrow in challenge. “f*ck me until I can’t move.”

The breath Buck takes is splintered and he looks at Eddie with dizziness. And then a smirk. Buck slides his arms around Eddie’s thighs and tugs him close, shifts his weight to his legs, and stands, lifting Eddie like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Eddie holds on and grins. “You’re really f*cking hot.”

Buck laughs, kisses him quickly, and then sets him on the table. They’ve slipped apart and disconnected at this point, but Buck runs his hands down Eddie’s chest and takes hold of Eddie’s hips. He guides himself back inside and slowly presses forward and it’s a new angle and holy f*ck. Holy f*cking f*ck. Eddie can’t. It’s so much and not enough and he grips Buck’s massively thick arms. “Buck,” he gasps, lungs pleading for air, but all he can think about is something far more essential. “Buck, god. f*ck me.” He claws at Buck anywhere he can reach and locks his legs around Buck’s hips so he can arch up and f*ck himself.

As soon as Buck moves, withdraws and thrusts forward, Eddie moans and demands, “Harder. More, faster, harder.”

Buck trembles all over and somehow also manages to say, “And people think I’m impatient.”

Eddie laughs. “You are. Now, f*ck me like you mean it. You know I can take it. I need you. I need everything. I want everything you have. Give me everything.”

Buck kisses him, all teeth and tongue and bright flames, and Eddie clutches the back of Buck’s head. He holds on to a fistful of short, dark blond hair and curls his other hand around Buck’s upper arm, keeping their foreheads pressed together as Buck finally f*cks into him, hard and fast, unyielding.

It’s perfect. It’s so, so perfect. Buck is so good to him. And he ends up panting and babbling all of this like he can’t help himself. Buck shudders and lets out heavenly needy whines, and he doesn’t stop. He keeps up a punishing speed, dragging over the spot that makes Eddie’s whole body twitch and spasm like he’s being shocked in the best way.

There are aching, incredible, blissful waves of pleasure so deep within him, Eddie just wants to spread himself wider and take so much more. Nothing has ever felt this good. There’s so much heat flooding and building. He’s never had this. Not like this. Not so much his eyes are wet and he simultaneously needs release and to keep going and do this forever.

There’s no warning when it happens, he’s never finished from just this, he never even knew he could. But his co*ck is trapped between them and Buck f*cks him so perfectly his toes curl and he cries out and shatters everywhere. Buck sobs and clings to him so tightly, and fills him with hot bursts as he spasms and brokenly moans Eddie’s name. And as long as they’re in pieces together, everything is perfect.

Everything in him finally, instantly melts and falls limp, but he holds Buck to him. And then holds on tighter as Buck buries his face in Eddie’s neck and keeps shaking. There’s a rush of tears that slide over his shoulder, and Eddie wonders if Buck realizes it’s his right one. He’s usually so careful to avoid it even though it doesn’t hurt all the time now. There’s definitely nothing resembling pain in Eddie right this second.

He strokes Buck’s hair with gentle fingers and presses soft kisses to his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you so much,” Buck echoes, voice barely more than an exhausted, tearful exhalation.

Eddie nudges with his nose until Buck lifts his head. He pulls Buck into a sweet kiss that he hopes transcends everything else. It does for him. He earns a beautiful smile that could melt all of winter. And he knows it’s the same for Buck.

When they can both move and stand again, they clean up and share dinner, and this time, go to bed together. He lays Buck out beneath him and showers kisses and licks over his whole body. He traces tattoos with fingers and tongue and sucks sensitive nipples until Buck writhes and pleads.

Buck watches his eyes, doesn’t look away from him when Eddie gently slides fingers into him. The relief and fulfillment that wash over Buck’s face are too captivating to look away from. He moves with Eddie’s fingers, twisting his body like it will help get him more. He’s quickly begging and quivering with need after only a few minutes. It’s so… striking? His face is flushed and his lips are dark pink and wet, and he looks at Eddie like he’s the only thing that can make him feel any of this.

When he’s relaxed and ready, Eddie holds him, directs long, clingy limbs around his body, and kisses Buck with a teasing drag of lips over his mouth. He sinks into him slowly, ready to dissolve and leave nothing of what he used to be.

Buck grips him hard enough to leave bruises. Like having Eddie truly is a necessity for him. His breath is heated puffs against Eddie’s mouth. His skin is so warm and they’re sticking to each other with heat and sweat. Buck is sturdy and powerful, but he feels so soft and pliant when he’s spread out underneath Eddie, like delicate malleable, precious gold.

He’s never really seen Buck this open and trusting, which is strange because he usually categorizes Buck as very unselfconscious. He’s friendly, extroverted, but he hides, too. Maybe it’s that this sort of sexual intimacy can make anyone feel vulnerable, but Eddie really doesn’t think that’s what this is.

