Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For years now, Buck figured he’d die in a house. Not his own, probably, but at least it would be someone’s home. He’d get eaten right along with it, inferno chewing through his bones and family heirlooms alike. He thinks he would feel less alone that way — left behind alongside objects people loved and didn’t have time to save — than he does now, here in the water. 

Water, again. He had the foolish idea that he’d outgrown a watery grave, but he guesses the universe isn’t really paying attention to his character arc. It snuck up on him, though really it feels like he should have been ready for it this time. They’ve been out on the ocean for hours, wet salt soaking into him as they worked, frantic, time limit impossible to forget as the wave got closer and closer to the upper decks. The ocean’s been greedy for him for years, and has been sinking her claws in all day; it shouldn’t be a surprise how she holds him down now. He wishes there was light at least, down in this flooded room. God, his lungs burn. He spins, directionless, in the dark, and thinks it’s unfair that he’s going to die with his lungs on fire so far away from any flame. 

His head gets fuzzy, his limbs unresponsive, time stretches and shrinks. He doesn’t think of anything much at all.

And then he wakes up.

It’s painful, the big ragged gasps he’s taking, and he can hardly see or hear or feel anything around him, except- there’s a hand, on his face, someone is speaking-

“-id, come on kid, breathe for me, that’s it-”

The hand at his face rubs at his sternum, now, easing the hacking coughs shaking right through him. “B-Bobby…”

“Right here, I’m right here, Buck.”

He is, leaned down over him in the dim light of- wherever the fuck they are. Buck can’t even be reasonably sure the light is dim, he might just not be fully processing the world at the moment. It’s- Bobby’s here, looking at him all overjoyed and worried at once, and- Bobby’s here, and Bobby was hurt , Bobby is still bleeding, crimson leaking down his chest, staining his clothes and Buck’s, now, too. “Y-y-you were supposed to go- I told you to leave.”

Buck’s brain is definitely still off kilter, because Bobby laughs, grinning down at him. “Well,” he says, and it sounds sort of echoey, light fading even more. “I’ve never been a very good listener.” He thinks Bobby might be holding his face again- he thinks Bobby is holding him, and- if he’s dying again he thinks this might be better than a house. As the light leaves completely he can just barely make out the warmth of Bobby pulling him closer, “I’ve got you, kid,” faint and rumbling like the words are pressed against his skull.

Chapter Text

Waking up in a hospital is dreadful, dry, and extremely familiar. He takes a deep breath before opening his eyes, which turns out to be a mistake. His lungs still ache, and the influx of air sends him into a coughing fit, chest spasming, curling his torso forward with very little voluntary input.

“Easy, Buck.” There’s a hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, and he blinks through watery eyes up at Hen. “Just breathe, here’s some water when you can.”

It takes a few minutes, and he has to take extremely slow sips not to set himself off again. “Bobby?”

“He’s okay,” she reassures, a small smile pulling at her mouth even as she mostly just looks exhausted. “Needed a somewhat frightening amount of stitches, but he’s gonna be just fine. We had to bully him into not coming here to check on you.” 

Buck would laugh if he didn’t think it’d hurt so bad. “I’m rubbing off on him.” She hums a little amused sound, though her face is still tight in a way that makes dread start to pool in his stomach. “How’s everybody else?”

Her expression gets even tighter, a look so regretful Buck immediately tries to sit up past her hand on his shoulder pressing him back down. “Buck-”

“Who is it-” Maddie’s not here, Maddie isn’t sitting with him- “Chimney? Hen, what happened?” 

“It’s not Chimney,” Hen says, and she looks so sorry. “It’s not Chimney, Buck.”

And- 

He was trying not to think about it. Why Eddie wasn’t next to him, a disapproving head shake softened by the relief in his smile. Why Hen circled the point. If he was hurt, just in another bed somewhere, she would have led with that. Hen is sitting here, hand on his shoulder now taking one of Buck’s own, apology in her posture because she knows- because everyone knows what they mean to each other, how they worry. 

“Hen.”

“We can’t find him,” she says, voice shaking, and then steadier: “They haven’t found him yet.” It’s like seeing Hen, his friend, carefully pulled behind Henrietta Wilson, LAFD paramedic, who won’t make any firm statements but has been doing this long enough to be pretty sure of the outcome. She keeps talking, he thinks, but he can’t hear her now. The water is angry, maybe, that he escaped again, and it roars in his ears, pulls him back under, lungs burning. Drowning, again.

—

They each have half a story. They cobble together a timeline. 

The 118 had already been on the ship for over an hour before they’d found Athena, limping and corralling a panicked group of survivors. He and Eddie had been a team, working together as easily as they always do, even in a situation as grim as this one. And it was grim, bodies already limp in the water before they’d boarded, whole floors of the ship dismissed as too dangerous to attempt any search and rescue. He could feel it every time Eddie’s eyes drifted to him, checking him over, watching for signs of distress like he hadn’t also been out in the tsunami dealing with much of the same shit he had.

“At least Chris isn’t here this time,” Buck had said, a joke that had fallen so flat it was rigid in his throat, almost cut him on the way out. 

They found Athena. There were people with her who were badly hurt, so they had to lead them up to the triage areas on the upper deck. Except-

Bobby. Bobby was missing, last seen on a floor marked doomed. And the three of them had stood there and known it was too stupidly dangerous for more than one of them to risk it. Athena was injured and didn’t have any protective gear, other people in the group needed Eddie’s medical knowledge. Buck barely even had to argue that it should be him. 

“Come back home, Buck.” The last thing Eddie said, hand warm on his arm, eyes burning and serious. He wishes he’d made Eddie promise, too.

Bobby was pinned and bleeding in a room with a fucked exit, water buckling the heavy door and making it nearly impossible to open. Buck got him unstuck,  and bandaged for all the good it would do when the water was up to their shoulders and rising. Only one of them could get through the door at a time, and, well, Buck lost consciousness pretty soon after Bobby got out.

Hen tells him Bobby managed to find a way to wedge the door open, got him out, got them to a place they could wait for rescue. They were transported to shore. Rescue efforts continued. 

Chim was paired with Eddie, and Hen with Ravi; each team taking a medic and someone to do heavy lifting. Chim says they were mostly on the top few floors at that point, more and more levels deemed lost causes. Chimney swears Eddie was right behind him. They were taking the latest round of survivors to the deck, the ship had shuddered, he’d turned around, and Eddie was gone. 

A wave going back out to sea, a firetruck in Santa Monica, a yellow shirt vanishing from view. It’s not the same, but Buck thinks he understands some part of what Eddie felt at that field hospital, those moments he thought Christopher was lost. But Eddie lost his world for a handful of seconds, it’s been-

Buck sits up in his bed again, tries to rip out his IV line. “I have to get back out there.”

Hen grabs his arm, over the port, holding desperately tight. “Buck, stop! You’re in no condition, and it’s been-” her face pinches up, she takes a deep breath, rests her other hand on his arm too gently. “It’s been hours. There are still rescue boats out there, but… the ship has entirely sunk at this point, and there’s a storm coming in.” She looks him in the eyes, and he wonders if she can see the way his heart cracks there with the finality in her tone. “I’m so sorry.”

—

It doesn’t take long for Buck to be cleared to leave. He’s given antibiotics for the water he swallowed, a handful of bandages to cover shallow wounds, and instructions to take it easy. Horror clenches in his stomach. Eddie is gone and he gets off with Advil and a nap. 

He goes to see Bobby, maybe as a stall tactic. He can’t even make himself think of going home yet, where Carla is waiting and Christopher is- he can’t think about that yet. He can worry about this other thing, about how much blood Bobby lost and the fact that they haven’t discharged him yet. Caution? Complication? Whatever the reason is, Buck has no solid memory of Bobby being okay post-rescue and that lack feels itchy inside his skull. 

Chimney is walking out of Bobby’s room when Buck turns down the hallway and for a split second he debates turning right back around again, but then Chim sees him and he isn’t actively going to run away. His feet feel like concrete blocks. The closer he gets the clearer the nervous look of guilt on Chim’s face becomes, and Buck practices in his head. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, Chim. Hey, man, it’s not your fault. This shit happens. People get lost at sea, I guess, even though it’s 2024 and not the eighteen fucking hundreds and this shouldn’t have happened, this shouldn’t have fucking happened, I don’t understand why or how this could have possibly-

“Hey, Buck,” Chimney says, all cautious and soft, arms open wide.

He’s got widower eyes on. It hurts very badly that everyone knows the scale of this, what he has lost. Not a coworker, not even just a best friend. Buck accepts the hug. What else is he going to do? “Hey, Chim. Glad you’re okay.”

“You too,” Chimney says, breathless, into Buck’s shoulder. He pulls back to look at Buck, and Buck wishes he could get rid of the regret on his face, for no particularly noble reason other than he doesn’t want to look at it. “I’m so sorry-”

“Stop,” Buck says, and at least it’s more panicked than angry. “It’s- it’s fine.” A wince. Nothing is fine. “It wasn’t your fault.” There, his voice barely even shook. 

“Buck-”

“I- I want to check on Bobby. I’m gonna- I’ll talk to you later.” He’s probably done worse exits before. Whatever.

But then, god. There’s Bobby. He’s small in his hospital bed, all thin and gray, looking older than Buck’s ever thought of him as being. He stalls out immediately in the doorway but then Bobby sees him, opens his arms wide. 

“Come here, kid.”

Buck comes here, almost tripping over his own feet like he really is a kid, tired and wanting dad to make everything better. Some other kid, anyway. Philip never made a single goddamn thing better, but Bobby gathers Buck down into his arms and at least he feels safe for a moment. 

“You scared me, Buck,” Bobby says, soft, his hand cradling the back of Buck’s skull. It makes him want to cry, his breath hitches with it, but if he lets go now he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop and there’s too much to do. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Buck nods, the motion crumpling Bobby’s t-shirt around. They let him get dressed, at least, that must be a good sign. “Are you okay? A-and Athena?”

“Got Athena to go home to get comfortable, she’s alright, twisted her ankle. And I’m doing fine, Buck. Blood pressure was a little off, they wanted to keep me for a bit just in case.”

Buck pulls back, half-intentionally stumbles into the chair behind him when his thighs hit the seat. “Are you sure? They checked for- for internal bleeding, o-or-”

“Buck,” Bobby reaches out, puts his hand on Buck’s cheek. “I am alright. I promise you. They have checked for everything that makes sense to check for, I was just-” Bobby sighs. “Cold and bleeding and stressed out. Numbers are already heading back to normal. I’ll be out of here in an hour or two.” His hand drops to Buck’s shoulder, squeezes. “If you wait that long I can take you home.”

Buck worries at the rough edge of a nail. “No, I- there’s- I have to-” he tears a strip of the nail away, jagged at the end. A little prick of blood forms on the side of the nail bed. “Have his parents been told? I-I-I should call, I- I need to go home, I need to- I need to tell Chris-” Buck’s voice cracks on his name, right in two, and he closes his eyes so the tears don’t fall. Bobby’s hand holds on harder.

“There’s time, Buck,” Bobby reassures. “You can take a moment.” 

Buck swallows, shakes his head. He opens his eyes, scrubs beneath them, knowing he’s just going to look like shit for a while no matter what he does. “No. I need to go to Chris. I can’t leave him alone.”

Carla is with him, he’s not just abandoned in the Diaz house with all the lights off and no food and piles of scissors and matches, but Bobby nods, understanding what he means. “Alright. I’ll come over later, then. I’ll be there tomorrow.” 

Buck feels nauseous. “Okay. If you’re, uh, feeling up for it.”

Bobby nods, with just a hint of stubbornness that Buck wants to point at, hold up next to his own. Rest if you’re aching, why do you get to ignore hurt if I’m not supposed to? But mostly he’s grateful, both that Bobby will be there in the morning and that he’ll have the night with no concerned eyes boring holes into him. “See you then. Please, Buck, call if you need anything.” 

“Yeah. Will do.” 

“I love you, kid,” Bobby says before he gets out the door, and his expression is almost frightened. And Buck feels rude even thinking it — everyone cares about him so much and he knows that finally, is pretty sure of it anyway, and he doesn’t mean to imply anyone loves him any more or less than anyone else, that’s not how it works, it’s not a competition — but he thinks maybe it’s because Bobby knows that the person who loved him best is dead. He says it like a man throwing a life vest- fuck. Buck digs his nails into his thigh. Stupid. No ocean metaphors. 

In the hallways he hesitates again, because- his car isn’t here and his phone is waterlogged and useless, he has no actual plan on how to get anywhere. He figures the front desk would call him a ride, but he has no money. Maybe they’ll take one look at him and see that the world has ended, who cares about cab fare or, fucking, Uber surge pricing, let’s just get this guy home. He only spends a moment or two working up the energy to go find a kind and pitying receptionist when the figure walking up to him registers in his brain. Maddie. Maddie is here. She hasn’t even said anything yet, just come up to him with her eyebrows drawn together, but so much for not breaking this early because it’s his sister, who’s been there for him since the very beginning, and he’s opening his mouth and asking, all ugly, “What am I going to do? What do I do? What am I going to do?”

The sob that rips out of him hurts, like debris is getting lodged in his insides on the way out. He crumples like wet tissue, slumping onto Maddie who somehow manages to keep him upright. “Oh, Evan,” she says, holding on so tight. “Oh, honey, we’ll figure it out. We’re all going to be right here for you. You aren’t alone.” Isn’t he? Hasn’t he been left alone? How is he ever going to know where his shoulder is supposed to be without Eddie’s there to bump against? “And- and he could still be out there, maybe they’ll-“

“No.” The word is choked and violent, and his body tears itself back a step. “Maddie, stop.” He’s shaking his head, maybe. “He’s- I can’t think that. If he’s- if he’s-” How did the ocean find Buck here? Why is he underwater? “I can’t do anything about it. It means I-I- I gave up, I left him-” if Eddie is, somehow, still alive out on the open ocean he won’t be for long, and the thought of finding out later that something could have been done if only, if only- it floods his mouth with bile, makes his words come out sharp. “He has to be dead. I can’t- I can’t hope, Maddie, it will kill me.”

“Buck…”

She looks sort of horrified. Buck isn’t sure about which part, but he can’t spare any thought to figure it out because- “Eddie’s dead. E-Eddie’s dead. He’s dead, he- I can’t do this, I can’t- I can’t fucking look at anyone, I don’t want-” huh, he can’t really see. “I don’t want to- to talk to anyone, I can’t- they’re going to bring casseroles a-and I’m going to have to answer the door and say thank you and we’ll- we’ll- there’ll be too much food in the fridge because that’s what happens when people die and I- I can’t- I can’t do this- I can’t do this-”

Very faintly, he is aware of hands on his body, moving him, sitting him down. He wishes desperately for a moment that it had been him that died, but then thinks about Eddie still alive and feeling all this. Eddie’s still a stoic man, all that therapy and effort to share what he’s feeling aside, and Buck thinks no one might realize right away how bad Eddie was hurting if Buck wasn’t there to see it. At least Buck does this, explodes all over hospital waiting rooms or Bobby’s house or Maddie’s, and everyone can see the gooey pieces of him melting into the cracks and staining the carpet. Somebody’s got a shop vacuum somewhere probably, labeled with his name and in case of emergency. 

He’s not sure how long it takes to come back to himself, feeling trickling back into his hands and feet, vision clearing. He’s in one of the awful chairs that he barely remembers seeing down the hall, the rough upholstery of the seat itchy even through his clothes. Maddie is on one side, clinging to his arm, and on the other- “B-Bobby… you shouldn’t-”

Bobby shakes his head, looking even paler than before. There’s tape peeling on his arm where the IV was. “It’s alright.”

“I-I-“ should have waited till I was in the elevator at least to throw this fit, jesus, you should be in bed. Why’d you come running, please, you need to rest, I almost lost you, too. It all buzzes against Buck’s lips but refuses to actually make it out. 

“It’s alright,” Bobby repeats, rubbing his hand up and down Buck’s back. “I’m going to let everyone know you’re not up for visitors, and you don’t need food. Whatever you need, Buck, we’re- we’re gonna make that happen.” 

I want Eddie back. “I want to go home. Eddie’s house.” Because he has to clarify, outside of his head, where he thinks home is. “I need- I need my car.” 

“Can you drive right now?” Maddie asks softly, but still firmly assessing. 

“I don’t know,” Buck says, scrubbing his face. He tries to actually think about it, how his hands are shaking and his vision is still sort of blurry. “No.”

“I’ll take you to- I’ll take you home,” she says, rubbing his arm. “Let’s rest for another minute and we’ll head out?”

“Okay.” 

“I’ll have someone get your car there. Just drop it off out front.” Bobby’s hand has stopped moving to rest across his back, torso turned towards him in a sort of hug. He looks exhausted. He looks sad. God. Buck isn’t the only person who lost somebody, Eddie and Bobby were close. They’re all close. 

“Let me help you back to your room,” Buck says. His voice is croaky, he’s just now noticing, hoarse from crying or yelling or the brine he swallowed however many hours ago. “Please,” he adds, when Bobby looks like he’s going to refuse. 

They shuffle back down the hall together, and as much as Buck said he wanted to help he’s not really sure who’s keeping who upright. A surprised nurse joins their little parade, helping get Bobby situated back in his bed and starting the IV back up. Bobby pulls him into another hug before they go, kisses the side of his head. 

“I’ll be there in the morning,” he promises while they’re still close together. “If that’s alright.”

“That’s alright, Bobby. Thank you.” Buck hugs him one more time, quick and tight. “I love you, too. Sorry I didn’t say it before.”

Bobby shakes his head, lips pursed, eyes shining. “Oh, I know it.” 

—

Buck doesn’t really remember the ride home. He’s at the hospital and then they’re pulling up in front of familiar white stucco, bright even in the late evening light. The time of day is as much a surprise as anything else that’s happened. He feels dizzy.

“Do you want me to come in?” Maddie asks. “Or- or just come to the door with you?”

Buck shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Okay,” she says, unhappy but not fighting him on it. “I’ll call you-”

“I don’t think my phone will turn on.” 

“Buck,” she says, alarmed. “I- I’m not leaving you without a phone-”

“Eddie has a landline.” He’d made fun of him for it. The last person on Earth to have one, probably. “And Chris has a phone now.” For emergencies only theoretically, but Buck knows he has games on there. 

Maddie looks unhappier still. “And you’ll call if you need to? Please, Evan.”

Buck breathes in, exhales. “I’m not going to hurt myself.”

Maddie makes a terrible little gasping sound, but it’s- it’s not surprised. “I don’t like leaving you alone here like this.”

“Chris is inside.”

“I know, but-”

“Chris is inside. I have to be here for him. So I’m not- going anywhere.” For a moment, he wishes that he had been aware of the ride here, wonders if Maddie had gone on the freeway. It would have been easy to open the door, fall away into oncoming traffic. But it’s only for a moment. He made a promise, the most important of his life, so he can’t lie down and die. Chris is inside. He has to be here for him. “I swear, Mads.” 

