Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two women were kissing.

It wasn’t exactly what Eddie was expecting to see on his first day at his new firehouse. Not that he was thrown off or offended or anything. It was just, you know, kind of unexpected to pull into a parking spot ten minutes early for his first ever shift and then realize that the car he parked next to was occupied in the same way that they were on, like, lover’s lanes.

Not that he was looking. He was studiously not looking, actually, and was trying to grab his bag from the well of the passenger seat without even peripherally peeping on them. Even though they were the ones making out in public at nearly eight in the morning.

Though really, who was he to judge? Eddie’s dry spell had gotten so arid he might as well be back in the desert. Besides the few mistakes he and Shannon made in the months before she died, the last woman he’d been with had been with was—well, Shannon. Pepa kept offering to set him up with her friends’ daughters and nieces and hairdressers and dog-sitters; she had an endless parade of eligible bachelorettes who would apparently be perfect for him.

But the timing just never felt right. First, he’d been mourning Shannon, then he’d been run ragged by the Fire Academy, filling out applications, closing on the house, getting Chris situated at school, making sure Chris was eating enough vegetables, driving Chris to PT, balancing his budget—he barely had time to sit in front of the TV with a beer. And when he did, that’s exactly what he wanted to be doing. He didn’t want to exert all the energy it took to go on a date: finding the right bar, navigating small talk, figuring out how to slip in that he was an almost-divorced widower and single father . . .

He didn’t have it in him.

And anyway, what were the chances that he was going to hit it off with Pepa’s friend’s dentist, and that she would somehow fit into their chaotic, messy life?

He had enough other things to worry about without romance.

But clearly that wasn’t true for whichever of his new coworkers was currently fogging up the windows on her Subaru.

It was just a little . . . jarring, that was all. It was just that Eddie had never really been around a lot of queer public displays of affection. A byproduct of growing up in a Catholic household in El Paso, Texas and then joining the Army.

Before he moved there, he hadn’t specifically thought about how different LA would be. He’d thought of sunny skies and the beach; of a good place for Chris to grow up and of the 800 miles it would put between him and his parents.

He'd just assumed everything else would be the same; that his new firehouse would be similar to the ones he toured in El Paso—friendly enough places, but with a similar feel to the army barracks.

And while he certainly didn’t want to see what was going in in the car next to his—he wasn’t trying to establish a reputation as a voyeur before his shift even started—there was something kind of . . . nice? about it. The way seeing those overly-earnest bumper stickers and lawn signs about inclusivity sometimes made his shoulders feel a little less tense. It was just nice to know you were around decent people, he supposed.

When he’d finally gotten everything that he needed into his duffle bag, his eyes glanced up at the car again—a reflexive flicker he couldn’t control—and this time he locked eyes with one of the women. She pointed him out to the other woman, who then turned and gave him a cheerful wave.

He gave a nod back, knowing his cheeks had probably flushed red and totally given him away—this was really not how he’d planned to start off his first shift. Unfortunately, the woman in the passenger seat of the other car was now getting out, too. He squashed the impulse to speed walk inside and pretend this never happened; it was way too early to be making that bad of an impression on his new coworker.

“Hey,” said the woman, walking around the front of her car and waving at the driver. “Are you the new guy?”

“I—yeah,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “Eddie Diaz.”

“Hen Wilson,” she said gripping his hand firm in her own. “Sorry about that,” she gestured towards her car, where the other woman was still sitting, typing on her phone.

“Oh, I—yeah, no, that’s okay,” he said, not sure what a normal response would be.

“I mean, I’m not sorry for being gay,” said Hen, stopping to look at him head-on. Her lime green glasses were really helping with the impression she was x-raying him.

“No, yeah, I figured,” said Eddie, out of his depths. But Hen must have deemed it good enough because she turned to head into the building and gestured for him to follow.

“We’re not usually the PDA type,” she continued, even though he’d really love to get off the topic. “My wife’s just about to fly out to Cape Canaveral for a week-long conference; she’s ubering to the airport from here since it’s closer.”

“Smart,” said Eddie.

“Yeah well, she is an astrophysicist,” said Hen, leading him into the truck bay of the 118. Eddie couldn’t help the pulse of excitement he got from the sight of it; the polished trucks, the big open loft, the other firefighters milling about, looking relaxed and friendly. The comfortable atmosphere at Station 118 was half the reason he signed with them, after all.

She led him into a glass-walled locker room, where he could see another firefighter was buttoning up his shirt. “Chim,” Hen called out to him, and then gestured at Eddie. “Fresh meat.”

The man turned to look at Eddie, sizing him up. “Oh good,” he said, snapping a piece of bubblegum in his mouth. “It was getting boring around here without Buck.” He reached out and shook Eddie’s hand. “Howard Han, but everyone calls me Chimney.”

“Eddie Diaz,” he said again. “Everyone calls me Eddie.”

“I’ll grab Bobby,” said Hen. “You can get changed here—hey Chim, do we have any empty lockers?”

“Uh,” said Chimney, stepping back and scanning the rows, all of which were locked a variety of colored padlocks. “I don’t think so—oh, hey, he can just use Buck’s.”

At the sound of Buck’s name, Eddie felt a little twinge of anticipation. The other half of the reason he’d signed with this station was the people. Captain Bobby Nash had talked very highly of the other firefighters on A shift, but he’d mostly talked about Buck, who was currently out on leave but who Bobby wanted to partner him with when he got back.  He guessed it made sense that they would be sharing a locker, too.

“Do you know Buck’s locker combination?”

“No,” said Chim. “But I’d bet my life it’s something stupid, like 1-2-3-4.”

Hen raised her eyebrows in challenge, and then started turning the dial on a pink and blue lock. After a minute, it popped open. “Should have seen that coming,” she sighed. She swung open the locker door and then gestured to Eddie. “You can share this one. Think you’ll be able to remember the combination?”

“Should be able to manage it,” said Eddie, looking inside of the occupied locker. “Are you sure I shouldn’t check with this guy first? I don’t want to piss anyone off.”

“Buck won’t be back for a few weeks,” Hen said, waving him off. “You can run it by Bobby if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll go grab him so he knows you’re here,” she said, and left the locker room.

“Don’t worry about it,” seconded Chimney. “Buck’s the friendliest guy you’ll meet. Too friendly, honestly. He won’t mind sharing.” He took a few steps towards the door, then turned around and said, “hey—welcome to the 118.”

“Thanks,” said Eddie, and he meant it.

Inside the door of the locker was a taped photo of two kids—a teen girl and a younger boy with curly hair. The photo looked worn and dated, and must have been folded before because the crease was still visible; but all four sides were taped, like someone had taken their time with it. Below it was a ticket stub from a Bruce Springsteen concert, pinned to the medal with a magnet that said someone in Boston loves you.

Both shelves in the locker were occupied by a mix of rank-smelling clothes and a smattering of other items: a take-out menu with a phone number scribbled on it, a container of protein powder, a travel mug with a thin layer of dust on the top, a library book called Killers of the Flower Moon with a receipt as a bookmark, and a battered, dog-eared paperback copy of How to Cook Everything.

It looked like he’d clocked in for a shift one morning and never returned. Gingerly, he pulled the clothes out; the jeans and button-down seemed fine, but there were also gym shorts, a tank, and boxers that had clearly been changed out of post-workout and then abandoned. He stacked the other items on the top shelf, except for the travel mug, which apparently still had coffee in it—gross—and then got changed and put his own stuff on the bottom shelf, hoping his new locker-mate wouldn’t mind.

Before he could second-guess himself, he shoved Buck’s clothes into his duffle to take home later. He was stealing half the guy’s locker—the least he could do was throw his clothes in the wash.

Later, after Bobby had given him a thorough tour of the station, and after Eddie completed his first call as a probie—a man who’d fallen on the spout of an inflation tank—and after he’d had a chance to call and check in with Christopher, he remembered Buck’s travel mug.

He brought it up to the kitchen sink and emptied its curdled contents down the drain. As he was soaping up the sponge, Chim, who’d been sitting at the kitchen island playing solitaire, looked over. “Stealing Buck’s mug?” he asked. It was the kind of cup that was easily recognizable—yellow and green, with a logo for a coffee shop in Wyoming and text that said save a horse, ride a cowboy, drink more coffee. “Power move, Diaz.”

Eddie scrubbed at the ring of dried coffee that was stubbornly sticking to the sides. “Just didn’t want to risk spilling old coffee on my stuff,” he said. “How long has he been out, anyway? His locker looked like he disappeared mid-shift.”

A chair scraped and Eddie looked up to see Hen leave her spot at the table and join Chim where he sat across from him. “About two months,” she said, her voice low like she was sharing a secret. “That . . . is kind of what happened.”

Eddie turned the water pressure down so he could hear their voices. “An accident on the job?”

Chim and Hen exchanged glances, then scanned around the kitchen to make sure they were alone. When they looked back at him, Eddie raised a questioning eyebrow.

“It’s not like it’s a secret,” Chim explained. “It’s just—Bobby doesn’t like to talk about it.” Eddie shut off the water completely; the crusty coffee could wait. “Were you in LA for the serial bomber a few months back? A few showed up on porches, and then one, uh, blew up a ladder truck?”

The mug slipped out of his soapy hands, and Eddie scrambled to right it. “Oh my god,” he said. “Holy shit, that was you guys?”

“Yeah. They managed to keep Buck’s name out of the news, but the real story is that the bomber had a beef with Bobby,” Hen explained. “He blamed him after his dad was arrested for arson. But Bobby was out at the time, and Buck was sitting in the Captain’s seat, he got thrown out and—” she trailed off, looking slightly ill. “Anyway, it’s a bit of sore subject around here.”

Eddie nodded, going back to washing the mug instead of replying. He remembered being at the Academy the morning after. All of the cadets had huddled around each other’s phones to watch the footage, and the hothead instructor Eddie hated had tried to use it for motivational fodder, a lousy attempt at a Miracle-style hype talk.

Eddie had mostly felt bad for the poor guy.

The guy who was, apparently, his new partner.

-------

Next Tuesday was Maddie’s birthday.

Next Tuesday was Maddie’s birthday, and Buck was sitting at a child-size table at his local library, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to write on her birthday postcard.

He’d stopped at the new stationary store on Clinton Street, the one that Hen said had really good pens, and had stood there for so long, torn between postcard options—there was a postcard with a fluffy sheep that said “I miss ewe!” and one with a cartoonish eel that said “eel be wishing you a happy birthday!” and a third one that just had a happy looking bunch of daffodils—that the shopkeeper had even stopped trying to make conversation.

Finally, he gave up and bought all three, plus a fourth one—a hive in the shape of a heart with the text “you’re the beeeeeest”—along with a handful of the pens Hen was obsessed with. They were high quality post-cards, it looked like, almost as if they’d been hand-painted. Maybe they were. That would explain why was spending nearly fifty dollars on this pointless errand.

He’d thought about taking the cards to Milo’s, which is the bar he usually went to when he was in moods like this. Hook & Ladder was closer, just down the block from his apartment, but that was the bar he went to when he couldn’t figure out what mood he was in; it was a first responder bar, so he was as likely to find a hookup there as he was a friendly ear, or even someone he knew from the Academy. Today was a Milo’s day.

But it was almost Maddie’s birthday and it was only 3 in the afternoon, and even Buck couldn’t justify getting bombed on cheap well drinks while it was still this light out. 

Hence: the library. He’d been walking back to his apartment from the stationary store when he passed his branch. He’d been avoiding it—the book he’d left in his locker was way past overdue by now—but today, he couldn’t help remembering how Maddie used to walk him to their library, back when they were kids. She’d done it almost every day the year he was in 1st grade, when she was a sophomore in high school. It was before his parents realized they could enroll him in sports after school to keep him busy. Before Doug.

They must have read tons of books together that year, but Buck only really remembered one, The Phantom Tollbooth. 

He ducked into the children’s section, which just contained one small kid and what looked like his grandmother dozing in a corner chair. He could look up the author or ask a librarian, but instead he took his time, scanning the shelves, trying to conjure that feeling from when he was young, faced with so many options, gleeful knowing that Maddie would read him whatever he picked out. 

It didn’t come. But he did find The Phantom Tollbooth.

He peeled it off the shelf, carried it over to the table, and sat down in a too-small chair to read the back. None of it rang familiar; only the faded blue illustration and the title stuck out in his memory. He put it aside and pulled out one of the postcards—the eel one—and one of his new ballpoint pens, 

Maddie, he wrote. And then he stopped.

He’d been sending his sister postcards for three years now. Each time he tried to have a fun update for her: a new job, a new state, a new apartment, a new mishap. If he framed it the right way, neither of them would have to acknowledge the pattern. But maybe she hadn’t realized that her younger brother couldn’t seem to make anything stick; maybe she hadn’t been reading these at all.

This would be the first time he sent a second postcard while having the same job. Or at least, technically.  He was still a firefighter, even if he was on med leave. 

But Bobby had assured him that his job would be waiting for him when he finished his PT—department covered, a perk of getting crushed by a fire truck. So even though that bit of news wasn’t postcard-worthy, he could say he was still a firefighter. 

A few months ago, he would have been able to tell her about Abby—about how a brilliant 9-1-1 operator had decided to take a chance on him; how he’d almost ruined their first date but instead she’d saved his life; how he thought he might have finally found someone who wanted him to stick around.

But that wasn’t true anymore. 

Not since the day he’d gotten back to Abby’s place to find her waiting for him with a suitcase by the door. She’d said she needed to find herself, figure out who she was again.

“I’ll wait,” he’d promised, easily. Like it went without saying. He didn’t really understand why she felt the need to leave the country on an extended trip to find herself; he liked her so much as she was. But if she needed to do this, then he’d be happy to watch her go and hear all about it when she came back.

But she hadn’t just bought her ticket and packed her bag without telling him, she’d thought that conversation through, too.

“I was afraid you might say that,” she’d said, picking up his hand in a way that felt ominously comforting. “Buck, you’ve been great. I’m so glad I met you, and I never would have survived these last few weeks, months without you. But . . . I think we need to call it now. We both know what this was.”

But—they didn’t. Buck had thought a lot about what this was. He’d talked to Bobby and listened to his advice; he’d made and rearranged and changed plans to figure out what she liked, what she needed; he’d slept in her bed every night for the last three weeks; he’d helped her plan her mother’s funeral. To Buck, who had never gotten more involved than a casual fling before, whatever was between them was real. It was committed.

He thought he’d stepped in with her. But if that wasn’t true, then where did that leave him?

He’d sputtered, too caught off-guard to pretend he wasn’t. It was jarring to hear that you weren’t even worth being left behind; you had to be severed, completely, shed like a heavy coat that hugged too tight.

“Buck, you’re a 26-year-old firefighter, and you look like that. I’m a 48-year-old who just cared for my mother until she died. The sex is great and you’re so unbelievably sweet, like, you’re a really great guy. But this isn’t a long-term situation, Buck, it’s just not.”

Maybe it wasn’t jarring, actually; maybe it was all too familiar.

He’d walked straight out of her apartment to a broker’s office and asked to fill out an application for the first loft they had available. His roommates had texted him the week before, asking if they could sublet his room to one of their cousins, and in a fit of optimism Buck had agreed. Because he was a really great guy.  He’d probably be staying with his girlfriend now anyway, he’d told them, and if the new roommate could just box up a few things he’d come pick them up soon.

Instead, he picked up the boxes and moved them into his new place, where he unpacked and reminded himself to order some rugs so the echoing stopped. He could make it work, he’d thought.

And then the firetruck blew up.

None of that made for good postcard material.

“Can you help me?”

Buck looked up from where he’d accidentally been pressing his pen to the postcard and leaving a green-tinted ink stain. It was the kid he’d seen when he walked in, he’d come up to the other side of Buck’s table without him even noticing.

He was adorable. Messy curls, like Buck had as a kid, and bright red glasses that framed bright gray eyes. His blue crutches were plastered with colorful stickers.

“Hi,” said Buck. He couldn’t have dreamed of a better distraction from this stupid postcard. “What can I do for you?”

“I want a book but it’s too high,” said the boy, and then he turned around and walked away.

Buck fucking loved kids.

He got up and followed him, glancing back at the sleeping grandma. She seemed to be deep in a REM cycle at this point, so Buck might as well keep an eye on the boy. He led him to the nonfiction section, which Buck could tell because it was covered in printed out pictures of dinosaurs and pyramids and submarines; Buck had spent a lot of time in book sections like this as a kid.

He stopped in front of the nature shelf and pointed up at a book propped up on display called Earthquakes & Explosions: Knowing Your Natural Disasters. “It’s that one,” he said. “Please.”

Buck wondered if he was supposed to check with anyone before handing a kid a book that sounded pretty anxiety-inducing, but . . . it was probably good to foster curiosity in children, right? “Looks interesting,” he said, taking it off the display stand and gesturing that he’d carry it back to where he’d been sitting.

“Abuelita said Los Angeles has earthquakes,” he said. “I thought it would be good to know about this stuff.”

“I bet they have super interesting stories in here,” he said, tapping the book. “You know I just read about this thing that happened a long time ago in Boston—a big vat where they stored molasses exploded and flooded the town. But like, because it was molasses it was pretty slow. Imagine knowing a flood of pancake syrup was coming for you? Like, how would you stop it?”

“Maybe with lots of pancakes,” said the kid, who was taking in Buck’s rambles with more tact than most adults.