Buck stares at him, uncomprehending, as if the immense intensity and reality of everything they now are to each other is too enormous to fully process. Sex has always been physical, biological, disappointing, maybe even impersonal for both of them. But he could never call being with Buck anything remotely like that. There’s craving, yearning need, but also affection, adoration, devotion all tangled and blended and overflowing in Buck’s eyes. He strokes Eddie’s jaw and pets his dusting of chest hair and tips his head up, and even if it’s all too much, he still asks for more. More touches, more kisses, more Eddie.

And Eddie doesn’t want to feel anything else. Just Buck.

He takes back his earlier thought. Nothing has ever felt like this. Nothing is this good. But maybe everything about loving Buck would be.

Eddie moves slowly, unhurriedly rocking into him, burying deeper, winding and tangling them even more, enough that a constant stream of elated, aching sighs fall from Buck’s lips. The sounds he makes are always so gorgeous. Just on the verge of pained but in the same way a wave crests and breaks and finally meets the shore. Such tremendous need always hurts until you finally have what you’ve been missing.

Buck never holds back, never gives anything less than his whole self, and Eddie longs to give him the same. He leaves lingering kisses on Buck’s face and murmurs love against his skin. He promises unconditional, unending, everlasting. Until they will both believe they’ll be connected forever.

Chapter 12: Proposed

Chapter Text

Eddie drives himself to his last appointment and brings their favorite pizza home for celebratory dinner. Abuela calls him just as he steps out of the building and he chats with her most of the way home so she’s technically the first to know he’s been officially cleared as fit and ready to be put on the schedule again, but Buck and Christopher are next. They both practically tackle hug him so hard, he nearly drops their pizza and has to remind them of other important things like dinner.

“But this means you’re all better, right?” Christopher looks up at him, chin pressed flat against Eddie’s side.

For the most part anyway. He glances at Buck before leaning down to kiss Christopher’s forehead. “I’m much, much better. So, you’ll have Carla and the house all to yourself on Friday.”

Buck smiles sweetly at him but there’s something on his face. Something hidden away and subdued. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. Ravi’s fine. Good kid. Lots of potential and everything. But he’s not you.”

Eddie laughs at him and playfully pats Buck’s arm. “What, you turn into an old man already? Because I’m pretty sure you were Ravi only a few years ago. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about probie Buck.”

Buck stands taller as he walks and takes the pizza to the dining table. “You were a probie more recently than I was.”

Eddie follows, grabs plates from the kitchen cupboards, and sets them on the table where Christopher is laying out napkins for each of them. “Sure. Technically. But no one ever called me that.”

Buck looks him up and down and smirks. “Oh, I called you something.”

He’s about to answer with how he knows and is sure of that, but Christopher chooses that precise moment to interject with a very rare, “Daddy?” while looking up at Eddie, and Buck presses his lips together, flushes pink, and has to turn away.

Eddie tries very hard not to laugh. He ruffles Christopher’s hair and focuses on him instead. “Yes?”

“What happens if you get hurt again?” Is the small, earnest question that comes out, and it’s sobering ice water all over the moment.

Buck is at Christopher’s side before Eddie can think of how to answer. He kneels down so he’s at eye level with Christopher and touches one finger to his chest. “Then I will take care of your dad and you, just like we have been. Because you’re my family and I love you both more than anything. Promise.”

It seems to be a good enough answer for Christopher because he smiles and extends his arms for a hug that Buck readily gives him. But as he’s holding on to their Buck, Christopher also looks up at Eddie with a question. Because their project is mostly complete and he wants to know when.

Eddie touches a finger to his lips but smiles. Soon. He promised soon. He just has to make sure his part is good enough.

They eat dinner together and Christopher goes to his room to play and Eddie tidies up the kitchen and dining room and checks the laundry that’s still a little damp. The trash is close to the top so he ties up the bag and takes it with the empty pizza box to the garbage and recycling bins outside.

It’s when he returns and washes his hands that he notices Buck is very quiet. He’s looking at the kitchen, toward the laundry room, and at Eddie. At how Eddie is able to do all of it himself maybe? His mind looks thousands of miles away.

Eddie touches his shoulder. “You okay?”

Buck glances at him and nods, but when he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Eddie presses closer because he can now. This is something they have and can rely on and they always shared causal, sometimes affectionate touches, but now they can all the time. So he leans into Buck and kisses the corner of his mouth.

Almost instantly, Buck warms and wraps Eddie in his arms. It’s when he’s contentedly hugging his precious Buck, that Buck finally says, “Mirabel texted me. She and Molly love the loft but we arranged the sublet only for a few months. I knew today was your last check up. I told her the day, too. And that I’d let her know as soon as I heard.”

Eddie stills. And immediately wants to hold on tighter. Instead, he lets his arms fall down as he leans away. He hadn’t thought… After they started this new part of their relationship. After everything they’ve been through. After how they both hate being alone, sleeping alone especially. But. It is reasonable. In theory. Buck does love his loft. It’s beautiful and his own space and Eddie knows Buck feels safe and comfortable there.

It shouldn’t make his chest hurt. It’s not a break up. It’s just space. Distance. Loneliness. But it would make sense not to rush this new, new thing too much.