There’s tears in her eyes when he holds out his pinky. “Alright,” she says, hooking their fingers together and then pulling him forward into a hug. “Do you want me to take your phone in, maybe I can get it repaired? Or get you a new one.”

“That would be helpful, thank you.” He’s sort of afraid to get out of the car — the world feels very big out there — but he can’t keep putting this off. “Love you. See you later.”

The water still has him as he walks to the door, pulling at his limbs, burning his lungs. As he unlocks the door with shaking hands and steps inside he thinks maybe he should start by apologizing for bringing it with him. I think I’m cursed, I think it wants me, I think it keeps getting Diazes by mistake. 

Carla is at the kitchen table with a book open in front of her, but Buck thinks she’s actually playing solitaire on her phone. It’s so normal. He feels wrong, coming in here. A ghost again, malevolent this time. She looks up and then immediately stands up, face gathering up in concern. “Honey- what happened? Where’s Eddie?”

God, she doesn’t know. They were probably waiting for the rescue efforts to be called off for the night so they’d have something more concrete to say, or maybe it was just his job and he didn’t do it. “Something happened,” Buck says, in a voice that doesn’t really sound like his. The sea, speaking through him. “Something happened on the ship. He- he’s-” come on, he’s said it a few times now, he can do it. “He’s not coming home. He’s- he’s gone.”

Carla is stunned. She shakes her head in disbelief, and Buck wants that to make it all untrue, somehow. See, Carla said no, Eddie’s going to walk in behind me now. She leans heavily against the chair for a moment and then comes forward to wrap her arms around him. “Oh- oh, honey. Oh, honey.”

“Where’s Chris?” Buck whispers, looking around the kitchen without really seeing anything.

“In his room,” Carla sniffs. “He had some homework, he’s probably done and playing games by now.” She wipes her eyes. Buck watches her contain her grief into something neat and helpful, and wants to ask her how she does it. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No, I-” he shakes his head. Maybe she should, maybe someone else should be here to pick up the pieces, but he wants- he doesn’t want to be looked at anymore. “I- we’ll be…” the word fine floats untruthfully between them. “I think I just need to do this, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” she says, squeezing his arm. She frowns, eyes still shining. “God, I- it doesn’t feel real. He’s… how did… was he recovered?” 

Buck closes his eyes. “No.” 

“Honey,” she breathes, nails almost biting in around his elbow. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

The warm dark behind his own eyelids feels a little safer than the rest of the world. “Yeah. Thanks.” He opens them anyway. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

She shakes her head with a sad little smile. “I can find my way. You have people coming tomorrow? You’re not going to be alone?”

“No, I- yeah. Bobby’s gonna be here in the morning.” 

“Alright.” She pats his arm, and then pulls him in for another hug. “You need anything- someone to watch Chris, someone to just be here, you call me, okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck promises. “I’ll- yeah. I’ll call you.” She’s almost through the doorway when he speaks up. “C-Carla? Do you… how do you talk to a kid about this? I- I didn’t do a very good job, last time.”  

It’s hard to see the heartbreak on her face because it’s the same that’s in Buck; that there was a last time, that Christopher has already been through so much. “You did just fine, Buck. You were good with him then and you will be now.” She takes a steadying breath. “Keep it simple, don’t over explain anything, but answer any questions he has truthfully. I still have the information for the therapist he saw after the tsunami, and I know of some support groups that gear themselves towards younger folks, I can get that together for you.”

“Thank you,” Buck manages. 

“It’s no problem, Buck. You have a lot of people who want to help you. Don’t forget that.”

“I… I won’t. I’ll call you. Thank you.”

Another round of lingering goodbyes and then… Buck, alone in Eddie’s kitchen. The blue mug Eddie likes is in the sink. He probably used it this morning. Buck will have to wash it and Eddie’s spit will be cleaned away and another part of him will vanish from the world. He closes his eyes again. Maybe he can stay so still he won’t exist anymore. Maybe he can stay so still he can wake up from this, the worst dream he’s ever had.

He opens his eyes. He goes down the hall. It’s quieter in Chris’ room than it usually is when he’s playing video games: no chatter, no squeak of his desk chair as he gets enthusiastic on the controls. When Buck opens the door he isn’t surprised to find him reading, instead. He’s hunched over the book on his desk in a position that makes Buck’s spine hurt in sympathy. Chris looks up and smiles at him. Buck walks forward and kneels down in front of him. The smile vanishes. 

Buck doesn’t have to explain anything, in the end. He hasn’t said a single word but Chris knows. It must be written all over Buck, Chris is a smart kid, of course he knows. He looks suddenly exhausted, eyes cloudy with it, his shoulders sagging, his head falling forward, and then he’s slumping out of his chair and Buck is catching him, gathering him up, holding on tight. One of them is shaking- no. Both of them are shaking. 

“I’m so sorry,” Buck says, keeps saying. “I am so, so sorry.” Chris’ arms wrap around Buck’s neck, and tears flood Buck’s eyes because Chris hugs the same way he always has since he was a little kid, his arms dead weights across Buck’s shoulders, cheek pressed against Buck’s collarbone. He’s never wept into the hug before, though. “I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m so sorry.”

They cling to each other on the bedroom floor and it continues until it doesn’t, Christopher’s shuddering sobs tapering off into the sounds of the almost asleep. Carefully, Buck picks him up and moves him to the bed. He pulls up the covers, smooths over his curls, kisses his forehead. A routine he’s performed hundreds of times by now, but the next step is that Eddie comes in, a warm smile on his face, and tells his son that he loves him and to have sweet dreams. They both look to the door for a moment, and though Buck flinches away Chris watches until his eyes blink closed and his breathing evens out. It takes a long time for Buck to make himself get up, but he manages it eventually. 

Eddie’s landline is on a stand near the kitchen doorway. Buck had teased him mercilessly about the whole thing, asking why he hadn’t gone for one with one of those long coil-y cords he could twirl around his finger. Hell, why not go all the way and find a rotary? He’s grateful for the wireless design now as he takes it back down the hall, sinks to the floor against the wall where he can watch Chris through the open door. He knows the number, he’s pretty sure, he’s pretty good with them, but he still pulls up the contact list and scrolls. Hesitates. Maybe he should wait till the morning, not ruin somebody else’s night’s sleep, but if he doesn’t keep moving with this momentum he thinks he’ll shut down entirely, never speak a word about this ever again. And, if it were him, he’d want to know.

Ramon picks up on the first ring. “Eddie,” he says, gleeful. “Come to cry about your defeat? I told you the Astros would win that game, your Rangers-”

“Sorry,” Buck interrupts, chest tight, Eddie in his mind exasperatedly complaining about his father’s rival baseball team. I told him they were fucking cheaters and he made it, like, a whole metaphor, somehow. ‘Oh, people can change, mijo, you have to forgive past mistakes’ while making sad little eyes at me. Buck had laughed, hadn’t they only been on a phone call? I could just tell, Eddie had griped, waving the dish he was cleaning in the air for emphasis. Sad little eyes. “I’m sorry. This is B- my name is Evan Buckley. Uh. Buck. We met briefly, I- I work with Eddie.”

“Yes,” Ramon says, worried now, impatient. “Buck. His best friend.”

If he wasn’t already sitting down it would have taken him out at the knees. He digs his fingers into his thigh so hard he’d leave grooves if his nails were any longer. Might do, even now. “Y-yeah. I-I-”

”Why are you calling? It’s late. Where is my son?”

He takes a deep breath that does nothing to stop the trembling in his jaw. “Mr. Diaz, early this morning we were called out to a disaster off the coast. A cruise ship experienced a catastrophic malfunction and was sinking, they needed all the rescue personnel they could get to aid the civilians on board. Eddie-” for half a second Buck is afraid he’s going to vomit. He tastes it at the back of his throat, his stomach twists and twists. “Over the course of the rescue he- he-” swallow, keep it down, please, please. “It’s- it was dangerous, water rescues are always dangerous, a-and- I- I lost him- we lost him- he-”

Ramon makes a sound, deep, low, keening. Grief like the earth cracking apart. There’s other noises over the line, Helena’s frantic voice, clattering like something being knocked over. Buck sits alone in a hallway 800 miles away. The lights are on in Chris’ room but it’s dark out here.

“I’m sorry,” he says. There’s nothing else he can do, nothing he can say to fix any part of this, make it any easier. The man’s son is dead. Buck’s best friend is dead. “I’m so sorry.”

Chapter Text

Buck jerks awake, suddenly, daylight filling Chris’ room through the curtains neither of them remembered to close. He doesn’t remember dozing off but he must have, body now stiff from sleeping here sitting up against the bed. He hopes for a moment that Chris is still asleep, getting whatever rest he can, but then his brain catches up to the sound that woke him. It only takes half a turn of his head to find Christopher, curled up close to him at the edge of the bed, his eyes open, face already wet with tears, taking horrible, shaky little breaths. It’s world-ending, looking at him, helplessness curling around his bones like rot. He turns to face the bed, and he and Chris reach out in tandem, arms wrapping around each other before either of them can get any words out. He can see Chris’ alarm clock from here, and it feels like a cruelty that it’s barely seven in the morning. There’s so much day left that they have no choice but to get through.

“Are you hungry?”

Chris only shrugs against him, face still warm and wet where it’s tucked into Buck’s neck. Buck isn’t sure he himself can eat, but- this falls to him, now. He has to make sure Chris is taken care of. He has to eat so he can take the antibiotics, keep his body going because Chris needs him. The future stretches out too long before him, and he has to close his eyes for a moment against it before taking a deep breath and pulling Chris into his arms.

He’s twelve, not the tiny kid he was when they first met, limbs a little more awkward to arrange as he carries him down the hall, but Chris doesn’t protest. It’s hard to put him down in the chair and let go, and he hovers close even when he does. “We should eat something. I’ll make whatever you want.” Chris looks lost, shrugs a shoulder. Right, too much choice, overwhelming. “I’ll make waffles. You can just take as many bites as you can manage. It’s okay.” 

As he mixes up the batter, something he’s done so many times he could do it dead and blindfolded, he calls Durand. It’s a Tuesday. School day. Melissa from the front office answers the phone, cheerful. She’s nice, Buck’s met her at school events before. 

“-how can I help you?”

“Hi,” Buck says, managing to bite down on you can’t. “This is, uh, Evan Buckley, calling on behalf of Christopher Diaz. He’s, um, not going to be coming in today.”

“I see. Does he have a doctor’s note?”

Fuck, he should have done this in the hall, but he’s got a waffle in the iron now, he can’t walk away.

“No, uh- Eddie- his father- there’s been an accident at work.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, and it sounds genuine. Everyone likes Eddie there, a coveted field trip supervisor with his medical training. “I hope he has a speedy recovery.”

Buck inhales so sharply it makes him cough. “N-no. Uh. No, he- he- um, sorry. He’s not- he’s not coming home.”

“Oh,” Melissa says, the same shock in her voice that had been in Carla’s. “Oh, I- I’m so sorry. That’s- I’m so sorry. I- I’ll let his teachers know.”

“Thank you. Uh- He’ll be out tomorrow too. Maybe- I think maybe the whole week. I don’t- we’ll see.” 

“Of course. Our counselors have grief training, we’ll set up meetings for Christopher whenever he’s ready to come back.”

“Thanks. Um. Okay. I’ll let you know.” He hangs up, winces, not sure if he should have waited to say goodbye. He takes the waffle out and hasn’t even moved to hang up the phone when it rings again. Pepa. Fuck. “H-Hello, this is-”

“Buck,” she says, voice strained but unsurprised. “Ramon already called.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck chokes a little. “I should have called you last night. I-”

“I understand,” Pepa says, but her voice still cracks around the words. Anger, or grief. “My brother and his wife are flying in tonight. And maybe- maybe our mother.” She sounds tired. “I’m not sure. I have room for them here but they’ll want to come see Christopher.”

“Yeah. Y-yeah, of course. I’ll, uh- figure out dinner.”

“I’ll call you-”

“I, uh- my phone’s broken. Call the house? Or- Chris, call Chris’ phone, if you can’t get through. But- but I’ll be here.”

There’s quiet for a few moments. “I can come get him if-”

“No!” Panic digs sharp nails into his heart. “No, um, no- w- we’re good. I can do this. I’m going to take care of him, I- I promise. You don’t have to worry.” 

Another moment of quiet. “My nephew trusted you.” A longer silence. A sigh. “I have seen the way you all are. I know you will do your best. Let me speak to him.”

Buck nods, barely remembering to make a confirming sound before he hands the phone to Chris. “It’s your tia, bud.”

Chris takes the phone and Buck goes back to make more waffles, the first one slightly underdone and already cold on the counter. He throws it in the trash. He tries not to listen to Chris’ murmured conversation. He should give him space — really, he should have taken the other phone calls in the hall, not made Chris listen in to the mundane logistics of losing his father — but he thinks if he goes too far away from the kid he’ll lose his mind. Buck imagines himself as several pieces of thin cloth in a strong breeze, Christopher as a long pin stuck into the ground, the only thing keeping him from blowing away. So, he makes waffles — dizzy, dizzy — and clatters around enough not to eavesdrop, and tries not to let the smell make him nauseous because he needs to eat something so he can take the antibiotics so he won’t rot away and die. 

Chris finishes the call, they each manage about half a waffle, Buck takes the pill. His chest hurts. Still drowning. He watches Chris and thinks about a confession in a hospital room, Eddie’s grand backup plan to keep Buck alive. And- and he’ll never begrudge him for it, he’ll never resent Chris, he’ll fight as hard as he promised, but he sits there pushing syrup around with slowly disintegrating food and thinks that he didn’t have enough to give in return to keep Eddie here. The deal went only one way, and Buck alone wasn’t enough to stay for. 

And all of that is so unfair to Eddie, to Chris, to himself, that Buck has to hide his face in his palms for a little while and take deep breaths. It makes him cough, which makes his chest hurt worse, and the whole world is so terrible that Buck doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“Buck?”

Buck’s out of his seat and kneeling in front of Chris before he even tells his body to move. “Yeah, kid?”

Chris frowns at him, traces slow fingers across one of the cuts on Buck’s face. “Did you get hurt?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I’m alright.” He doesn’t- Carla said to answer questions truthfully, but that’s not a lie, right? The doctors said he was good to go. He’s not going to tell Chris he drowned out there. “A little banged up, but I’m okay, I promise.” 

“What’s the medicine?”

“For infections, just in case. Remember-” fuck why would he bring this up right now- “a-after the tsunami? We had to take antibiotics, because there’s a lot of germs in the ocean, but we were both totally okay.” 

Chris stares at him for a while longer, hand curled over Buck’s ear, and then nods. “I’m tired.”

“You wanna go back to bed, or hang out on the couch?”

Chris thinks, looks out to the living room. “Couch.”

“Okay.” Buck starts to move back so he can stand up, but Chris leans forward and wraps his arms around Buck’s neck so he picks him up again. It’s not just that he’s physically bigger now, but in the last year or two Chris has been old enough that he doesn’t really want his dad or Buck carrying him around anymore. Now, Chris is curling up in his arms like a little kid, and Buck thinks his chest is never going to stop aching. He kisses his curls as he sets him down, drags over the softest blanket from the basket beside the couch. “You need anything? I can grab your book? Or your Switch?”

Chris shrugs and also nods, so Buck just grabs everything, moving quick so he’s not out of sight for long. He’s handing it all over, and the tv remote too, when his stomach twists at a sudden thought. “Uh… Chris, do you have Marisol’s number?”

Chris shakes his head, hands loosely holding everything on top of the blanket. Fuck. Buck certainly doesn’t have it, and he didn’t see her in the contacts on the house phone. Eddie’s phone is wherever Eddie is: lost, gone, unreachable. Chris frowns at whatever look is on Buck’s face, so he tries to smooth himself back out, kissing his head again. 

“That’s alright, we’ll just- we’ll wait for her to call.” He’s not sure what else to say. Marisol and Chris seemed to get along fine whenever he saw them together — Eddie wouldn’t still be dating her if they didn’t — but the situation is so beyond fucked that Buck doesn’t have the first idea where to even start. Sorry I can’t get ahold of your dad’s girlfriend but if she’s that important to him why the fuck isn’t her name in the phone? Why’s he still- why was he still dating her if he didn’t trust her enough to let you have her number? I was texting you a week after we met, I still remember the dinosaurs we talked about. Ankylosaurus was your favorite, looks like some horrible medieval weapon come to life, you said it like ankle-sore. Does she know your favorite dinosaur? Do you want her here? Tell me and I’ll make it happen. She’s called 911, I’ll make Maddie get her number for me. Anything. I’ll do anything.

He doesn’t make any actual moves towards getting his sister to break the law for him because there’s a knock at the door. Buck braces himself before he goes to answer it, but he didn’t need to worry; it’s Bobby, standing there empty handed. Buck wishes he were smaller, could climb into his arms and be held like Chris. 

“Hey,” he manages. “Hi. Come in.” 

Bobby follows him down the hall, greets Chris, follows Buck again as he moves to hover between the kitchen and the living room, wanting privacy for whatever gentle questions Bobby is going to ask him but still not wanting to let Chris out of his sight. Bobby makes no move to shepherd him in either direction, just puts a hand on his shoulder. It’s warm. Buck hadn’t realized he was feeling cold. 

“How’re you doing, kid?” 

Buck shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself. Bad? “I don’t know. I’m-” he shrugs again. “I made breakfast. Called the school.”

Bobby looks proud of him for it, and god that feels stupid but also, yeah, it was fucking hard, someone should be proud of him. He’s upright, mostly. He’s present, mostly. Three cheers for him. “That’s good,” Bobby says, kind, before his face settles into something tighter. “Chief Alonso is going to call his parents today.”

Buck is pretty sure he physically flinches at that. The fire chief, pulled out from an office and dusted off for a firefighter lost in the line of duty. “I- I already- I called. Last night.” Bobby’s eyes get a little wide and Buck- maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe he should have waited, let them find out through official channels, found some way to keep himself going other than whatever dreadful momentum had carried him forward last night. “Was that- I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” Bobby is quick to reassure, hand flitting out to touch his shoulder again. “No, you’re alright. It’s… probably good they heard from somebody who…” Buck closes his eyes, intensely relieved that Bobby can’t seem to find an end to that sentence. “Are they coming to town?”

