Archive of Our Own ^beta

The morning sunlight poured through the open windows, casting a golden hue across the living room floor. The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of activity within. It was one of those cherished days off for Buck and Eddie—a day where the world outside could wait, and the only priority was tending to their home. 

Times like these, where they felt this safe and calm, had once been a rarity. Before they had married and moved in together, moments of peace were fleeting, squeezed between chaos and uncertainty. But now, such tranquility was a common thread in their lives, woven into the fabric of their little routines. 

Neither of them took it for granted, instead savoring these small, meaningful moments where they could simply be, grateful for the love and partnership they had built. This was their sanctuary, their shared happiness, and they reveled in it with quiet joy.

Eddie stood by the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up, hands submerged in soapy water as he scrubbed a stubborn pan. His lips moved with the tune of an old song playing in his mind, the melody low and comforting, filling the spaces between the clink of dishes and the rustle of paper towels. His humming was steady and warm, an unspoken rhythm that seemed to set the tone for the day.

“What’s that you’re humming?” Buck’s voice drifted in from the hallway, where he had been straightening a pile of jackets that always seemed to accumulate on the banister. He appeared in the kitchen doorway, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

Eddie glanced over his shoulder, the sunlight catching the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “Just some children's song my abuela used to sing when we cleaned the house. Keeps me focused.” He shrugged lightly, though the soft smile he gave Buck said it meant more than that.

“Hmm, sounds nice,” Buck said, crossing the room to grab a dish towel. Without needing to ask, he began drying the dishes Eddie passed his way, their movements seamlessly in sync. The quiet choreography of familiarity.

Eddie laughed, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the lyrics.”

Buck’s eyes lit up. “Wait, there are lyrics? Sing it for me!”

“No way,” Eddie said firmly, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a smile. He tried to stand his ground, but Buck’s eagerness was impossible to ignore. 

It was moments like these that reminded Eddie how utterly weak he was when it came to his husband’s enthusiasm. If Buck asked him to set the world on fire, Eddie was pretty sure he’d at least consider it. 

He knew he was completely, hopelessly gone for this man—had been since that eye-opening, heart-stopping realization years ago when he’d looked at his best friend and realized it was love. Even now, years into their relationship, Eddie still got butterflies when Buck smiled at him like that, so full of unfiltered joy. 

Singing might embarrass him, but if it made Buck this happy, it was worth it.

“Come on, just a little bit?” Buck begged, leaning against the counter, his expression so full of eager anticipation that Eddie sighed in mock exasperation.

“Fine,” Eddie relented. He took a breath and began, his voice low and a little shy. “Estaba la Catalina, sentada bajo un laurel…”

Buck interrupted immediately, his grin widening. “Oh! It’s in Spanish. Makes sense.”

Eddie kept going, his voice steady and rich. “Mirando la frescura de las aguas al caer...”

Buck’s cleaning slowed as he tried to concentrate on the story behind the lyrics, his brow furrowing in thought. “Oh, that’s nice,” he murmured, his attention now entirely on Eddie.

“De pronto pasó un soldado y lo hizo detener,” Eddie continued, not missing a beat despite Buck’s wide-eyed interruption.

“A soldier? There’s a war in this song?” Buck asked, half incredulous. “Isn’t it supposed to be a kids’ song?”

At that, Eddie laughed out loud, his rich, warm chuckle filling the kitchen.

Still, he tried to continue the song, his voice picking up where it left off. “Detengase usted soldado que una pregunta le quiero hacer ¿Usted ha visto a mi marido en la guerra alguna vez?” Eddie sang, adding a little bit of tune and thinning out his voice to imitate a female tone.

Buck’s eyes stayed glued to him, his expression invested. “She’s looking for her soldier husband? Well, I can’t blame her. I’d do the same if I was waiting for you to come back, asking everyone if they’d seen you.”

“Yo no he visto a su marido ni siquiera se quién es,” Eddie sang, deepening his voice for the soldier’s part. Then he thinned it again as he continued, “Mi marido es alto y rubio y buen mozo como usted.”

Buck lit up with excitement, interrupting again. “Hey! Like me! So you’re Catalina in this song, and you’re waiting for me!” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “But I haven’t gone to war, and I wouldn’t go either. You have nothing to worry about.”

Eddie laughed softly but powered through, determined to finish. “Y en la punta del sombrero lleva escrito a San Andrés,” he sang, finishing the thin part and repeating himself with a slight grin, “Y en la punta de su espada lleva escrito San Andrés.”