It was too easy to think that they’d get to keep living like this. The three of them together.

“What…” Eddie tries but can’t immediately find his voice. “What were you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know. You’re okay. Cleared for duty. She offered to take over my lease. They would love to keep living there.”

So. Buck could sign it over to them. And live elsewhere. But. Eddie was cleared for everything and ready to go back to work. “Is that what you want? Do you want to move back? It’s okay if you do. I know we’re…” He makes a vague gesture between them but can’t hold Buck’s gaze. “It’s new though. It would make sense. If you still need your own place. We’ll still be here. Christopher and I. And you and I… it wouldn’t change that. Nothing would. I love you.”

Buck looks at him, but doesn’t seem comforted by any of his words.

Maybe that’s not what he needs Eddie to tell him. Maybe… Eddie swallows hard and has to. He has to say it. He can do it. “You also,” he starts but his mouth goes dry and his chest is too constricted. “You can be here. If you want. As long as you want. You don’t have to leave.”

“It was supposed to be temporary.” His words, his tone, his beautiful smooth voice are so small and pained. “Like quarantine.”

Like quarantine. The also short-term sleeping next to each other and living every moment together, and the agonizing day where he knew how deep in this he was but had to leave and it probably broke both their hearts. And god, all the sh*t that followed.

But Buck’s words are a rush of a hit to his solar plexus. Because he wants to stay. He wants to keep being here. He doesn’t want that horrible night where they were both alone again after being so close. There’s air that can fill Eddie’s lungs and lift the tension on his chest. “It doesn’t have to be. We love having you here.”

“What if it’s too fast? Or too much? What if I do something wrong? It was supposed to be until you’re healed. We’ve already been pushing that a bit. You haven’t really needed help in a while. We said until you don’t need me anymore.”

At least he knows exactly what to say to that. He rests his hands on Buck’s sides, anchoring them to each other. “I still need you.”

“You said—”

“I know. I did. I know. But I still need you. I need you every second of every day. I need to see your face every morning. I need you there when I can’t breathe. I need you to love my son and help me raise him. I need you to be his father, too, because he also needs you. I need you to want my hugs and my dumb jokes. I need you to fall asleep in my arms and hold me and never let me go. I don’t want a moment without you. I need you to stay.”

Buck curls around him, wraps arms over Eddie’s shoulders and nuzzles his face into Eddie’s neck. “I love you,” he breathes, soft against skin like their most fervent, immeasurable promises. “I need you, too. I love you. Thank you.”

Eddie leaves a kiss on his cheek. When they part and Buck sprawls out on the sofa to read, Eddie goes to Christopher’s room and knocks lightly on the open door. “Tonight,” he tells Christopher and watches his eyes and smile grow wide. He cheers but must remember it’s a secret, so they tiptoe quietly to Eddie and Buck’s bedroom to set up.

After a couple sneaky trips down the block while Christopher distracts Buck playing games outside, they have everything ready. At bedtime, instead of tucking Christopher into his own bed, they go to their room and though Buck seems curious, it’s not a completely outlandish request. So, he sits on his side of the bed with Christopher snuggled against his side. If he notices anything else, he doesn’t comment.

Eddie sits facing them in the middle of the bed. “So, tonight? We think it’s time for a little story. You’ll have to help me if I mess up. But I’ve heard you tell it,” he looks at Buck. “And you tell it,” he looks to Christopher. “I think it’s my turn now.”

Buck stares at him in awe. Like it’s something touching and poignant and surprising and Eddie hasn’t even said a word yet. It only confirms for him how much of Buck and his heart and his pain went into this world. He only hopes he can do it justice. “There was a world—”

“‘Once upon a time,’ Dad.”

“Right of course. How could I forget.” He squeezes Christopher’s socked foot and smiles. Then takes a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a world made by sadness. It was built in the cold by neglect and loss. By trauma and natural disasters. By repression and lack of self-worth. It meant chaos and destruction and cruelty for everything in this world. People existed but they were forced to be apart. No one knew love. No one knew family. There was only war and fear and anger. And people used these things to hurt each other. It made everything empty and scary and full of pain.”

Buck’s eyes already look glassy and Christopher holds tighter to him as if sensing his loud emotions. “It’s okay, Buck.”

A flicker of a smile crosses Buck’s face and he hugs back, but doesn’t say anything.

Eddie wants to hold him, too, but he continues. “But the magical thing about this world,” he catches Buck’s gaze and hopes he can see the admiration and adoration in Eddie’s face. Buck is the magical one. “Everyone is born with a heart made of something. It gives each person unique powers and special qualities. Some people are bright shining lights in the darkness and they hold universes of kindness within them. Some are rare shining softness and warmth and worth more than anyone can imagine. Some are meant to take care of others through healing and patience.”

“He also brings hope,” Buck says gently. “Flowers are living, alive, beautiful, and brave. They bring life and happiness and hope for the future.”

Eddie’s heart flutters and he can’t think of anything but full, blooming, endless gardens as far as the horizon in every direction. He wraps his hand around Buck’s calf and rubs his bare leg with his thumb. “Which by the way is still ridiculous because both of you know I am terrible with plants and they suffer and die when they’re under my care.”