Buck nods, pries his eyes open again. God, should he clean the house? Is it messy? “Yeah. They’re- they’re coming in tonight. I, uh- they’re staying with Pepa, but they’re coming over- they’re gonna come over later.” He looks out to the living room, towards Chris on the couch that’s still set up as Buck’s bed that he never ended up sleeping in. He has to put that back together, but the thought of asking Chris to even do something as simple as stand up so Buck can rearrange couch cushions has nausea clawing at his gut again. “I’m, uh… I have to figure out- I gotta make something. I have to see what we-” his breath catches in his throat, setting off another round of aching coughs. Bobby holds onto him until he can breathe mostly normally again. “I- I- we don’t have- Eddie- he needs groceries, we were going to go after our shift- I- there’s nothing to-”

“Hey,” Bobby says, soothing, ducking down a little to catch Buck’s eye where he’s sort of slumped in the doorframe. “You’re okay. Keep breathing, Buck.” Bobby breathes too, exaggerated inhales and exhales for Buck to follow along. Buck had done the same for Eddie, back when there were holes in his wall. “I know you…” Bobby sighs, rubs at his jaw. “You didn’t want anyone bringing food, but I can go to the grocery store if you’d like. Get whatever you need for the house, maybe something for dinner. I’m sure they’d understand if you’d just like to order something.”

Buck shakes his head, firm on this at least. He’s only met Helena and Ramon a handful of times, and almost never on particularly good occasions. He needs them to come here to homemade food, has to make a good impression, has to look like he has everything together and isn’t feeding Christopher endless takeout. “No, I- I should make something.”

Bobby nods, slowly, understanding. He’s met Athena’s parents, Buck remembers, under none too pleasant circumstances. “I can cook dinner, Buck. I’ll do it here, be out of your hair before they arrive. If they need a ride from the airport me or Athena can go get them.”

“No, I think Pepa’s getting them.” He tries to unstiffen his arms, bring them down to his sides so he can go find paper to write a grocery list. “Thank you, Bobby.”

“I told you, kid,” he says, as Buck makes his way past. “Anything you need.” 

There’s a small pad of paper on the shelf that holds the landline, because Eddie is- was- an old, old man at heart. The top sheet has his writing on it, and Buck has to blink rapidly not to be blinded by sudden tears. TOMMY’S BIRTHDAY 04/09 AFTER SCHOOL LEGO THEME (?) PEANUT ALLERGY, written in all caps, for legibility. Eddie always said he could write faster lowercase, but it would be a toss up whether anyone would be able to read it. Buck misses him in every cell in his body. He carefully pulls off the top sheet and tucks it safe under the base of the phone, and then scribbles out everything he can remember them needing. He just barely catches himself before he writes down spinach because Eddie loves it but Chris and Buck are never going to get through a tub on their own. He puts the pen down and tries not to get vertigo at how different the world is than it was 24 hours ago. 

“I’ll text you if-” he still has no phone, right, “Uh, I- I think Chris has your number if I forgot anything.” 

“Alright. I’ll-” 

They both pause at the knocking on the door. Maddie’s at work, Bobby apparently told everyone else to leave him alone. Buck goes weak at the knees, grabs Bobby’s arm for a moment. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if there’s some official personnel out there, here to tell him there’s a body. 

“Buck,” Bobby says, and Buck isn’t sure if it’s the first time or the last of a few repetitions. “Do you want me to get the door?”

“No,” he says, voice very far away to his own ears. “No. I can. I should.”

It’s not a police officer or someone from the fire department, but Buck isn’t sure if reality is any better. Marisol is on the porch, looking at Buck in vague but not yet alarmed confusion. He thought he might have a little more time before he had to deal with this.

“Buck?” She asks, unsure, almost like she's forgotten his name, which is a meanspirited thought. She's a lovely woman, Buck has enjoyed her company whenever Eddie’s brought her along to a 118 event. “Um- is Eddie here?” 

Buck doesn't answer for long enough that Bobby — he didn't even realize he'd followed — puts his hand on his back. “Buck. Do you want me to stay?”

Buck closes his eyes for a moment. Maybe Marisol will go away if he can’t see her? Maybe ostriches were onto something. “No, I’m- it’s okay. You can go to the store.”

She’s still there when he opens his eyes again, looking between him and Bobby with growing worry and non-understanding. She nods at Bobby as he slides past Buck, past her, towards his truck. He nods back, and Buck sees the hesitation in his pause, the I’m sorry for your loss on his tongue, except- she doesn’t know she’s lost anything yet. She looks to Buck again. “Do you… know where Eddie is? He’s not responding to my texts.”

“Marisol…” She’s not stupid, it must have hit her by now, but she keeps talking, a sort of nervous gravity pulling her onward.

“I saw on the news, the cruise liner-”

“Marisol-”

“There were firefighters responding-”

Buck puts a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.” Maybe that’s all he’ll ever say again, useless little apologies. “You should come inside.”

He doesn’t want to make them hover strangely in the hallway while they have one of the worst conversations of her life so he leads her further inside, but it means that she sees Christopher still huddled blankly on the couch. She makes a small choked sound and goes to him immediately, kneeling in front of him and murmuring questions or platitudes quiet enough that it’s just noise to Buck, still hovering in the hall. He hugs her. It’s not quite as familiar as the way he hugs Buck, but it’s an easier action than Buck thought it might be and that — stupidly, selfishly — hurts. 

He moves towards them, and up close he can see Chris is barely keeping himself awake, the exhaustion from a probably sleepless night and- and all of this catching up to him. “Hey, bud. You wanna go lay down for a bit before your grandparents come over later?”

“Okay,” Chris nearly whispers. He doesn’t make any indication he wants to be carried again, so Buck runs to grab his crutches, awkwardly half ignoring Marisol as he walks with Chris to his room and makes sure he’s settled in. 

“Buck.”

“Yeah, kid.” It’s hard to stand up. He feels as exhausted as Chris looks, and there’s still that roiling panic just out of sight at the thought of not being by his side. 

“You’ll be here later?”

“Yeah, Chris, I’m not going anywhere.”

Chris frowns, but nods and doesn’t say anything else, so Buck tells him to shout if he needs anything and braces himself to go back out again. 

He finds Marisol in the kitchen, cleaning. Buck had just left everything from breakfast out, batter crusted to the bowl that didn’t even make it to the sink. The milk’s sitting on the fucking counter, top unscrewed, warm and spoiling. Mess. It’s a mess. He has to be better, he has to be more in control, he has to prove he can do this. He bites the edge of his tongue and breathes through his nose for a moment. Bobby always tells him to clean as you go when they’re in the kitchen, save yourself work, don’t make yourself deal with it all at once. Well. He’s fucking trying. 

“Sorry- I-”

She shakes her head, and when she turns to face him she has an almost panicked look on her face. Her hand clenches around the sponge like he might try and take it away from her, and Buck recognizes the desperate need for something to do. “It’s fine, it’s- I can do this.”

“Alright.” And, a second too late to really be polite, “Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. She hasn’t asked what happened, which he’s glad for. He doesn’t really want to go over it again. He can’t imagine how strange she must be feeling. Marisol is a girl Eddie was having a fun time with, but neither of them had ever particularly given the impression that it was all that serious. And now he’s dead. What is she supposed to do with that? Not a widow any more than Buck is a widower, but still they’ve both been left behind.

“I’ll call in to work,” she says, turning back to the dishes. “I can stay here tomorrow with Chris, so you can go home.”

“What?” 

“I don’t know- you said his grandparents are coming into town? So they might want him to stay with them, but if- if he needs someone to be here with him, I can take over if you-”

“Sorry,” Buck says, several percentage points meaner than he really intended to be. “I’m not going anywhere.” If she wasn’t here right now he’d be calling his landlord and seeing how soon he can break his lease, and she’s talking like he’s a coworker, like he has someplace better to be? “I’m going to look after Chris. I’ve got it covered.”

She’s stopped washing the dishes. “I know you’re his best friend,” she says, and Buck doesn’t know her well enough to say if it’s as mean as she wants it to be. “But I’m a part of his life, too. I can help.”

“Marisol, that kid is my responsibility.” I promised. I promised. 

“His grandparents-”

“Are going to come here later today and you can stay and meet them if you want to, but I’m going to take care of Chris. I’m not leaving him. Eddie wants me here. Would have wanted me here.” The words are harsh enough coming out that it makes him cough again, ducking his head into his elbow and trying to not let it deflate the argument.

She looks angry enough. “You knew him longer but that doesn't mean you have- authority! That doesn’t mean you know what's best!”

“Actually, frankly, it does. You’ve known him for three months, Eddie and Chris have been the most important people in my life for six years, we have talked about what should happen if he ever-” he coughs again, and again, a whole fit of it that he can hardly get any air around, and then there’s footsteps from- behind him?

“Hey, kid, hey-” Bobby. Has it been that long that he got groceries already? Apparently. Buck can see the bags on the kitchen table when he manages to get his eyes open between coughs. He’s being handed a glass of water, even manages to get a little down. “That’s it. Just keep breathing.” 

Eventually the fit tapers off, his ragged panting bouncing around the kitchen. Marisol looks torn between concern and lingering anger. Fair enough. Bobby’s hand is still on his back, and it makes him feel bad to visually gang up on her like this, but. “I’m sorry. You’ve lost someone important to you. I know it hurts. But I’m taking care of Chris. I’ve got it covered.”

Well, she’s just fully pissed now, but she nods. “I would like to meet his parents. Do they have a ride from the airport? I could go get them.” She tilts her head a little, brows pinched. “If that’s okay by you.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Sorry. Thank you. Let me give you his aunt’s number.” He doesn’t offer his own, and she doesn’t ask for it. He probably should, he’s sure they’ll need to talk to each other again through all this, but when she leaves the house it’s only with Pepa’s contact information. 

Buck slumps at a kitchen chair. “What time is it?”

“Around two,” Bobby says from where he’s been putting away the food. “What time will his parents be here?”

Buck scrubs his eyes. “Not sure. Pepa said she’d call.”

He hears the creak of Bobby sitting in the chair next to him. “Did the doctors give you anything for that cough?”

“Antibiotics, but the next dose isn’t till four.”

“Alright, I’ll make you something before then, you shouldn’t take it on an empty stomach.” A warm hand squeezes his shoulder. “How about you go get cleaned up, maybe lay down a bit before they get here.”

“Fine.” He has to brace himself on the table to get fully upright. Sleep is probably a good idea, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to make it happen. He pries his eyes open and looks Bobby over. He seems a little pale, maybe, but way better than he had at the hospital yesterday. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright, Buck.” 

“You shouldn’t push yourself.”

Tragedy clings around Bobby’s eyes. “I’d ask the same of you, but… well, I think a little pushing is going to be necessary, given the circumstances. We’ll try not to overdo it, alright?”

“Yeah.” It’s a truthful enough promise, he guesses. It seems impossible that he won’t need to push himself harder but equally impossible that he has any more to give when even just staying upright is taking this much out of him. 

Bobby pulls him into a quick hug before sending him on his way. Buck stops by Christopher’s room first, to check on him and to delay having to go into Eddie’s room to dig fresh clothes out of his spare drawer there. Chris is awake, absentmindedly running a careful finger over the soft fuzz of a stuffed lion they’d gotten at the zoo years ago.

”Hey, Chris. You need anything?”

He shakes his head no, but reaches out a hand. Buck immediately crosses the room to take it. “Are my Gramma and Abuelo here?”

“No, not yet. A few hours. I’m going to take a shower, but Bobby’s in the kitchen if you need anything. Or- just shout, I’ll come running.”

Chris frowns, holds tighter. “You can’t run in the bathroom, Buck. You’ll slip.”

It pulls a smile onto Buck’s lips, however briefly. “Shout and I’ll very carefully walk to find you.” 

“Okay,” Chris sighs. Buck hovers a moment longer, and kisses his curls before he goes. 

The heat of the water feels good against all the aches in his body he’s been trying to mostly ignore, and the steam makes breathing a little easier. He washes his hair — a bottle of his own shampoo already sitting on the little shelf with Chris and Eddie’s things — and cleans the grime of the ocean and the hospital and being awake so long off his body. He tilts his face into the spray and wonders how Eddie died. Drowned? Hit his head? Been hurt or trapped somewhere all alone? Buck hopes it was quick. He wonders what’s left in Eddie’s medicine cabinet, what kinds of drugs, how much it would take to-

No. Stop.

He turns off the shower, dries himself off, and somehow makes himself brave enough to go into Eddie’s room. He tries not to look at anything, barely even breathes as he gets changed. He stumbles over the choice of ratty jeans or nice sweatpants, having nothing more formal here to greet Eddie’s parents in. He goes for the sweats in the end. He hopes they’ll understand a need for physical comfort right now. He should do laundry, go to the loft at some point to pick up clothes. 

Chris is at the table with Bobby when Buck makes his way back out. He still looks so tired, though he watches Buck like a hawk. 

“Are you going back to work?” He asks, glancing at Bobby with a furrow forming in between his brows. 

“No, I’m taking some time off,” Buck promises, Bobby nodding along with him. “And we can talk about it, when I do. I can step back from- I’ll take light duty for a while if you- we’ll figure it out.” 

“Okay.” He slumps forward in his chair like he had the night before, and Buck catches him like he always will. 

Buck holds him there for a while, gently rocking back and forth as Bobby gets something together to put in the crock pot. He makes them sandwiches, with antibiotics for Buck and a big glass of cran-raspberry juice for Chris. He knows they were out, and that he’d forgotten to put more on the grocery list. He wonders if Bobby remembered it’s Chris’ favorite — Buck’s probably mentioned it, or Eddie had — or if it was a lucky guess. He thanks him, either way, as he stands up to help with dinner prep. 

“You don’t have to do anything, kid-”

“Please,” Buck breathes. “I need- I need to do- I can’t just sit there.” 

“Alright,” Bobby says, so softly. “You want to cut vegetables? And we’ll need dishes for everything.” 

They’re tasks you’d give to a child who wants to help, but Buck is grateful to have something so simple to do, something he can’t mess up. He cuts Brussels sprouts into quarters — Eddie likes them really burnt, they crisp up faster this way — and peels and cubes potatoes. He breathes through his mouth as he goes through the cabinets so he doesn’t have to smell the familiar mustiness and the cleaning spray Eddie always uses. Even with the chairs from the kitchen table they won’t have quite enough seats if Isabel comes along, so Bobby helps him bring in camping chairs from the garage. He opens the fridge at some point and doesn’t even remember what he was meant to get because there’s takeout in there, food that Eddie half ate, and Buck has to sit down right there on the linoleum tile and catch his breath. 

They get through it. Chris even helps set the table, despite Buck’s many reassurances that he doesn’t have to. The pot roast is ready, the side dishes are warming in the oven, all that’s left to do is wait.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get anything together for dessert,” Bobby says, looking truly regretful about it. It makes Buck huff out something like a laugh.

“You’re good, Bobby. I don’t really know that this is a- a dessert kind of meal.”

Bobby nods, gives a sad shrug. “Chocolate still helps, sometimes.” He looks Buck over. “You want me to stay for dinner?” 

“No, thank you.” They really wouldn’t have enough chairs at that point, and Buck thinks he needs to look- strong, or capable, or something. And besides, Bobby was also on that cruise ship and has spent this day he should have used for recovering running around for Buck. “You should go home. God, you had such a nightmare honeymoon, are you okay? Is Athena okay? I haven’t even seen her…” 

“She’s fine, kid.” Bobby’s hand rests on his shoulder for a moment, then continues on to cradle the side of his head, palm warm over his ear, thumb brushing once across his birthmark. He’s tearing up a little, and it makes Buck’s own eyes sting. “Okay. I’ll be back tomorrow, just let me know when’s a good time.” 

“Alright,” Buck whispers, already ducking in for a hug. “Thanks for everything,” he muffles into Bobby’s shoulder. 

“Of course,” Bobby says, hand still in Buck’s hair, keeping him safe. “Buck, I- I love you, kid.”

Buck holds on tighter for a second. “Love you, too.” 

Pepa arrives first, almost fifteen minutes exactly after Bobby leaves. When he opens the door she doesn’t say anything but pulls Buck into a surprisingly long hug that makes him tear up again. 

“Hi,” he says, breathing her floral perfume. “Sorry.”

”Where’s Chris?” 

“At the table.” 

The three of them sit there together, Chris tilted into his aunt’s side. She runs her fingers through his hair. Buck has a strange feeling like he’s waiting in the chairs outside a principal’s office. There’s no clock in here, and he can’t check his phone. He’s not sure how long it is before there’s a knock at the door. 

Buck has to dig his nails into the doorframe at the looks on Ramon and Helena’s faces. “Hi. Uh- c-come in.” This is their son’s house, who is he to welcome them inside? “Chris and Pepa are in the dining room.” 

Helena rushes past without a word, though Ramon manages a nod and a “Buck,” hand patting his elbow once. Marisol makes brief, unreadable eye contact as she follows. But behind them-

“You came,” Buck gasps, bending down to pull Isabel into a hug.

“Of course. Of course I did. No one could keep me away. My Eddito-” her voice cracks, and Buck gasps a little sob.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

It takes a minute to get upright again, but Isabel lets him offer his arm to lead her through the house. She shoos Helena out of her seat next to Chris, wrapping her arms around her great grandson. Pepa is still on Chris’ other side, leaving Helena awkwardly hovering behind his chair. Buck tries to breathe steadily and not think about this like a chess match. It’s fine. It’s fine, it’s just seating arrangements, he hasn’t made any wrong moves. He hates that he has to think about this in terms of wrong moves. Marisol follows him to the kitchen to help him serve the food. Her movements are stiff but the assistance is welcome. She and Buck take the camping chairs, Marisol around the corner from Pepa and Buck across from Chris next to Ramon. He feels like he’s not really inside his body. The food tastes like nothing in his mouth, though he tries to make his way through what he put on his plate. 

“Did you cook all this, Buck?” Helena asks. Buck’s palms sweat as he tries to discern if it’s approval or judgment in her voice.

“Uh- not- not this time. I helped- uh, our- my and Eddie’s-” a little inhale goes around the table at the name, “Our captain helped. Bobby. We’re all, uh, close.”

Helena nods down at her potatoes. “He spoke highly of his team.” She looks up, directly into his eyes. “You’re- you were- you’re such good friends. He never had a bad word to say about you.”

Buck bites his tongue to keep from asking her to recount those words, all of them, right now. He figures he knows most of them anyway. They hadn’t always known how to love each other right but Buck is pretty proud of the fact that they spent the last five years learning how to do so. “Yeah. Yeah, uh- we got along like-” a house on fire, christ, he’s a cartoon of a fireman, no- “We got along.” All the time, even when they were arguing, except maybe for that night a month ago when Buck is pretty sure they nearly beat each other to death in the kitchen at three am over a game of monopoly that Chris had long since abandoned them to. “He was my best friend.”

“The fire chief said no one saw what happened,” Helena says next. Buck’s pulse speeds up. They’re not even halfway through dinner, but now everyone’s looking at him like it’s an interrogation. 

“That’s right. He-“ Buck wipes his hands on his napkin, nervous. “I-in a mass casualty event like that, in a dangerous environment-”

“You’re his partner at work, yes?” Ramon doesn’t actually turn towards him to speak.