“With—ha! You know what, that’s a great idea. More pancakes. You should be on some disaster planning committee.”

“I have thought a lot about zombies,” he nodded solemnly and let out a sigh that was so longsuffering that Buck wanted to laugh.  

At least if he knew about zombies, his guardians wouldn’t mind him learning about things like natural disasters.

The kid pulled out the chair across from Buck and sat down, reaching to take the book from him. He opened it up and started reading without bothering with a thanks; Buck could respect that.

He perched back down at his spot and looked at the empty postcard again. Maybe he could just write about this. Maddie, a kid talked to me at the library today and it was the best thing that’d happened to me all week.

He clicked the pen. Unclicked it. Clicked it again.

Maddie,

Why won’t you talk to me.

He looked at the words he wrote out, feeling stupid for wasting a six-dollar card with his whining. It’s not like he was ever going to send that. He scribbled through the words anyway and kept drafting useless options: what did I do and I’m worried about you and everything is so fucked up I miss you.

A feeling prickled at his neck and he looked up to see the kid staring at him. Hastily he started scrawling over his writing, unsure of how well kids his age could read upside down.

“What are you doing?” asked the boy.

He hesitated for a second; it felt like he should lie. But—why?

“I’m writing a card to my sister,” he explained. The kid just looked on, and Buck realized he was probably asking about the excessive scribbling. “But it’s hard to think of what to say because I haven’t talked to her in a long time.”

The kid nodded, sagely. “You miss her,” he said. “But you’re also kind of mad.”

Buck sat up straight, taken aback. “Uh,” he laughed a little, out of confusion. “Yeah, actually. You know, you’re really smart.”

The kid shrugged one shoulder. “My mom left,” he said. “When I was four. And I had to see Doctor Sam about it.”

“Oh,” said Buck, wondering how bad he should feel about being out-therapized by a literal child. “You get it, then.”

“I’m Christopher,” he offered. “What’s your name?”

Buck opened his mouth to say his usual reply, you can call me Buck. He liked being Buck, he really did. Buck was fun and strong, capable and useful. But with Maddie’s name scrawled in front of him and their book on the table next to it, with all the yawning space and growing time between them, Buck couldn’t help feeling some kind of way about how no one might ever know him as Evan. No one might ever know him the way Maddie did.

“I’m Evan,” he said, for the first time in two years.

“You can write a letter and not send it,” Christopher said, continuing their previous conversation. “I did that at Doctor Sam’s a lot. Except he wrote it for me because I couldn’t really write back then.”

“That does sound like it would help,” Buck agreed. “Do you—” he paused, wondering if this was crossing a line. “Do you want a postcard? To write a letter for your mom, or whoever?”

“My mom’s dead now,” Christopher said, and he looked up to see Buck’s stricken expression. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I saw Doctor Sam for that, too.”

Buck’s face curved into a very unexpected, possibly inappropriate smile at the kid’s matter-of-fact tone. “Oh,” he said. “Well—I mean, if you’re not going to send it anyway, you could still write it—?”

“Maybe I could write one for my dad,” Christopher offered instead, like it might make Buck happy.

And honestly? It would. He held up the sheep, daffodils, and bee cards, fanned them out, and said, “pick a card, any card.”

Christopher hesitated for a long time, which Buck felt pretty validated by—they were hard to choose between. Finally, he selected the bees.

“Great choice,” said Buck.

“My dad wears black and yellow a lot,” said Christopher. He took the magenta pen Buck offered him and started writing in that adorably incoherent kid scrawl. Dad, Im so happy you took me—, he wrote out, before Buck remembered it was impolite to read over someone’s shoulder.

Instead, he looked down at the two remaining cards, still stuck on what to say. He sat there for so long that Chris had finished his entire card before Buck even picked which one he wanted to use.

“Wow, that was fast,” Buck commented when Chris handed back the magenta pen.

“Hm,” Christopher agreed. “After I wrote all those letters to my mom, I realized it was good to say nice stuff to my dad while he’s still around.”

Buck’s insides twisted at that, a physical pang in his stomach. This kid’s dad better know how lucky he was; he better never make Christopher feel like he was a bother or a burden. His dad better plan to be still around for his kid forever.

What would Buck regret not saying to Maddie? He was lucky his sister was alive at all, that he could take comfort knowing she was somewhere in the world. But she hadn’t replied to his letters in three years . . . if something had happened to her, would he even know?

If something happened to him, would she? The first year he sent them, he’d scribbled his phone number on every postcard; but it never changed, and she never called, so he stopped. No one at the station even knew she existed, he realized. When he’d filled out his paperwork to join the 118, he’d just hastily scribbled Bobby’s information in the ‘emergency contact’ section and hoped he never noticed.

The sheep or the daffodils?

He should go with the daffodils; they were cheery and uncomplicated.

He picked the sheep postcard instead. Happy birthday, Maddie, he wrote. I miss you. -Evan

It was so different from every postcard he’d sent before. She might read this and think something was wrong. Or, more accurately, she might read it and know something was wrong. But what did he have to lose? What was the worst she could do—not reply? Tell him to stop sending them? At least then he’d have proof of life.

He filled out the address of Maddie’s hospital—the only address he had memorized—and looked up to see Christopher smiling at him. Buck wondered if it would be weird if he offered to read The Phantom Tollbooth to him. Probably. But it didn’t matter anyway, because the kids watch beeped.

“It’s almost five,” he told Buck, clicking the buttons on the side of his watch until the noise stopped. “I have to wake up Abuelita so we get home in time for her stories.”

“Can’t miss that,” agreed Buck. “Hey, thanks for helping me out, Christopher,” he said, gesturing to his completed postcard.

“You too, Evan,” said the boy. He slipped his own postcard in between pages of the earthquake book and turned to wake up his grandmother. Buck waited until she’d roused enough to start fussing at the boy in Spanish before leaving.

Outside the building, he pulled out a stamp from where he kept them tucked in his wallet and slipped the postcard into the nearest mailbox before he could have second thoughts. It wasn’t until he left that he realized he’d felt warm in the library, settled and calm; now, back out on the street, the wind was itching at his skin and the darkening sky made his gut churn and his head feel fuzzy. He got like that, sometimes—the whiplash of a sweet interaction hitting him harder once he was alone again.

Abby had gotten that about him. He remembered the night he’d helped her find her mom and then hugged her in her kitchen, and she’d told him not to go find a hookup that night, no matter how bad he felt.

Well. Abby wasn’t here now.

The next morning, after he’d been shooed out of Cassie—Casey?—Cassie’s apartment, dragged himself home, and showered, Buck walked into the 118. His PT said he was still about three weeks out from recertifying, but he felt confident, good, even if there had been a few twinges in his leg. He wanted to tell Bobby, to see if he’d put him on rotation starting at the beginning of the month. If he had a date to look forward to, everything would feel so much better.

Through the glass of the locker room, Buck spotted a firefighter he hadn’t seen before. He could only see the brown hair and build, but unless that was someone on the mysterious C shift, he must be new.  Not—they didn’t replace him, right? Bobby said they would hold his spot. He’d promised.

But then the man turned and pulled his LAFD-issued tee shirt out of Buck’s locker.

Buck felt like he was choking; his chest was suddenly so tight he couldn’t take in air. They couldn’t—he wouldn’t—he had to, he had to . . . breathe . . . this was probably a panic attack.

Except, his mind catalogued, you don’t usually cough up blood during a panic attack.

He heard shouting in the distance, and then everything went black.

Chapter Text

Eddie was surprised at how smoothly his first month at the 118 was going.

His life outside the 118 was a different story—his childcare situation was a cobbled together house of cards that was bound to collapse at some point. But on the job, he found like he had finally figured out what he was meant to do.

After his time overseas and the dull jobs he cycled through in Texas, the LAFD was a refreshing change of pace, a manageable equilibrium. There was enough excitement to keep him busy, to make the shifts fly by, but he never had to worry about getting shot or shooting other people, and for the first time in his recent memory he felt . . . content. Happy, almost. He was doing good, and he was good at it, too.

Probably the best part of the job was the people. Bobby was as good a captain as Eddie suspected he would be, and Chim and Hen could make anything—long shifts, rides in the engine, even downtime in the loft—entertaining. He was surprised to find himself having . . . fun. Something Eddie hadn’t had much of in the last few years.

For so long, his life had been a tangled mess of grief and logistics, and the only time Eddie usually enjoyed himself was when he could hang out with Chris. But now, during downtime at the 118 he could play Mario Kart or throw a ball around on the station’s roof, and he was regularly eating homecooked meals—plus, if there were leftovers, Bobby would pack them up so he could take them home for Chris.

He’d even heard about a local pick-up game organized by some first responders and had gotten a standing invitation to a poker night. He couldn’t actually take anyone up on those offers until he figured out his childcare situation, but still—besides that one insurmountable problem, everything else felt miraculously easier in LA.

Freer.

“You have to come out with us some time,” said Hen. She, him, and Chimney were in the gym area, killing time while Eddie waited for a phone call from Chris’s PT. Eddie had been trying to talk to them about getting new shoes and a bigger set of crutches for Chris, but their game of phone tag had been going on for so long that Eddie asked Bobby if he could be man behind on any calls that afternoon, just to make sure he wouldn’t miss them.

So Eddie was the only one really working up a sweat in the gym, going at the punching bag while his phone sat on the bench nearby, ringtone set to loud.  Next to him, Chim was holding himself up on the dip stand, occasionally lifting his legs up, and Hen was sitting on the bench with a twenty-pound dumbbell, passing it back and forth between her hands.

“Out?” Eddie asked, skeptically.

“Yeah,” said Chim. “You know, when you go to a place besides your house or work? Usually somewhere that serves food and alcohol.”

“Come on,” agreed Hen. “You deserve to cut loose once in a while. Have a few drinks, sing some karaoke, maybe even meet someone . . .”

It was Pepa all over again. “I’ve told you guys I’m a single father, right?” he asked, beating the bag with two side hooks and a roundhouse kick.

“Exactly,” said Chim. “You’re a dilf! That’ll kill with the ladies.” Eddie slammed his fist into the bag so hard the stand rocked. Out of his periphery, he saw Hen and Chim exchange a look. “Or with the dudes. Whichever way—the point is, people love single fathers. Haven’t you ever seen a Hallmark movie?”

Eddie couldn’t figure out what to respond to that, so he just hit the bag with a double kick.

“We can start off small,” offered Hen. “No need to head to WeHo. Let’s just plan a night at Hook & Ladder—something lowkey. We can invite Buck!”

Eddie landed a series of uppercuts on the bag and wondered why he wasn’t correcting them. Why he wasn’t saying that WeHo wasn’t his scene. Or that none of this was any of their business.

“Have you talked to Buck lately?” Chim asked Hen, mercifully moving the subject away from gay bars. “I’m a little worried about him. I think he thinks he can speed-run physical therapy.”

“Oh, he definitely thinks that,” said Hen. “Karen and I ran into him at trivia night at the Bungalow last week. He said he was going to come talk to Bobby about getting back on the rotation early.”

“Why didn’t you invite me to trivia night at the Bungalow?” Chimney dropped down from the dip stand to frown at her.

“I was barely invited,” said Hen. “Karen and her coworkers take their Lesbians in Stem trivia team very seriously.” She paused, remembering. “Though by the end of the night they were trying to recruit Buck.”

“Of course, they were,” said Chim, lifting himself back up and kicking his legs out in a haphazard attempt at cardio. “That kid has more useless facts than a game of Trivial Pursuit. Do I want to know his team’s name?”

“I came in second,” said Hen.

“Nice,” said Chim. “So, you’re saying I don’t want to know?”

“No,” said Hen, “the Lesbians got first place. Buck’s team was called I Came in Seconds.”

Chim groaned. “Who raised that boy?”

“Judging by his sex life, I’m going to guess someone extremely repressed.”

Eddie had settled into a calmer one-two punch pattern, trying to hear the conversation over his thundering pulse. He’d heard such varied lore about Buck that Eddie would actually consider getting a babysitter and going out to Hook & Ladder just so he could finally meet him.

“That tracks,” said Chim. “You know, I have no idea what’s going on in his sex life recently? Feels wrong. I almost miss the updates.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I saw him head to the bar bathrooms with one of the guys from the Bicurious Georges and I bet he came—”

“La la la la,” yelled Chim, dropping back down from the dip stand so he could use both hands to cover his ears while Hen cackled. “I said almost, thank you very much.” Once he deemed it safe, he took his hands down and lifted himself back up. “Okay, but see, this is a little why I’m worried about him.”

Eddie felt his knuckles begin to burn, but he kept up the 1-2 punches, straining his ears to catch every word.

“I mean, that is classic Buck behavior,” said Hen.

“It’s pre-Abby behavior,” corrected Chim.

“Who’s Abby?”

The question slipped out of his mouth before Eddie even realized it had formed in his brain. He was probably getting dehydrated from all of the sweating.

He saw Hen meet Chim’s eyes again, in that annoying way they had of holding silent conversations. He should have said, never mind, not my business.

But if Buck was his future partner, wasn’t it kind of his business?

Just as Chim opened his mouth, the bell went off. Eddie waved them off, going back to the bag while they grabbed their turnouts and pulled out of the station. Once the sirens dissipated, the only noise in the station was Eddie and the thud thud thud of the bag. He didn’t know why he was so curious about Buck. He guessed he just wouldn’t feel settled at the 118 until Buck was back and he could—

His phone rang.

Nearly an hour later, after placing orders for new custom sneakers and two different crutch options that set him back nearly $500, Eddie showered and went back to the locker room to put his uniform on so he’d be ready to go for the next call. Chim had texted that they were on the way back now, but only because he wanted Eddie to place their station’s standing order from a local Chinese restaurant.

He was just pulling his shirt over his head when he heard a faint sound of coughing from behind him. It wasn’t totally unusual that people wandered into the station off the street—he’d had a woman ask if they could host a child’s birthday party at the station, and a dad and his kid who came in to see if they had a dalmatian. But this time it was a man was around Eddie’s age, alone and walking with purpose.

He was coughing. Coughing a lot, actually. Had he come in search of medical assistance? It could be an asthma attack or an allergic reaction—Eddie grabbed his med kit and went out to meet him. By the time he’d stepped out of the locker room, the man’s coughing had taken an alarming turn. “Hey—” Eddie called, trying to indicate that help was coming. “Just hold—”

Blood was pouring out of the man’s mouth.

Fuck. Why did this have to happen while the ambulance was out?

He ran forward and caught the man right before he collapsed onto the ground. Eddie could feel blood seeping through his shirt as he lowered him onto his side on the ground. “Sir, can you tell me your name?” he asked, feeling for a pulse. He found it, but it was dangerously fast. “Sir?” he tried again, but the man’s eyes had rolled back in his head and he wasn’t responding to a sternal rub.  

Eddie grabbed his phone from his pocket—he had another text from Chimney, so he clicked on his contact and pressed call. While the phone rang, he went back to examining the patient; he had no signs of pneumonia or bronchitis, so they were probably looking at a pulmonary embolism.

“It’s really not that hard to place—”

“Chim,” Eddie cut him off. “How far out are you guys?”

“Two minutes, why?” Chim could probably hear the panic in Eddie’s voice as he rifled through his med kit for aspirin. What he really needed was an intravenous anticoagulant, but he definitely needed the ambulance for that.

“Man in his 20s came in off the street and started coughing up blood,” Eddie explained as fast as he could. He found the bottle of aspirin and poured four capsules out, then placed them in the cap of the bottle. “I think we’re looking at a pulmonary embolism here, I’m trying to get some aspirin in his system,” he explained, grabbing his pen light and using the back end to crush the pills. “But he needs an ambulance asap. He collapsed right inside the bay doors so don’t run us over when you get here.”

“Copy that,” said Chim, and to Eddie’s relief he could hear their sirens blare on, in range.

Eddie dropped the phone. “Come on man, stay with me,” he said, tipping the man onto his back and dumping the powdered aspirin down his throat. He closed the man’s mouth and dug his fingers in around his lymph nodes, trying to stimulate a swallow reflex. He was still trying when their ambulance pulled up and Hen and Chim jumped out.

To his surprise, they both froze.

“Uh, guys, a little help here?” he called, and it finally spurred them into action.

“Buck!”

“Oh my god,” said Hen, as they both ran over and kneeled next to the man—next to Buck, holy shit—and practically shoved Eddie out of the way. “Go get Bobby, get the gurney,” said Hen, before she turned her full attention to the man on the ground.

But Bobby was already running over; Eddie had never seen him look so serious. “Bring the gurney!” he yelled to whoever was hopping out of the engine behind him. “What happened, Eddie?” he asked, never taking his eyes off Buck.

“I—I didn’t know it was him,” Eddie said, even though that wasn’t what Bobby had asked. He had never seen his captain rattled, and it was unsettling. “I was in the locker room and I turned around and saw him—he’d come in and was coughing and then it got worse, and then he was coughing up blood and I—I crushed up four NSAIDs and I think he might have swallowed some of them—”

“Which kind?” Bobby said, grabbing his shoulder.

“What?”

“Was it naproxen? He’s allergic to nap—”

“No, no, it was aspirin,” said Eddie, deeply relieved that aspirin was all he had in his med kit.

“Three, two, one—” Chim counted down, and then he and Hen were sliding Buck onto the gurney, popping it up, and loading it into the ambulance.

“You drive,” said Bobby, pushing Eddie towards the open driver door. The engine was still running. “Cedars-Sinai,” he said, climbing into the passenger seat as Hen and Chim closed the back doors. “Fast as humanly possible.”