Christopher giggles. “Because you have a black thumb.”

Buck shakes his head but also smiles. “It’s almost as if you need to take better care of yourself?”

Eddie gives him a look. “Now is not the time for ‘pot and kettle’ here. It is bedtime. Story time. So. The sad thing is most hearts are easy to corrupt. Some people only want to further the ruin of the world. Some are never able to escape it. Everyone was supposed to be doomed for the rest of time because they had no one to turn to. No parents or siblings, no friends or partners.”

“And Hildy spies on people so she can trick them and turn them into her bad guys and then they lose all their special powers,” Christopher adds with animated hand motions.

Eddie holds up his index finger in response. “Yeah, I don’t like that part.”

Buck and Christopher both laugh lightly and smile at him.

“The only way to escape the evil forces of destruction and cruelty and Hildy and save the world is if people take care of each other. But no one was able to find each other or take care of each other. Not before love existed.” Eddie squeezes Buck’s leg and then Christopher’s foot and slides off the bed and walks to one of the usually bare walls of their bedroom that currently has a flat bedsheet tacked up and covering it.

Christopher is buzzing, vibrating with excitement. Buck looks around like he’s just noticed their bedroom is covered in random bedsheets. They weren’t the greatest solution, but they had to hide everything somehow. Buck watches him closely, mind clearly racing for answers.

“We know the story of the man with a heart made of flowers and his son with a heart made of galaxies.” Eddie takes one side of the sheet and pulls it down to show off the artwork underneath — framed pictures of Christopher’s drawings, his favorite scenes, all bright and colorful and beautifully illustrated.

The first is the world of sadness full of crying people and broken buildings and burning houses with a terrifying, red-eyed Hildy bot. The second is Eddie surrounded by a rainbow of different flowers. The third is flowers and river water and a baby in the middle. The fourth is Christopher in his pirate spaceship with comets and planets and stars all around him. The fifth is Eddie and Christopher together but Eddie is clearly sad, bleeding, and all his flowers are broken or drooping. But the sixth one is Eddie and Christopher hugging with glittering stars and hearts all around them.

Buck’s face goes from curious to surprised to his eyes welling and his lip quivering until he covers it with one hand. Christopher hugs him tightly and says something to him that Eddie can’t hear, but Buck strokes Christopher’s hair and compliments and praises his talent and beautiful artwork.

“The man with the heart of flowers,” Eddie says when they look back to him. “Was always told he shouldn’t be flowers. They’re too delicate and soft, they mean too much. He was supposed to be unbreakable and uncompromising. He was never supposed to feel. He was never supposed to have anything for himself. They wanted him to be poison and thorns, not flowers. They never wanted him to know love.”

Buck blinks away tears and gives him a sorrowful look, knowing exactly how real the words and story are.

“But he never wanted to hurt anyone. He wanted to help. He wanted to heal people. The first time he ever knew happiness could exist was when he held his infant son in his arms. His son was the most incredible gift he’d ever been given. His heart was so big it didn’t just hold the world, it held whole stars and universes and planets.”

“And pirate ships!” Christopher says.

Eddie laughs. Of course. “And pirate ships. He was born a guide to those who are lost and have no home. He gave that to his father. He taught his father love and forgiveness and patience. For the longest time, the only comfort he had was when they were together. They were apart for so long and the best day the man had was when he came home to his son and they got to escape and go on and adventure together to find where they belong.”

Buck smiles at him so sweetly. And Christopher grabs Buck’s hand as he beams. Because he knows what comes next.

“While they were on their adventure, they met another man.” Eddie lifts a sheet draped over their dresser and pulls out another framed drawing and hangs it on the wall. The seventh picture is Buck with his whole, giant shining heart of gold covered in golden glitter. “His heart was made of the most coveted, beautiful precious metal. He’s admired for the way he dazzles. For the warmth and friendliness he has. He gifts worth and value to anyone he meets. He thinks he doesn’t have any powers because he can’t see them. But his softness makes him empathetic, his malleability makes him adaptable and clever. He retains knowledge and remembers facts and the history of the world and the science behind it. People tell him he’s too much and not enough so they can take from him all his incredible powers and leave him with nothing.”

Eddie pulls out another hidden drawing and hangs it up, too. “The man with a heart of flowers and the boy with the heart of galaxies find him when he thinks his heart lost forever. When the whole world tries to shake apart and the ocean comes to wash it away.” The eighth picture is earthquakes and tsunamis with broken ground and giant waves and debris everywhere. But Buck is glowing and in the middle, hovering above it with Christopher in his arms. “The man who lost his golden heart rescues the boy from the disasters. He keeps him safe and brings him home.”

He receives a look similar to the one he got two days after it happened. Where Buck couldn’t quite believe Eddie would still trust him to watch Chris even though the only reason Eddie still had a son and Christopher was still alive was because Buck loves them both so much. But it’s fact and that’s what happened. There’s no one Eddie trusts more.