“Yes-”

“You weren’t watching his back?”

Oh, god. Buck can’t physically speak for a moment. He thinks he might wince, the words hurt, a deep ache in his chest. He manages a nod, but doesn’t get any words out before Chris does.

“He was trying to help!” The kid is frowning at his grandfather, his small hand in a fist on the table. “He’s always with dad, he was trying to help.”

Oh, god. “I- I- I’m so sorry. Chris, I-” Chris is frowning at him now, and Buck’s heart is doing uncomfortable somersaults in his chest. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t with him. He was with Chimney. I was- I had to help Bobby. I’m so sorry.”

Chris looks a little stunned. He just stares at Buck, hardly blinking, before he nods and looks down at his plate.

“I-I-” he has to explain. It’s unforgivable that he left Eddie, he knows, but he has to explain. “Bobby was trapped on one of the decks where- where things were worse. It-” Buck breathes for a second, trying to figure out what to say. I went off alone and half drowned isn’t reassuring. “It was risky, and Chimney needed help getting people to safety, and since your dad has medical training he went with him. I- Bobby was hurt, so when we got out we went to shore. I didn’t know- I didn’t know. I didn’t know Eddie had- Chim said he was right behind him.”

Chris nods again, but doesn’t look up. Buck wants to get up and go around the table to him, make sure he’s okay, but then Ramon is speaking again. 

“Where were they on the ship?” 

Buck tries to remember anything that he’d been told, or what would have made sense as far as lines of evacuation go. “One of the upper decks, I’m not sure of the exact location.” 

“What’s the- the likelihood he will be recovered?”

Buck is a professional, he’s the one with the answer here, he’s the one who has to respond to the question. He feels like he’s going to vomit. “Not likely. Not very likely. Depends on how- how it happened. If he ended up on the ship or not.”

“So we shouldn’t wait on that,” Helena says. “For the funeral.”

He’s so dizzy. “M-maybe- maybe wait till the weekend. Just a few days. J-just in case.” 

She nods, moving like it hurts. Buck understands the feeling. “There’s a family plot in El Paso.”

Buck bites his cheek. There’s no body anyway, and he should choose his battles to fight, but. “Shannon is here. I- you should do what you think is best. But I- he might want to be with her.” 

Her eyes flick between wide and half lidded. Buck wishes Ramon would hold her hand. “We- we understand he has a life here. We’ll- the funeral will be here. His sisters are flying in over the next few days. But I am bringing my son home.” 

“Of course.” They can set up a memorial here, somewhere. There will be one at the station, definitely. There will be someplace for Chris to visit. 

Helena turns to Chris. “Everything will be alright, Christopher. We’re here for you. We’ll make up your room again, there are good schools in El Paso. You don’t have to worry about anything. We’ll take care of you.”

Buck can’t breathe. “No. No, you can’t take him.”

Everyone stares at him. Christopher’s eyes are wide, worried. Helena’s are affronted. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m his guardian. He’s- He’s my-”

“We’re his grandparents,” Ramon snaps. He seems to catch himself, take a breath. “Buck, you seem very kind, but-”

“It’s in the will,” Buck says, surprised at how steady his voice is. “It’s in Eddie’s will. If anything happened…” He looks at Chris, wishing the table was just slightly smaller so he could reach across, hold his hand. “I’m not leaving you.”

“What do you mean?” Helena’s voice is sharp, almost panicked. “What are you talking about?” She’s heartbroken, her son is dead, the world isn’t as she thought it was. The fury still hurts. “Who do you think you are? What right do you- my son would never- ”

Chris is going to cry. He’s got that little scrunch in his nose that’s familiar from nightmares, too-long days, scraped knees. Buck stands up. “I think we should talk about this tomorrow.” 

“You don’t get to decide that,” Ramon says, standing as well. “You are not family-“

“We’re going to talk about this tomorrow,” Buck repeats, standing firmer than he thought he could. “Not right now,” he says it softer, nodding just slightly towards Chris. He’s right there, he shouldn’t have to see this fight. He thinks Ramon understands that, something in his posture deflating. 

Helena does not back down. “And he’ll stay here?” Her jaw is tight, her eyebrows raised. “I’m sure as hell not leaving him here without some kind of proof that Eddie- I’m not going to just believe you.”

“He wouldn’t lie about this.” Marisol. God. He doesn’t know why he has her backup right now but he’s so grateful for it his knees nearly buckle. “Buck is a good man. Eddie trusted him.” 

“He’s watched over Chris many times, I’ve never had any reason to protest,” Pepa says, gentle and diplomatic. “He’s a firefighter, Ramon, your grandchild will be in safe hands.” 

Ramon frowns at his sister. “We can talk tomorrow, but we can take him to your house for-”

“I want to stay with Buck!” It’s the loudest Chris has spoken since Buck got back from the hospital. There are tears in his eyes, and Buck almost loses it. He wants to yell, wants to weep, wants to shove them out the door, anything that will make them leave and stop the frightened look on Chris’ face. 

Helena gives a wet little gasp, wraps her arms around herself. “For tonight,” she agrees. Buck reminds himself that he’s not the only one who cares that this kid is frightened. “We will talk about this tomorrow.” 

“Of course.” 

She looks at Ramon, back at Buck. “We’ll be speaking to a lawyer.”

Fuck. “A-alright. I- okay.” 

“Christopher,” she says, kneeling down in front of him. “I hope you understand that we love you, very much.” Chris nods, and hugs her. She kisses the top of his head. “We’ll see you soon.”

There’s still food on everyone’s plates as they get up to head for the door. Buck kneels in Helena’s spot next to Chris. “I’m going to walk everyone to the door and then I’ll be right back, okay?” Chris nods again, outburst seeming to have drained his words dry again. 

Ramon and Helena don’t even acknowledge him, and Pepa only gives him a nod before hurrying off to do damage control. Isabel takes his hands, frowning. “I am sorry, Buck. This is… terrible enough. There shouldn’t be this much fighting.”

“It’s okay,” Buck promises. “They’re hurting. Everyone’s hurting. I-” he sighs, scrubs his face. “We’ll figure it out.”

She nods unhappily, and pulls him down to kiss his cheek before going to the car. Then it’s Buck and Marisol, standing on the porch. 

“Why did you help me?” Maybe it’s rude to ask, there’s a whole saying about mouths and gift horses, but he wants to know.

She looks out into the night. “The look on his face whenever he talked about you… Of course it’s you.” 

Jesus, Eddie. “I’m sorry.” 

She looks at him, lips slanted, shrugs. She hands him a napkin. “My number. When you get your phone back, call if you need.”

“Thank you. Uh- same.”

She snorts, but nods before she heads to her car.

Chris looks so lonely, waiting back at the table. He looks up as Buck walks in, watches carefully as he comes close and sits next to him. Chris reaches out to grab Buck’s hand. “You’ll keep me?”

“Of course,” Buck swears, words punched out of him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I promise you, Christopher.” Buck wraps his other hand around both of theirs. 

“I don’t have to go to Texas?” He’s in tears again.

“Only if you want to, and I’ll come with you if you do.” He can’t have any room for doubt that this will be true. He’ll go get a lawyer. He’ll do whatever it takes. 

“Okay,” Chris nods. “Okay. I- I want to stay here. I w-want my dad’s house. I want my dad.” He chokes on a terrible little inhale, looks at Buck in a panic. “I want my dad. I want my dad.”

Buck pulls him onto his lap, holds him tight, wishes he could promise this, too. He’s not sure how long they sit there, but Chris eventually cries himself out. He falls asleep there in Buck’s arms, breathing soft and damp into the shoulder of his shirt. Buck carries him to bed, carefully tucks him in, putting the lion safely against his side. When he leaves the room he has to lean against the wall outside for a moment. He’d turned the lights off as he went from the front door to the kitchen, so the house is dark and quiet in a way that makes it feel bigger than it is, and terribly empty. He thinks about sleeping here, just sitting down in the hallway, so he can hear Chris and neither of them will be alone, but everything down to his fingernails aches. He needs to be horizontal on something soft or he’ll never make it through tomorrow. He has to wait, anyway, he can’t take the next antibiotic till midnight. The added insult of a three-times-a-day medication schedule on top of everything else feels comedically cruel. 

Buck is alone. 

He sets up the couch for sleeping- had Bobby put away the bedding earlier? He must have, Buck doesn’t remember doing it. The fresh sheets Eddie left for him in their usual cupboard are the shark ones he’d found, presenting them with a big grin after Buck had talked his ear off all through Shark Week last summer. He tucks the corners in and wants, more than anything, to tell Eddie how bad his day has been. Something deep and yawning opens up in his chest and threatens to pull him under, and he grips the couch so tight he’s afraid he might tear the fabric. Chris is down the hall. He has to calm down. 

Eddie’s laptop is on the coffee table. Buck opens it, trying not to look at the happy smiling background image of the three of them at Griffith Park. He knows the password, and his email account is already one of the ones linked to the search engine; easy that way for him to help Chris do research, so he can send himself links and continue to look things up back at the loft. It feels strangely formal to draft an email to Bobby, but he doesn’t think he can manage a phone call right now, not when the conversation is will you come over in the morning so I can go find a custody lawyer? 

He sends the email and wants to collapse down immediately, but it’s still only 11:15. Buck sits in the dark and waits for the clock to run out.

Chapter Text

“Can I- uh- can I get a copy of someone else’s will? Is that possible?”

Eddie’s lawyer’s office is impressive, Buck supposes. Walls all dark green with what’s probably mahogany paneling. Real nice desk. Intimidating, maybe, a room built for grandeur and entirely unlike the corporate, modern offices Buck blurily remembers from working with Mackey. He guesses it makes sense. Work stuff versus life stuff. Need a little grandiosity. 

“In this case that’s a bit of a complicated question,” the lawyer responds. He’s kind of a generic man, and for the life of him Buck can’t remember his name even though he’d introduced himself five minutes ago and all through breakfast he’d been staring at it on one of the business cards that Eddie thankfully never threw away, stuffed messily but, strangely, alphabetically in the kitchen’s junk drawer. Mr. Lawyer clears his throat. Middle-aged white man, no real distinguishing features. Buck’s not sure he could pick him out of a lineup. “A person’s will becomes a matter of public record when they’ve died. Mr. Diaz is legally a missing person. California law states that a missing person may be declared dead after five years.”

Has this man ever heard of compound sentences? “But- but this is about his kid, I can’t just wait that long.”

“Of course,” the man nods. “I understand that Mr. Diaz went missing in a mass casualty event?”

Buck wonders how many other people are sitting like this in lawyers’ offices because of a cruise ship sitting at the bottom of the Pacific. “Yes.”

“That will make it easier for you to file a petition to have him declared dead.”

Buck digs a nail into the fleshy pad of his thumb. “T-there’s no other way? What does that- uh, entail?”

“A will only goes into effect when the subject in question is legally dead,” he says, sort of kindly but also sort of like he thinks Buck is an idiot. “The petition includes things like the missing person’s last known residence, time and date of their disappearance and the circumstances thereof, and statements from those most likely to have seen or heard from them that they have not seen or heard from them. You, as the person filing, will have to describe your relationship to the missing person, and any search efforts made to locate them.”

The oatmeal he choked down a few hours ago is sitting like a fucking rock in his gut. He almost laughs. My relationship to the missing person? We’re Buck and Eddie. That’s all you should need. “Okay. Um. Can I do that here? Or-”

“To avoid any direct conflicts of interest I can assist you in getting set up with a different attorney from this office.” The man tilts his head forward, like if he was wearing glasses he’d be looking over the top of them. “However, I feel I must inform you that in the case of guardianship even having the will may not make this a cut and dry matter. Your being named will lend weight in your favor, but it is still technically only a recommendation to the courts.”

“What?”

“Do you anticipate any other parties coming forward to contest your guardianship?”

The amount of fear suddenly slinking icy through his veins is mind numbing. “Y-yes, that’s why I came here, I- I wanted to make sure- what do you mean?”

”Guardianship is appointed by the courts, and while they try to honor the deceased’s wishes things may be swayed by compelling evidence brought forth by other parties.”

“I- I-” I’m a single 32 year old who only has a lease history 5 years long and a medical record that could lap a block. I work the job that killed the kid’s father. Best friend is not a legal relationship to point to, not like grandparent is. What court would ever pick me, push comes to shove? “But I- I promised Eddie. I promised Chris.”  

The lawyer's eyes turn softer than they have been. “My colleague can help you file a petition for guardianship to start getting legal documentation of your commitment to the child. Being so proactive about all this may help your case.”

That’s nice, but why didn’t you fucking make this clear to Eddie, years ago? Why didn’t Eddie tell his parents? Why did he leave me alone? “Okay. Y-yeah. I’m committed. I want to- thank you.”

He’s shuffled into another room, same decor but this time with a wide window letting in light, which theoretically should be nice but the view of the parking garage next door ruins some of the mystique. He doesn’t really remember this woman’s name either, older and speaks a little too loud and hair in the tightest bun he’s ever seen, not a strand out of place. He listens to so much legal jargon his head spins, fills out forms till his eyes blur and his hand cramps, and is shuffled professionally to the front desk a tidy hour and a half later.  

Each of the petitions costs money to file, as well as the hourly rate for the attorney, and Buck tries to keep a neutral face at the receipt the secretary hands him as he leaves the office. It’s fine, Buck will be fine, he makes good money and has an okay amount in savings, but he’s taking time off and he doesn’t know how much paid leave the department will give him, and he’s never had to financially support another person before. Eddie says he spoils Chris: zoo and museum passes, new games, cool shoes that aren’t quite a necessity because his old ones are still perfectly good. And, well, he could do that because he wasn’t paying for the rest of it, doctors appointments and school and food every day and, jesus, Buck doesn’t even know. Toilet paper for two people. Glasses, and the dentist. He stands outside his car, leaning against the metal frame, and wishes he had his phone to email his landlord about the lease. He needs to stop paying two rents as soon as possible. Oh god, how does he pay Eddie’s mortgage for him? Who does he send the money to? Are utilities included? If not, who does he pay those to? And who legally owns the house now anyway? He should have fucking asked the lawyer. Buck can’t tell if it’s actually cold out here or if he just can’t quite- god, how much money does Eddie have in the bank? How long will automatic payments keep going out? He needs- he needs bank passwords, he needs the passwords to all the goddamn subscription services everyone has a million of- he needs- he needs-

Buck locks himself in the car and chokes on every inhale. Drowning, drowning. Maybe the parking structure will collapse and bury him, maybe the man in a nice suit walking past will mug him and leave him for dead, maybe there’s some kind of dangerous leak in the Jeep he’s neglected to take care of and he’ll just fall asleep and that will be that. 

He remains perfectly alive. He drives home. 

He feels guilty as he walks through the door. He wasted enough time at the lawyers, he couldn’t have wrapped up his meltdown quicker? He hadn’t left particularly early but Chris had still been asleep and Buck had wanted to let him get all the rest he could. He’s on the couch now, Switch in hand again, staring up at Buck with big, scared eyes. 

“Hey, buddy,” Buck says, wincing at how scratchy his voice sounds. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.” 

“Bobby said it was important,” Chris mumbles, pulling his legs up so Buck can sit next to him. 

“Y-yeah, it was. I still wish I could have just stayed here with you though.”

Chris nods, and tucks himself into Buck’s side. “Do you have to go anywhere else?”

If Buck feels alone it must be so much worse for Chris, who’s lost so much already. “No. Not today. I’m right here with you.” He taps the Switch. “What’re you playing?”

Curled up on this couch playing Animal Crossing with Chris is one of the most comforting, familiar places Buck can think of, but today it feels alien. Every time Bobby ducks in from the kitchen to check on them they both look up expecting a different face. It feels like Eddie is just around the corner, and if one of them called out he’d come join them. Buck almost says it out loud — hey, Eddie, come look at this — the feeling is so strong. But it’s just him and Chris, huddled up close, and it’s awful, everything is awful, but at least they’re together. 

When Bobby comes out of the kitchen next he looks strangely shy. Buck tilts his head at him. “What’s up?”

“Maddie stopped by while you were out. She dropped this off.” He holds out a shiny black rectangle. A new phone. “They couldn’t fix your old one, but apparently this will have all your old things on it. Photos and- everything. It needed to charge up, so I thought I’d wait for it before…” 

Before dumping Buck into the deluge of missed messages. Even now the screen lights up with a new text. “Yeah.” Buck’s old phone had a crack on it. He’d dropped it two hours after getting it, which Eddie had laughed and laughed about. Eddie will never see this one. Everything new Buck ever has for the rest of his life will be something Eddie never touched. “Thanks, Bobby.”

He messages Pepa first, and is glad he did. Helena and Ramon have also been in contact with a lawyer, probably filed all the same petitions Buck had, have decided for now to wait on legal advice to have the promised conversation with him about all of this. Maybe more pressingly, Sophia has arrived in town and is also not super receptive to handing her nephew over to a man she’s never really met, but at least her solution is to meet him and see what’s what. Pepa had been about to call because she’s already on her way over. Buck squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and tries to feel like a person capable of friendly, reassuring conversation. 

He steels himself before looking at the rest of the messages. All of the 118, half of dispatch, Carla, Maddie, the Grants, firefighters he barely knows, numbers he doesnt recognize; all with condolences, offers of support. He can’t bring himself to respond to all of them, but at least sends a thanks to the 118 group chat and generally updates Maddie. He goes to open his text thread with Eddie and nearly passes out because he forgot, for a second, that there’s never going to be a new message there again. Eddie is the last person in the thread. He’d asked what brand the craft beer Buck had brought over last weekend was, and Buck hadn’t bothered to respond because he was almost at the station and was going to tell him in person, and they grocery shop together half the time anyway. The phone thuds hard enough when he sets it on the coffee table that Chris looks at him in concern, and Buck doesn’t know what on earth he could say to reassure him. 

The doorbell saves him the trouble. 

Buck had met the Diaz sisters before, after Shannon, but it had really only been in passing. Sophia’s hair is up and messy from travel, and she looks brittle. Of course she is, she’s in town for another funeral. Buck feels dizzy. 

“Hi,” he manages, holding his hand out and regretting it immediately. A handshake? Right now? “Um, I’m-”

“Buck, I know,” she says, blunt but not really snappish. “Where’s Christopher?”

“On the couch. Come in.”

He hovers again, awkwardly, like he had with Marisol yesterday. He leans against the door by the kitchen, trying to be far enough away to give them privacy, trying not to listen into their conversation, but he doesn’t really feel like he can leave the room. He doesn’t actually think kidnapping is likely, but he also doesn’t want to take any chances. 

Eventually she looks up, catches his eye in a way that feels meaningful. “You hungry, mijo? How about me and- me and Buck go get you something to eat?” 

Buck almost protests — he doesn’t want to leave Chris alone, either — but Sophia is giving him a pointed stare, so he says “Shout if you need anything,” and walks over to kiss his curls before following her towards the kitchen, trying not to overthink displaying that kind of casual affection in front of her. 