The waiting room was a tense, quiet affair. Athena had arrived shortly after they did, with her son Harry in tow. He was playing a video game in the corner while Athena sat next to Bobby and held his hand. Eddie sat across from them, next to Hen and Chim, who took turns fiddling with their phones and tapping their legs, impatient with the lack of news.

Twenty minutes ago, Eddie had asked, “should we contact his family?” and was met with a weighty silence. Finally, Bobby said he was Buck’s emergency contact. And that was the last time anyone had spoken.

“I’m going to find the cafeteria. Anyone want some coffee?” Eddie offered. He also wanted to call Christopher, and to figure out how much longer he was going to camp out in the waiting room so he didn’t look like an asshole for leaving. They still had two hours left on their shift; if they didn’t get an update about Buck by then, he’d have to leave anyway, for Chris.

The four of them gave various noncommittal grunts that were no help at all, so Eddie figured he’d bring back enough for everyone to be on the safe side. But as he passed the entry, he heard a man at the front desk say, “I’m looking for the crowd waiting for Evan Buckley?”

The man was also carrying a box of coffee and bag of donuts, which was definitely better than whatever Eddie was going to find in the hospital cafeteria. He detoured over. “Hey,” he said, while the nurse tapped away at her computer. “I’m with that group, I can take you.”

“Thanks, man,” said the guy, nodding at the nurse and gesturing for Eddie to lead the way. “How’s he doing?”

“Still waiting on an update,” Eddie said.

“You work here?” he asked. Eddie looked down and remembered he was wearing scrubs – a nurse had offered Eddie a spare set when she saw him arrive covered in Buck’s blood, either out of kindness or to stop him from committing a health code violation against the other people in the waiting room.

“I’m with the 118,” Eddie said. “I’m just borrowing these since there was—uhm—” he didn’t want to say a lot of blood to one of Buck’s loved ones. “—some fluids,” he finished, lamely. “How do you know Buck?”

“Oh right,” he said, tucking the box of coffee under his left arm and reaching out to shake Eddie’s hand while they walked. “Through Bobby,” he said. “I’m Michael, Athena’s ex-husband.”

“Oh,” said Eddie, surprised. He tried to imagine bringing pastries to a hospital waiting room if Shannon had been alive, and if she had a new boyfriend, and that boyfriend’s coworker had a medical emergency. “You guys are on good terms,” he said, before he fully thought it through.

Michael let out a laugh, eyeing Eddie from the side. “Well, at first the whole ‘coming-out after twenty years of marriage’ thing put a damper on our relationship,” he said, smiling. “But now it has its perks.”

“Oh,” said Eddie. Then, “oh.” His brain was snagging on weird details; a scuff mark on the linoleum tiles and a beeping noise coming from a patient room as they passed it.

“I didn’t know—” he started, then stopped. An announcement was going over the PA system. A walker clicked as someone took steady steps up and down the hallway.  

Michael slowed and turned towards him, but Eddie didn’t meet his eyes. He only had to make it a few more feet, and around the next turn and they’d be in the waiting room with everyone. “Hey—” Michael said, quietly. But then they turned the corner and Athena spotted him.

“Michael,” she cried, getting up to greet him warmly. “You didn’t have to come.”  

“I figured I’d spring Harry and give you guys some sustenance,” Michael said, handing the donuts to Athena and putting the coffee down on a side table. When his hands were free, he pulled Bobby into a hug. A tight one, like you give your close friends. “He’ll be alright,” Eddie heard him murmur to Bobby.

It has its perks.

After Michael hugged Chim and Hen too, he sat down to share a cup of coffee and hear the story. Eddie probably should have helped tell it, since he was the one who was there when Buck—

But he couldn’t bring himself to join the conversation. His brain felt so loud, like someone had turned the volume up on all of the ambient hospital noise. He’s a fighter, he heard in the waiting room. Toughen up echoed in his brain. He just wants to get back to work, someone was saying; it’s a man’s job to provide for his family, said someone else. What if he pushed himself too hard? a voice wondered, and another voice reminded him a real man could handle this.

“Family of Evan Buckley?”

Finally, a voice broke through the buzzing.

“Here,” said Bobby, waving the doctor over.

“You’ll be happy to know that he’s out of surgery and awake,” the doctor said, causing a collective sigh of relief. “He’ll be able to update you himself in a few minutes, we’re just moving him to a private room and then he can have two visitors at a time.”

“Thank god,” said Chim first, breaking the silence. “Now I can kill him for giving me a heart attack.”

“One medical emergency at a time, please,” said Bobby, but Eddie could hear the humor back in his tone. “I’m going to go see if the nurses will tell me which room he’ll be in,” he said.

Once Bobby left, Michael called over to Harry, who stowed his Nintendo and hurried over. “We can head out, let you guys visit,” he said, pulling his son under his arm. Eddie noticed the way Harry looked up at him, starry-eyed at his dad for the rescue.

It has its perks.

“Oh,” Michael said, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet. “If you ever need to talk to an architect, here’s my card,” he said, and handed Eddie an embossed business card.

The buzzing started up in Eddie’s brain again.

“Doing some remodeling?” Chimney asked as Michael and Harry headed down the hallway.

“Uh—” Eddie started, swallowed. “Just thinking about some modifications to the house. For—for Christopher,” he added. “You know, I think I’m going to head out,” he said, suddenly. “Since Buck is okay. Need a shower,” he added.

“Are you sure?” asked Hen. “I know it’s not the best circumstances, but I’m sure Buck would like to meet you. You did save his life.”

“No, no,” hedged Eddie. “Barely. I’m sure he doesn’t want strangers in there. I’ll just catch him next time.”

And then he turned and fled to his car, desperate to get out of the waiting room, out of the hospital, out of the parking lot. But what he was fleeing, he couldn’t say.

-------

It was a sunny blue-sky day, the kind where you feel bad about staying indoors.

Though, honestly, Buck hadn’t felt bad about how much he’d been staying indoors in the last four weeks. Not since he was released from the hospital again, this time with blood thinners; and been told by Bobby that he didn’t think he was ready to come back yet.  

Even if Buck didn’t want to admit he was depressed, one look at his apartment would tell you otherwise: pizza boxes and beer bottles littered the surfaces; laundry was strewn across the floor where it hadn’t even made into the hamper; the state of his bathroom was becoming alarming. It was why he’d stopped letting Bobby in when he came by and refused to pick up on the hints of offers to visit from Chim and Hen.

He’d actually stopped replying to most of their texts altogether. It was one thing to deal with the repetitive questions and empty words of encouragement (how are you feeling? fine, I feel totally fine. You’ll be back at the station soon! Yep.) but once they started talking about the new guy (I think you’d like him. He did save your life!) Buck couldn’t bring himself to think of anything to say that wasn’t embarrassing or childish.

But today when he woke up, Buck felt tired in a different way—tired of living like a ghost in his own home. He needed to change something or he’d rot in bed until he died, and then eventually his neighbors would call 9-1-1 about the smell, and knowing his luck, the 118 would be the responding house. The new guy would point at Buck’s wasted corpse and say, why did I bother saving him the first time?

The point was, he had to make some changes. He probably should have started with some black garbage bags and bleach, but what he needed most was to get out.

Which was how he wound up at the Santa Monica pier.

It wasn’t until he was standing amongst the tourists and families that he realized he should have showered first. But still, it felt good. The ocean always made him feel better; something about being around all that open space, the salty air, the relentless blue waves. It was meditative, staring out into the water.

At least it was, until a siren pulled his attention. He turned and watched Station 136 arrive, responding to a call near the arcade, where it looked like a guy in a mascot suit had overheated.

It felt silly to be jealous of the people who were working amid all the other people enjoying a day off; to wish you were attending to one of those calls where the vic really just needed a Gatorade. But he was.

But maybe he could get back to that; the doctors had some theories about the blood clots; and he was only 26—even if it took months for him to get back on rotation, off light duty . . . then maybe he could spend the rest of his life being a firefighter, and these months he was living through right now would eventually just be a bad, distant memory. A forgettable low point.

He had to believe that—he didn’t have another option. What was he supposed to do, fight Bobby over it? He wasn’t about to risk jeopardizing his spot at the 118, especially not when they had a perfectly good new probie there already.

Apparently, aside from saving his life, Eddie Diaz had also saved an entire convoy while serving overseas and had gotten a Silver Star for it. But he was really cool about it, according to Chim. Acted like it wasn’t a big deal that he had a literal medal of valor, that he’d come into the LAFD with more medic experience than Buck had gotten after two years on the job.

Hen reported that Eddie was now the one they made do all their riskiest rope rescues, the kinds that used to be Buck’s specialty. Barely needs the rope, I think that guy has an eight-pack, had been her exact text.

What did they even need him for, anymore? It was Abby all over again—he’d thought he’d proved his worth, made himself useful enough that they’d want him to stick around. One of the concussions he’d had as a kid must have knocked loose the part of his brain that was supposed to learn self-preservation instincts; he kept forgetting how replaceable he was.

His phone rang, pulling him out of his train of thought. No one called him besides the 118 and, lately, his doctors, so he picked it up without looking at the number. “Go for Buck,” he said.

He was met with silence. “Hello?” he tried again, but it was hard to hear with the arcade games whirring in the background.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of blue crutches. It was the kid from the library—Christopher. He was leaning back and balancing on one crutch while he pulled open the door to the bathroom; Buck started over to help, but by the time he got there, the kid had already gone inside.

Buck stared at the sign on the bathroom and wondered why it said handicap accessible if it didn’t have automatic doors.

Then he realized that no one had followed the boy in.

The phone was still pressed to his ear, with no sound coming from the other end. He hung up and slipped it back into his pocket, scanning the pier for the older woman he’d seen with Christopher at the library, but she was nowhere in sight. Back near the road, there was a school bus with a line of kids filing on—maybe he’d been there for a fieldtrip? But what kind of teacher let a kid that age wander that far?

Buck loitered outside the door, waiting. Hoping this wasn’t creepy behavior. He was honestly impressed with this kid’s independence; but still, he was pretty sure there be an adult be keeping an eye on him. He couldn’t be more than eight.

After a few minutes, the kid emerged—pushing the door open from the inside must have been easier than pulling it open from the outside—and he immediately spotted Buck.

“Evan!” he cried, looking unreasonably excited to see him. Buck had forgotten he’d told the kid that was his name.

“Hey Christopher,” Buck said, crouching down. “It’s good to see you.” He glanced around, waiting to see if an adult would come claim this kid. “Is your grandma around?” Maybe she’d fallen asleep on a bench somewhere.

“No,” said Christopher, “we’re here on a field trip. Everyone’s getting ready to go,” he said, propping a crutch under his arm and pointing to the yellow school bus Buck had seen earlier. “But I needed to use the accessible bathrooms.”

“Do your teachers know you’re here?”

“Yeah,” said Christopher, unbothered. “Miss Simmons says they don’t have enough teachers to babysit every kid, and even if they did, they weren’t paid enough for that. So, she said I could go by myself as long as I’m quick and I don’t talk to strangers.”

Buck didn’t even know where to start on that sentence. Was it a thing that people totally unconnected to school districts could lodge complaints?

“Oh, well—” he started, but Christopher interrupted him.

“Hey, Evan?” he asked.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Where’d the water go?”

Buck turned to where he was pointing. The ocean floor underneath the pier was entirely visible. The water was drawing farther and farther back, to where a huge wave was building in the distance. No. It couldn’t be—a tsunami? In LA?

A loud siren pierced the air, and if Buck knew one thing, it was to respond when an emergency bell rang.

He didn’t have a moment to hesitate; he scooped up Christopher in the fireman’s carry they taught him to use for children and started sprinting. “Run!” he shouted to the people next to him, his throat tearing with the effort. “Run!”

There were so many people who needed help that he couldn’t give. He could barely help himself. But right now, he was Christopher’s only chance at surviving this thing. Why had he spent the last four weeks in bed instead of training? If he’d been in his best form, maybe he be fast enough to outrun this, but instead his chest was heaving, his legs burning; signs that he wasn’t going to be strong enough to—

He chanced a look behind him and saw with terror that the wave was bearing down on them. He couldn’t get them to safety; they wouldn’t even to make it off the pier.

He spotted an arcade stand and moved without thinking; he didn’t actually know what was proper tsunami-survival protocol; they never covered that during Academy training. But he’d learned it was always better to be under some form of shelter; anything that could dull the force of the elements, soften the blow. He tucked Christopher under the counter and moved to jump in himself when—

Water.

Chapter Text

Buck hadn’t been able to take a deep breath before the wave hit, but even if he had, the wall of water would have knocked it from him anyway. It slammed into him like a bus, hitting him and swallowing him up all in one sweep. It tossed him like a ragdoll. He opened his eyes, trying to make sense of anything, but there was no way to tell which way was up and which was down.

He’d surfed before, first in Virginia Beach and then in Peru and sometimes when the urge struck him in LA. He’d had his fair share of wipeouts—moments where the board slipped out from under him and the wave caught him in the wrong direction and he was thrown into water-logged chaos. But even then, he’d never experienced anything like this; it felt like the whole world had become water, like there was no way up at all.

His lungs burned, and when he opened his eyes again, they caught on something shiny and blue. Christopher, he remembered. He had to get to Christopher. If Buck, a full-grown adult with a decent amount of Navy SEAL training under his belt, was struggling this much, how would Christopher survive?

Steady, he thought. The human body can survive decently long without air, he knew that. He had enough time to figure this out; if he didn’t panic, if he turned each way until he saw—there. He spotted a glimmer of sunlight and he twisted his body around, swimming for it.

The first gasp of air hit so hard he felt the oxygen in his brain. His second gasp, he yelled, “Christopher!”

He saw a wire hanging above him, some kind of strung lights, and he grabbed hold. He couldn’t let the current take him away, he needed to find Christopher. “Christopher! Christopher!” He yelled again, barely hearing his own voice over the roaring of the water.

But then, like a miracle— “Evan!”

Buck whipped around, trying to find his bearings, trying to find the voice. Finally, he spotted the yellow shirt, the brown curls—it looked like Christopher had managed to cling to a telephone pole. What a brilliant kid.

“Hang on,” he screamed over the rushing water. “Hang on, I see you, I’m coming for you!” He scanned the area, trying to figure out what he could use to pull himself to where Christopher was.

But then Christopher gave a terrible squeak. Buck heard, “I can’t—” and then the kid slipped under. The current was carrying him right to Buck, if he could just time it perfectly . . . he waited until he saw a blur of yellow and he dove, faster than he’d ever moved in his life. It was hard to see anything under the water, but then Buck had him, his pointy elbows and impossibly small torso, bear-hugged in his arms.

He twisted his body the way they taught him to, to ensure his victim would have their head above water, and listened as Chris took in a ragged, beautiful breath. “You’re good,” he told him. “You did so good, you’re good, I’ve got you.”

Buck spotted a familiar red engine—the 136’s truck had still been on site when the wave hit. He pulled them both over to it and hoisted Chris up. He had to duck inside to avoid an island of debris, but then he was on top, too.

Just him and Chris, alone in this terrifying world of water.

“Hey, remember when I said you should be on a disaster planning committee?”

They’d been on the truck for an hour, and Buck was desperate to keep Chris’s morale up. Though, he might have been projecting—the kid seemed almost disconcertingly chipper. Like, he just accepted that it was a fact of life that sometimes, you think your day will go one way, and instead you find yourself tossed around by ocean water and stranded on a firetruck with a virtual stranger.

Buck had been less of a good sport after a few hours at a waterpark.

“Oh, now I have to figure out how to fix this?” Chris said. His little beleaguered voice was too cute for the moment; it made everything feel surreal. This whole day did. Buck couldn’t help but think about Chris’s dad, who would have no way of knowing where his son was or if he was okay.

He wondered what kind of man Chris’s dad was, a single father who had raised his son to be so self-assured and optimistic. He was about to ask about him—he would need to figure out a way to contact him once they got off the truck—but then Chris was talking again.

“I guess we could get a bunch of sponges. Or maybe one big sponge. Or—do they have a vacuum that sucks up water?”

Against all odds, stranded and sunburned and soaked, Buck smiled.

Three hours later, after Buck had managed to pull a few more people onto the top of the truck with them; after he’d done his best to distract Chris from a disturbing number of floating corpses; after he’d decided the kid deserved to be called Superman for all he’d survived—that was when Buck made his grave mistake.

When the water receded and a new rush of people started swimming for shelter, he’d leaned over to help and forgot that he’d propped Chris up on the side of the truck so that he was facing away from the wreckage. He’d propped Chris up on the side of the truck, and then left him alone to topple back into the swirling, hungry, rushing water.

“Christopher!” he screamed. He scrambled to the other side of the truck, his stomach bottoming out as he saw the empty seat where Chris should be. “CHRISTOPHER!” he screamed again. How could he not see him—how could he have been so careless?

A clip from a natural disaster documentary flashed through his mind; a white-haired scientist in front of weather map, saying, “it’s basically a death sentence, going into the water during a tsunami.”

And Buck had let that happen to Christopher.

There wasn’t even a choice to make—he jumped in after.

It was starting to get dark, and Buck was terrified. He hadn’t seen a sign of Christopher since he first spotted his red glasses; he hadn’t heard any other survivors confirm seeing him.