“He saved the man with a heart of flowers, too.” Eddie can’t even put in to words how much Buck saved him and gave him everything he’s ever wanted and needed and longed for. “In so many ways. He kept him safe. He risks everything for him. He’s given so much and done so much for both of them. He doesn’t even know this. But… my heart of flowers had to be locked away. I was the one who cut down everything growing inside it. I took it out. I buried it. I tried never to feel anything.” There are still pangs from every time he shut off his heart and crushed it and didn’t listen.

The ninth picture he places on the wall is Buck opening a box with flowers bursting out of it. “I never thought love like what you give me would be worth it. I didn’t think I was worth it either. But then I met you. You dug up my heart, unlocked it, and set it free.”

Buck kisses the top of Christopher’s head and then gets up from his seat on the bed. He doesn’t stop until he’s wrapped Eddie in his arms. He whispers like an ardent vow, “I love you.”

Eddie runs hands over Buck’s back and still can’t believe how perfect it is that they found each other. “I love you.”

“Buck! Buck, we’re not done!” Christopher insists.

Buck looks at him because that’s basically all the story that he knows. But he returns to his seat at their urging.

Eddie takes out the tenth drawing and holds it to his chest without revealing it. “Since you saved me and my heart, and you saved Chris, it’s only fair that we do the same. I know you say your heart is missing. Given away. Taken. I found there are a lot of theories on how gold is created. A lot of people tried. Obviously, the whole of alchemy was dedicated to people trying to create gold, but the answer is the universe. The stars. When neutron stars collide, it’s an explosion and cosmic fire and a release of energy, and all that energy makes elements. Including gold.” He hangs the tenth picture on the wall. A galaxy of bright stars and gold dust and Christopher in the middle like a conductor, directing everything to float around Buck.

“Stars make gold,” Christopher looks up at Buck. “We can give you your heart back.”

It looks like Buck doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh, but he glances between both of them with wet eyes. “You have, you know. Both of you. I never feel like it’s missing when I’m with you two.”

Christopher looks to him and to the dresser that’s still covered. Eddie nods. Christopher scrambles off the bed and goes to turn off the lights and grab the box hidden in Eddie’s nightstand. Eddie turns on the star lamp he bought Christopher that projects colored galaxy swirls and stars around the room. “We both liked Christopher’s ending, too.” He takes the remaining sheet off the dresser and reveals an array of multicolored roses from their generous neighbors enough to cover their whole dresser.

“Where we give you flowers and stars,” Chris says and hands Buck a box. “And make your heart again.”

Buck wipes at his eyes, trying to hold it together. But he can’t when he opens the box. It’s not large, not exemplary or anything. But Eddie found the tutorials to make a heart-shaped box and he and Christopher had painted it with shiny metallic paint and Christopher covered it with gold star stickers and flower stickers and gold glitter glue and they packed it in a slightly bigger box with flowers and stars they cut from construction paper.

Buck picks up the golden heart and can’t do anything but beam at them and motion for them both to come hug him. They’re happy to oblige. Though Christopher looks up at him with an expectant face. Eddie shakes his head. It can wait.

He lets go only to finish the story and reveal the last picture. That he hung up near the windows and Buck’s side of the bed. “One more piece. They brought love to the world and each other and lived happily ever after as a family.” He takes down the cover and turns the lamp on Buck’s nightstand on so he can see it, then returns to his son and his partner where he can hold them both.

The final drawing — the three of them together with stars and flowers and gold glitter speckles mixed together around them.

It’s nearly fall before he can manage it. School will be starting in less than a week. Christopher has been talking about Halloween and finally seeing his friends and what his new teachers might be like. There are already apples, pumpkins, and colored leaves prominently featured in store displays and decor.

Buck’s even completed his yearly ritual of trying to convince himself that he likes pumpkin spice lattes when they’re always too bland and disappointing and, “Not enough pumpkin or spice or coffee. They should just call it too sweet, too boring, steamed milk that is not festive at all.”

Chimney called him a hater. Hen pointed out that he does this literally every time PSLs come back. Ravi pondered the widespread existential reoccurrences of all things pumpkin spice.

Eddie grinned at him affectionately and reminded him he forgot “overpriced.”

“Overpriced, too sweet and also boring, non-festive, commercialized, recurring disappointment! Did I miss any that time?”

Bobby diced onions and pretended to not hear any of them.

They’ve both been back at the station for a little over a month. Give or take a week or so. In a way, it’s as if nothing ever happened. In all other ways, nothing is the same.

Nothing can ever be what it was before.

When he goes to direct a hose, when he’s carrying and wearing all their gear, when he holds or pulls on a line, when he lifts more than fifty-some pounds, his shoulder twinges, his arm stings and burns. He has to switch and favor his left side. It’s not enough that he can’t do what he has to do. Most of the time anyway. His doctors remind him that it’s still early. He’s still healing. He’s supposed to take it easy and not push himself too far. It’s only been mere months.