He almost bumps into Sophia when she freezes for a moment in the doorway. He’s going to ask if she’s okay, but then she’s moving forward again and- ah. He’d half forgotten Bobby is still here. He’s standing there, oven mitts on, glass tray hot from the oven resting on the counter, a stranger so comfortable in her brother’s kitchen. Buck doesn’t blame Sophia for how high her eyebrows are raised. 

“Ah, uh- Sophia, this is Bobby- uh, our captain, me and Eddie’s-” whatever the end of that mess of a sentence was going to be dies in Buck’s throat, because that’s not right anymore, is it? Just Buck’s captain now. Bobby covers the frozen silence with grace, stepping forward to shake Sophia’s hand.

“It’s good to meet you, though I wish it had been under better circumstances. Eddie is-” a collective, painful little inhale- “I’ve rarely met as good a firefighter or a better man. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

She nods, stiff. “Chris could use some food,” she says, nodding down at the dish. His mac n cheese. Just the smell of it is comforting, even if he thinks of the last time he ate it at the station, his elbows knocking with Eddie’s. 

“Of course,” Bobby says, gentle and kind as always, quickly getting a bowl together and heading towards the living room.

Buck and Sophia breathe. She stares him up and down for a while, searching, cataloging, before heaving a sigh.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she says, leaning against the counter. “Who are you?”

“Uh, I’m- I’m Buck. Evan Buckley, but everyone calls me- I worked with E- with your brother for almost six years now.” She continues to stare so he continues to stumble out sentences. “I-I grew up in Pennsylvania? I have a sister, here in town.” I’ve lost a brother, too? But not like this, I didn’t know him, I don’t miss him like you’lll miss Eddie. It’s a storybook tragedy, what happened to me, not real like this is. “I- I- uh. I worked on a ranch once, I could still probably do some lasso tricks.” 

She snorts at that, and Buck wishes they met some other way so they could be friends. “Why did he choose you?”

A palm on his collarbone the day after a disaster. “He trusted me. At work, with Chris. I’d fight —for both of them — I’d do anything. I- I had his back.”

She mulls this over, and then: “Were you… I mean, he said he had a girlfriend and he never indicated he wanted anything otherwise, but was he in love with you?”

Buck chokes on a laugh that turns into more hacking coughs. Jesus christ. This really is Eddie’s sister, splitting him in half the way Eddie sometimes knew how to cut right to the heart of him. “He had a girlfriend.” 

Sophia’s eyebrows climb skyward, and then she covers her face with both hands. “What a way to not answer the fucking question.” 

“No,” Buck shakes his head, because- because maybe they were heading somewhere but maybe they weren’t, and Eddie’s not here to defend himself or to choose to reveal anything. “No, I don’t… I hoped, sometimes. He loved me, I know he loved me, as a friend. He never… indicated it was anything more than that.” 

Her hands audibly smack against her thighs when she drops them. She’s looking at him like a jigsaw puzzle she doesn't have the corners to. “So you were just… best friends?”

Well, yeah. “I… I’d never had a best friend before,” Buck tries to explain. “My sister’s a lot older, a-and our parents were- not the greatest, and people at school liked me okay but- but no one ever really- I was someone you would spend a little time with but didn’t want to keep, y-you know? I was so lonely. I was so lonely, my whole life, and maybe- maybe I was just saving up, because I got here and met everyone at the 118 and I met Eddie- I met Eddie and Chris and they just- it’s like they didn’t even have to welcome me in because everyone knew I was supposed to be here. I-I-” he laughs again, wet and soft enough that his lungs don't protest. “I mowed his lawn like a week after we became friends, because this place was my home already. I’ve never belonged anywhere like I belong here. I-“ he gasps, wipes his eyes, tries to stay upright. “Please, I- now that Eddie- that kid is my whole life. I know- I know this is- it’s an impossible situation, but I- I promised. I promised Eddie, and I promised Chris, and I’m going to do everything I can to keep those promises.” 

“Jesus,” Sophia says, winded like she’s the one who said all those words that fast. “Jesus. Okay.” She looks around the kitchen, eyes flitting from surface to surface. Buck wonders how much time she spent here when she last visited, if she was around long enough to see anything that’s changed. The row of hooks under the cabinet Buck screwed in for extra mugs because none of the three of them can resist bringing new ones home, the very slightly mismatched paint under the sink because Eddie had to cover up what he would only ever describe as a pasta incident, the new art and photos on the fridge. Her eyes catch on the one of Shannon, still in pride of place. “Me and Eddie… were never really close. I regret that. I still don’t-” her eyes are wide, they remind Buck of her nephew’s. “This is all so- it’s so big-”

She cries. Buck hasn’t stopped crying, really, since saying his piece, and suddenly thinks it's terrible that they’re both alone here, so he moves to stand next to her and holds out his hand. She laughs through the tears and takes it. 

“God, Eddie,” she says, throwing her head back to look at the ceiling, holding on tight. “He always had to fuck up bigger and louder than anybody else, huh?” 

It makes Buck laugh, really laugh, and then they’re both off, trembling with it and leaning against each other, all held back snorts like a librarian is waiting to catch them being too loud. Eventually she untangles her hand and pats his arm with a still-watery rueful smile. 

“I’m sorry, Buck. You seem- I can see why Eddie liked you so much. I don’t know if I can- can be on your side against my parents, but I’ll see if I can- try to keep things peaceful.” 

“Thank you, Sophia.” It’s more than he would ever think to ask. “I’m sorry about Eddie.” 

Her mouth pulls sideways. “Yeah. Me too. Take care. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. I’m gonna say bye to Chris before I go.

“Yeah. See you later.”

Buck exhales all the air he possibly can from his lungs. Then — is life going to feel this ridiculous forever? — scoops himself a bowl of mac n cheese. By the time he heads back out to the living room with it, afternoon dose of antibiotics in tow, Sophia has left the house and Chris is curled up with his earphones plugged into the ancient Kindle Eddie had patiently kept running. Bobby, in the arm chair, watches him with an odd expression on his face as he takes the pills.

“What?”

“Nothing, sorry,” Bobby shakes his head. “I just… I want you to know how proud I am, that you’re taking care of yourself, that you’re taking all this on.”

“It’s Chris,” Buck says quietly, looking at the kid and then back at Bobby. “I’d do anything.”

Bobby only nods, but when he stands to collect Chris and Buck’s bowls he ducks down to pull him into a tight hug. 

While he’s in the other room Buck’s phone pings.

Maddie 4:35 PM   are the two of you up for visitors? we could come over

Maddie 4:35 PM  or just me if that’s too much <3 <3

Maddie 4:36 PM  or I could just drop things off? do you have a change of clothes? anything you need, Evan, I’d just like to check in

Buck worries at a tooth with the end of his tongue. He honestly has no idea if he’s up for visitors, the last few have been a real mixed bag. He feels stretched thin already, someone is liable to start poking holes right through him soon, but suddenly thinking about talking to Sophia makes him miss his sister very badly. He looks up at Chris, still listening to whatever audiobook he’d chosen, fingers absentmindedly twisting and untwisting the cord of his headphones. He hesitates for a moment, trying to discern the difference between not making Chris have to deal with hard decisions and letting him have input in what’s going on around him, and then moves to kneel next to him.

“Hey, bud.”

Chris shrugs off the headphones and rolls his head on the pillow he’s resting against to look at him. “Hi, Buck.”

“Maddie was wondering if she and Chim and Jee could come over in a bit. It’s definitely fine to say no if you want some quiet time.”

Chris thinks about it, face serious, and says quietly “It would be nice to see Jee.”

“Alright, I’ll let her know.” 

He gets an ETA of an hour or two, time to pick up takeout and the few things Buck asks for from his loft. Bobby promises to stay until they arrive, and Buck would rankle more at being babysat if the alternative wasn’t being left alone here, in Eddie’s house. His house, maybe, now that he’s contacted his surprisingly responsive landlord and only has the loft till the end of the month. He tastes the metallic tang of adrenaline whenever he thinks about it. Another person — an adult Buck isn’t responsible for — shuffling around making gentle everyday noise seems to be keeping full panic at bay. 

And things get louder, when the Buckley-Hans show up, a bumbling clamor of hugs hello and goodbye as they trade out with Bobby and bring in Buck’s duffle bag and more food than the five of them will be able to eat. They brought everything their chosen restaurant could offer, a classic Buff-Friday on a Tuesday evening. Something about it feels a little apocalyptic, huddling over chow mein like it’s the last joy on earth, but it’s hard to get too lost in that feeling with a toddler running around underfoot. They eat sprawled around the living room, on the furniture or the floor or drifting between the two. Jee is a bit too small to be trusted with Legos without swallowing them, but Chris has dragged stacks of books out of his room for her to push over in a great fluttery crashes. He smiles big every time she does it, and even laughs along to her pealing giggles, and it half makes Buck want to cry or join right in.

Eventually they set the kids up with a movie and Buck, Maddie, and Chim move to the dining table, all clustered so they can see through the arch to the living room. He’s not supposed to drink on these antibiotics, but god he could use a beer. And then he’s tearing up again because every part of his fucking life is some ritual he and Eddie made up together.

“I didn’t even get to know him for ten years,” Buck blurts out before Maddie can voice the how are you doing so present in her eyes. “Not even a decade. Maybe- maybe then-” it would have been enough? No, of course it wouldn’t have. When Bobby had been exposed to all that radiation Buck had spent several days muddling his way through medical papers about firefighters and cancer, firefighters and life altering injuries, firefighters and lung and heart disease. He’d lain awake in the middle of the night and thought about the decade gap between the life expectancy of a firefighter and that of anyone in most other professions. And he’d been worrying about Bobby, but also, staring up at the ceiling of the loft, he’d thought about Eddie. 67 years, and he was already 30 at the time. It felt kind of silly but he kept thinking that he wanted to hang out with him longer than the next 37 years, and then he kept trying to think of a satisfactory number — 40? 50 years? 60 would put them all the way at 90, which didn’t seem very likely at all — and it had scared him when he realized no amount of time would ever feel like enough. And now-

Six years will be all he’ll ever have?

“I miss him,” Buck says, voice cracking so hard the words are almost unintelligible. “I miss him so bad, and his parents are fucking pissed at me and I don’t know what to do- I just want- I want to just get to be sad but there’s so much to do and I need to keep it together for Chris a-and I know it’s good to let him see that I’m- I’m grieving, too, but- I- I- I feel like if I let go at all I’m going to start screaming and never stop.”

His words had gotten progressively tighter as he spoke, the last ones coming out on helpless little cries that turn into another coughing fit. He’s shaking, all over, harder than the coughs really call for, but then Maddie is gathering him down into her arms, and the weight on him is so heavy but Maddie has always been terribly strong. He tries to be quiet as he sobs, he doesn’t want Christopher to hear and worry. Maddie holds him tight and Chimney’s hand lays hot on his arm. All evening Chim has still looked so guilty, and Buck can’t think about that. He can’t think about it like he can’t think about the contents of the medicine cabinet, all the knives in the kitchen, hell, the ammonia under the sink. He has to- keep going. He has to move on.

He ends up kind of slumped over with his cheek resting on Maddie’s shoulder, Chim close enough that their legs bump together under the table, all three finally breathing steadily. Maddie’s fingers comb through his hair. 

“Maybe…” she says, quiet, voice rough from her own tears. Mostly for him, Buck thinks. She and Eddie didn’t know each other too well. He thinks they would have gotten along. “I mean, is there a plan for…”

“A funeral?” Buck sighs, sits up a little straighter, scrubbing his face. “His parents said they’d have one here, but that was before I became the guy trying to take their grandson from them, so I don’t know what will happen now.” 

She rubs his back. “Maybe we can host some kind of wake or- or a memorial at Bobby’s tomorrow. Invite the Diazes, remind them we’ve all lost him, show them you have a solid support system.” 

He squints at her. “I don’t think we’re going to… talent-show-to-save-the-town-hall this one, Mads.” He thunks his head back against the chair. “But- fuck, sure, let’s try.” 

What a weird little party planning committee they turn into, Bobby looped in and supportive through a string of lengthy text messages. Who’s on the guest list? What makes it too much like a funeral in a way that might step on Helena and Ramon’s toes? What makes it too informal in a way that could be seen as disrespectful? What menu and dress code could possibly prove he’s a competent adult who’s capable of raising their grandkid? 

Chimney’s the one to notice he’s starting to get overwhelmed to the point of not really listening anymore. He taps his fiancée’s hand where Maddie’s scribbling out a grocery list. “Alright, Buck, I think we can handle it from here, if that’s okay with you? You can get some rest, we’ll take care of everything.”

“Okay.” Buck scratches his nail across the woodgrain of the table. “Would you, uh- he liked Mike and Ikes, those, you know, gummy candies? Maybe we could have some.”

Chimney laughs a little. “He did, huh? Pretended we all didn’t know exactly what cabinet he kept his secret stash in.”

Buck’s mouth tugs into a smile, despite everything. “You ever… do 3 AM snacks with him?”

“Ha!” Chimney grins and shakes his head fondly. “Where he said he’d share but then only gave you the green ones?”

“Lime is good, I don’t know what his problem is. He literally liked the lime flavor in every other candy.”

“Indistinguishable from the lemon ones, which he scarfed right down,” Chimney chuckles. He grabs and squeezes Buck’s hand for a second. “Yeah. We’ll get some.”

“Thank you,” Buck says. “Both of you. Everybody.”

Maddie gives him a sideways hug, kissing the side of his head. “No need for thanks. You think you can contact the Diazes?”

Buck nods. “I’ll text Pepa. She’ll have better luck convincing them to come than I will.”

”Alright.” Maddie looks into the living room. The TV is on Animal Planet now, and Jee is fast asleep. “I guess we’ll head out. Unless you want us to stay? Is there anything you need?”

“Nah, Mads, I’m good. Thanks for coming. Thanks for the food.” Buck threw out whatever was left after the disastrous dinner last night, but between the half tray of mac and cheese from lunch and the takeout leftovers he won't have to worry about making food for a day or two. 

“Okay,” she says, giving him another, tighter hug. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you. See you.”

Chim hugs him too before they shuffle through the living room, and Buck bends to kiss his niece on the forehead when Chim scoops her up from the couch. There’s more hugs for Chris, and then another round of them at the door, and then the house is quiet again. 

Buck sits next to Chris on the couch, both of them leaning into each other right away. Buck lets the happy stories of whatever zoo show is on wash over him for a while. 

“Hey, Chris?”

“Yeah?”

God, the kid still looks so tired. Buck makes a mental note to get in contact with the therapist Eddie had taken him to before. Fuck, is he allowed to do that? Does he need to get Chris on his insurance? Is he allowed to do that? “We’re thinking of having a- uh, a celebration of your dad tomorrow, over at Bobby and Athena’s place. Do you think you’d be up for that? It’s okay if you don’t want to go.”

Chris presses his nose into Buck’s arm. “That sounds okay.” He takes a big breath and looks up at Buck. “Will Gramma and Abuelo be there?” 

“Yes,” Buck nods. Pepa had texted him back as an elephant had been getting a check-up onscreen. 

“But I’ll come home with you?”

“Yes, Chris.” At least tomorrow. He thinks he can promise that far.

“Okay.” He buries his face in Buck’s arm again. “I want to go to bed now.” 

They don’t read to him so often anymore, Chris usually preferring to read himself, or more likely not-so-secretly text his friends after his bedtime. Tonight, though, he pushes the book on his bedside table towards Buck, and Buck settles back against the bed and reads — something about dragons, it’s a series Chris just got into so he hadn’t given Buck the full synopsis yet, and he’s jumping in here mid-chapter — until Chris’ breathing evens out behind him. 

On his way back to the living room he hovers outside Eddie’s bedroom again. There’s probably some answers in there, paperwork, maybe even a copy of the fucking will, but even in the dark Buck can make out the patches of slightly rougher paint where they’d fixed the wall together and the drowning feeling comes back. He sets up the couch for sleeping again, hunts down the new phone charger Bobby left plugged in around here somewhere. It’s close enough to midnight that he figures he can take the antibiotic just a little early, get as much sleep as he can before he has to face tomorrow. 

So, that’s it, he should just lay down to sleep, but something makes him unlock his phone again. Well. If he’s drowning anyway.

“Hey, you’ve reached Eddie Diaz, I can’t get to th-”

Buck scrambles to hang up, making a sound like he’s been hit. Eddie’s voice, awkwardly performative for his answering machine. Buck knows- he knows if he kept listening there would be a moment where his words stutter around a laugh, because Buck and Chris had been in the kitchen with him while he’d recorded it and had been making teasing, judgmental faces at him. Give me a-a call back. Give me a call back. 

Call me back, Eds. 

Call me back. Come home. 

Chapter Text

Buck wakes up feeling like absolute dogshit. It’s 8:12 so his alarm has been going off for more than fifteen minutes and he slept right through it. His chest still hurts like he only just coughed up the ocean water from his lungs, his whole body aches, his bad knee screams in protest with every slight movement. He probably shouldn’t have slept on the couch, should have braved Eddie’s bed or at least found the air mattress so he hadn’t had to curl up so much. He should get up. There are things to do, he should get up, but the light in here is so comforting and familiar that he wants to keep lying here and pretending this is any other of dozens of mornings he’s woken up in this spot and Eddie will be there to meet him in the kitchen and they’ll get started on pancakes and it will be a good day. But Eddie’s not here to meet him in the kitchen, and when Buck finally gets his phone to turn off the alarm, the screen is still open on his phone call from last night, and his next breath comes out as a sob. 

He’s not sure how long he lays there weeping, but he’s apparently loud enough to wake Chris. Buck tries to get enough air to get out an apology as Chris approaches the couch but then the kid is just climbing on top of him, tucking his arms against Buck’s sides in as much of a hug as they can manage in this position. God. Best kid on earth. It makes Buck sob harder, wrapping his arms around Chris and holding on tight as he cries into his hair. He can’t tell if Chris is crying too, or if he’s just shaking from Buck’s own tremors. He feels so helpless. There’s nothing he can do besides wait for the grief and panic to once again subside enough to pull himself together.

“S-sorry, Chris.”

“That’s okay, Buck.” 

He lets go a little, rubbing a hand between Chris’ shoulder blades in comfort, or apology. “How about breakfast?”

“Okay.”

Eddie’s not here, but Buck is. So, he can make coffee. He can go full out pancake breakfast, with cut up strawberries and whipped cream, crispy bacon and big glasses of juice. And Eddie’s not here but Chris smiles, just a tiny bit, when Buck sprinkles a handful of M&Ms over Chris’ pancake whipped cream mountain. Eddie, I’m going to love him hard enough for the both of us, okay? Sorry about the M&Ms, I promise I’ll do a healthy breakfast tomorrow.