Buck hadn’t had water since he’d taken a sip with his meds that morning, but he resented even that—the blood thinners were having a field day with the scrapes and cuts he’d collected throughout the day, and the loss of blood was making him feel weak in a way he couldn’t afford to be. In a way Christopher couldn’t afford him to be.

The water had finally drained enough that he could walk, and the streets were littered with so many terrible things—lamps that belongs in people’s houses, clothes that belonged on people’s bodies, stuffed animals and purses and decorative pillows; it was like the whole city had been turned inside out. It was slow-going and terrifying to look at, but he was trying to be as fast and as thorough as possible.

Someone finally convinced him to stand still enough to get his arm bandaged—it was just as well, he needed to stay on his feet—and handed him a power bar and a bottle of water. He thanked them and listened in to a conversation about the different triage areas that had been set up for survivors.

He should check those; maybe they’d have a way to—to contact—

Buck didn’t even know who. Even if he had his phone, even if the phone lines were still working, who would he call? Bobby, Hen, and Chim were all probably on shift—busy saving people instead of losing them. He couldn’t call Christopher’s father; he didn’t even know the boy’s last name. It was just him.

He looked over to the bedraggled survivors, all perched or slumped on sturdy pieces of debris, chugging water and trying to conserve their energy. In another life, he’d be in his firefighting gear, offering them help.

“You said there’s a triage center nearby?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” said a young guy who looked to be in the best shape out of everyone. “It’s down on Pearson, at the old VA. We’re going to head there soon.”

“You can join us,” said another man. He was sitting next to a woman who was clutching a kid to her chest; a small body wrapped in a red sweatshirt jacket. Buck’s arms ached, feeling the weight of Christopher missing from them. He’d held him like that, in the water. He’d lifted him onto the truck and seen those tiny little New Balance sneakers, just like—wait.

“Is that—?” he asked, not even knowing how to finish the question. He was staring intensely at the form, his eyes roving over the shape—the kid’s size was right for it to be—

The woman shifted under his gaze, and the kid stirred.

“Is that your kid?” he asked, finally. An insane question, but he’d alarmed more than one parent tonight, sprinting frantically to get a better look at any boy around four feet tall, any small heads of curly hair he spotted.

“No,” she said, and his heart leapt in his throat. There had been so many false alarms today, but—

He stepped towards her. “Is that—” he said again. He was terrified that he was wrong. “Chris?”

And then, as much a miracle as it had been the first time—

“Evan?”

The sweatshirt hood fell back and Buck saw his bright eyes, the beautiful sight of Christopher, alive and breathing.

“Evan!” Chris said again, and squirmed until the woman put him down. He didn’t have his crutches, but it didn’t matter—he only made it one step before Buck fell to his knees and scooped him into his arms.

“Christopher,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his curls. “Christopher, oh my god, you’re alive. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Chris was clinging to him, his grip tight for a kid that small and tired. But Buck was clinging back just as hard—he couldn’t believe it. He thought he’d failed the kid, thought he’d lost him, thought he’d have to go the rest of his life never knowing—

“You’re Evan?” said the woman, once Buck stopped repeating his apologies.

“Yes, I—I am,” he said.

“He was looking for you,” she said kindly, in a way that made Buck want to sink through the ground. If he’d been more careful, Chris never would have had to—but it didn’t matter. He had him now. And he was never letting this kid out of his sight.

Chris pulled back, looking at Buck where he was kneeling on the pavement. Buck remembered he had Chris’s glasses, and slid them over his head, back onto Chris’s face, where they sat on his little upturned nose.

“I found these for you,” he said.

Chris eyes roved over Buck’s face. He reached up and rubbed Buck’s eyebrow. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Buck, pulling him back in for a hug. “God, you really are Superman, huh?”

Chris gave a tired giggle; it was the best sound in the world. It gave Buck enough strength to pull himself to his feet and heft Chris onto his hip. “Are you okay? Do you need anything? Water, snacks?”

“He’s been drinking and had a few protein bars,” commented the woman. She was still giving him that kind look, and he could barely face it.

“Thank you,” he said to her, his voice shaking. “I can’t thank you enough, I—thank you.”

He reached his arm around Chris and tugged him in closer, pushed his head down onto Buck’s shoulder. “Are you guys all okay?” he asked, able to think clearer now that he had Christopher back in his arms. They nodded and shrugged, which he took to mean, as okay as we can be. “I’m going to run ahead with him,” he told them. “His dad has no idea where he is—”

“Go, go,” said the woman. “You’ve got him.”

He did. Buck had him. The weight of Chris back in his arms was like something he’d never felt before; it felt like the first time he’d done CPR until someone breathed again, like a hug from Maddie, like a family dinner cooked by Bobby, all rolled into one. At some point in the last few hours, Buck’s entire life’s purpose had tunneled to one thing: finding Christopher. And now, he had him.

He felt so good he managed a slow jog in the direction of VA building; he could only imagine what Chris’s dad was feeling by now. This kid needed to be as far away from this disaster zone as possible; he needed a hot meal and a warm bath and a cozy bed. If they couldn’t contact his dad tonight, could Buck take him home? Just until they could get in touch with his dad? His apartment wasn’t exactly kid-friendly, but he had plenty of blankets and boxed mac and cheese. It would honestly be nice to be able to keep an eye on him for a little longer.

Finally, they neared the triage tents, which were bustling with light and movement. Some people were rushing around it, moving in that familiar first responder pace; others were limping and hobbling their way around, the sad shuffle of survivors; and in one corner was a black tent, full of people who were entirely still.

Buck flagged down the first person he saw. “Where’s the—the list? Like for survivors to check-in?”

She glanced down at the small figure in his arms; at the cuts on Buck that he knew were actively bleeding. For a second, he worried she was going to slow him down with medical care; but then she just pointed back towards the building. “Right in the entrance, there’s a nurse with an iPad; he’s the one to talk to.”

Buck thanked her and headed towards the building. Now that the end was in sight, he could feel his body flagging; he should probably tell someone here about the whole blood thinner situation.

Inside the VA building, he spotted the nurse with the iPad and shuffled towards him. He must have been obviously losing steam, because two more people in scrubs beelined over to them.

“Hey,” said Buck, surprised to find himself out of breath. “I have to check this kid in—his name is Christopher. . . ” he said, looking down at where Chris had picked his head off his shoulder. He waited for Chris to say his last name, but then one of the nurses did a double-take.

“Wait, Christopher?” she said. She nudged the nurse next to her. “The guy filling in on the med bay, he just found out his son was missing, he’s been showing everyone a photo of him—that’s—”

“That’s definitely him, holy shit, you’re right,” said the nurse next to her. She reached out to take Christopher from Buck’s arms, and he had to fight the instinct to turn away, to squeeze harder. He couldn’t just hand him off like that, it was too—

“You know my daddy?” asked Chris in a wavery voice, and for the first time that day, Buck saw him start to tear up.

“Yeah,” said the nurse, carefully extracting him from Buck, who could no longer pretend it was in Chris’s best interest to keep ahold of him. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll take you to him. He’s going to be so excited to see you.”

She started down the hallway, and Buck took an unsteady step forward, like he was going to—what? Follow him? But the other nurse put her hand on his shoulder and said, “woah, buddy, where do you think you’re going?”

“I—” he paused. Where was he going? He had nowhere to be. And honestly, sitting down sounded really good right now. He remembered what he should probably tell them. “I’m—I’m on blood thinners,” he said, his voice scratchy and almost giving out.

“Okay then, we definitely have to get you looked over,” she said. “Do you want to check into the system before we go?”

The system? Oh, right. The survivor list; the thing people would check if they loved you and were worried about you and knew you had been caught up in a natural disaster.

“No,” he said. “I don’t need to.”

---  

Eddie had lived through a lot of long days in his life, but this one was something else. He’d been on shift since the night before, when he left Chris at Pepa’s house so she could put him to bed and take him to school for him in the morning. He’d been scheduled for a 24-hour shift, so he would have been home by 7 pm, just in time to make sure Chris had eaten enough for dinner and to actually talk to his son for a bit before bedtime.

But then the tsunami happened.

Eddie had scaled a Ferris wheel, done CPR on a guy underwater, and boated around so much debris and chaos he felt like he was back in a warzone. By the time he’d walked the firefighter from the 136, Lena, to the VA, they’d been so in need of staff that he’d had no choice but to scrub in and put his medic experience to use.

Between concussions and dry drownings and broken bones, he’d barely had any time to think about when—and how—he was going to get home to Christopher. A health-aid from the company he’d found a few weeks ago would have gotten him off the bus and stayed with him, but Eddie kind of hated the nurses they sent. Every time he got home, he found them sitting on their phone while Christopher watched TV or played video games. Usually with his homework untouched and piles of gummy wrappers littered around him.

The entire company seemed like that, lax and unbothered in a way that stressed Eddie out; more than once they’d assumed he meant to cancel when he was a few minutes late. He’d already called in more favors from Pepa and Abuela than he had a right to ask; one more instance like that and he’d be dragging Chris to the firehouse with him.

But that was all he could afford right now; he never had enough time or brainpower to sort through the different programs they may or may not qualify for. The fragile system that had gotten him and Chris through his time at the Academy was crumbling under the reality of his new work schedule. Every time he thought about it, he heard his mom’s voice saying don’t drag him down with you and felt like he was dry drowning himself.

At least, as unreliable as the company was, he figured they legally couldn’t leave his son alone; so, he’d probably just be facing a mountain of fines for the overtime once he finally got home. Still, it would be nice if he could talk to Christopher—the phone lines had been so fucked up from the wave that cell service was spotty at best, and Eddie had barely had time to glance at his phone since arriving at the VA.

But they must have started the repairs already, because his phone gave a beep; he looked down to see a call coming through from the health-aid company. As much as he didn’t want to deal with them right now, it would be worth it to talk to Christopher.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Mist-- Diaz?” said a garbled voice from the other end. He backed up against the hallway wall, making sure to stay still so he didn’t step out of range.

“Yes—”

“This is a --tesy call to tell you your account has been charged -- dollars for today’s last-minute cancellation. As a reminder, -- need to contact us 24 hours—”

“What?”

“I said, if you -- to cancel your health-aid without the fee, you need to -- us know a full day in—”

“I didn’t cancel today,” said Eddie. He looked around, alarmed, but no one else was in the hallway to meet his eyes. “Why did—I didn’t cancel,” he said again. “I know I’m late getting home, but—”

“Our records here -- showing that Nurse Eliza was scheduled to meet -- son off the --- bus at 3 pm today, but he never arrived,” said the voice, entirely too unconcerned. “She waited for -- and then notified us that you had canceled.”

“What the fuck do you mean my son didn’t get off the bus?” Eddie might have been yelling. “Why wasn’t I notified?”

“Sir, I’d appreciate --- not to take that tone with me,” the person, went on; their voice cut in and out with wobbly service, but Eddie could hear, “I don’t know if you’ve --- but there was a tsunami --- and it’s -- the phone lines.”

“Yes, I know about the tsunami,” said Eddie, rage and something worse building in his chest. He was gesturing to no one, pacing, causing the static cut in and out even more. “I—”

A beep cut him off. Eddie must have found a spot with better service, because when he pulled his phone away from his ear, he could see notifications pouring in; missed calls and voicemails and text messages, some from unknown numbers and some from the one he’d saved as Chris’s school. Eddie hung up without thinking and clicked on the most recent voicemail.

“Hi again, Mr. Diaz,” said a shaky voice on the other end. Distantly he recognized it as the vice principle he’d met on Chris’s first day; the one who’d pretended to pull a coin out from behind Chris’s ear and asked Eddie if they could do a field trip to his fire station. “This is Ben Withers; we’re still trying to get in touch with you about Chris. We’ve notified the police and called the emergency line they set up for the tsunami; they have all of his information. I’ll be at the school for another hour but if you need to reach me—”

Shaking, Eddie pulled the phone away from his ear. He scrolled down to the first voicemail from that day and hit play.

“Hi, Mr. Diaz, this is Ben Withers from Warren Elementary; it’s very urgent so I’d prefer not to do this on voicemail but—well in case you can’t call back I—well I’m sorry to tell you that, well. I’m sure you know we had a field trip to the Santa Monica Pier today; the kids were all getting back on the bus right when the tsunami hit and-and the bus was able to get away but—well, I—I was notified that Chris had been using the handicap accessible bathroom on the pier alone at the time, and, well, by the time everyone had figured out what had happened—as you can imagine, we feel—”

Eddie dropped the phone to his side. This couldn’t be happening. He’d totally forgotten about the field trip, the permission slip he’d signed two weeks ago.

He’d forgotten.

He’d forgotten that he’d signed his own son’s death warrant.

Alone, in a bathroom, on a pier, in the middle of a tsunami. Eddie’s eyes were burning at the thought of it. His son being tossed—being trapped—Chris—Christopher—perfect, perfect Christopher, all alone—

Was there any chance at all that he’d survived? Could Eddie even hang onto the smallest hope?

“Hey, are you alright?”

Lena had found him. He was standing in the hallway, frozen; he couldn’t be totally sure, but he thought tears were dripping down his face. Chris, alone. Chris, scared. He’d been by the pier earlier that day. He’d been right there and he hadn’t—he didn’t—

“My . . . my son,” he got out, barely more than a whisper. “He was—he was at the pier.”

“Oh, fuck,” he heard. “Eddie—I’m sure, he’s-he’s fine—”

“He’s eight,” he snapped. “He has cerebral palsy. His fucking school let him go off alone—” he wanted to punch something. He wanted to—to—

“Okay, okay,” said Lena, using that calm first-responder voice he’d used a hundred times. How had he never realized how fucking stupid that tone was?

“You’re exactly where you need to be to find out—”

“Where I needed to be was with my son,” he bit out. He should stop yelling at the only person in the vicinity trying to help him, probably.

“Okay, Eddie,” she said again, like he was a child. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You have a picture of him, right?”

Eddie lifted his phone, cleared the mess of notifications and showed her his background photo—it was of Chris on the beach on their first day in LA. He loved the photo, how Chris’s eyes sparked in the sunlight and he looked bright and care-free; the opposite of dusty Texas. But now he could only see the ocean looming behind him, rippling like a threat. This wouldn’t have happened to him in Texas.

Don’t drag him down with you.

“Okay, good,” said Lena, absurdly. “And his name is—”

“Chris—” he breathed out. “Christopher.”

“Okay. I’m going to go check the black tent, okay?” she said evenly. “You start going around showing people this picture. Ask them if they’ve seen anyone who fits his description and tell them your name so they can find you if they do.”

It wasn’t enough, not even close to it. But at least he had something to do, a reason to move his body. He turned away from her without even nodding, suddenly frantic to follow orders. He started ripping through the hallways, shoving his phone in front of people and making sure they got a good look at him. “Christopher, my son—he’s only eight,” he’d said, over and over again. “Have you seen him?”

By the fourth hallway, his terror was catching up to him. No one had seen Chris, and any second now Lena would be back from the black tent.

“Diaz?” someone, not Lena, thank god, called him. He whipped around and—

It was—

“Daddy!”

“Christopher!”

Eddie could barely believe his eyes. Christopher, Christopher, Christopher. He was down the hallway in four long steps, had Chris in his arms within seconds.

“Christopher,” he said again, reverent. “Chris—you’re okay. You’re okay.” It was almost enough to make a man believe in god.

“Daddy,” Chris said again, hugging him in that tight way he did sometimes, and Eddie would say, are you a monkey? He never wanted to let go.

But he had to check—he had to see for himself that his son was alright. He kneeled down and held Chris out in front of him, scanning his eyes over his son’s small body, searching for injuries and traumas.

Miraculously, Chris seemed . . . totally fine. He was missing his crutches and his shoes were untied. He’d gained a red sweatshirt jacket, and what Eddie could see of his legs were peppered with bruises and scratches, but no worse than he’d gotten from a rough day on the playground. He even somehow still had his glasses on.

And beyond that, he looked happy. Like he was excited to run into Eddie at work. Not like he’d just been traumatized. Eddie couldn’t process it.

“Chris—are you hurt? Does anything . . . are you okay?”

“I’m hungry,” he said. Eddie wanted to cry.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you food, buddy, anything you want. How are you—what happened?”

“Evan saved me,” Chris told him. “He’s really strong, and he said I’m like Superman.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah,” said Chris. “My friend from the library.” Eddie’s brain felt too scrambled from the last few hours to follow this, but he snagged on a memory—Chris made him a card one day, said his friend Evan from the library gave it to him. Eddie had assumed it was another kid; and anyway, he was too busy trying not to tear up as he read the card. I’m so glad you took me with you to LA.

“What—how?”

“Everyone got on the bus but I had to go to the bathroom,” Chris said, as Eddie picked him back up again and carried him over to an open bed by where he’d been working earlier. He wasn’t taking his son home until he was sure he had a clean bill of health.

“When I came out, I saw Evan! He remembered me. And we were going to go back to the bus but then I saw this huge wave coming and instead he picked me up and ran so fast,” said Chris, starting to tell the story with more energy. Eddie motioned for a nearby nurse to toss him a candy bar from where they had a stack, busted out from the vending machine. “But then the wave hit and it was so scary dad,” he said, breaking Eddie’s heart.

“I bet it was,” he said, unwrapping the candy bar and giving it to Chris as he started checking over his vitals.

“I managed to hang onto this pole and then Evan found me,” Chris went on, munching happily. “He put me on top of a fire truck! Have you ever been on the top of a fire truck, dad?”