“What does San Andres mean? Is it the husband’s name, or is it like your Saint Christopher medal?” Buck asked, his curiosity piqued.

Eddie wanted to answer but knew it wouldn’t matter the second he sang the next part. Taking a breath, he continued, “Por los datos que me ha dado su marido muerto es.” His eyes closed, bracing himself for his husband’s reaction.

Predictably, Buck exclaimed, “HE IS DEAD?! What kind of kids’ song is this?! That’s so sad!”

“Y me ha dejado encomendado que me case con usted,” Eddie finished, closing the tap and turning to look at Buck’s distraught expression, suppressing his laughter again.

“Eso sí que no lo hago, eso sí que no lo haré,” Eddie sang next, his voice thinning again as he kept up the story. “Siete años he esperado, siete más esperaré.”

“Yes! That’s how it should be! Let’s go, Catalina!” Buck cheered, proud that the song had finally aligned with his feelings.

But Eddie powered on, unbothered. “Y a mis tres hijas mujeres al convento enviaré. Y a mis tres hijos varones a la patria entregaré.”

Buck’s enthusiasm dimmed instantly, his tone shifting to dismay. “No, wait, Catalina, that’s not the way! Maybe—”

Eddie cut him off with the next line, his voice growing firm. “Calla, calla, Catalina, calla, calla, de una vez.” He acted out the voices, moving his hands for emphasis as if he were delivering the lines onstage. “Que estás hablando con tu marido y no lo sabes reconocer.”

“What?!” Buck exclaimed, his eyes wide in shock at the sudden twist.

“Que estás hablando con tu marido y no lo sabes reconocer,” Eddie repeated, singing the end of the verse with a grin before dissolving into laughter. 

Buck, meanwhile, was left rambling about the absurdity of the song’s plot twist. “Wait, wait, that’s it?!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “You can’t just drop a plot twist like that and not tell me what happens next! Did she recognize him right away? Did they reunite and live happily ever after, or was it all super awkward?”

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh again, the sound warm and genuine, filling the kitchen all over again. “You really don’t know Spanish kids’ songs, do you?”

He then wiped his hands on a dish towel, turning his back and grinning as Buck continued. “And what’s with the husband pretending to be a stranger? Like, dude, just say something before she starts planning to send her kids off to convents and wars! Did he think it was funny? Was he testing her? Was there a reason, or was he just dramatic?”

“I think it was more like mocking her, for not recognizing him” Eddie tried to bargain, but his husband was so inside his head that he didn’t pay much attention.

Buck paced a few steps, gesturing emphatically. “And who wrote this? Were they okay? Because a kids’ song with a dead husband, a marriage request, and then a surprise reunion feels a little… intense!”

Eddie leaned back against the counter, laughing as Buck ran out of breath. “I think that’s the whole point,” he said finally. “It’s dramatic. It’s emotional. And it’s meant to be a bit over the top.”

“Well, it worked,” Buck replied, folding his arms. “Now I need closure. What happens to Catalina? Do they just go back to normal like nothing happened?”

Eddie shook his head, chuckling. “You’ll have to live with the mystery, Buck. That’s all there is.”

Buck pouted, crossing his arms. “That’s not fair! Catalina deserves an ending. Did she cry? Was she mad? Did she slap him for the dramatic reveal?”

Eddie sighed, unable to resist the look Buck was giving him. “Fine, fine. If it’ll help you sleep at night—Catalina cried because she was in shock, and then she begged for his forgiveness.”

Buck’s eyes widened. “She begged for forgiveness? He’s the one who tricked her!”

Eddie laughed softly, raising a hand to pause Buck’s protests. “He forgave her, and they reunited with their kids. Happy family, all together again. There, you satisfied?”

Buck thought about it for a moment, then nodded, albeit grudgingly. “Yeah, okay. I can live with that. But next time, I want a happier childhood song. Something with no dead husbands or dramatic plot twists.”

At that, Eddie looked at Buck like he hung the whole galaxy just for him, his eyes soft and full of something warm and boundless. "I could sing you something else," he offered gently, his voice steady with affection. "Something from María Elena Walsh. She wrote a lot of songs—some for kids, but also very political ones disguised as children’s songs. Like the one I just sang. She had one of people fighting even after being taken down?"

Buck tilted his head, intrigued. "Wait, really? Is this still a kids' song?"

Eddie nodded, a flicker of pride in his expression. "Yeah. It’s called ‘Como la Cigarra,’ and it’s about resilience—but also has death and war. She had to be clever about her lyrics because of censorship." He paused, his smile softening. "Walsh wrote a lot of songs like that. And stories too. She was incredible."