Buck never hesitates to massage away whatever pain he can. He leave kisses on Eddie’s neck and cheek for every ache that remains. It’s not the physical reminders that truly bother him anyway. It’s all the ways there’s an icy prickle under his skin when they’re out in the open in the middle of downtown. When they’re in a certain area of the city. When a breeze like sunny spring floats over his neck. When he knows there’s a child in danger. When Buck goes pale and haunted for the same reason Eddie is unsettled.

“I don’t want it to have any more power over me. Or him,” is what he tells Frank. “I want it to be over.”

The pain, the physicality is one thing. He can handle that, and everyone tells him time will be the biggest thing that helps him. But he’s not sure that’s true of whatever isn’t physical.

“It is over,” is what Frank tells him. “But you will likely always remember when it wasn’t.”

But there are ways to take power away from it.

Bobby parks the next street over, and Eddie’s already tense. He didn’t eat this morning. He couldn’t. Buck was quiet, solemn, but spoke cheerfully to Chris as they packed his bag to stay the night with the Wilsons. He knows what Eddie is going to do today. He wanted and also didn’t ever want to go with him, but Eddie insisted he stay home. Whatever Buck needs to do for himself might be completely different from what Eddie needs to do.

“It’s okay if you aren’t there. I don’t want you to be there if it will hurt you. And I think it will hurt you.” Eddie cupped his cheek and kissed him and hugged him tightly.

Bobby picked him up and drove. He volunteered to be there for whatever Eddie needed.

Eddie’s only trying to remember to breathe.

The street is quiet for this time of day. And for this part of town. There are people out walking the streets. There are cars that roll by. He knows Charlie is nowhere near here and that he was taken in by relatives somewhere in the midwest. Social services couldn’t tell him more than that after his testimony, but it was enough to know he’s healthy and safe.

From the sidewalk and the covered shadows under the apartment building, the parking garage is visible. Athena said that’s where he was.

Eddie can see where he was standing, too. Where he fell. Where he was bleeding out. Not that he ever stops seeing it sometimes. But now it’s actually, literally right in front of him.

He tries to take a step further. He’s going to stand in the street. He’s going to do it and he will prove that it won’t happen again. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. The disgruntled shooter is dead and gone. There’s no reason Eddie isn’t safe. He is fine. Nothing will happen.

He’s supposed to do it. He needs to do it. It’s no different than walking to his mailbox.

Although if he starts thinking like that, he might go back to being unable to walk down to his own f*cking mailbox again. He already can’t go on a run through the neighborhood or a park anymore. He and Buck tried that one and at least it didn’t bother Buck. But Eddie couldn’t. He tried and couldn’t breathe and nearly started hyperventilating.

Buck held him, protected him. Drove them to get coffee and bought him a mocha and took him home. They talked about buying a treadmill but he kind of hates the confined, running in place and going nowhere.

It’s all so stupid. It’s ridiculous and frustrating, and he’s fine. He’s completely fine. Nothing is going to happen.

There are still icy shivers and sour, churning nausea and his heart is too fast.

Bobby touches his upper back. “It’s okay if this is as far as you get today. It’s okay if this is as far as you ever get.”

It’s not. It is but it’s not.

Eddie closes his eyes and breathes slowly, but not seeing is worse. There’s nothing there. He has to look and make sure. There are a few cars parked on the street but there are no firetrucks. He looks around in every direction while f*cking cowering near the building. Which is so unbelievably stupid. It’s not like the building can protect him. If someone wants to kill him, they absolutely could. There’s nothing he can do about it.

Is it really losing his own life that terrifies him? Or is it never returning home? Knowing that his family and all the people he loves will lose him? Knowing he will have hurt every single person who loves him?

There’s no blood in the street anymore. There’s no indication that anything devastating or out of the ordinary happened here at all. It’s fine. He’s fine. It’s just a street. The sniper is dead.

Eddie was almost dead. He’s been almost dead more than once. More than twice. It’s been a lot of times. How can he do this? How can he do anything? How many times has he cheated death? How many more times will he have to face it and know how much it will hurt his family? How does someone clean up that amount of blood? How does it get scrubbed away until no one who looks would ever know?

His hands are cold, sweaty, trembling.

But suddenly his right one isn’t empty. Fingers thread with his and squeeze. He knows that hand. He knows it better than anything else. But he’s not supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be at home. Buck has just as much trauma with this place as he does. But he’s here anyway.

Eddie squeezes and then tugs Buck into his arms and buries his face in his neck until he can breathe him in. It makes some of the shivers and nausea fade. “You’re supposed to be at home.”

“I know.” Buck holds him even tighter than he did this morning. “But I love you. I wasn’t going to let you do this without me.”

He probably could have guessed that. “You want to do it with me?”

Buck bites his lip and tears shimmer in his eyes, but he says, “I always want to do it with you.” Because that’s just how he is.

Eddie laughs even if it’s broken right now.

They stand side by side and go back to holding hands. And take a step toward the street together. Buck squeezes hard and stays on Eddie’s right, but also watches from every direction. He only turns to face Eddie when they make it to that place in the street.