“Yeah, buddy,” said Eddie. Temperature and blood pressure were fine; pupils were reactive.

“We stayed there for a while playing I Spy. And me and Evan helped a few more people get on the truck with us. That was when he said my nickname should be Superman, because I saved so many people.”

Eddie’s stomach twisted. He wanted to fall to his knees in gratitude.

“But then another wave came and I fell off the truck,” said Chris continued. “I didn’t mean to—I could hear Evan was shouting but I couldn’t call back and swim so I just kept swimming. You know, like Dory. And then this nice lady named Maria found me, and she carried me around while we looked for Evan. I think I might have fallen asleep for a little,” Chris admitted. “But then we stopped for water and granola bars and Evan found me again! He was so excited. He said he’d been looking for me, too. I was happy to see him too, even if he didn’t look very good. He’d gotten a lot of cuts and stuff, and was bleeding. But he said you were probably worried about me and we should get here fast. And then when he took me to the iPad nurse, they said you were here!”

Eddie finished listening to his son’s lungs with a stethoscope and made him lie down so he could check for broken ribs. They were fine—Chris was totally fine. How was this possible? Who was this Evan, and how was he ever going to repay him?  A minute ago, he’d been paralyzed by the idea of Chris being alone and adrift in the chaos, but—he never had been. Someone had noticed his son, tried to shield him from the wave, gotten him out of the water, told him he was Superman. 

He looked at his son, his drooping eyelids and totally intact limbs, his chest rising and falling with his breaths. “It sounds like you were really brave today,” Eddie told him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—I should have found you earlier. But your school didn’t—there was no service and—I didn’t know until—”

“It’s okay, dad,” said Chris. “Evan told me about how things get tricky during natural disasters. I wasn’t worried.”

I wasn’t worried. Said his kid who survived a tsunami. 

“You wanna go home?”

“Yes, please!” said Chris, handing Eddie back the empty candy bar wrapper. Eddie lifted him onto his hip and looked around for his LAFD gear he’d shed over the course of the day. “Evan and I played this game where we said what food we were gonna eat when it was over and I said chicken fingers. Can we stop and get chicken fingers?”

“Yeah buddy,” said Eddie. He would have stopped to get him a pony if he’d asked.

“Evan said he wanted this spaghetti his friend makes. And something called vegan sushi?”

Eddie stopped at the check-in station — he desperately wanted to get Chris out of there, but there was one thing he needed to do first.

“Hey, man,” he said, “do you have an Evan on that list? Guy who came in like a half hour ago?”

“Oh, with Christopher?” he asked, smiling down at his son. Eddie had been in a bit of a fugue state during the awful five minutes he’d thought Chris was in danger, but apparently, he had managed to alert the entire hospital. And hey, it had worked.

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “I just wanted to find out who he is, say thanks,” he explained. 

“Sure,” said the man. As he scrolled the list, Eddie glanced down at Chris and saw his eyelids close. “Oh wait,” said the nurse, snapping his fingers, “I remember now, he didn’t check in. But I think Olivia took him over to trauma bay 3, where they’re set up to give blood infusions. It’s two hallways that way—” he pointed. “She should be able to help you. Ask her for the guy who looked like he was about to keel over.”

Eddie hefted a now-sleeping Chris higher on his side and headed in the direction he pointed. Trauma bay 3 turned out to be the building’s cafeteria, turned into another triage area. Coolers marked with blood types and chairs with IVs next to them were set up around the room.

He flagged down the first medic he saw. “Hey, I’m looking for Olivia?”

“That would be me,” she said. Her eyes flickered down to Chris’s sleeping form and he saw her lips quirk in a quick smile at the site of it. He knew the feeling. “How can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to find a patient named Evan? They said he’d be here.”

“Oh,” her eyes lit with recognition and she looked back down at Chris again. “You’re Chris’s dad.” He nodded.

“Evan was here, but he checked out a few minutes ago. Against recommendation, I might add.”

Against recommendation—what did that mean? “I was hoping to catch him, to thank him,” said Eddie. “Was he alright?”

“I can’t disclose patient medical information,” said Olivia. “But between you and me, he was like a dead man walking. Truly no idea how he was still upright when he got here. But we fixed him up as well as we could and then he must have had some place to be.”

“There’s no—you don’t know his last name or anything, do you?”

“Probably couldn’t tell you if I did,” she said. “But it didn’t come up. He was only here for about 20 minutes.”

Eddie would have to solve this mystery another day—he had to get Christopher to bed. He thanked Olivia and exited the building, cutting through the parking lot and heading to the area where the roads were still open. Ride share apps were running free rides for people who were trying to get home from the disaster areas, since so few people had phones working after today. A volunteer was organizing it, keeping everyone in a line and checking in the drivers.

Eddie got on the back of the line, which was moving fast. When it was their turn, Eddie buckled Chris into the backseat next to him; he wished they had a booster seat available; but he also wished, you know, that his son hadn’t been hit by a tsunami.

He tucked Chris into his side and watched the city fly by as the car took him and his son home. 

Chapter Text

Eddie was at the end of his rope. He hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in the last two weeks. The stress of the tsunami had caught up with Chris, and hadn’t been sleeping well. And when he was awake, he’d been drawing pictures of a drowning woman so often that Eddie finally took him back to Dr. Sam; together they managed to figure out that he was drawing Shannon.

At this rate, Eddie was going to start having nightmares of his own.

Between Chris’s restless nights, his own long shifts, and Michael’s business card burning a hole in his pocket, Eddie hadn’t felt clear-headed in weeks.

He was deeply regretting agreeing to this 48; he was only 24 hours in, and so far, it’d been brutal. They’d gone straight from a fire with two fatalities to a vehicular accident on the same street where Shannon's was to a playground for a seizing kid they hadn’t been able to save. He was working with the C shift, which was also throwing him off—Hen and Chim and the rest of the A shift weren’t clocking in until the 24-hour mark, so he hadn’t even been able to decompress by playing Mario Kart or eating Bobby’s home-made food, and if he had to listen to one more moronic comment from O’Donnell, he was going to lose his mind.

And now, apparently, there was a problem with his insurance. Even though he’d taken Chris to Dr. Sam multiple times, for some reason their billing department was calling him and demanding his Group ID number, so Eddie had to truck down to the locker room to find his wallet. Only, someone was already at his locker.

It was Buck.

Eddie recognized him at once, even though he, obviously, looked very different from the last time he was at the station. The sight of him brought back the terror from that day—the blood, the panic; the fear that Hen and Chim and Bobby were going to blame him for not being on the ball.

Buck had just opened the locker door when Eddie arrived, and Eddie—still on the phone with this insufferable billing department—saw him freeze at the rearranged shelves, now full of Eddie’s things. He could practically see Buck’s back muscles tense up under his shirt. After weeks and weeks of hearing about him, after only having seen him once, just in time for him to collapse, Eddie was finally going to meet Buck. And the guy was already pissed.

Perfect.  

Eddie hedged closer, wondering if he could just grab his wallet and not deal with whatever this was; but Buck, apparently, had other ideas.

He spun on Eddie, pinning him with alarming blue eyes. Eddie hadn’t noticed them, last time. They’d mostly been closed. “Dude, did you take my locker?”

It wasn’t quite as bad as their first ever interaction, but it wasn’t much better.

He gestured that he was on the phone. “I—sorry, I just need to grab—”

Buck ignored him and started rifling through Eddie’s things, as if he couldn’t tell the difference between Eddie’s and his own. And Eddie just really needed his fucking wallet.

Finally, Buck noticed his things were on the top shelf, where Eddie had left them washed and folded. He’d had even ceded Buck the top shelf, because he remembered Buck was tall and it felt petty to leave him the bottom shelf. At the time, Eddie had thought all of that would be a kind gesture.

Buck, clearly, did not agree. He turned back to Eddie, radiating hostility. “What did you do to my stuff?”

“Sir, I need the Group ID number or we won’t be able to contact the insurance company, in which case you may be responsible for the full price—” the tinny voice in his ear was going off again.

Eddie didn’t have time for this.  

Buck was now fully blocking access to the locker, like a guard dog. Eddie’s eyes glanced over his flexed biceps, his legs spread like he was bracing for impact. He really did not have time for this. “Can you move?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“No,” snapped Eddie. “Sorry I needed to put my clothes somewhere. Now, move,” he said, gesturing at Buck with his one free hand.

“Listen, probie, you can’t just walk in here like you own the place,” Buck growled, taking a step towards Eddie.

“Sir, if you don’t have the number—”

And Eddie could not start a fight in the workplace; he really couldn’t. Which only left one option—he had to finish it.

“No, you listen,” he said, pressing the phone to his chest and stepping closer to Buck. They were practically nose-to-nose, now. “I didn’t just walk in here, okay, I’ve been here for weeks, including the day you walked in and passed out and made yourself everyone else’s problem. But I have enough problems of my own without some punk getting in my face about a fucking locker shelf. Real problems,” he said, poking Buck with an accusing finger, until he’d stepped far enough back that Eddie could reach in and grab his wallet. “So why don’t you go waste someone else’s time with your bullshit?”

He turned to walk out, only to see Hen and Chim standing in the doorway. Hen was holding a cake box and Chim had a handful of balloons with cheery Welcome Home! messages on them; they were both staring at him with open mouths. Belatedly, Eddie processed that this was Buck’s first day back from three months of medical leave.

“Mr. Diaz—” the grating voice on the line continued.

He really, really couldn’t deal with this right now. “I have the number,” he barked into his phone, pushing past them so he could finish the call outside, where no one could add to his pile of problems. And where he couldn’t add to theirs, either.

Mercifully, by the time he’d finished the call and stalled enough in the alley outside the firehouse that he really couldn’t justify being out there any longer, the bell rang. He jogged over to get his stuff—how was this the first time he realized his turnouts were hanging right next to the hook labeled E. Buckley?—but before he could get there, Bobby caught his elbow.

“Eddie, you’re man behind,” he said, with a pointed look. Eddie hadn’t been on the receiving end of one of Bobby’s ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ looks before, and it didn’t feel great.

Still, a part of him did want to ask Bobby to teach him how to do that—it seemed like a trick he should have up his sleeve for when Chris was older.

He tried not to feel like a grounded kid as he headed in the opposite direction of everyone else. While they pulled on their turnouts and hopped into the truck, he ducked towards the stairs instead, avoiding eye contact with Hen or Chim. Or even worse, Buck.

In the loft, he saw the abandoned remnants of a celebration that had gone on while he was hiding in the alley: a cheery banner hung over the kitchen cabinets that said Buck’s Back! and the balloons Chimney had been holding were now tied around the room in various places. On the island sat a cake that had only three pieces cut out of it, all of which had been left on the counter with a bite or two missing; Eddie could still read the icing writing that said Buck: 3, Death: 0. On the other edge of the island was a pile of ripped wrapping paper—Eddie moved it out of the way and saw a flip calendar that must have been custom ordered to say IT HAS BEEN ___ NUMBER OF DAYS SINCE BUCK ALMOST DIED.

Eddie felt like a piece of shit.

A half hour ago he’d yelled at Buck about having real problems. And here was proof of all of Buck’s very real problems, smacking him in the face. Yeah, Eddie had a lot to deal with; but an annoying insurance call was nothing compared to nearly dying three times. Eddie didn’t even know there had been a third time, after the truck bombing and the embolism.

And not only did he snap at his coworker, but Eddie was supposed to be Buck’s partner. Bobby had told him that, specifically; that he thought Eddie and Buck would be a great team, that Buck needed someone who could keep up with him and have his back, that Buck had a heart of gold and had ‘had a rough go if it recently,’ but that Bobby thought Eddie would be good for him.

Yeah, right.

Eddie put the cake back in the box and pulled out cellophane to wrap the pieces, and then fit them all in the fridge. He threw out the torn wrapping paper and then tuned on the dispatch radio to hear what call he was missing out on.

“—an abandoned venue that closed in the 80s; we don’t know what started the fire because the call came from a hiker,” a 9-1-1 dispatcher was saying. “That means we haven’t been able to confirm if there are any victims, either; please proceed with caution. We’re also sending houses 136 and 6—”

So, a fully involved fire, then; the kind that was usually all-hands-on-deck. When those came in, houses weren’t required to leave a man behind; it was left up to the judgment of the captain. Which meant Bobby had seen Eddie as a liability.

Eddie trudged back down to the locker room to get his laptop, which he’d started throwing in his duffle bag in the hopes that he’d have enough mental energy to sort through the VA and disability programs during down time. When he opened his locker—their locker—he saw that all of his stuff had been left where he’d put it. Buck had left his own things on the top shelf, too, but he’d taken down his magnet and ticket stub and the photo that had been up since Eddie’s first day. One piece of tape was still stuck to the locker, with a torn edge of the picture left behind. The locker looked bare without it now.

He's been through a lot. I think you could be good for him, Bobby had said, when he’d signed Eddie with the 118. He’d had the sentimental air of a father giving approval to his child’s partner. Given the way Bobby talked about Buck, the way he’d reacted to his embolism, it probably wasn’t far off from the truth.

There was no point in dwelling on it, Eddie told himself. He had hours of uninterrupted time ahead of him: he could hole up in the bunkroom and finally sort through all the research he’d found about programs for Chris; and maybe even have time to cook everyone dinner—or, more realistically, order pizzas—before they got back, as an apology for being such an ass that morning.

Instead, he fell asleep.

Hours later, a knock startled him awake. “Wake up, sunshine,” said Hen, who was standing in the doorway, covered in soot and grime. “Bobby wants you in his office in ten,” she added, tone unreadable, and then she was gone.

It took him a minute to orient himself; he glanced at his phone and saw that it was nearly 11 pm. He’d missed a call from Chris and a text from him that read good night dad, love you. Stay safe! He hadn’t replied to his son, hadn’t solved his caretaking problems, hadn’t even remembered to order pizzas for the exhausted A shift. And now, Bobby wanted to see him in his office.

Eddie had never been called to the principal’s office as a kid—his mom would have killed him—but he imagined this was what it felt like.

“Come in,” Bobby called when Eddie knocked on his door a few minutes later. His hair was dark with water; he must have showered already, when the A shift first got back and Eddie had still been asleep.

He took the seat in front of Bobby’s desk. There was no point asking why Bobby had asked him to come, they both knew the reason. But Bobby just continued sorting through papers on his desk and didn’t say anything.

“How was the call?” asked Eddie finally, once the silence became unbearable.

Bobby tucked a few papers into a folder and closed it over before looking up at Eddie. “Tough, but good. No casualties. We almost had one, but Buck spotted a man in a sleeping bag during the initial sweep and we got him out in time. The building was a loss, but it was already abandoned.”

Ah. Buck’s first shift back, and he was already saving the day. Eddie wished Bobby would just say what they both knew he was going to. He bit the bullet and decided to give him an opening.

“The prodigal son returns, huh?”

Okay, so. Not his best choice of words.

Bobby continued giving him that steady look that made Eddie’s hairline sweat and his fingernails itch. After an interminable silence, he said, “is everything alright with you, Eddie?”

It would have been less of a punch to the gut if he’d yelled.

Don’t drag him down with you.

He straightened up in his chair. He blinked, focusing on the shelves on the wall behind Bobby, until his vision cleared. “I—I—yeah, yeah it’s fine, cap,” he said. It was unconvincing, even to his own ears.

“I heard about what happened in the locker room,” said Bobby, far more gently than Eddie deserved. “If this was a recurring problem, that would be one thing. But that doesn’t sound like you. So, I wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

“I know, I—I’m sorry,” said Eddie. “I just, the 24 before you guys clocked in was really rough, and I hadn’t gotten sleep, and my son—” He broke off again, looking out the window. It wasn’t his captain’s problem that Eddie couldn’t balance being a firefighter and a father. It wasn’t his fault that Eddie couldn’t get his shit together.

“Ah,” said Bobby, in an understanding tone that made Eddie want to slam doors. “I know what it’s like when you’re a parent. When something is going on with your kid, everything else seems trivial,” he said, seeing right through Eddie. “But it’s not up to us to decide what’s trivial to other people.”

Eddie thought of the cake, Buck: 3, Death: 0.

He nodded.

“Everyone at the 118 deserves to be treated with respect,” he added. “I know Buck was short with you, too, and I’ve talked to him about it.”

Great. Now the guy was getting lectured for having his head bitten off.

“But I want you to make this right with Buck,” Bobby continued. “We’re all on the same team here, and we have to trust each other. Look after each other.”

Eddie noticed that Bobby said we’re all on the same team and not you two are supposed to be partners. He’d probably have to claw his way back up to that scenario.

“Yes sir,” said Eddie, for lack of anything else to say. Bobby nodded at him, a clear dismissal. But when Eddie was almost out the door, he called out again.

“And Eddie?” Bobby said, waiting until Eddie turned around and met his eyes. “That goes both ways. You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”

--------

Some days after Buck dragged his sorry body home from the tsunami triage center, he had a follow-up appointment with his doctor, who had cleared him from any effects of his excessive bleeding, and declared him healthy and stable. Aside from the whole susceptibility-to-excessively-bleed thing.

On the drive home from the hospital, he’d pulled into a gas station, right next to a woman who had, what turned out to be, the injured body of a hit-and-run victim stuck through her windshield. Well—not a hit-and-run, but whatever what it was called when someone took the victim with them when they fled from a scene.

After calling 9-1-1 and chasing the car down, after they got the woman checked over and the man safely extracted from the windshield, the on-call EMT noticed the cut on Buck’s arm.