He gets a text from Bobby as he’s washing dishes. The wake is at two. A wake. His best friend is dead. They’re having a wake. “Chris, you wanna go take a shower? We still have time, but we should think about getting ready.” He texts Marisol, unsure if anyone else would have thought to invite her. She’s responded with an affirmative by the time he realizes Chris hasn’t moved or replied.

He’s frowning when Buck looks at him, pushing a mushy strawberry around on his plate. “Do I have to wear a suit?”

“You can wear whatever you want, kid.” If your grandparents have shit to say about it I swear to god I’ll throw a fit. But, speaking of, oh fuck. “You mind if we stop by the loft, though?” He’d requested more comfortable clothes from Maddie and Chimney yesterday, they hadn’t been planning a semi-formal event at that point. “I should probably not wear sweatpants, at least.”

While Chris is in the shower Buck thinks for maybe half a second about just borrowing Eddie’s clothes, but he has to shut that right down. They’re different enough in proportion that it would be obvious, and he’d never be able to look anybody in the eye. And they’d borrowed shirts and sleep pants from each other often enough, but now it wouldn’t really be borrowing. Eddie’s clothes don’t belong to anyone anymore. If Buck wore them, he guesses they’d just be his. It feels too horrible to contemplate.

But then they’re at the loft two hours later and- and, fuck, there’s Eddie’s clothes in his drawers. Because Buck’s usually the one staying over at the Diazes’ but Eddie and Chris stay over with him on occasion, and Eddie’s crashed at his for a post-shift nap countless times. He stares down at a maroon Henley — he knows it has a weird stain on the sleeve because Eddie had somehow dunked his elbow in the pot as he tried to help Buck make chili a while ago — and thinks that they could have built a life together. They were already building it. It’s not fair. 

“I don’t want to do this alone,” he says, quietly enough that Chris won’t hear him downstairs. He doesn’t really have a choice, though. He pulls a nice sweater out past Eddie’s shirt, finds a good pair of trousers, and shuts the drawer tight.

He’s dizzy and nauseous by the time they pull up to Bobby’s, but at least they’re early enough that it’s just the 118 here so far. It’s a little overwhelming, the amount of love that greets them at the door, all of his coworkers — his friends, his family — right there with hugs and kind words and presence. He doesn’t think shutting himself away the last few days was the wrong move, really, but- but Hen’s arm is wrapped around his and Bobby gives Chris a big hug and everybody here knew Eddie and cared about him. They were all there beside him as he came into his own during his time with the 118, they’ll all spend the rest of their lives wondering what he would have done with his. It makes him feel guilty, almost, that they’re doing this here. Buck has so much backup in this house, he imagines the Diazes might feel a little small in the face of it.

There’s a kind of shrine set up in the living room, an end table from somewhere dragged to the center of the house. Buck and Chris stand frozen before it. There's several kinds of flowers already, gifts from people attending. Heartfelt notes, to or about Eddie, Buck doesn’t read any close enough to be sure. Eddie's coffee order, a heart written on the sleeve. A bowl of Mike and Ike’s, all the green ones sorted out. The picture is nice, blown up to 18x24 in a pretty gilded frame. Eddie looks so happy. The seesaw of grief tilts back the other way and Buck thinks that nothing will ever be okay, ever again. 

“Let's go outside.”

They sit out on the porch. It’s a nice day, not too hot but not cold enough that being out here is uncomfortable. It’s spring in Los Angeles, birds are chirping and flowers are blooming, the storm that helped sink the cruise ship and stalled rescue efforts all blown over. Buck wishes he had sunglasses, he feels hungover. More people come say hello as they arrive, and Bobby checks in once or twice, but they’re mostly given space out here, like everyone knows he needs to save his energy. Buck wonders how many people inside are aware that this whole thing is half a front, a little pageant to impress the- well. They aren’t actually his in-laws.

Denny approaches them cautiously, standing next to Chris’ chair and glancing between him and Buck. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “About your dad.” He looks down at the grass, fresh and green from the recent rain. “I still miss Nia. I know it’s not the same, but…” He looks up at Chris, shrugs unhappily. “It sucks when you can’t hang out with somebody anymore.”

Chris blinks up at him. It’s so bright out here. Buck should have brought them both sunglasses. “Yeah.” He swings his legs over the side of his seat. “Did you see Ribbot came to my island?” 

They head off inside and Buck watches them, a little nonplussed. This is that childhood elasticity people talk about, he guesses. The worst can happen and they bounce right back. He’s not naive enough to think that Chris is just fine now, but, god, if he can just have a nice afternoon with a friend that’s a victory. 

The Diaz family arrives all at once. He’d gone inside for something cool to drink, so he’s there to greet them as they come through the door with varyingly stiff limbs. Ramon and Helena are as cold as he expected them to be, though his heart breaks at how tightly they’re clinging to each other.

“Where’s Chris?” Helena asks, eyes darting around like Buck might have hidden him somewhere. 

“My coworker Hen, her kid is here, they’re friends. I think they’re in- uh, Athena’s son, Harry, is in Florida with his dads but his video games are still here, I think they’re off playing.” 

“You think?” Her eyebrow is dagger-sharp. “He shouldn’t be left alone right now-”

“My stepson is in fact calling in on a video chat,” Bobby steps in, a perfectly affable smile fixed on his face. “The three of those boys are good friends, I’m sure Denny and Harry are doing their best to cheer your grandson up. I can show you the room to say hello if you’d like? Though I’m sure they’ll come out for food soon enough.”

Buck can practically see the strategy game she’s playing in her mind, how much to give and take, what to demand and when to appease. It’s the same dance he’s playing, and he hates turning mourning into a power play. “I can show you to the memorial, while we wait.”

It’s grown since Buck was sitting outside. A second table has been brought over for the overflow of flowers and cards. There’s a baseball and two more cups of coffee and a coupon for an oil change, some inside joke Eddie must have had with someone that Buck didn’t even know about. And also- someone’s brought his helmet from the station. They’re a little hard to tell apart since they don’t have their names on them like their turnouts do, but Buck knows the scratch next to the 118 was from a pebble kicked up when they were trying to get a car unstuck from a mud pit two weeks ago. Eddie hadn’t had the chance to buff it back out. He has to look away to maintain composure, but then nearly loses it again because Isabel has her hand on Eddie’s photographed cheek, and tears stream down her face in hiccuping little sobs.

“Oh,” Buck says, a hand on her shoulder. “Oh- hey, hey, it’s-” not alright, it’s not alright. “We all miss him so much.” He opens his arms, and is so glad that things aren’t strained enough that she refuses the hug. He thinks it helps ease at least Ramon a little- his mother is weeping into Buck’s arms, it’s probably difficult to hold onto the entirety of his anger right now. Buck shuffles them to the side, and lets Ramon and Helena have a moment there alone. 

It’s weird. It’s sort of like any barbecue they’ve ever had here; people are eating and mingling and telling work stories. Except every time he looks at May she’s crying, and Ravi has the pale look Buck remembers seeing in the mirror before Devon’s funeral, and the house has the heady scent of all those flowers, and all the stories are about Eddie. He’d hate that, he was always bashful about being the center of attention. He made Buck swear an oath to never ever mention it was his birthday in a restaurant because he’d kill them both if somebody started impromptu singing. Buck doesn’t know what to do with himself. He tries to be sociable, staying in conversations as long as he can till it feels like his chest is going to crack open and his heart is gonna fall right out on the floor in front of everybody, full of glass shards and getting blood on the hardwood. Breathe. Move to the next conversation. Rinse, repeat. All the finger foods taste like ash in his mouth and he couldn’t for the life of him say if he was hungry or not, but he chokes down crackers and cheese anyway. He keeps coughing no matter how many careful little sips of seltzer he takes, to the point that Hen grabs his arm and pulls aside.

“Have you had this cough the whole time?” She’s looking him up and down like she wishes she had her stethoscope on her.

“No.” And then, to appease her disbelieving eyebrow: “It hasn’t been this consistent. I’ve had a few coughing fits but it’s usually- it follows, uh-” he doesn’t really want to have to explain it’s mostly after he’s been crying, panicking, or yelling, but the way she squeezes his arm sympathetically makes him think she gets it. 

“Do you have a follow up appointment?”

He shakes his head. “I-I- I’ve been taking the antibiotics, and trying to- to eat regularly,” gesturing with his tiny plate and its leftover brie. “I- I guess I haven’t been, uh, sleeping too consistently-”

“Hey, hey,” she quiets him. “Buck-” she pouts a little, in the way she does when she’s trying to hold back tears. “You’ve been doing a great job. I just think that if this cough keeps happening you should make an appointment, make sure everything’s okay.”

“Okay. I’ll- I’ll try to figure that out. A lot’s been happening.”

“I know,” she says, leaning in for a hug. “You need a ride or need me to watch Chris while you go, I’m right there.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles into her shoulder. Crying again. Ugh. “I think Chris would like to see Denny again.”

“Yeah, of course, we can work that out. Just let me know when.”

He’s still kind of tear-streaked and shaky when Marisol arrives. He shakes her hand which feels fucking weird but he’s not sure what else to do. They’re two people vaguely aware they loved the same man; they’re not going to hug, no matter how much of a truce they seem to have found about it. She’s brought a lipstick stained napkin from a restaurant Buck’s never been to and a handful of various size screws to leave next to Eddie’s photo. He’s not sure why it only hits him now to feel guilty he didn’t bring any offerings. What would be sufficient, anyway? He’d have to lay his whole life down there on the pushed together tables. 

The conversations at some point start to become excruciating. He’s not sure what’s worse- hearing stories he was there for or at least heard about a hundred times already, or hearing something totally new and trying to choke down jealousy that other people have pieces of Eddie he’ll never get his hands on. 

Chris and Denny do come out for food eventually, and then they’re caught up in all this too. The Diazes descend on Chris in a well-meaning flock, and so many other people here come forward to give him their condolences. Buck hovers nearby, watching his face become more and more miserable, and thinks this whole thing was a mistake. It’s too soon. It should have been something smaller. They should have stayed home. He’s able to get in and check on him, bringing a water bottle and a slice of the chocolate cake he likes, as Bobby talks to Helena and Ramon. Buck crouches next to Chris and listens as Bobby talks about how proud he was of Eddie, about the family the team has become, how much he and Chris had thrived in LA. He doesn’t explicitly say “we support Buck and Chris,” but Buck half wants to tell him to cut it out, stop laying it on so thick. 

Adriana is the one to come up to him when he stands up again. He’d been informed at some point by someone that she’d flown in this morning. God, the small smile on her face is just like Eddie’s. “Hi. I’m, uh- I’m Buck. It’s good to meet you.”

“It’s good to meet you, too,” she says, and for what it’s worth it sounds genuine. “I’m sorry that you’re going through all this.”

Well, shit, he’s tearing up immediately. He sort of laughs. “I- shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

She shrugs, a minuscule movement. “My best friend died in high school, you know? A drunk driver. I never knew anything could hurt that bad.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Another tiny shrug. She looks towards the photo in the center of the room. “Eddie was deployed already, when it happened. I was the baby, you know, I looked up to him so much. I thought there wasn’t anything in the world he couldn’t fix, and then this happened and- and he wasn’t there.” She bites her lip, worrying at the skin. “He broke my heart when he left home.”

“W- the first time? For the army? Or to LA?”

Her shrug is bigger this time. “Any of those. Why was he leaving us? Why did he get to get out? Why did he go away when I was hurting? I was angry-” she cuts herself off with a harsh sigh. “I’m still angry about it. But I thought we’d get to work it out.” But he’s left again and there’s no coming back this time. It hangs in the air like the scent of the flowers. She looks up at him. “You weren’t with him?”

“No.”

She nods. “I wish you had been.”

“Me too.”

He makes eye contact with Helena over Adriana’s shoulder. She looks how Buck feels, like pain is trying to burst its way past her teeth, out of her skin.

“We’ve filed a petition,” she says. “To have Edmundo declared dead.”

Ah. So, they’re doing this. “Alright.” It would be weird to say same, probably. 

“And one for guardianship.”

Chris is sitting right there, on the couch. Buck needs- he should get him away from here. Where’s Denny? If he can’t just pick him up and run out of the house — endless tons of water at their heels — at least he should be in another room with a friend at his side. But then Ramon is coming forward, something strained but sympathetic in his features. 

“What you are doing for my son, for my grandson, is admirable. Loyalty is admirable. But we are his family, and family knows best.”

“If that loyalty is even appropriate,” Helena says, quiet, a huff, off to the side. But- fuck, man, fuck, he’s not letting her get off that easy, she should explain what she means. 

“What?” A little too loud. People are looking over.

Her mouth twists up, and even this is something he recognizes from Eddie, the little pout he’d get when he was really pissed off. “You may have been infatuated, but he was not. Clinging to his child like this, trying to take our grandson from us-”

Drowning-

The ocean’s found him again here, it roars in his ears. Helena is still speaking, and he thinks other people might be too, but all he can do is watch. Sophia looks stunned and panicked. If this was a betrayal on her part, it wasn’t intentional. It’s some relief, he likes her. So, it’s only the fault of the world’s worst kept secret: Evan Buckley is in love with Eddie Diaz. And, jesus, she just said it out loud. Marisol is right fucking there. She’s Eddie’s girlfriend, a title he guesses she’s stuck with forever now because Eddie’s too dead to revoke it. Her brows have come together in sharp points, and he’d bet the tears in her eyes right now are from anger more than anything. 

“I’m not-” he has to clear his throat. “I’m not trying to take him from you. You can visit any time you like-”

“The court is going to decide where he goes,” she snaps, like finding out that fact had hurt her as much as it had him. “What are the chances they’ll side with you?” He’s hurting now, her words sinking into him sharp and jagged, leaving a physical ache in his chest. She gestures at Chris. “Why make this harder on everyone? Harder on him?”

No one will ever fight for my son as hard as you. Yes, that’s true. But, Eddie, what if I lose?

“You promised.” 

Chris is staring right at him, his mouth twisted up like his father, like his grandmother. Buck takes a stumbling step towards him.

“You promised,” Chris repeats. “You promised you wouldn’t leave, you promised you’d keep me and we could stay.” He’s breathing heavy, like the water has him too. “I want to stay.”

“Chris-”

“Why did you lie?” Chris has never yelled at him before, not in anything other than excitement. “Why did you promise if you were lying?”

“It’s alright-”

“I hate you!” 

“That’s okay.” Chris is older now, bigger, but his fists still don’t hurt as they rain down on Buck’s chest and shoulders. Buck kneels there, calm and still, making no move to stop him. “It’s alright.”

“I hate you!”

“You can hate me,” Buck nods, hands that had been hovering in the air already prepared to catch as Chris curls down into him. “It’s okay, Chris.”

Chris screams. Rage, pure rage, and it boils in Buck’s chest too. They’ve got an audience, Chimney’s standing right there and Buck is furious that he didn’t pay enough attention. Bobby is trying to clear the room to give them space and Buck hates him for getting lost, for taking Buck away when Eddie needed him. He’s so fucking angry at storms and cruise ships and search and rescue, and at Eddie Diaz. He holds Chris as he screams and Buck’s heart screams right along with him. 

It takes some time for Chris to calm down, but Buck has tried very hard to learn to be a patient person, and anyway he’d wait forever for this kid. He wishes he knew any lullabies, wishes he could sing, settles for gently rocking where they’re collapsed in a snotty little pile on the floor. 

“I want to go home,” Chris croaks, arms tightening where they’d been limp around Buck’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Buck agrees, face still pressed to the top of Chris’ head so the words get tangled up in his curls. “I love you. Let’s go home.”

They get upright, Bobby there to help Buck stand and get Chris situated in his arms. He catches Helena’s eyes again when Bobby leans down to get Christopher’s crutches, her face once more a painful mirror of his own. She makes no move to stop him, and Buck thinks that this time she saw the reflection. 

Buck feels almost too weak to get out of the car when they arrive back home, hands violently trembling as soon as he lets go of his tight grip on the steering wheel. He feels hollowed out, the way you do after a bad cry or a stomach flu. Chris doesn’t look much better, pale and quiet in the back seat, face still sticky with tear tracks. He lets Buck carry him again to the house, crutches clattering against their sides where they’re hooked over his arm.

“You hungry?” It’s only six but Buck is so exhausted he’s not sure how much longer he can make himself stay awake, and they should probably have some kind of dinner because he’s not really sure how much party food either of them actually ate. Chris shrugs against him so Buck heads to the kitchen table. He looks into the fridge and almost cries because he’s not sure he has the energy to heat anything up. He ends up grabbing the egg rolls and cashew chicken because they seem like they’d be fine cold, and they eat straight out of the containers. 

“I just want to go to bed,” Chris says, one egg roll and two forkfuls of chicken later. Well, it’s better than nothing.

“Okay.” They abandon the food, Buck sending out a polite request to the ants that sometimes get in the house to cut him some slack just this once. Chris walks on his own this time, and after they’ve brushed their teeth side by side in the bathroom he stops outside of Eddie’s room. The door is open, as it almost always has been since Buck had to break it down last year. Eddie had taken to only really closing it when he was changing, so it had been open when he’d got here three days — a hundred, a thousand years — ago, and he hadn’t thought to change that. 

“I want to sleep here,” Chris says, staring in at Eddie’s bed, all made up neatly because Eddie’s mother and the army had both insisted on presentable bedding.  

“Okay.” Eddie’s room is further from the living room, he’ll have to listen harder for nightmares from that distance, but that’s alright.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Buck blinks back more tears, inhales through his nose. “Okay.” 

Buck gets pajamas from his duffle bag and Chris’ room for them to change into, and then they crawl into Eddie’s blankets, lay their heads on Eddie’s pillows. They smell like Eddie, but they also smell like Buck, because they do their laundry together half the time anyway, and Buck knows Eddie borrowed his shampoo sometimes even if he denied it with a toothy smile. In so many ways, there wasn’t much distinction between where one of them ended and the other started.

“I miss my dad.” Chris’ face is sunk half into his pillow, words a little muffled.

“Me too.” 

“I want…” Chris sighs. “I won’t know how to be funny anymore.”

Buck wipes his eyes. “I don’t know how to go back to work if he’s not ever going to be there.”

“Buck,” Chris reaches his hand out, and Buck grabs on tight. “You- you don’t know how to do hot chocolate right.” 

He always makes it too milky for anyone’s taste but his own, so the task usually falls to Eddie. Buck has tried to pay attention to copy the way he does it, but hot chocolate usually goes with a movie, or a bonfire in the backyard, or Christmas activities, so he’d always been distracted. “He learned from your abuela, right? We can ask her for the recipe.”

“I don’t ever want to have it again.”

“That’s okay, too.” Buck will ask for the recipe just in case. There are so many things he never wants to do again because Eddie won’t be there to do them with, but he knows that might not always be the case. 

“He’s gonna miss my birthday.” 