Buck leaned against the counter, his brow furrowed as he processed Eddie’s words. "Okay, I need to know more. How do you spell that? La… Ci-what?" He pulled out his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"Como la Cigarra," Eddie said patiently, enunciating each syllable. "C-I-G-A-R-R-A."

"Got it," Buck muttered, typing quickly before glancing up. "So, she was kind of a revolutionary in her own way?"

"Exactly," Eddie confirmed. "And she was also a lesbian—bold for her time. She stood up for what she believed in, even when it wasn’t safe."

Buck’s fingers paused mid-type, and he looked up with wide eyes. "Wait, she was a lesbian too? She’s officially the coolest person I’ve never heard of."

Eddie chuckled softly, but his next comment carried a teasing tone. "Oh, and she was definitely colorblind."

"What?" Buck blinked, bewildered. "Colorblind? Where did that come from?"

"She wrote a song about a jacaranda tree and called it light blue when they’re clearly purple," Eddie explained, grabbing a dish towel as he spoke.

Buck’s jaw dropped, and without hesitation, he started googling again. "Jacaranda tree… Oh, wow! They’re beautiful, but yeah, definitely purple. You’re totally right." He glanced up, his expression somewhere between awe and amusement. "How does someone write so much brilliance and still mess up tree colors?"

Eddie shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. "It makes her human, but she did make millions of kids grow up thinking the tree was blue. But, maybe she just saw things differently—like an artist."

"Or she needed glasses," Buck quipped, grinning as he dove deeper into his search, his curiosity pulling him into a rabbit hole of Walsh’s work and legacy.

Eddie chuckled at Buck’s reaction, the moment folding into the quiet rhythm of their day, easy and filled with small discoveries. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the clean, citrusy tang of the cleaning spray Buck had just used on the countertops.

The hours seemed to stretch and bend in that kind of slow, pleasant way that only days like this could bring. The tasks were simple but satisfying: folding laundry, reorganizing the bookshelf, dusting the windowsills. 

The house had been overdue for a deep clean for weeks. With Buck and Eddie’s long shifts and overtime, they’d barely managed to keep up with the day-to-day mess, let alone the layers of grime that had started to creep into corners and edges. 

"Okay, so... That’s some songs about terrible things happening to people. Do you have any kids' songs that don’t make me question everything?"

Eddie smirked, shrugging. "That’s just how it is. Kids grow up learning about consequences early."

Buck squinted at him suspiciously. "Sure, consequences . Or nightmares." He paused, clicking around the YouTube window. "Alright, give me something lighter. Something... not about death, betrayal, or trauma. Like, one song."

Eddie thought for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Oh! El Payaso Plim Plim ."

Buck perked up, fingers flying across the keyboard. "Okay, now we’re talking. Clowns are fun. This should be safe." 

He hit play, only for his expression to turn skeptical as the familiar cadence of the Happy Birthday song filled the room.

"Wait, pause." Buck frowned, turning the screen toward Eddie. "Are you sure I picked the right one? Because I’m ninety-nine percent sure this is Happy Birthday in disguise."

Eddie laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, that’s the right one. It’s just written to the same rhythm. I think they figured, why reinvent the wheel?"

"Wow," Buck said, leaning back against the couch. "Not even a subtle remix, huh? Just a straight-up copy-paste situation."

Eddie chuckled. "Hey, it works. Every kid knows the tune already. Makes it easier to learn."

Buck hummed thoughtfully, restarting the video. He leaned closer to the screen, listening intently and mumbling along with the words to practice his pronunciation. Spanish was easier to parse when it was for kids, he realized—it gave him just enough confidence to feel like he wasn’t completely out of his depth.

It was a stark contrast to the last time he’d been immersed in Spanish: a whirlwind visit to Eddie’s abuela’s house, where he’d barely kept up with the rapid-fire arguments between Pepa and Abuela herself. There, he’d felt like he was drowning, even with Eddie translating here and there.

"Wait. Eddie." Buck paused the video and pointed at the screen, dumbfounded. "Why is the clown’s nose blowing up ?!"

Eddie blinked at him, then burst out laughing, his whole body shaking as he leaned forward. "It’s supposed to be fun!"

"Fun?!" Buck exclaimed, staring at Eddie like he’d lost his mind. "I was scared of clowns as a kid, man. If their noses blew up , I would’ve peed my pants on the spot!"