It was fairly deep, and straight across his forearm—a cut that would have given him trouble even without the meds he was on, but with them, the blood soaked through his entire sleeve and showed no signs of stopping.  

So much for avoiding excessive bleeding.

But he knew the drill; he caught a ride with the ambulance back to the hospital he’d just left. He wasn’t looking forward to ubering back for his car, but at least this time he got to sit in the front seat of the ambulance, and he only had to press a piece of gauze to his own forearm.

The hospital staff recognized him and fit him in quickly; glued his arm back together and sent him on his merry way. He was just waiting to see if the billing staff would try to flag him down when he heard his name.

“Evan Buckley, he was brought down here—”

“Bobby?”

If he was being honest with himself, he’d been avoiding Bobby; texting him back instead of answering his calls and dodging offers to drop off food. He’d finally gotten his apartment in order three days after the tsunami, a big, therapeutic cleanup that required four trips to his apartment dumpsters. He’d been getting back into conditioning, too, feeling the familiar burn in his weakened muscles. He wasn’t the mess he’d been the week before.

So really, he had no reason put off seeing Bobby.

No reason except he couldn’t face hearing Bobby say he still didn’t think he was ready to come back.  

“Buck,” Bobby said, whipping around at the sound of his voice. “They called me, they said—you cut yourself?”

“Yeah,” said Buck, pointing to the bandage on his arm. “They just had to glue it—I cut it on a windshield.” He looked up at Bobby’s pained expression and suddenly realized why he looked that way. You cut yourself? Bobby had thought—

Oh. It was a gut punch of a realization. Buck hadn’t—he’d never considered—no matter how lonely or useless he felt, he’d never seriously considered . . . that. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. Maybe it was because of the phantom pressure of his sister’s pinky finger wrapped around his, the knowledge that she might one day take him up on their promise to face the world together. Maybe it was an inherent need to rebel against anything that would make his parents’ lives easier.

He might flirt with danger on occasion—might not think twice before volunteering for risky rescues—but that wasn’t because he had any sort of—

He couldn’t really think about that right now. He couldn’t really think about Bobby, thinking that, either.

“It was crazy,” he said, instead of anything else, sailing right past the implication. “This woman had hit the guy with her car, but she must have had a brain bleed because she didn’t notice him stuck in the windshield window. She was just driving around with him on her hood—people thought it was a Halloween prank.”

“That’s—”

“Crazy,” he repeated. “I know, right? But I didn’t know they were going to call you,” Buck said. “I’m fine. Totally fine. I’m sorry you came down all this way.”  

When he’d put Bobby’s information down as his emergency contact, it was a practical decision—he was most likely to get injured on the job, so Bobby would already be there; and if something else happened and he wasn’t conscious, then Bobby would know why Buck wasn’t showing up for his shift. But he hadn’t thought about times like this—which he should have, given his track record—when he was a little banged up but fine to handle it on his own.

“I always want to know if you end up in the hospital, Buck,” Bobby said, like that went without saying. Buck took a moment to look at Bobby, realizing this was probably the longest stretch he’d gone without seeing him since starting at the 118. He looked the same as always; his posture, upright in a way that always reminded Buck to pull his own shoulders back, his eyes warm and probing. But his shirt was also untucked, and he was wearing shoes that looked more like slippers.  

It surprised Buck, how . . . nice it was. That someone had known he was in the hospital and had cared enough to drive over to check on him. That someone wanted to know if he’d gotten hurt. He had a lifetime of experience instilling the opposite instinct in him, years of hearing I don’t like seeing my children in hospitals and can’t you realize you’re upsetting your mother? He’d learned to bandage his own injuries with the first aid kit Maddie had left him; to sneak out of ERs before they could start talking about discharge papers and bills and legal guardians; to pretend his parents had picked up the phone and were coming to get him.

He thought of the Survivor’s List after the tsunami; the one he hadn’t bothered to check into.

“Hey, uh, Bobby—would you maybe want to grab some breakfast?”

Bobby drove them both to a diner near where Buck had abandoned his car. It felt so good, so unbelievably normal, to be sitting across from him again, sharing a meal, even if it wasn’t one Bobby had cooked.

Bobby caught Buck up on Athena and Hen and Chimney, and mercifully avoided the subject of the new guy. He even slipped in a few things, small comments like when you’re back and you’ll see and Chim will have to tell you that story himself, things that gave Buck more hope than he’d had since the last time he walked into the 118.

 “I—I know it’s a bad look to say this right after you saw me in the hospital from a cut,” said Buck, steeling himself for Bobby’s reaction. “But I think you should reinstate me. I’m in perfect health otherwise. The doctors just said so. The risks are small, and I’ll always be with reach of a medical team. I could do the job like I always have.”

Bobby put his fork down after only one bite of eggs benedict. “Is this because of what you did today?” he asked, gesturing at Buck’s bandaged forearm.

“No,” said Buck, cutting into his own waffles to avoid eye contact. “Well, sure, that too. But actually it’s because of—because of what I did last week.”

“Last week?” asked Bobby, cocking his head. “What was last week?”

Buck looked up and met his eyes, gave Bobby a pained smile. “Wait,” said Bobby, his brow furrowed. “Last week was—no. No, Buck.”

“Yeah,” Buck said, scrunching his face up. “I stopped by Santa Monica Pier for some sea air. Got a little more than I bargained for.”

“Buck,” Bobby’s voice cracked. He reached across the table and grabbed his good arm, like he was double-checking that he was real. “How are you? Are you alright? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I—I don’t know,” Buck admitted. Or maybe, lied. “A few reasons. Mostly I was really, really wiped out. But that day, I was on the pier, and I saved this kid, Bobby. I got him to the top of a firetruck—the 136 ladder truck was there—”

“I know,” Bobby’s voice came out like a whisper.

“I got him on the top of the fire truck, and we got a bunch more people up there with us. And then I—I lost him, he fell in the water, and I went in after him. I didn’t find him for hours—I was bleeding, dehydrated. And then finally, that night, I found him. And I got him back to the triage center to his dad. And then I got myself home, too.”

“Buck,” Bobby breathed, and Buck realized he’d gone white.

“Oh, no, I mean—” Buck backpedaled. “I didn’t mean to be dramatic about it—I’m just—what I’m trying to say is, I can do the job. If I got through that day on these stupid blood thinners, then I’m fully able to work. Really, Bobby. I’m ready.”

Bobby had looked at him for a long, long time then. Buck tried not to hold his breath, waiting for the verdict. He thought of Christopher, a tiny unstoppable force who never let the world tell him no.

And then finally, Bobby said, “I’ll put you back on rotation.”

It was the best breakfast Buck could ever remember having. Bobby made him recount the entire day from start to finish, then spent twenty minutes scolding him for several of his decisions, especially not calling him immediately, and another twenty minutes marveling at his survival. Then Bobby made him order two more meals to go, paid for everything, and drove him all the way to where his car was parked.

Buck spent the whole week on a high, knowing he was so close to being back.

The morning before his first shift, his took him past the local branch of the LA Library system. On a whim, he decided he would go back and actually check out the copy of The Phantom Tollbooth this time.

But when he got back to the children’s section, he found something even better—Christopher.

“Evan!” shouted the little boy upon seeing him.

“Superman!” Buck cried back, ignoring bursts of Shh! coming from the aisles around them. He took two steps forward and swept Chris up in a bear hug. The familiar, comforting weight of his bony little body was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Chris asked when Buck finally set him down.

Buck laughed and wiped his cheeks. “I’m just so happy to see you, bud,” he said, tussling Chris’s hair. He looked good—a little tired, maybe, and a few discolored bruises were fading on his shins, but his smile was bright and that was all Buck cared about. “Is your grandma here?”

“No,” said Chris, pointing to a woman on her cellphone in the corner chair. “Nurse Amy took me here today,” he said.

Buck frowned at the woman Chris was pointing to, who had yet to look up, even though the kid in her charge had hugged a random stranger—a crying adult man, at that.

Chris beckoned Buck to lean down closer to him and whispered, “Dad says he knows they’re not the best and he’s working on it.” He thumbed over his shoulder towards where the nurse sat. “I like Amy the most, she takes me places sometimes.”

Buck had a sudden flash of himself applying to be Chris’s nanny. As you can see, I am very invested in keeping him alive.

He might have, if Bobby hadn’t agreed to reinstate him.

“Do a lot of different nurses come?” Buck asked, sliding down to sit cross-legged on the floor, and gesturing for Chris to take the chair. Nurse Amy seemed determined to give them space to catch up in peace, which was more than a little concerning. But Buck hadn’t expected to ever see Chris again, and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass.  

“Yeah, it’s a company,” said Chris, shrugging. “Dad says he wants to figure out something better but that it’s really complicated because of like . . . benefits. Or credits. I think the government gives him credits for when he was away, you know? But he said there’s like, a certain color tape that’s making everything really hard to figure out. I think it’s like, blocking stuff?” Chris sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Red tape?”

“Yeah,” said Chris, scrunching his eyebrows at the idea of it. “That’s it.”

“That sounds really tough, Superman,” said Buck.

“Kinda,” admitted Chris. “I don’t even care because I mostly get to play video games whenever I want. But I know it stresses my dad out. He gets sad. Because of me. He thinks I don’t know.”

“Hm,” said Buck, pulling out his phone. “Let me check something real quick.” He navigated to the right name in his contacts and typed out a message: hey! would you be open to helping a friend of mine out?

While he waited for a response, he turned back to Chris. “Sometimes adults get sad or stressed about things that are more complicated than you know about, kid,” he told him. “Whatever your dad is dealing with isn’t something you can fix or control; and he wouldn’t want you thinking that you could.” Chris gave a small nod. “And anyway, I bet your dad will be able to handle it. He must be crazy smart.”

“You don’t even know him, Chris pointed out, cocking his head.

“Yeah, but he’s raising a genius kid like you,” Buck said, nudging Chris’s foot. His phone lit up. For you, Buckaroo? Anything.“And hey, I think I know someone who might be able to help him. Do you have any paper?”

“Really?” asked Chris, his eyes wide. He reached down, unzipped his backpack, and pulled out his notebook. Buck took it and rooted around the bottom of Chris’s bag for a pen.

“Yeah,” Buck said, scribbling down Carla’s name and phone number, along with a brief note. He folded it up and wrote Chris’s Dad on it; then he glanced at Nurse Amy, who still hadn’t taken interest in the grown man sitting next to Chris and passing him notes. “My friend Carla fights red tape like a superhero,” he said, handing the folded paper to him. “Can you remember to give this to your dad?”

“Yeah,” said Chris. “Hey, you were wrong,” he said.

“About what?”

“If you can fix dad’s problem because I told you I was worried about it,” he started, zipping the note into the front pouch of his backpack, “that means I was right to worry his problems.”

Buck slapped himself in the forehead. “Hey, come on, Superman, I’m trying to be a good influence here.”

Chris smiled at him; the one where he only pulled up one side of his mouth in a smirk; the look that meant ha! Got you! Buck hadn’t realized he’d missed seeing it.

“How—uh,” Buck wet his lips, wondered if he wanted to open this door. “How have you been?” he asked, finally. “Since the—since last week.”

The upturned side of Chris’s mouth dropped, and his gaze slid to the floor. “Uh, I’m okay,” he said, the same way Buck has said I’m fine many times in his life. This kid was so easy to read.

“I’ve been a little messed up,” Buck admitted, knocking the top of his own head. “I keep remembering what it felt like to get pulled up in the first wave, how scary that was.”

Chris nodded at him, looking up with wide eyes.

“And sometimes at night, when I can’t see anything, it feels like that. Makes it kinda hard to sleep,” he said in a confiding tone.

“Yeah,” agreed Chris. He paused, and then said, “Sometimes I get that feeling, that falling-feeling, in the middle of the night, while I’m sleeping. And it’s scary because then I think I’m actually falling. I just—I wasn’t expecting it when it happened so now every time that I’m not expecting something I think—” he broke off.

“I get it, I get it,” said Buck, bumping his shoulder on Chris’s knee. “You know what I’ve found helpful? Researching. I read the whole Wikipedia page on tsunamis the other night. That way I know when I should expect them, so then I know when I don’t need to worry about it.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Chris. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Well actually, I got the idea from you,” Buck said, “reading about earthquakes. Maybe we can find you a book about tsunamis, huh?” He stood up and led Chris back to the kid’s nonfiction section. “And another cool thing I like to remember,” he continued, “was that I survived it. When I had no idea that it was coming and no idea what to do. That must mean I’m pretty tough.”

“Yeah,” agreed Chris.

“But I’ve had a lot of training for stuff like that,” Buck added. “And you didn’t have any. Which means you must be even tougher than me.”

Chris straightened up on his crutches, meeting Buck’s eyes again. “I am pretty tough, aren’t I?”

Buck grinned.

They spent the rest of the time before Buck had to leave for his shift making up a secret handshake, one that Chris could do while bracing his elbows in his crutches. Nurse Amy let them be.  

He’d actually been having a pretty good day before he clocked in, opened his locker, and found that someone had taken it over while he was out. It was like the universe dropped him a note, hey, remember when you thought you were having a normal day but instead your whole life got fucked? All three times?  

And then came the new probie. Eddie Diaz, the guy who had apparently kept him alive during the critical minutes following his pulmonary embolism. And yeah, Buck had been gone for a while, and yeah, Eddie had saved his life, but it was still a dick move to mess with someone’s stuff. Buck was allowed to feel a little threatened by the hotshot war hero who was probably halfway to replacing him on the A shift.

But Eddie didn’t care about him at all. He kept trying to get Buck out of the way, like he was some inconvenience. And then he’d accused him of being an inconvenience, too. You walked in and passed out and made yourself everyone else’s problem. Ouch.

It was like he’d taken notes from Buck’s own parents with that little speech. Go waste someone else’s time—how many times had Buck heard that one?

It needled him, knowing all the good things Hen and Chim and said about Eddie, how cool and easy to get along with he was, how he started with so much experience but never made a big deal of it. Because if that was how Eddie acted towards them, then that meant Eddie specifically didn’t like Buck.

And if Buck was tired of anything, it was of trying to get people to like him.

He had other stuff to focus on, like appreciating the welcome back party Hen and Bobby and Chim had thrown him and not appearing outwardly smug when Bobby made Eddie man-behind. Buck even saved a guy’s life that night, and by the time he got back to the station, his skin was buzzing on the high of a zero-casualty night.

Then he realized his phone was also buzzing.

It showed a number he didn’t recognize from a town in Indiana. Since he’d managed to stay off whatever list got people excessive robocalls, he picked up.

“Hello?”

There was no voice on the other end. He pressed a finger to his left ear and ducked away from the noise of everyone offloading the truck. In the corner of the firehouse, he tried again. “Hello?”

It almost sounded like someone was breathing. There was a very short list of people who would bother to call Buck; an even shorter list of people who he actually wanted to hear from.

“Maddie?”

Only because he was listening intently did he hear a breath hitch.

“Maddie, is that you? Are you okay? Talk to me, I’m here. Maddie?”

He barely heard a noise—it might have been a sniff—and then the call went dead. Fuck. That had to be her, right? Why was Maddie calling from an Indiana phone number? Was she borrowing someone’s phone? What could have happened that she would call for the first time in three years, and then not even speak?  

He barely realized he was walking towards the showers on autopilot; he was just staring at his phone, hoping it would ring again. Wondering if he should call it back.

“Can I talk to you, man?”

He looked up. Eddie had appeared from somewhere and was blocking Buck’s way to the showers. From the look on his face, it was obvious Bobby had lectured him—he had the kind of eyebrows that went up in the middle when he looked concerned, like an earnest little cartoon. But he also had sleep-flattened hair that meant he’d napped all afternoon, and now he was getting in between Buck and a hot shower, just so he could report back to Bobby that they’d kissed and made up. Well. Eddie didn’t care about Buck’s problems, and Buck didn’t care about his, either.  

“No,” said Buck, feeling good in it. “Go waste someone else’s time with your bullshit.”

Eddie’s stupid mouth fell open, and Buck was forced to look at it. After a beat, Eddie nodded and then stepped out of Buck’s way.

Chapter Text

Eddie dropped his forehead to the table and groaned. Hen gave his shoulder a few conciliatory pats, while across the table, Chim said, “hang in there, bud.”

It didn’t help. Though he was lucky that they were even talking to him at all—they’d spent the rest of Buck’s disastrous first shift giving him disapproving glares that he completely deserved. Buck hadn’t let him explain, but he’d managed to get a word in with Hen and Chim after they reamed him out.

“I feel like such an ass,” he’d said. “I was just—some stuff with Chris has really been stressing me out,” he said.

He didn’t know why he wasn’t telling everyone that Chris had been caught up in the tsunami. He told himself it was because it was because they were his coworkers and they didn’t need to hear all of his problems. But there was an uglier reason, underneath that, that he wouldn’t unravel, even to himself. Something about how he had forgotten the date of Chris’s field trip. How Chris had been in trouble for hours, and Eddie had only realized just in time to have his kid handed to him, safe and sound.  

But that also wasn’t his coworkers’ problem. And it definitely wasn’t Buck’s. So, instead he was trying to walk the line of explaining his behavior without using Chris as an excuse. “—and I hadn’t gotten sleep, and I just—snapped,” he finished, lamely.  