Eddie’s already nauseous and wound too tightly. There are cold prickly waves coasting over his skin even though it’s much hotter out today than it was in May. There’s no oncoming traffic. Only a few people wandering back and forth on the sidewalks. No one pays any attention to them.

Buck stares at him, like he’s determined not to flinch or look away, but there are tears when he blinks. Silent, unable to be contained.

Eddie’s pretty sure he’s in a similar state. His eyes sting. His vision is blurry. But Buck is with him. He’ll be okay if Buck is with him. “Frank told me to think of and focus on positive things.”

Buck nods. “You’re alive.”

“I am. You are, too.” He does nothing but breathe slowly, in through his nose, out through his mouth as if it will help solidify these facts. “You protect me. You saved me.”

Buck squeezes his hands even though he looks like he doubts. “You trust me to take care of Chris.”

He does. That’s all he wants for his son. And himself. Their Buck who loves them more than anything. Eddie looks at their hands all tightly woven together. They still have each other. They can face anything together. “I have you.”

Maybe they would have figured it out in a different way. Maybe it was a very rude wake-up call. Maybe none of it matters but the fact that they’re still standing here, holding onto each other, is all he cares about. “You’re all I ever wanted. My whole life, you are what I dreamed of. You’ve always been my partner. And I couldn’t reach you before.”

Buck steps forward and lets go of Eddie’s hands in favor of wrapping Eddie in his arms. “You can now. I’m right here. Forever. I’ve always been yours.”

Eddie breathes, he breathes, and isn’t frozen anymore. He’s not locked or trapped or in denial. He’s here but he survived. He survived and he’s not going to waste it. He’s going to do more than merely not die. He’s going to live. They’re going to live as happily ever after as humanly possible. He won’t ever let this slip away from him for any reason.

He kisses Buck once, solidly, sweetly, and it’s better. Maybe not gone, but it’s over. It’s better. They’re alive and in love. And together. He doesn’t need to be here any longer. If this is what it took to get here with Buck, he can live with that. Even after that whole terrible day and all the baggage that came with it, his life is so much better now. And Christopher’s will be, too. He strokes Buck’s chest over his beautiful heart. “Let’s go home.”

“Like we were going to the first time? Movies and dinner with Chris when he comes home tomorrow, and we never have to be apart ever again?”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

Buck kisses him one more time and breathes, “I love you so much.”

They walk back to Bobby and he hugs them both before returning to his car by himself. Eddie takes Buck’s hand and follows him to his jeep. It’s a little easier. It’s a little more over. He’s alive and Buck isn’t hurt and nothing happened.

“Thank you,” he says when they’re halfway back home. “For being there.”

Buck lifts their hands that are still twined together and kisses the back of Eddie’s. “I think I needed it, too. Don’t know that I’ll stop being freaked out about that whole street, but it’s a start? Maybe? I hope anyway.”

As long as all of it is a start for this, for the life they’ll have together, then maybe, it’ll be okay in the long run. “I think it is. I can’t believe we did that.”

“Me either.” Buck swallows hard and then laughs brokenly with tears in his eyes. “That was one of the worst days of my whole life.”

Eddie can’t say it’s one of his favorites either. “It’s over though.” Because it is. It’s over. Even if there’s more healing to be done, more work to do, it is over. And the most important thing is, they have each other still and their son. “We survived. And we get to spend our lives together.”

Something about Buck softens, relaxes. Just a little. But it’s enough for now. “You really want me for the rest of your life?”

The nausea, the uneasiness, all the anxiety about this morning evanesce into nothing. There’s something about the truth beating in his chest and how it had never been able to exist in the world, how maybe it did take destruction and despair to break it free and let it breathe and shine and grow. But he has gardens now. Forests and meadows and wildflowers and things that are living and flourishing in spite of everything that came before.

He feels alive now. He feels loved. He can’t say that isn’t worth everything or that he wouldn’t do it all over again if it meant he’d make it back to this. Because he would. Having this is more than worth it.

He runs his thumb over Buck’s fingers, traces the bends of his knuckles, the rough spots on palms and fingertips. “I want you for the rest of time, Evan. For the whole life of the universe and then some.”

Buck’s eyes turn glassy and fill with tears. “Eddie.”

“It’s true.”

Buck squeezes his hand and only lets go when he pulls into their driveway. “You know I feel the same?”

Eddie smiles softly. “I was hoping.”

“Well, I do. I never want to be without you.”

He’s so beautiful. He’s so earnest and loving, and Eddie can’t breathe anymore without thinking of how much he loves him. “I don’t either. I want you. I love you.” He pulls Buck into a lingering kiss and doesn’t stop until they’ve made it into the house, into their bedroom, and he has to break apart to undress them both.

There are times now when they’re frantic, teasing, hungry, desperate for each other and rough and more than a little careless because of it. That insurmountable need for him is still there now, always there in so many different ways, but it’s unhurried today.