“Yeah.” All his birthdays. Eddie’s not going to see his kid grow up. It’s so terribly unfair. “So- so we’ll just- we’ll tell him about it, okay? He’ll be a part of it.”

“Okay. Like mom.” Tears flow down Chris’ cheek, and Buck carefully wipes them away with his thumb. God. It’s all so unfair. “Buck.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Buck wipes his own eyes again. “No matter what happens, Chris, I’m in this with you.” 

“I know.” Chris’ nose scrunches up, and he moves a little closer on the pillow. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry for yelling.”

“It’s okay.” Buck rubs his shoulder. “You don’t have to be sorry about that. Be as sad and mad as you want.”

“I love you, Buck.” 

Buck leans forward, kisses his forehead. “I love you too, kid.” 

Buck waits to see if Chris has anything more to say, but the kid’s eyes have drifted shut and the room stays quiet. It’s been such a long day. Buck follows him quickly into sleep. 

Chapter Text

He’s not sure what woke him. It’s dark out, no hint of dawn in the sky he can see through the gap in the curtains. His limbs feel heavy. 

It’s disorienting to be here in Eddie’s room. The bed smells like sweat and Eddie’s shampoo. There’s an outfit set out on the dresser, a nice pair of jeans and one of his older, softer Henleys, an amusingly Eddie combination of nicely put together and stubbornly comfortable. Buck wonders where he was planning on wearing it. Pepa’s? A date? Maybe he was going to come to the loft, come hang out with Buck after work. You don’t need the nice jeans to impress me. 

There’s a mostly dead plant on a short stool in the corner, which Buck would feel worse about not taking care of if he didn’t know it had already been mostly dead for weeks, now. On the wall that Buck had helped him paint there is a Rangers poster, photographs of Chris, Shannon, and the 118, a watercolor of a chicken he’d picked up half self consciously at a vintage store. I just think it’s got nice light, Buck. There’s an area rug on the floor, a dark forest green, and Buck knows it’s incredibly soft underfoot because they’d taken off their shoes in the middle of the Bed Bath and Beyond to try it out, giggling and looking around furtively for employees. Personal touches that it took Eddie so long to make, always looking out for others before himself, never giving in to silly little wants. He’d talked about maybe repainting the walls this summer, a color this time, something bright. Buck swallows and it’s salty with tears. He fists his hands in the comforter and tries to be quiet about it, not wake Chris, but he can’t quite get a full breath. 

He rolls onto his back, props his knees up a little, trying to make it easier on his airways as he waits out this panic attack. And waits, and waits. The feeling doesn’t go away, but also doesn’t really crest into full-blown doom, either. He tries to count, five in, five out, but his lungs feel too tight to let it happen, and he worries about setting off a loud coughing fit, so he stumbles to his feet.

It really is a stumble, he has to catch himself on the dresser with how bad his head is spinning. For a second he worries he’s going to pass out, right here, Chris’ll wake up in a few hours to find Buck’s brained himself on a drawer knob. A few gasps gets him steady enough to make it to the hallway but- he feels bad. Sick and shaky and fever-warm, and when the inevitable coughing starts back up the sound of it has changed, sounds worse, sounds wet. Did he take the antibiotics last night? Not that one missed dose would have caused a downwards spiral this extreme. He reaches the kitchen, gets a glass of water with hands trembling so hard he can barely keep hold of it, and thinks that this isn’t fucking fair. He tried, he really did, he tried so hard to take care of himself because he’s not allowed to give up, because Chris is sleeping in the other room and- and Buck promised, he wouldn’t have to leave, they would be together.

He sinks to the floor, and the motion reminds him his phone is still in the pocket of his sweats, thank fuck. It takes Bobby two rings to pick up. 

“Hey, kid, what’s happening?” His voice is so safe and familiar it starts the tears up again.

“Bobby.” Christ, he sounds awful. “I- I’m not-” talking scratches his throat, he coughs so hard he almost drops the phone. “I’m not sure if I’m- I’m- if it’s panic or I’m sick but I- Bobby, I can’t breathe.”

“Buck,” Bobby says, immediately tight and worried. “Do you need an ambulance? Should I be hanging up and calling 9-“

“No,” Buck says, trying to put as much reassuring oxygen into the word as possible. It takes a worrying amount of effort. “No, I- please, will you just come over? I don’t- don’t want to worry Chris.” He starts coughing again, almost loud and long enough to lose Bobby’s answer.

“-ang on, okay, I’m on my way, I’ll be right there, Buck, hold on.”

Buck is pretty sure he loses some time, because when he hears the door open he thinks Bobby can’t possibly have got there that fast. He’s still on the floor, head between his knees, and his head swims when he tries to look up. 

“Okay, alright,” Bobby says, suddenly kneeling next to him, a hand soothing up his back. He’s talking like he would to a kid, like Buck talked to Christopher last night. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere and you’re safe and I love you. Buck wants to lean into his arms, bury himself there. “Deep breaths for me, Buck.”

“I- I can’t.” He’s only pulling in shallow little gasps of air at this point. Sick, almost certainly, but now panic is layered back over top of it, making the problem worse. He tries, though, focuses on Bobby’s warm hand, the rhythm of his purposefully slowed breathing. It halfway works, but Buck thinks it might just be the relief of not being alone anymore. Bobby is here, someone else can make decisions, someone else can take care of things for just a little bit. But then-

“Buck?” Chris, in the doorway, a terrible, frightened little look on his face.

“I-it’s okay.” He can barely get the words out, and it sounds so bad he thinks not talking might scare him less. “It’s okay, Chris. It-”

More coughing. Buck shuts his eyes through it, and when he opens them again it’s to the cool dark of Bobby’s palm against his forehead. He blinks away tears while he has the hiding spot. When the hand pulls away and Bobby’s face comes into view he looks grim. 

“Buck, you’re burning up,” he says, so gentle. “I’m calling it in.”

Buck wipes his eyes, and when he drops his hand to his side Christopher is there to hold it. More tears fall. “Okay.” He looks at the kid, holding on so tight with his too wide eyes. “I’m so sorry.” 

Chris just shakes his head and keeps holding on. He wraps his other hand around Buck’s, too, and leans against him so carefully, like he’s trying not to hurt him, and Buck wishes he could tell Eddie how astonishingly good his son is. You knew that already, he thinks, trying to breathe the best he can as he listens to the murmur of Bobby on the phone with dispatch, but god I wish you were here to see it. 

Red and blue lights on the wall. Buck thinks he lost time again. He didn’t hear sirens, he didn’t think long enough had passed for an ambulance to be here already, but then he looks up to see Bobby as confused as he is, frowning as he hangs up the phone. There’s a knock at the door. Buck and Bobby look at each other, both thrown for a loop at whatever the fuck else the universe is up to now.

“I…” Bobby trails off, looking Buck over where he sits, shivering and wheezing on the floor. Buck flaps his free hand, even that small motion sending the world spinning. 

“Answer it.”

For maybe the only time he’s ever felt this at the Diaz house he wishes he was at the loft, if just for the open floor plan. He has no view of the front door from here, but any attempts to move now would almost certainly make him pass out. When he hears Bobby open the door he has no idea who’s on the other side of it. 

“Is this the residence of Edmundo Diaz?” A curt, professional voice. Buck’s heart pounds in his ears, Chris grips his hand even harder. 

“It is,” Bobby replies, cautious. “What’s this about?” 

“Early this morning a John Doe was brought in off a fishing vessel and transported to Cedars-Sinai. He was in critical condition at the time but has since woken up, and we were able to confirm his identity-“

Black spots rush Buck’s vision. A wave, pulling him under. 

Chapter Text

Before he even opens his eyes he knows he’s in a hospital. The smell of antiseptic, the discomfort of the bed, the pinch of tape holding an IV in his arm, the cool oxygen coming from a nasal cannula. There’s a hand, warm in his, familiar. They shouldn’t have let Chris in here, he was scared enough already, and it’ll be hell to convince him to leave now. 

Except-

Maybe he’s dreaming. But if he is, when did it start? It feels like too much to ask for the last three days to have been a fucked up nightmare, life has never been that kind. But he can’t be awake, because the hand in his is larger than Christopher’s, with calluses he knows. Hope hurts so bad he almost can’t open his eyes, but then he does, and-

Eddie Diaz is sitting at his side.

Really, it’s perfectly reasonable that he starts crying immediately. Maybe he’s dead, maybe that’s the answer, and Eddie vouched for him to get into heaven. He hopes he can forgive him for leaving Chris behind when he promised to look after him. Maybe he can go visit Daniel later. Except Eddie looks like shit, pale and hollow cheeked, covered in bruises and scratches, arm in a cast and sling. His hair is terrible. Buck loves him so much it feels like a knife in his chest, and he’s coughing again, choking, and Eddie’s hands are on him, and, oh god, he’s speaking, his voice.

“Buck, Buck, hey, you’re alright.” He sounds hoarse, tired, the most beautiful thing Buck has ever heard. “Come on, you gotta breathe.”

“I missed you,” he weeps, wishing the tears would clear up just so he could see clearly, the blur in his vision not helping to make this feel any more real.

“I’m sorry, I’m right here.” Eddie’s voice is as soft as the way he’s combing his fingers through Buck’s hair. Buck shakes his head, pulls himself in closer, because that’s wrong. Eddie shouldn’t be apologizing.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie’s thumb traces over his birthmark. “For what, Buck?”

“I- I- I- I tried, so hard, there was so much- I- I didn’t know what to do , how to help Chris- a-and I- your parents lost you and I had to make it worse, I had to fight them while they were grieving- a-and- I couldn’t even- I got- sick or something- and-“ Buck’s tongue feels clumsy in his mouth, and he’s afraid for a moment he’ll choke on it. His fingers are curled in the neck of Eddie’s hospital gown, the living warmth of him heating his knuckles. “I wasn’t there! I w-wasn’t there, and you died. You died, Eddie, you died- you died-“

Eddie tugs him forward as well as he can with one arm, pulling him into an approximation of a hug, awkward with the angle he’s leaning forward in his chair but Buck immediately feels safer than he’s felt since he last woke up here. Since the last time he saw Eddie, since before they ever got on that ship. He’s shaking apart, but Eddie’s arm is around him and he knows he won't let any of the pieces go missing.

Eventually, when Buck’s not making a horrible wheezing groan with every exhale anymore, Eddie pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. “First. It wasn’t your fault, Buck. Hey, hey-“ he cups Buck’s face as he tries to shake his head. “It wasn’t your fault. Wasn’t Chimney’s either, I already told him that. It just- fucking happened. You know how chaotic a scene can be even on dry land, shit just happens.” 

Disproportionately happens to us, Buck thinks, but doesn’t interrupt.

“Second. Dealing with someone’s death…” Eddie shakes his head, sighs, glances towards the door like even now he half expects Shannon to appear there. “It’s impossible at the best of times, and you,” he raises an eyebrow, “were doing it walking around developing bacterial pneumonia.” 

“I’m sorry,” Buck whispers. “I was trying to- I was taking the antibiotics-”

“I know, I know, Bobby said,” Eddie reassures. He cracks a little smile, and Buck’s heart squeezes. “I wish you’d told someone a little earlier that you were feeling bad-“

“You were dead,” Buck tries to explain. “I thought that’s just what that felt like.”

Eddie’s mouth screws up, his eyes shine. It takes him a moment to speak again. “Oh, Buck.” He drops his head so it’s sort of on Buck’s shoulder, sort of on the mattress. “I’m so sorry I left you.” His voice is thick and when he looks back up they’re both crying. “Thank you, for taking care of Chris. For fighting my family about it, god-” he scrubs his hand over his face. “I should have told them, I shouldn’t have left you all to duke it out. I’m- jesus. I’m going to fix this. If- if this ever happens again I’m going to make it easier for you.” 

Buck feels light headed with sudden dread. “Don’t- don’t ever make it happen again. I can’t do that again.” He grabs Eddie’s wrist. “Fuck- three days, Eddie. How the fuck are you alive?”

Eddie laughs that kind of laugh someone does when something’s not very funny. “I think Bobby prayed an actual Hail Mary when he got to my room.” He sighs. “I fell off the ship. Bad luck, or- bad timing. The whole thing shook while I was mid-step, so I only had one foot on a deck that was already slippery. Didn’t really stand a chance. Hit my arm on the way down.” He shows off his cast. “Snapped like a twig. And uh- it’s all a little fuzzy after that. I guess I grabbed onto some debris — not a door, though Chim has already made several Titanic jokes — and… near as anyone can figure a current took me into the path of a trawler. Wasn’t really near where the cruise  ship sank at all, search and rescue would’ve had no hope of finding me. Uh, the guys on the ship took me aboard but the storm hit before they could head to shore. They set my arm best they could, tried to keep me warm- had hypothermia, probably. Again, I don’t really remember…” Eddie gently tugs his wrist out of Buck’s grip, if only so he can tangle their fingers together. He stares down at the back of Buck’s hand.

”I remember… You, Buck. I think I dreamt of you. Or- hallucinated, or maybe… maybe just thought about you really hard,” Eddie laughs a little, quiet little huffs of air. “Thought about… being in the truck, or your jeep. You driving me around. You kept telling me to come home.” He makes eye contact as he kisses Buck’s hand. “Sorry it took me so long.” 

Buck is glad for the IV drip with how much liquid he keeps crying right back out. He squeezes Eddie’s hand tight. But- “Uh. I think I- I might have wrecked Marisol’s life a little.”

Eddie’s eyes flare wide with guilt. “I should talk to her.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” They’re kind of curled together at the edge of Buck’s bed. Eddie brings his hand back up to card through Buck’s hair. It’s so nice. “Maybe… then we should talk, too.”

Eddie smiles, so handsome it takes Buck’s breath away. Not fair, when he currently doesn't have any to spare. “Probably a good idea.”

“Eddie.” Bobby’s voice is sudden and stern in the doorway. Eddie pulls back quickly from Buck with a cartoonish grimace. When Buck looks up Bobby is standing there with his arms crossed, eyebrows doing their best to escape up the top of his head. “The two of you are going to give me a goddamn heart attack.”

Buck looks back at Eddie, taking in for the first time the stray sticky pad from a heart monitor lead, the hospital wheelchair he’s in. “Did- did you break out to visit me?”

Before Eddie can answer, Bobby is there with his hands on the chair’s handles. “Yes. He should be in bed. I told you I was going to come here, tell Buck you’re okay-”

“I had to see him, Bobby.” Eddie’s hand is now curled in the sleeve of Buck’s hospital gown. Buck thinks about otters, holding onto each other so they don’t float away.

Bobby softens. “Well, now you’ve seen him. Let’s get you back to your room.” He looks at Buck, softens further. “Hey, kid. I’ll be back here in a minute. Good to see you awake.” 

“I’ll see you soon,” Eddie breathes. It looks like it takes him a real effort to let go. “I’ll see you in a bit, Buck.”

Buck tries not to cry yet again. “Soon.” He tries to take even breaths, trying to shake the feeling of when he was a kid and his parents would leave the room after doing only the barest cursory check when he had a bad dream. They’re almost out the door when he calls “Wait.”

Bobby sighs just a little bit, but pauses halfway into the hall. Eddie looks at him like he wants nothing more than to stay and make sure the bad dream is gone entirely. 

“I mean this in- in a lot of ways,” Buck says. “But right now- I love you. You’re my best friend, and I love you.”

Eddie smiles. “I love you too.”

—

They only make him stay until the IV antibiotics finish. It takes a few hours. He goes to Eddie’s room. 

He gets there just as Marisol is leaving and they get caught for a moment in the awkward tangle of two people trying to go through the same door. They end up pausing, staring at each other for a moment. She doesn’t look particularly happy, but she doesn’t look overwhelmingly mad or sad either. She’s looking at him kind of like a puzzle she doesn’t care to solve. Fair enough. 

“Hi,” he says, stepping to the side to get out of her way. “Sorry.”

“See you around, Buck,” she sighs, patting him on the arm as she moves past. 

Chris is on Eddie’s bed, leaning against his dad and laughing at whatever Eddie’s just said. Eddie’s casted arm is slung around him, holding him close, and Buck has a split second where he wants to tell Eddie he shouldn’t really be moving it like that, should get it back in the sling, but the second passes. He’s not ever going to tell these two not to hold onto each other. 

“Hey, kid.”

Chris looks overjoyed to see him, though he’d been in Buck’s room just a little while ago, part of the parade of visitors between Eddie and him. He’d climbed right up on Buck’s bed, grinning and laughing and talking about all the things his dad promised to do - movies and the zoo and junk food for dinner and no school until next week. 

“Hi, Buck! The doctor said we get to go home now!”

“Yeah, Bobby said I could come spring you.” He’s close enough to ruffle Chris’ hair now, so he does. Eddie watches them with a look so fond it makes Buck’s chest seize up. Metaphorically this time, he’s pretty sure. He catches his eye. “Hi, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles at him, kinda bashful, schoolyard shy. “Hi, Buck.”

“Ready to go home?” His hand has moved from Christopher’s head down to his back, right above Eddie’s cast. He moves his pinky to tap gently against it. 

“Very,” Eddie sighs, smile growing bigger and a little more longing, a little more tired. He hasn’t been home in a while. 

They sing along to the radio all the way there, voices even worse than usual with how hoarse they both are, and Chris laughs so hard Buck worries a little about him not being able to get a breath in. He feels odd, out of joint. This could be any other car ride home, the three of them together and giddy-tired from a long day, but at the same time it could only be this day. Eddie keeps getting this look like he’s afraid to blink, like they might not be there when he opens his eyes again. Buck still has to pause to cough now and then, his chest still has that hollow ache. He is overjoyed, but the fear and grief haven’t quite left him yet, still thrumming just under the surface. Chris is still laughing in the backseat, though. Eddie is next to him. 

Pepa’s car is already at the house. Buck and Eddie look at each other warily, because it means his parents are almost certainly inside. 

“I can go back to the loft if it’s easier-”

Eddie grabs his hand, shakes his head. “Sorry, I-” he clears his throat, sheepish. “I don’t really want to let you out of my sight.”

Buck exhales. Neither does he. “Okay.”

They don’t hold hands as they walk to the house, though Eddie walks close enough that their shoulders bump together with every step. Pepa and Helena are all over him immediately, even Ramon is hovering. Isabel isn’t here, neither are Eddie’s sisters. Buck knows they were all at the hospital earlier because they visited him as well as Eddie, a pleasant surprise. Sophia had asked him if dramatically collapsing after emotionally taxing events was a regular thing for him and he’d laughed so hard the doctors had come running at his dropping O2 levels. Pepa catches his eye and nods, and he figures he has her to thank for whatever convincing she had to do to make this a smaller welcome home party. Eddie is shuffled over to the couch and made to sit down, and Buck is left standing halfway in the hall. Eddie looks at him, tilts his head to get him to come closer, and the motion seems to make Helena realize that he’s there.