They hadn’t said it’s okay, but Hen had softened at the suffering of a fellow parent, and Chim had assured him that Buck would let it go eventually.

Only, he hadn’t.

Whenever Bobby was within earshot, Buck was perfectly civil; and he was professional to a fault on calls. But every other time they were in the same area, Buck gave him a shoulder so cold Eddie was starting to get frostbite.

Eddie had tried to apologize again. He’d tried to catch up to him in the parking lot after their first shift, but Buck had gotten in his car so fast Eddie hadn’t even made it halfway across the parking lot when he was peeling out of the station.

He’d brought coffees for everyone during their next shift, guessing at Buck’s order. “Hey, man,” he’d said, after handing everyone else their drinks. “I didn’t know your order.” He slid a latte in front of Buck and tried not to look nervous.

“Thanks, man,” Buck said, and pushed the drink back towards him. “But that’s really not your problem.”

He noticed Buck had been arriving early for his shifts, so that they were never in the locker room at the same time. The one time he did catch him there, still changing, Eddie had offered, “I can ask around, move my stuff to a different locker.”

Buck slammed the locker door shut, even though Eddie hadn’t put his stuff in yet. “I couldn’t care less,” he said blandly, and then he clicked the padlock closed and walked out, still buttoning up his shirt.

It would have been bad enough that Eddie had pissed off one of his coworkers. That he was a probie who’d antagonized one of the professional firefighters at his station; that he’d alienated the guy who was supposed to be his partner; that he’d upset the one person who everyone else in the station apparently loved and felt protective over.

All of that would have been bad enough without the—

Well.

Without the crush.

There was no other way to put it. Trust him, Eddie had tried. He hadn’t ever thought—he hadn’t—but the thing was, being in LA, hanging around Hen and seeing Michael and living out of reach of his parents’ judgmental eyes; all of that had unlocked something in Eddie.

It had started as a small niggle in the back of his brain; an unacknowledged suspicion. An explanation for why he and Shannon had never been in sync, why the idea of Pepa’s blind dates filled him with such dread. It was a tiny thing, totally ignorable if he didn’t think about it.

But then he’d started working with Buck.

There was something about him—Eddie couldn’t look away. Honestly, it was probably for the best that Buck wouldn’t meet his eyes, because it meant Eddie could look his fill without being called on it. That first night, when he tried to catch Buck before he went into the showers, it had hit Eddie like a speeding train.

Buck was flushed and covered in soot, eyes glittering, his body somehow feeling like he was towering over Eddie, even though Eddie was pretty sure he only had inch or two on him. Just one moment of Buck looming over him and—just like that, he was a goner.

It was only getting worse as the weeks went by, as Eddie saw more and more of Buck in action, saw him slip back into his place with the 118. Buck was like a live wire, kinetic and electrified, lighting up whatever corner of the station he was in. Eddie had thought his Chris-radar was an exclusive symptom of fatherhood, but he found himself tracking Buck’s whereabouts the same way—there was Buck’s voice, murmuring in the kitchen while Bobby issued instructions; there were Buck’s long legs, sticking out from under the ladder truck; there was his form, asleep on the bunk in the corner, the only time he was ever still.

He was always aware of where Buck was. Which meant he could tell when Buck spotted him, too. It was painfully obvious, the way his shoulders tightened and his smile dimmed—and it was his own fault. 

Eddie had started tensing when Buck entered a room, like if he sat still enough, Buck wouldn’t notice him. And then he might let his guard down act the way Eddie had seen glimpses of, from the periphery, when he was happy, at ease. Like when he’d wrestled Hen for the Xbox controller after she tried to stop him from killing too many civilians in Grand Theft Auto. Or when Chimney found out Buck had never seen Independence Day and made them all watch it, and even though they’d had to break it up into four parts throughout the day, Buck still cried at Bill Pullman’s speech.

The first time Eddie was in the room when Buck burst into laughter, he almost tripped down the stairs.

A few days ago, they’d been on a call where a bouncy house untethered and rolled until it was lodged halfway down a cliff, jumpers and all inside. It was a specific kind of torture: first, Eddie had to endure the sight of Buck rappelling in his harness; then, he’d had to watch as Buck gently coaxed the kids out, one by one, carrying them to safety and making jokes to keep them calm.

“You were really good with them,” Hen told him in the engine on the way back to the station. Eddie would have said something like that, but if he had, Buck probably would have just taken off his headset.

Instead, Buck grinned at Hen. Eddie had been cataloging them, against his better judgment; that one was Buck’s just-got-praised smile—wolfish and boyish at the same time. Eddie wanted to feel it directed at himself so badly it was driving him mad. “I love kids,” Buck said.

I have a kid, Eddie almost said, insanely. Like he was going to offer Chris up as bait to draw his attention. He chewed on his lip instead.

That morning, he’d tried again, when he’d come up the stairs and noticed Buck sitting at a table in the loft. Bobby wasn’t there to ensure Buck would actually acknowledge him, but Hen and Chim were—even if they hadn’t tried to talk Buck around for him, they had started giving him sympathetic looks that made him feel both supported and pathetic.

“How’s—um—how’s everything going?” Eddie tried, pulling out a chair at the table and looking at Buck. “With the—after the embolism?”

It was possible Eddie should have thought of a better opening.

“Why?” Buck asked, defensively; there went his relaxed shoulders. “Afraid I’m going to, what—pass out and make myself everyone else’s problem?”

“Oh, uh, no,” said Eddie, feeling his face flush. “I just meant, like, how are you,” he offered.

“How are the screws in my leg and my hemophilia?” Buck asked, incredulously. “Peachy. Thanks for bringing them up.” And then he’d gotten up and left.

Hence Eddie faceplanting on the table.

Chim and Hen started discussing the topic over his slumped body.

“I really thought he would have let it go by now,” Chim mused. “It’s not like Buck to be so . . . grouchy.”

“Well, three near death experiences might do that to you,” Hen pointed out. “Plus, given what we know about his family, Eddie might have hit a few trigger points.”

Eddie dragged his head off the table. “What do we know about his family?” he asked, even though he didn’t deserve the answer.

Hen and Chim exchanged glances again. They’d been doing that a lot, lately.

“He, uh,” Hen hedged eventually, “he told us about some of it one night a few months ago, when we were out for drinks. It’s not really our story to tell. Just that, uh, some of your points about him being, like, a bother . . . probably hit a little close to home.”

Eddie slammed his head back down on the table, wondering if it was possible to regret something so much that you actually died.

The only thing currently keeping Eddie sane was Chris. He’d been doing so much better, it was unbelievable. The other day—the day he blew up at Buck—Eddie had come home and found Chris nearly bouncing off the walls in excitement.

“I fixed it!” he’d said, gleefully.

“What did you fix?” Eddie asked, after he’d given Chris a hug and headed into the kitchen to start cooking a box of mac and cheese.

“You don’t have to worry about the benefits, things, anymore,” his son said. “The red tape.” And then he’d handed Eddie a note.  

Hey it’s the guy who brought Chris to the VA last week. Saw Chris at the library today and he said you were having some trouble getting his carer situation figured out. I have a friend/home RN who said she could definitely help if you want to give her a call: Carla Price, 761-483-1003.

Eddie was right to not believe the universe sent signs. If karma really was a thing, there was no way this solution would have dropped right into his lap. Eddie stared at the writing for an entire minute before he realized Chris was waiting for a response.

“Dad,” Chris said, probably not for the first time. “Isn’t it great? Evan knows someone who can help!”

Eddie couldn’t decide if he loved this Evan guy or hated him. It was ridiculous to feel jealous of a total stranger, especially one who’d lived through a tsunami and who’d done Eddie unreturnable favors. He was so grateful for Evan . . . it just rankled, how effortlessly he kept being there for Chris, in all the ways Eddie couldn’t be.

“He told me—” Chris started again, then paused. “He told me that he has bad dreams too, about that day. He said learning about tsunamis make him feel better because he’ll be more prepared if it ever happens again,” Chris went on, pulling a book out of his backpack. “He helped me find this book. And he also said—he said that I’m even tougher than him, because I did everything he did, and I’m still a kid.”

Eddie crouched down next to his son’s chair. “He said that, did he?”

“Yeah,” said Chris. “Which is cool cause he’s like, really strong.” And this—this was why Eddie couldn’t actually hate the man. Even though it chafed to have someone filling in all his blind spots, it also felt weirdly comforting, knowing Evan was out there. He imagined this was a taste of what people who parented with partners felt like, knowing they had a co-parent to pick up their slack. Somehow a man he’d never met had become the person he trusted most in the world with his son.

He tapped Chris on the nose. “I think he’s right,” he told him. “You’re the bravest person I know. How about we read some of the book after dinner?”

The next day was the first of a four-day off stretch, and Eddie was grateful for the break. He needed to figure out how to get through to Buck; or at the very least, how to act like a normal human around him, but he had no idea how to do that, so distance was the next best thing. Hopefully a few days away from him would help him settle down.

Eddie wouldn’t need to pick Chris up from his friend’s house until 9, and by the time he’d cleaned the kitchen, put both their sheets in the laundry, paid the monthly bills, and eaten some reheated pizza, Eddie had nothing to do besides sit on his couch and stare at his phone.

It sat on the coffee table, next to Michael’s business card. When he’d gotten home from the hospital that day, he’d crumpled the card up and shoved it in the back of his nightstand. He never opened that drawer anyway, so it was basically like he’d thrown it away.

Only, that meant it was still there when he’d fished it out and flattened it enough to read the number. He thought about not texting it. He thought Buck. About Shannon and Christopher and a lifetime of mistakes he would never, ever wish to undo.

hi, this is Eddie Diaz from the 118, we met when Buck was in the hospital a few weeks back. I’m wondering if your offer still stands

He hit send and then hastened to send another: to talk about architecture? 

He didn’t know if he actually wanted to take Michael up on his offer. He only knew that he couldn’t talk to anyone else—he wasn’t ready to tell anyone in his family, and everyone else was too close to Buck.

His phone lit up with a response.

Hey Eddie, good to hear from you. Of course it still stands.

Eddie exhaled. Any chance you’re free tonight? He typed, before he could second-guess himself.

Three minutes later, his screen lit up again: I’m on chaperone duty while Athena’s out, I have to stay here to keep an eye on Harry and his friends. But you’re welcome to come by for a beer on the patio.

Before he could reply, Michael sent through the address.

When Eddie pulled into the driveway, he was struck by how nice the house was. If he chickened out, he could always pretend that he actually did want to talk to Michael about home improvements.

He thought it would be more awkward to show up to the house of someone he barely knew, but Michael was an easy host. He hustled him into the kitchen, cracked open beers for each of them, and chatted while he assembled two snack trays with pizza bagels, frozen fries, pretzel bites, and jalapeño poppers.

He dropped one tray off in his son’s room and then picked up the other and gestured for Eddie to follow him outside. “Hope you don’t mind the finger food,” he apologized, “every time I heat this junk up for the kids I end up eating half of it anyway, so I figured I’d just admit this is dinner.”

“Trust me, I get it,” said Eddie, helping himself to a pizza bagel. “If we were at my house, you’d be getting boxed mac and cheese. It’s the only thing my kid will eat.”

Michael grabbed a handful of pretzel bites, leaning back in his chair as he watched Eddie. “You got a kid?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Eddie, trying to resist whipping out his phone to show a picture. “Yeah, Christopher, he’s seven. It’s just me and him.”

“Right,” said Michael, chewing his pretzel thoughtfully. “And before I ask this follow-up question, I just want to be sure that when you said you wanted to talk about architecture you meant being secretly closeted, and not house renos, right?”

Eddie coughed on a waffle fry. “Uh—” he could feel his cheeks reddening. “Yeah, uh, that first one.”

“So,” Michael moved on, mercifully. “You said it’s just you and him?”

“Yeah, Shannon was my first serious girlfriend,” Eddie explained, after he finally choked the fry down. He was grateful for Michael’s direct approach, his probing questions—it was like Eddie had an order to follow. They were here to talk about it, so: “she got pregnant when we were 19, we’re from Texas, Catholic . . . we got married. Then I enlisted and went to Afghanistan for four years. Once I got shot, I was done. And then I got home, and Shannon was done. She left one night, came here to LA, to look after her sick mom. I can’t blame her. I’d run away it first.”

He took a sip of his beer and looked out at the bushes lining their backyard. A breeze came in over them, carrying the sounds of cicadas and crickets. The open air and ambient noises were soothing; it was the polar opposite of a confessional booth. He glanced over at Michael, but his face was devoid of judgment. Full of something that looked like compassion.

“I tried to make it work in Texas for a while with my parents, but I just couldn’t do it. Eventually I came here for the Fire Academy and—we met up. It was just like old times. In, you know, some ways,” Eddie admitted, looking back down at where he was peeling the label off his beer bottle. “But we never talked about anything. And then we—”

He glanced up at Michael and back down to his bottle. “We don’t have to get into this. You don’t want to hear all of this.”

Michael reached in for another handful of snacks, this time the jalapeño poppers. “Lay it on me, Eddie,” he said, crossing his leg and tossing one into his mouth. “You’d be surprised the things people tell their architects.”

He was so kind. And Eddie really had no one to talk to.

“We thought she was pregnant. I proposed—or, suggested we stay married and work on it. But it was a false alarm, and instead, she asked for a divorce.” He lifted the beer bottle to take a drink, but first he wanted to get the last word in, before Michael had a chance to say anything against Shannon. “And then she died. Vehicular manslaughter. It was my first ride-along day in the Academy. The house I was shadowing responded to the call.”

Michael let out a low whistle while Eddie polished off his beer. “Yeah,” Eddie agreed eventually, placing the empty bottle back on his coaster.

After a moment, Michael gestured for Eddie to wait and ducked through the glass doors into the house. “Telling Athena was no picnic,” he said a beat later, coming back out to the patio with their second beers. He handed one to Eddie, who twisted the cap off. “Trust me, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But you—man. That’s a whole mess, right there.”

Eddie had just taken a sip of his beer and he almost snorted it back out. The carbonation stung his sinuses, burned the back of his throat, made his eyes water. He swallowed it back down and said, “yeah, that’s one way to describe it.” He cut his eyes over to Michael and then looked back up at the dimming sky. “Did you always know?”

“I think a part of me did,” he said. “I came from somewhere similar to you, where not being straight was . . . unthinkable. So, I just didn’t think about it.” Michael mirrored him then, leaning back in his chair and facing up, too.

The sky had the perfect amount of clouds for a good sunset. A good sunset needs clouds, Shannon used to say. The sun gets all the credit, but without the clouds there’s nothing for the light to bounce off. She was right—the sky was the color of orange sherbet, but the clouds were stealing the show, all purples and blues, backlit with glowing silhouettes.

A tension in him eased at Michael’s words. It probably sounded ridiculous to some people, that you could not-think your way into a seven-year marriage; a lifetime of heterosexuality. But Michael understood.

“Obviously, I don’t regret my choices. I love Athena. Always have, always will. And I wouldn’t trade my life, my kids for anything. But over the years, it wore on me: knowing that I wasn’t being honest with myself, that I was living a lie. I had to see if I could have them both: my family and myself.”

Eddie thought about that. He was no longer a married man; he didn’t have to keep up the pretenses of being husband to a wife. How long would he have gone on like that, making up excuses for his bachelorhood, dodging dates he didn’t want and never seeking ones he did?

Would he even have admitted he wanted the dates, without Buck?

Probably. There had always been others: Miguel from the baseball team, whose nimble hands used to fascinate Eddie; Wesley, whose cheeky smirks worked better for motivating him than any drill sergeant at boot camp; Owen, the nurse who was the only thing that made the PT bearable during his month-long stay at the field hospital before discharge.

“And now—?” he prodded.

“Now, I can,” Michael said.

“Just like that?”

Michael looked back at him, his smile indulgent, letting Eddie know he could have that one. “Yeah,” he said, nodding in agreement. “Just like that.”

--------

“He’s just so smug, you know what I mean?” Buck asked, taking a sip and then popping the cherry from his Old Fashioned into his mouth, stem and all.  

She didn’t know what he meant. In fact, he was pretty sure he was about one Eddie away from blowing his shot with the woman next to him, which would be an extremely dumb move.

It was just—Eddie was so smug. And he had reason to be, which was even worse. The guy was unflappable, and Buck was annoyingly, thoroughly flapped.

The last two weeks of working with Eddie Diaz had been a special type of hell. Of course, while he’d been out of work nearly dying several times, Bobby had managed to replace him with the hottest, most competent probie that ever graduated the Academy. And of course, he hated Buck.

Which was good, because Buck hated him right back.

He hated the way he always felt Eddie’s eyes tracking him, like he was sizing him up. Like Buck was the one who had to prove himself. He hated the way Eddie had become so chummy with Hen and Chim, who were his friends first; and the way he would fall quiet whenever Buck was near, like he wasn’t even worth talking to. And when he was worth talking to, it was only so Eddie could slip in some reminder about how long Buck had been away, how he’d been deemed unfit for duty.

For months, returning to the 118 was the only thing Buck had to look forward to. And now that he was there, so was Eddie, with his stupid Silver Star and his dumb medic experience and his fucking Disney-prince-ass hair, with a curl that fell over his forehead and everything.

Earlier on shift that day, they’d been at a call where an old man had gotten stuck under his own bed, trying to fish out his cat. His wife had been more annoyed than worried when she called, but Buck could tell they were one of those cute older couples who still really loved each other.