Buck touches him slowly, softly, in awe of the fact that they get to have each other. Or maybe he’s simply reveling in it. He kisses Eddie wherever his hands have claimed and memorized. He whispers love between every breath.

Eddie melts with the heat of Buck’s body on top of him, and finally inside him. They’re finally too entwined to ever be torn apart. Never will they have to be separate. Never will he have to be without his heart or without the man he loves. He sparks and burns and shines with the way Buck loves him. Eddie is alive and he’s happy. It sounds so simple when he thinks about it. Even though being alive and finding happiness is anything but simple. Finding someone who loves him, knows him, protects him, who fits every part of him is downright miraculous.

Eddie holds onto him with no intention of ever letting go, and loves him in return, every way he possibly can.

The full heat of summer lasts well into October, and Eddie wants to be outside. He’s been cold and trapped in stale, artificial iciness for so long. He wants to breathe. He wants to feel the sunshine.

Christopher is eager to join him. He even concedes to sitting still for sunscreen because Eddie promises he’ll play with him. The nerves in his arm still like to sting and complain sometimes. But he doesn’t care about that right now.

The sunlight touches him when they’re outside. It’s so warm, sweat beads on his skin, soaks into his hair, and makes him damp and sticky and roasted. But it feels so good. He could melt into the grass and remain content to lie there and do nothing for days. He can breathe. He’s alive. He’s warm.

They turn on the rotating sprinkler and Christopher teaches him the “jump rope game” of trying to leap when the little jet whirls around their way. He balances with his crutches and they sink into the wet ground so he only makes it half the time, but says that’s the whole fun of it. Eddie plays it with him and could die of happiness listening to his son shriek and giggle when the cool water hits their legs and feet.

It only gets better when Buck comes home and joins them. They hold hands in a circle and jump repeatedly as the sprinkler ticks around. Somehow, they miss and tumble onto the grass together. Well, Christopher doesn’t. He covers his face and bends in half laughing at them.

Buck grins at him while he’s sprawled on his back, the widest, most gorgeous grin, and Eddie’s heart skips joyously. He rolls over and slides himself closer where he can place a hand on Buck’s chest.

Buck mirrors the touch and rests his own hand in the middle of Eddie’s. His eyes sparkle and flutter closed when Eddie leans down over him for a kiss. It’s unhurried, soft and sweet, and he feels Buck practically purr with a contented hum.

Until the sprinkler comes around again and hits them both in the face and Christopher laughs more.

It's the beginning of December when Buck comes to him with the gold heart they made and gifted to him. While Eddie is folding laundry. A mountain of laundry. How do they go through this much in a few days? It’s only the three of them.

Buck holds up the golden heart. “This is a box.”

Eddie looks at him and continues folding Christopher’s t-shirts. “Yes, it is.”

“There’s a thing inside the box,” Buck says and his voice wavers.

What should he say? There is a thing. An item. A gift. And Eddie gave it without saying anything because that’s apparently what he does. Some things are too massive for words. Eddie sets down the folded shirt and nods. “There is.”

“How long has it been in there? Did you give it to me that day? Or did you put it in there later? Why didn’t you tell me it was a box?”

Because the whole thing had been emotional and revealing and Eddie may or may not have but definitely did chicken out. Just a little. Not that he changed his mind. He was sure. He’d always been sure. The timing though was the thing. “It’s been in there. We gave it to you that day.”

“Eddie,” he says and his breath hitches.

Eddie takes the little box from Buck’s hand and touches his chest to soothe him. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Buck searches him with big eyes. “What is it for? What does it mean?”

Eddie opens the golden heart and picks up the ring inside. A rosy golden band inlaid with braided strands of gold and silver and copper. He hadn’t intended to do this over laundry, but they’d already revealed Christopher’s artwork and the roses from the neighbors have long since wilted. Though Buck saved and dried a few. Like he apparently did the first time Eddie brought him roses. But the issue at hand here…

“It’s for you. It’s a promise,” he looks at Buck and holds the ring between his fingers. “That I’ll be your partner through anything and everything. That I want to spend every day making you happy. That I’ll protect you and comfort you and always come home to you. That I’ll try and be better and healthier and safer for you. That I’ll love you with everything I am as long as I exist in the universe. If you want that with me.”

Buck laughs and somehow also bursts into tears. “What the f*ck, Eddie. Why didn’t you say something?”

Eddie can only shrug. He twists his lips to the side and his own eyes are wet. “I mean. It’s only been a few months. That we’ve technically been together.”

Buck takes hold of his face and kisses him to end the whole world. “You have been my partner and the love of my life for years. Maybe since we met. Of course I want you forever.”

At least that helps him breathe a little easier. “Chris helped pick it out.” He holds up the ring in offering. “It’s rose gold. The base of it. It’s a way they make gold stronger, less fragile. They add some copper and a splash of silver. You, me, and Christopher.”

Buck holds up his left hand and lets Eddie slip the ring onto his finger. Then tilts his hand toward himself so he can look at it. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

Eddie pulls him into another kiss. “I love you.”