Eddie was practically wheezing now, clutching his stomach as he tried to compose himself. "I guess kids from Latin America are clearly tougher than kids from the U.S.!"

Buck just stared at him, lips twitching in disbelief. "That’s not tougher , that’s—what is wrong with you guys?!"

Eddie doubled over, laughing even harder, barely able to get words out. "It’s... just ... a clown, Buck! You’re acting like he’s detonating a bomb!"

Buck shook his head, muttering under his breath as he clicked play again. "Unbelievable. Clowns were supposed to be wholesome. Not... this."

Eddie took his time to manage to breathe normally again before speaking again. "Alright, what’s next? You want another clown song?"

Buck raised an eyebrow. "If it’s got that level of charm, absolutely not."

Eddie sat up a little, scrolling through his memories. "There’s also Los Pollitos Dicen . That’s a classic. Or En el Rancho de mi Abuelo . Oh, and El Mamut Chiquitito —that one’s catchy."

Buck eagerly typed each title into the search bar, queuing them up. With every song Eddie remembered, Buck grew more determined to understand them. They went through each one almost religiously, pausing and rewinding for lyrics, dissecting them for meaning.

The sound of the front door opening broke through the upbeat rhythm of "El baile de los pajaritos" playing softly in the background. Chris stepped into the living room with Carla right behind him, the familiar notes of the song immediately catching his attention.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head as if to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. "Seriously?" he called out, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the cheerful chirping and accordion melody.

From the kitchen, Eddie appeared, a towel slung over his shoulder. "What?" he asked innocently, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

Chris pointed toward the speaker on the counter. "Canciones de la granja? Really , Dad?"

Eddie shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. "What’s wrong with them? I grew up listening to these. Buck wanted to know more about my childhood songs, so I’m educating him."

Buck popped his head around the corner, a bewildered look on his face. "Yes but at leas this is actually acceptable. These are way more fun than the ones from earlier. Those were basically horror stories for kids!"

Chris blinked at him, unimpressed. "I’m not sure what’s worse: the fact that you’re actually sitting through this or that Dad’s trying to make you relive his childhood in real time."

Eddie laughed, leaning against the doorway. "Oh, come on. These are classics! It’s not my fault your generation missed out because of Disney."

Chris set his backpack down with a thud, giving Eddie a skeptical look. "Yeah, classics . Like ‘La vaca Lola,’ right?" he quipped just as the opening notes of the song began to play.

Eddie straightened up, grinning. "Exactly! La vaca Lola has a head and tail. Simple, relatable, and iconic."

Buck raised a hand. "Okay, but explain this to me—why is that so important to write a song about? Did something happen to her? Doesn’t every cow have those? Was is it just... random?"

Chris groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead as Carla chuckled from the doorway. "See what you’ve started? Now he’s going to overanalyze cow anatomy for the rest of the night."

Eddie shot Buck a mock-serious look. "Don’t disrespect Lola. She’s a legend."

Before Chris could respond, "El sapo Pepe" came on next, its cheerful, repetitive beat filling the room.

Buck perked up. "Now this one is catchy. Who’s Pepe? Is he a happy frog? Is there a backstory here too?"

Chris groaned louder, burying his face in his hands. "I don’t know if I should be embarrassed because you two are so ridiculous or worried about what’s going to happen if you actually manage to give me a sibling someday."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Why would you be worried?"

Chris looked up, deadpan. "Because if this is how you act now , I can’t imagine how bad it’ll get with a baby around. You’ll be singing El sapo Pepe at 2 a.m. and arguing over whether Lola finally grew a tail or not."

Buck laughed, ruffling Chris’s hair as he passed by on his way to grab a drink from the fridge. "Come on, admit it—you’d love having a little brother or sister. Think of all the stories you could tell them about us when they’re older."

Chris smirked. "You mean warnings?"

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled Carla into their lighthearted banter. "Carla, help me out here. These songs are timeless, right?"

Carla held up her hands, trying not to laugh too hard. "I’m staying out of this one. But I will say, seeing Buck learn about your childhood songs might be the highlight of my week."

Chris rolled his eyes, but a small smile crept onto his face as he sat down at the kitchen table. The absurdity of the scene didn’t completely drown out the warmth of home, even if his parents were absolutely ridiculous.

And as "El sapo Pepe" played on, Chris decided he’d take the chaos over quiet any day. Even if it meant living with the two silliest dads in the world.

Buck leaned against the doorframe, grinning as Carla stepped out onto the porch. "Thanks again for picking up Chris and getting him to PT today. You’re a lifesaver."