“Ah, Buck,” she says, tone tightly diplomatic. “Thank you for bringing him. I’m sure you want to get home, you must be very tired.”

“Mom,” Eddie says, frowning up at her. “He is home.” Oh, well, that makes Buck feel immediately warm and fluttery, even as he watches Helena get actively angrier.

“I just thought it would be nice for us to have the afternoon together,” she says, voice clipped. 

“We can,” Eddie replies, just as sharp. “And he’ll be here too.” He stands back up again, looking like he’d be putting his hands on his hips if one wasn’t all wrapped up healing from a compound fracture. Chris, still sitting on the couch, watches with wide eyes. “I do not appreciate the way you’ve treated him.”

Helena glares at Buck like he’s been gossiping against her, which he really hasn’t. She’s probably spent more time with Eddie than he has today, stuck in their separate hospital rooms. And then something happens on Helena’s face. It’s like a confused kind of heartbreak as she looks back and forth between the two of them. “Why?” She asks Eddie, gripping her hand just too tight on his arm. “Why- I don’t understand why you trusted him with your life and not us?”

Eddie shakes her hand off, moves closer to Buck, standing between them like he needs to be a shield. He sighs, harsh and angry. “You never listened to me when I was alive, why should I have expected any different when I was dead?”

Helena looks like she’s been slapped, and Buck thinks- he thinks despite everything, because of everything, she deserves a little more grace than this. He steps fully into the room, standing next to Eddie, bumping their shoulders again. “Eds.” He waits until he looks at him. “You were dead. We all lost you. I don’t… blame them for trying to hold onto anything that was left.”

Eddie’s eyes get wide in surprise, and then just get sad. He sighs again, soft this time, ducking his head for a moment before he looks at his mother again. “I’m sorry, Mom. Dad. I’m sorry I hurt you like that.” He glances at Buck, and Buck wonders what he’s remembering. It hasn’t been all that long, really, since the lightning strike. Terribly, Eddie doesn’t have exclusive rights to being thought dead for a few days. “I don’t… I never intended to make this so difficult for everyone.” He holds his chin up. “So we can talk about this. We need to talk about this, but know that I’m not going to change my mind. Buck is important to me, to both of us. I don’t-” he sighs again, wiping his hand over his face. “Trust… I love you both, and I trust you with a lot of things. I don’t… mean to make you feel like you’re not worthy of being a part of my life, or that I’m hiding things from you. Which- I mean, I guess I have, and I’m sorry about that. But- Buck knows me. He knows what I want, for myself, for Christopher. When we disagree we talk it out, he doesn’t try to- to steamroll me into whatever decision he thinks is best. You… feel like I don’t trust you, but can’t you trust me? Trust that I’ve made the decision I think is best?”

Ramon’s arms are crossed over his chest. He’s quiet when he speaks. “We’re your family.”

“He’s my family,” Eddie shrugs. “He’s my best friend. And I’m going to share my life with him. I already do.”

It’s not exactly a coming out or a declaration of love, but everyone sure looks like they’re taking it as one. Buck’s heart definitely feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest. Pepa looks like she’d be smiling if the situation wasn’t so fucking tense, Ramon has a newly assessing look as he turns his eyes to Buck, and Helena- she looks like she’s going to continue the fight, so Buck steps in again. Buck and Eddie, a well practiced tag team, shining out here in the ring. 

“Maybe this conversation could continue tomorrow,” he says, trying to be as gentle and neutral as possible. “It has been a very long day. I know I could use some rest and I didn’t even come back from the dead.”

Eddie gives a surprised snort next to him, Chris starts giggling on the couch. Pepa puts a hand on her sister in law’s shoulder. “That sounds like a good idea. Eddie, would you like to come over for tea tomorrow? Your abuela is making enough food to open a restaurant in my kitchen right now, we could use your and Chris’ help to get through some of it.”

Eddie huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah, would love to. We’ll be there.” 

Helena doesn’t look happy, but she lets Ramon and Pepa lead her to the door. “Eddie-”

Eddie hugs her. He’s good at hugs, Buck knows, warm and tight and enveloping. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

For a second there is quiet, and then Helena lets out a sob into Eddie’s shoulder. She weeps, and holds her son, and Ramon joins them in a trembling mass in the doorway. Before Buck goes back to the living room to give them this moment, Ramon makes eye contact, gives him a nod. Buck nods back.

He sits on the couch with Chris, making wide eyes at him to make him smile. 

“Are you gonna come with us tomorrow? Three people could eat even more food.”

Buck smiles, pokes him in the arm. “You don’t have to worry, I think- I think your dad just proved I’m not going anywhere. I think it might be a good idea for just the Diazes to get a little time together. I’ll be waiting right here for you.” He makes puppy eyes. “Please bring me back leftovers though. God I miss your abuela’s cooking.”

Chris is giggling when Eddie comes back into the room. They all stare at each other for a minute, and then Eddie hurries over to the couch and collapses between them, Buck and Chris shuffling out of the way. Not very far out of the way — they plaster themselves together, Eddie’s arm around Chris and his head on Buck’s shoulder, Buck and Chris holding hands around Eddie, everybody just holding on and listening to each other breathing for a while, trying to remember that this is real and they’re all okay. 

Eventually Eddie smiles down at Chris. “I think I promised junk food?”

They end up spending a fortune on DoorDash because In-n-Out burgers are the best but Eddie wanted Arby’s curly fries and Chris pleaded for the Burger King Oreo shake, so they order from all three places. They could easily call any of their friends to pick all of it up for them instead, but there’s a kind of unspoken, mutual understanding that they need to be just the three of them for a bit. They eat on the couch, all barely watching the movie they put on. Buck sleeps through a lot of it, his milkshake becoming an unappetizing puddle before he even gets halfway through it. One of the times he blinks back awake Chris is also slumped over and snoring, Eddie awake between them, arms over their shoulders, staring ahead like he’s keeping lookout. He looks down at Buck when he notices he’s awake, a smile spreading over his face when they make eye contact.

Eddie tries to pick Chris up when the credits roll, and Buck knocks his hand away. “Hey. Broken arm.”

Eddie sticks his tongue out at him — oh god, he missed his best friend so much — but lets Buck carry Chris instead. The bathroom is a little crowded with all three of them brushing their teeth, but Buck thinks nobody minds the closeness. 

“You- you’ll be here tomorrow?” Chris asks, half asleep on his pillow already.

“Yeah, mijo,” Eddie swears, brushing his fingers through Chris’ curls. “Not going anywhere.”

Chris looks up at Buck with an expectant frown. “You too?”

“I promise, Chris.”

“Okay.” Chris settles immediately, barely getting out the next words. “Love you, Buck, love you Dad.”

Their words overlap as they say “Love you, too.”

Eddie stretches with a groan when they get into the hallway. “Fuck. I’m exhausted but I’d love to take a shower.” 

Buck helps him cover his cast with a garbage bag, taping it carefully so no water will leak in. It’s not a particularly thorough shower, just something to rinse away the grime of the hospital and — jesus — several days of being lost at sea, so Buck doesn’t get in to help like he’d occasionally done back when Eddie had been shot, but he passes him shampoo and things as needed so he doesn’t have to bend and reach so much. When Eddie heads off to change Buck jumps in for a fast shower himself, and the warm water feels relaxing rather than like a reminder of angrier tides.

He’d left his duffle bag in the bathroom that morning, so he doesn’t have to go anywhere to change into pajamas. The last clean shirt in there, comically, is actually Eddie’s. Maddie must have grabbed it from his drawers not knowing the difference. His face feels a little hot as he puts it on, and gets hotter as Eddie does a tiny double take when Buck comes to his bedroom door. 

“You, uh, need anything?” Buck hovers just outside the doorway.

“Grabbed some water,” Eddie says, shaking his head.

“Okay,” Buck nods, then jerks his head towards the living room. “I’ll, uh-”

Eddie grabs his hand. “Sleep in here.”

“Okay,” Buck sighs in relief. 

As tired as he is, he doesn’t fall asleep right away as they settle under the covers. Judging by the way Eddie keeps shifting, neither can he. When he turns over Eddie is already looking at him. 

“I know we haven’t talked yet,” he practically whispers. “And I’m too tired to do that now, but… Buck, I’d like to hold you.”

Buck moves right into his arms. It takes some arranging with the cast, but they manage, Eddie settled real and alive and breathing against him. Their noses are almost pressed together, and there are tears in Eddie’s eyes like he’s missed Buck just as much as Buck’s missed him.

“I’m glad I’m home,” he says, so close the words puff against Buck’s lips.

“Me too,” Buck sighs back.

Safe, together, they sleep. 

Chapter Text

Eddie ends up wearing the outfit he’d laid out on his dresser to the party on Sunday. The soft Henley is easy enough to pull over the cast, with a little help tugging from Buck. He smoothes the fabric over Eddie’s shoulders, thinking he’s always looked handsome in green. Though, really, Buck thinks he’s always looked handsome, full stop. 

“Marisol texted back, she says she isn’t coming,” Buck says, securing his sling and stepping away.

Eddie makes a scrunched up, guilty kind of face. “Yeah, that- that makes sense.”

Buck snorts. “You really need to get better at breakups, dude.”

“Well,” Eddie steps forward, closing the distance Buck had left. He hooks a finger almost cautiously through one of Buck’s belt loops. “I think I’m probably never going to break up with you, so. Doesn’t really matter.”

“Mm, smooth,” Buck laughs. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing enough that his eye roll is rendered meaningless, and he’s smiling almost too much to return the kiss Eddie presses to his lips.

“Dad, Buck, are you ready to- ew- are you ready to go yet?” Chris stands in the doorway, hand thrown up to block his view of whatever gross thing the two of them are up to. Eddie laughs, and pecks Buck one more time before they head out.

There’s a lot of cars outside Bobby’s already. “A flattering turnout,” Eddie says, looking understandably a little weirded out. He looks at Buck, elbows his side. “I’m here for my own wake, that death girl woulda got a kick out of this.”

Buck gives him a look. “You know her name was Natalia.”

“I’m retroactively applying my rights to be jealous of your romantic interests.”

“Retroactively?” Buck asks, remembering the sour lemon face Eddie had whenever Taylor had been in a 50-foot radius. Eddie elbows him again. “Hey- sto- alright, alright, get out of my car.”

Eddie laughs at the Mike and Ikes, still left out in their bowls. No one had really eaten them last time — gummy candy not, apparently, a funeral food — though there seems to be a few takers now. Most of the rest of the memorial has been cleared away. All the flowers are gone along with anything perishable left behind for him, and someone seems to have taken his helmet back to the station. 

“We put everything else in a box,” Bobby says, coming up and accepting Eddie’s hug. “Weren’t really sure what to do with it all.”

The cardboard box, the kind you’d keep files in — Bobby has several in his office at the station at any given time and Buck wonders if this one has been repurposed from there — sits under the end table that still has Eddie’s giant photo on it. Eddie eyes the whole set up, a little uneasy. “Yeah, that’s, uh… I don’t know. Are returns weird in this scenario? I feel like you give a dead guy stuff you might want to keep if he was alive, actually.” He looks up at Buck, raises an eyebrow. “Party favors?”

“Jesus.”

“I did almost go for a rolled rock, empty tomb theme for the cake,” Hen says contemplatively, staring down at the sheet cake that Eddie’s portrait is benevolently watching over. “Seemed a little blasphemous.”

“A little?” Bobby asks.

“And anyway,” she claps Eddie on the shoulder and nods to the image printed on the icing - the first Warrior Cats book with Eddie’s face edited onto it. “The well? The shooting? I think you’ve got nine lives, Diaz.” 

“Yeah, way more than Jesus,” Chimney says, popping a handful of lime candies, grinning when Bobby makes a face at him.

The mood is, in all honesty, slightly tinged with hysteria. As a group the 118 have faced death an alarming number of times, but there’s an air of how the hell did we get through this one hanging over the house. It had felt so final. Eddie was gone, there was no figure in a hospital bed that may or may not wake up, nothing to pin any hope to. He gets passed around the party, everyone wanting to talk to him, hug him, see him whole and alive. No matter where Eddie’s pulled off to though, he always gravitates back to Chris and Buck. An amorphous triangle, drifting around the room.

Buck, mostly, just stands there being available to make eye contact with Eddie any time he looks over. It’s a relief to not exactly be a center of attention this time, though he’s not entirely ignored. Ramon Diaz approaches him as Buck is once more balancing a plate of finger foods. 

“Buck.”

“Hi,” Buck says, half trying to figure out if he’s about to be part of an argument and half thinking he never wants to eat a mini quiche again in his life. 

“How are you doing?” Ramon asks as Buck just kind of slides his plate onto the nearest flat surface. Sorry to Athena’s fireplace. The question takes a moment to filter in, and he looks up in surprise when it does. Ramon looks genuine, if a little uncomfortable. Okay.

“Oh, uh. Fine. Better? I…” Buck shrugs, gestures at the room. “This feels… kind of surreal, you know?”

Ramon nods, looking for his son in the crowd. “It all does. When he was… gone, and now.”

“Yeah,” Buck sighs. “Guess it’s just gonna take awhile to sink in.”

Ramon nods again, prying his eyes away from where Eddie is laughing with Linda and May. “I wanted to apologize to you, Buck.”

“Oh- y-you don’t have to-”

Ramon cuts him off with a shake of his head and a small smile. “He warned me you are too quick to forgive. We treated you poorly. I did not realize… how much a part of his life you are. And even if you weren’t- if you were a stranger we shouldn’t have-” he sighs, his smile now rueful. “We treated you poorly.” 

“It’s really fine, Ramon.” Buck’s hand hovers at his side, like it will help him pick the words out of his brain and put them in the right order to say what he means. “You were trying your best, and, really it- I think you did okay, considering. You were grieving.”

“You were also grieving,” Ramon points out, an eyebrow raised. “You had much more patience for us, even so.” He looks at his own hands. “It was… difficult. I had lost my son, and then to find out-” there are tears in his eyes when he looks up again, though he tries to blink them away. “There was still so much of his life he did not share with me. I felt like I was grieving for that, too. It felt like he had… died not trusting me. Though, now… I understand there are any number of reasons he might not have spoken more deeply about you. It… when you are living your life it may not seem like anything out of the ordinary that you would even have reason to share.”

Buck smiles, soft at first and then a little more wry. “Also could just be that he’s terrible at sharing important information. You know he didn’t even tell me about the will until, like, a year after he changed it?”

Ramon’s eyes get a little buggy. “Ay, Eddie…” 

Buck laughs, genuinely. “Surprised the shit out of me. I don’t know if he even would have told me if I hadn’t- uh, if he hadn’t noticed I wasn’t doing very well at the time. A-anyway. I’m glad I did know about it, I feel like this all would have been even worse if we’d all been going in blind.” 

“Yes,” Ramon agrees. “I’m glad Chris had you through all of this.” It’s touching for him to say, after everything. Both of them are slightly teary eyed now, and politely ignoring it. “I’m glad they both have you. And I’d like to get to know you better.” He holds a hand out for a shake.

Buck takes it. “I’d like that, too.” 

Ramon moves again into the current of the partygoers, and Buck returns to watching Eddie. He hugs a crying Chimney, forgiveness recognizable even a dozen feet away. Buck thinks he sees Maddie giving him a shovel talk, Eddie’s eyes a little wide and the motion of his nods very serious. He claps a much livelier Ravi on the back. Eddie holds Adriana close, and laughs so loudly with Sophia that Buck thinks everyone inthe whole house might be able to hear it. Eddie dances with Isabel and Pepa — slow and careful around his cast — and talks to his parents, a little more at ease after the last few days of conversation. He holds Chris, bent forward to listen to him talk, matching joyful smiles lighting up their faces.

Bobby comes up to him, rests a hand on his shoulder. “How’re you doing, kid?”

Buck inhales deep through his nose, lolling his head to the side to look at Bobby. The answer hasn’t changed much since Ramon asked, or since the countless other times their friends and family have put forward the same question today. “I’m alright. Cough clearing up.”

“That’s good,” Bobby smiles his don’t bullshit me smile. “But I meant more with… everything.”

“Mm. I mean…” Buck doesn’t say he bursts into tears every time he wakes up and Eddie is there, in his arms. He doesn’t express his worry over the faraway, lost look in Eddie’s eyes sometimes, or that none of the three of them have slept all the way through the night since he returned, plagued by troubled dreams. Because… “In a few weeks I think I’ll be a mess on the floor of a therapist's office somewhere, but right now?” Eddie says something across the room, follows the statement with laughter, and Buck turns his head in time to catch his smile. “He’s home, Bobby. I’m doing just fine.”

There’s something a little sad in Bobby’s eyes alongside his happiness as he pulls Buck in for a hug. It might be the same sad thing Buck feels when he looks at Christopher, his relief that trouble is over marred by the fact he couldn’t protect his kid from it in the first place. “Glad to hear it. And you know the offer doesn’t expire. Anything you need, just give me a call.”

It feels nice, to be wrapped in Bobby’s arms and know everything's going to be okay. He breathes in the smell of his aftershave. “Thanks, Bobby. Love you.”

“Anytime. I love you, too.”

The next person to find Buck is Eddie himself, taking his hand and pulling him off into a hallway, sort of hidden but not particularly carefully so.  

“Hi,” Buck says, smiling into the kiss Eddie pulls him down into, fingers of his good hand tangling in his hair. It’s warm, and gentle, and slightly less than chaste with the way Eddie immediately endeavors to get their mouths open. Buck laughs and pulls back an inch. “I thought we were going to be just friends in front of your parents for now?” Eddie kisses him. “Prove some point about-” another kiss, “how we don’t need to be romantically involved to be important to each other?” Buck wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, steps back once, twice, until he hits a wall Eddie can kiss him silly against. 

At some point they come up for air, Eddie all handsome and ruffled and smiling at him. “Yeah, well, Eddie of three hours ago had very noble intentions but totally failed to take into account how hard it is to not kiss you for that long.” He kisses Buck again, a demonstration. “If I’d have gone the whole party I think I’d have keeled over.” The next kiss is long, slow, Eddie’s thumb sliding reverently over Buck’s cheekbone, up across his birthmark. “Turned this thing back into a real wake.”

Buck snorts, dropping his head back against the wall. He pinches Eddie’s side. “God. Too soon.” He kisses Eddie’s cheek. “And anyway, I don’t think even Hen could get a more appropriate cake here that quickly.”

Eddie drops his head and giggles into Buck’s neck. He places a kiss there, then several more up his jaw, and a final one again on his mouth. “Well then, I guess you’ll just have to be stuck with me, Buckley.”

“Forever?”

Eddie’s cast presses against Buck’s ribs, his face is still littered with healing wounds, a yellowing bruise lingers on his cheekbone; all evidence of how little control he has over his answer. Still. When he smiles up at Buck, his eyes bright and fond and serious, and says “I promise,” — Buck believes him.