Eddie stood next to him, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, seriously. I don’t know what we’d do without you."

Carla waved them off with a laugh. "It’s no trouble. Chris is great company, as always."

Before anyone could add anything else, the opening notes of "La gallina turuleta" started playing from the living room speaker.

Buck's eyes lit up. "Oh! This is the chicken one, right? The one that—"

"NO." Chris’s voice cut through the air like a siren as he appeared back at the entrance, looking absolutely mortified. "Please, no ."

Carla laughed so hard she had to steady herself against the doorframe. "You’re really doing this to him, huh?"

Eddie smirked, crossing his arms. "What? It’s educational. Everyone should know about la gallina turuleta . It’s a cultural staple."

Chris groaned loudly, throwing his head back. "I can’t believe this is my life." He turned to Carla with a sudden, desperate energy. "Carla, wait—don’t leave yet. I could… I could pay you overtime to take me somewhere else. Anywhere else. Please."

Carla raised an eyebrow, amused. "Overtime, huh? Where’s this money coming from?"

Chris gestured vaguely toward his room. "I’ve been saving for a PS5, but this—this is clearly more important. My dignity is at stake. "

Buck burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. "Wow, Chris. That’s how much you don’t want to hear these songs?"

Chris pointed at him accusingly. "You encouraged this. You have no right to laugh."

Carla held up her hands in mock surrender. "As tempting as it is, I’m not taking bribes. Sorry, kiddo."

Chris groaned again, louder this time, as if the weight of betrayal had physically crushed him. "Traitor," he muttered, shooting Carla a withering glare that was more dramatic than serious.

She grinned and patted his shoulder. "You’ll survive, Chris. Besides, I’m sure deep down, you’ll miss La gallina turuleta when you’re older."

Chris scoffed. "Not a chance."

With a final laugh, Carla waved at Buck and Eddie, heading down the porch steps to her car. Chris stood in the doorway, watching her go with an expression of pure despair.

As the door closed and Chris turned back toward the living room, the triumphant chorus of "La gallina turuleta" blared louder. He sighed heavily, looking between Buck and Eddie.

"I changed my mind, I don’t want a sibling," he said flatly before trudging off to his room.

Eddie called after him, trying not to laugh. "You know you love it!"

Chris’s muffled response came from somewhere down the hall. "I need better role models."

Buck grinned at Eddie. "I think we’re doing great."

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. "Definitely."

The absurd joy of the scene settled between them as "La gallina turuleta" continued to play, unbothered by Chris’s dramatic exit.

Buck finally hit pause on the playlist, earning a relieved “Finally!” from Chris, who had been lurking in the background, pretending to be indifferent to the chaos while clearly grateful it was over. Eddie was busy stowing away the last of the cleaning supplies under the sink, shaking his head in amusement as he came back into the living room.

“You survived,” Eddie teased Buck, nudging him lightly as he passed by.

“Barely,” Buck shot back, flopping onto the couch with an exaggerated groan. “Between exploding clown noses, war and... whatever that was with the frog, I feel like I’ve been through some sort of musical gauntlet.”

Eddie smirked as he leaned against the arm of the couch. “Oh, you’re not done. Next time, we’re doing cleaning music my mom’s way.”

Buck quirked an eyebrow. “Your mom’s way?”

Eddie’s grin widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Yep. I’m talking Chayanne —the man’s a cleaning icon. Maybe some Arjona to keep it interesting.”

“Wait.” Buck sat up, his curiosity piqued. “Are we talking, like, intense ballads or—?”

“Everything,” Eddie said, laughing. “Chayanne gets you moving while you clean. And Arjona? He’s for when you’re scrubbing something extra stubborn and need to reflect on life at the same time.”

Buck shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “So basically, you’re telling me I’ve been cleaning wrong my entire life?”

“Completely wrong,” Eddie said solemnly, though his eyes were twinkling. “Next time, you’re getting the full experience. Apron, mop, music at full blast—everything.”

“Challenge accepted,” Buck said with a grin, leaning back against the couch. “But just so you know, I’m making you explain every single lyric to me. No way I’m getting blindsided by another exploding clown nose situation.”

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Deal. But I’m warning you now—there’s no escape. Once you’ve heard Chayanne while cleaning, you’ll never go back.”

“Can’t wait,” Buck said dryly, but the playful smile on his face betrayed him.

From his room, Chris’s voice called out, dripping with mock exasperation. “Please don’t.”