“I’m trying to think of a way I can spin this,” the husband, Roger, said, when Buck had half-crawled under the bed with him to analyze the situation. “You know,” Roger let out a cough, but it was probably just dust, so Buck wasn’t concerned yet. “Impress the lady.”

“I’ve got you, man,” Buck said, scooching back out from under the bed on his hands and knees and trying not to think about the position he was in in relation to where Eddie stood.

“How’s he doing down there?” the wife, Anita, asked Buck as soon as he was upright. “I mean, besides being an idiot. That’s chronic.”

“He seems good,” Buck said, diplomatically. “You know, it could be worse. This is definitely one of the nicer calls we’ve gotten from a wife whose husband’s stuck in their bedroom.”

That got a laugh from Anita, and then Hen and Chim had returned with their gurney and med supplies, and Eddie stepped up to help Buck lift the bed. “Oof, man, this bed is heavy,” Buck said, loudly, in the direction of Anita. “Roger, thanks for the help pushing up. Couldn’t have lifted it without you.”

He turned to see if he’d gotten Anita to smile again, but instead he caught sight of Eddie’s face. He was making a pained expression, like it was taking all his willpower to not say something—probably can you be serious for once or I can’t believe Bobby lets you out of the firehouse.  

Well, screw him. Buck didn’t care what he thought. In fact— “Roger,” he called to where the man was trying to wave Chim away from taking his blood pressure. “Don’t feel bad about getting stuck under a bed. One time, I got stuck inside a couch.”

Both Roger and Chim turned and gave him baffled looks, which was what he was going for. But then he caught sight of Eddie who was looking like he’d never heard such a stupid string of words put together. He already thought Buck was an idiot, and Buck was just giving him more ammunition “Yeah,” he said, with dampened enthusiasm. “So, hey, at least you were trying to save a cat.”

Chim used Roger’s momentary confusion to slip the pressure cuff onto his arm and started pumping. “How did you manage to get stuck in a couch, Buckaroo?”

Buck tensed. Normally he found that nickname endearing; but hearing it used now, with this dumb story, right in front of Eddie, made it feel childish and immature. “It was a pull-out,” he shrugged, his shoulders tight. Chim kept pumping the cuff, and then the air hissed as he released it. No one spoke, to make it easier for him to calculate the BP in his head.

“Only you could get yourself into that kind of trouble,” said Chim, finally, once he deemed Roger healthy.

“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t have let you near the bed,” added Eddie. As if Buck was such a moron that he could mess up bending over and picking something up. As if he knew Buck at all.

That was what she wasn’t getting—it wasn’t just that Eddie was acting all superior to Buck, it was how immediately he’d considered his superiority a given.

She ignored him while she flagged down the bartender for a second whiskey, neat, which meant either she hadn’t given up hope for him yet or that he was driving her to drink. He should be appreciating this moment more—he’d kind of had a thing for Taylor Kelly after listening to her voice on the radio so much, and she was even more captivating in person, with sharp blue eyes and a great smile, one that came off a little mean, even though she had dimples that should have softened it.

He’d told her as much—the captivating part, not the mean smile part—when he saw her sitting at the bar alone, and it’d been enough for her to agree to one drink.

At first, it had been easy—he was so interested in her job at the news station, what she did when she wasn’t behind a microphone. But his curiosity had nothing on her instincts as an investigative journalist, and soon his explanation of a day in the life of a firefighter had turned into him spilling his guts about the new guy who was making his shifts hell.

Taylor swirled her drink around her glass, took a small sip. “He sounds like a douchebag,” she offered.

“Right?” Buck seized upon it. “I don’t know why you can see it and no one else on shift can.”

She hummed and took another sip. “Guys like him are a dime a dozen,” she said, dismissively. “Self-important. They don’t care about anyone around them.”

Well, Buck wouldn’t go that far. Eddie was a medic in the army and a firefighter; his whole thing was helping other people. It was part of what made him so insufferable. Before Buck could figure out if it was worth correcting her, she tossed back the last of her drink and set the glass down hard on the table.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

He did. He really, really did. ‘Out of here’ ended up meaning all the way to her news van, which was parked in an empty corner of the parking lot. By the time they slid the side door open, they were attached by the lips. It was like a race, seeing how fast they could undo each other’s shirts. He managed to trip up into back of the van, landing in an uncomfortable sprawl on the bench in the back.

She climbed up over him, and her skirt rode up as she put a knee on either side of his hips and reached over to slide the door closed. When she turned back to him, he pulled her close, kissing down her neck; he braced his shoe against the desk and used it to leverage himself as he thrust up into her. She groaned, and he felt a thrill of satisfaction. He was good at this; he knew he was. He could make her feel good.

He slid his hand down her thigh and slipped it up under her skirt, exploring until she made that noise again.

“Good—that’s—you’re so good,” she said, panting into his neck.

“Yeah?” he asked. He meant to ask, is it? But instead, what came out was, “am I?”

Taylor’s razor-sharp gaze was back on him, and for a second Buck wanted to flinch away. It reminded him of Eddie’s scrutinizing looks; it was like they both thought they could see right through him.

But her literal job was looking too closely at people; obviously she was going to pick up on his hunger for praise—especially when he was that pathetic about it.

She let the moment pass and leaned down to his neck, using her lips and teeth to blaze a trail up to his ear, probably leaving marks. He tried to keep his focus on his own hands, making it good for her, but then she tugged on his ear with a gentle bite, and his hips bucked up again, reflexively. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?” she murmured.

He let out a noise. It might have been a whimper.

Taylor sat up and started undoing his belt buckle, tugging on it roughly. “Look at you,” she cooed, her voice teasing, a little barbed. “Talking about Eddie—” she rolled her hips down onto his, hard, “—got you all riled up, didn’t it?”

Why was she bringing up Eddie right now? That was the last thing on his mind. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her down into an open-mouthed kiss—he wanted to suck on her tongue, wanted to feel her fall apart, wanted to drive her so wild that she forgot he’d spent nearly an hour bitching about a guy who thought he was a waste of space. He moved his fingers again, building up a steady pace, and thought, Eddie who?

It didn’t last very long—hookups where they never actually made it back to someone’s bed never did.

Sometimes Buck preferred it that way. No one was ever going to, like, cuddle in a bar bathroom. Backseats were not places to spoon up fall asleep. It simpler than when he went back to someone’s place, when staying and cuddling and sleeping was an option—at least, until they started dropping hints that they needed to get up early, that they were a sleep-talker and would probably keep him up.

Buck was good at reading his partners in bed; he didn’t sleep his way across two continents and not come out with a few tricks. But that also meant he could always tell when the post-coital clarity hit, when someone shifted from them being hungry for him to being tired of him.

Taylor had that look, now.

He tucked himself back into his jeans and tried to sit up straight, as much as he could while she was still braced on top of him. She leaned back and tossed her long red hair to one side and looked at him.

“Well,” she said, still catching her breath. “That was fun.”

Don’t ask for her number don’t ask for her number don’t ask—

“Maybe we could do it again sometime.”

Fuck.

She smiled at him, a little soft and a little mean. “I like you, Buck,” she said, like she’d just decided it. “But I’m not really looking for anything. Especially with you and all that you’ve—” she paused, gesturing to his body, “—got going on.”

Buck grasped his chest and mimed a fatal hit, curling to the side to get out from under her. “Gah, don’t pull any punches,” he teased, as she climbed off him. It was fine. He didn’t even mean to ask.

“Buck, you’re very good at that—” she said, gesturing at him again, but lower this time. “But given everything you’ve talked about tonight, I think you and I both know this would be a brief disaster.”

A brief disaster. If anyone ever made a movie about his love life, that would be the perfect title for it.

“Good thing I’m trained to handle disasters,” he smirked, and he reached out to pop the van door open from the inside. He climbed out and she followed after. It was time for him to go. Might as well leave it on a good note—he owed her, anyway, for all the complaining she endured. Before she could say anything else, he pushed her against the side of the van and kissed her again—one of his best ones, open-mouthed, and just the right amount of sloppy, licking inside like he couldn’t get enough. He gave it until he ran out of air, and then he stepped back.

“Bye, Taylor,” he called, giving her salute.

He turned and started to walk the two blocks to his apartment.

It was tempting to blame Eddie for it. If Eddie hadn’t been such an asshole, if he hadn’t needled his way under Buck’s skin, then Buck would have been able to shut up about it for five minutes, and he wouldn’t have felt off and—

And it didn’t matter, actually. Because no one ever asked Buck to stay, long before Eddie.

Chapter Text

This was, honestly, getting embarrassing.

Eddie had tried so many ways to get Buck’s attention. He knew he was shit at flirting—the last time he’d successfully wooed anyone, they were both teenagers, and a beer cooler had done most of the heavy lifting for him—so he wasn’t expecting to pull off any sort of, like, seduction. But the problem was, everything he did only seemed to make Buck hate him more.

At first, he’d thought, compliments. Buck seemed to respond well to compliments. Eddie could do that.

He spotted Buck in the kitchen, dishing up a breakfast casserole that looked delicious; and like the kind of thing he could learn to make Chris—a perfect opening for a friendly conversation.

“Hey,” he called out, then winced. Why was his voice so loud?

Buck actually did a double-take, like he was expecting to find Eddie calling to someone else behind him. When he realized he was the only one in the kitchen, he dropped his eyes to the silverware drawer, only glancing up briefly when he gave Eddie an unenthusiastic, “yeah?”

“Did you make that?”

“No.”

“Oh,” said Eddie, stupidly.

There was really no way to salvage that.

So he tried take a subtler approach, to find other ways to win him over.  

They’d been on a call that morning where a home improvement project had gone so badly that a man ended up with a nail in his heart. By the time Hen and Chim had returned to the station, they were covered in so much blood it looked like a Carrie situation had happened in the back of the ambulance.

They beelined to the showers, and Eddie heard Bobby tell Buck that he was on clean-up duty once he was done in the gym.

But Eddie wasn’t doing anything, and cleaning up bodily fluids felt like a probie job. It’s not like he was squeamish; and anyway, he needed a distraction or else he’d start drooling over Buck while he benched weights. The way his arms looked, Eddie was surprised his sleeves hadn’t split—the sight of them was becoming an issue. Especially when he peeled off his turnouts after a call, so he was just in a sweaty tee shirt and suspenders . . . the way Eddie's mouth started watering when they pulled back into the station was becoming a Pavlovian response.  

The point was, it was better for everyone involved if Eddie pulled on some PPE and got to work sanitizing the ambulance.

It didn’t take long—parenthood had prepared him well for getting terrible stains out of unlikely places. He stuffed the used cleaning supplies into the garbage and went to scrub his hands, wondering if should tell Buck what he’d done or wait for Buck to realize. He’d probably be confused, and then Eddie could lean up against the door and say something like, any chance you'll stop hating me now? 

But in the end, neither happened. Eddie exited the bathroom as Bobby came through the truck bay and called out, “good job on the ambulance, Buck.”

“What?” Buck asked.

“The ambulance,” Bobby continued, coming to a stop in front of where Buck was sitting on the weight bench. “It looks great.”

“I didn’t clean it yet,” said Buck, looking confused.

“Oh,” said Bobby. “Well, someone did.” If Eddie had been a smart person, he would have come out of the bathroom and kept right on walking. But instead, he paused at the mention of the ambulance—and at the sight of Buck, tipping his head back to drink from his water bottle—and now he was standing right there when they both realized that someone had done Buck’s chore for him. And suddenly his altruistic favor seemed like an asshole move, the kind of thing a brown-nosing teacher’s pet would do to make the other kids look bad.

“Eddie, was that you?” Bobby asked, just twisting the knife. It required all of his willpower to not look at Buck; he knew he didn’t want to see what face he was making at Eddie.

“Oh—I, uh,” he hedged. It would be so stupid to lie about this. “Yeah, I just figured, you know, I had the time,” he added, lamely.

He heard—but didn’t see, because he still wasn’t looking—Buck scoff.

“Might be the cleanest I’ve ever seen it,” Bobby went on, just making everything worse. “Way to take initiative.” Eddie was begging him to stop. “Buck, you can take Eddie’s turn on latrine duty.”

Eddie hated himself.

It went on like that—Eddie, stepping in it; Buck, stepping further out of reach.

He’d even gone so far as to look up a playlist of Bruce Springsteen songs, which he played out loud in the gym while doing his workout, thinking that if Buck liked him enough to keep a concert ticket stub, maybe he would comment on the music. But Buck just walked by the workout bench where Eddie was lifting—a lighter load, since he didn’t have a spotter—and said, “ever heard of headphones, Diaz?”

By dinner time of the next shift, Eddie had finally gotten desperate enough to seek out Hen and Chimney for advice. Buck was busy in the kitchen helping Bobby, so Eddie took his chance and slunk over to where they were doing more talking than inventorying in the storage closet.

“Hey,” he said, closing the door behind him and giving up all pretenses of subtlety. “So—Buck.”

Hen and Chim both raised their eyebrows at him, looked at each other, and then slowly started resuming their counts. “Uh, yeah,” said Hen. “What about him?”

Eddie thought that was kind of an unfair question; they’d all been dancing around Buck’s open disdain for him for weeks.

“Throw me a bone here,” he begged. “You guys have known him for two years. How do I . . .” he paused, the hundreds of verbs he wanted to do Buck flipping through his brain. He settled on, “—fix this?”   

“You know, you can probably just let it go,” suggested Hen. “So, Buck is a little short with you—that’s his deal. He’ll come around eventually.”

“Yeah,” seconded Chim. “I mean, this might be a be-careful-what-you-wish-for situation, if you know what I mean. Buck turned up full volume is—an experience like no other.”

Eddie sighed. They were not getting it. Eddie wanted full volume; the silence was suffocating him. “If he just didn’t like me, that’d be fine,” Eddie lied. “But he won’t even talk to me. He thinks everything I say is like, an insult. Just because of. You know, that one time I . . . yelled at him.”   

“So you want him to forgive you, so that he can decide if he likes you—did I get that right?” Chim squinted at him.

“No, I want him to like me—” Eddie whined, then paused. Then, decided he didn’t want to take it back, even though Hen and Chim were giving each other looks again in that uncanny way they did. “I just . . . I like him,” he said.

“Ooh,” interrupted Chim, wiggling his eyebrows “I didn’t realize we were talking about him like-liking you.”

Hen threw a roll of gauze at Chim and it nailed him right in the eye. "Ouch!" he whined.

“Don’t listen to him,” she said, even though Chim had accurately called him out.  

“Hey!”

They both continued ignoring him.

“You know the phrase, kill 'em with kindness? I think that's your best bet,” she said, focusing on Eddie. “Just . . . be really nice to him. Show him you care. He’s a big softie.”

Be really nice. He could do that. He’d been trying to do that already, but he guessed he could just do it better. He even had the whole weekend to figure out how.  

Since coming to LA, he and Chris usually spent beautiful weekend days at the beach. Eddie was eager to take Chris back there, to make sure the ocean didn’t become something big and scary in his imagination. But the beaches were still closed while the tsunami cleanup continued, so instead they went to a local park, where Eddie try to clear his brain, and where Chris could kick a soccer ball around and feed the ducks in the pond.

They were just unwrapping the sandwiches Eddie packed for lunch, when he spotted Buck on the park’s running trail. He almost choked on his bread. His Buck-radar picked him out easily, even from far away. And no wonder—Buck looked incredible. He was in gray running shorts and a light blue tee that Eddie knew would match his eyes; his face was flushed and his hair was curly.

Eddie didn’t know his hair was curly. He always gelled it on the job.

The path he was on curved towards where they were sitting, which meant that in a few seconds, they were going to be right in his line of sight. Eddie swallowed down the unchewed bite of sandwich in his mouth and ran a hand through his hair, as if that made any sort of difference. Buck had seen him covered in sewage last week.

He was turning the curve—he was going to spot them—he was—smiling?

Buck veered off the path into the grass, waving with a bright smile on his face. Eddie actually turned his head and looked behind him, to see if someone else was waving back to Buck. Was he having a stroke?

But as he got closer, Eddie realized Buck hadn’t noticed him at all—he was smiling at . . . Christopher?

“Evan!” his son shouted, pulling himself up on his crutches and hurrying to intercept Buck on the grass.

“Superman!” cried Buck. Eddie watched in astonishment as Buck picked up his son and spun him around. He watched as Buck placed his son carefully back on the ground and mirrored Chris in a series of moves that looked like a complicated handshake. He watched, and he had no idea what the hell was going on.

“It’s so good to see you, buddy,” said Buck, in that warm tone Eddie had never heard directed towards him. “Are you here with—”

Buck finally noticed him; Eddie could tell because of how the smile froze on his face.

“I’m here with my dad,” Chris replied, oblivious. “Come meet him!” He took a few steps closer to the blanket, where Eddie had sprung up and was now standing stick straight, wondering what normal humans usually did with their arms. “This is my dad,” Chris pointed. “Dad, this is Evan.”

Eddie couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Buck—Evan—Buck—saved the day. Again. “Wow, that’s so crazy,” he said, squatting down to smile at Chris. Eddie absolutely did not look at his thighs. And Buck gestured to Eddie without looking at him, either. “Your dad and I actually work together at the same fire station. I had no idea!”

Chris gaped in surprise. “No way!” he said, excited. “I can’t believe you and dad are already friends!”

Eddie waited for the ground to swallow him up.

“What a small world, huh?” Buck said, and something in Eddie’s chest tightened.

“It makes sense,” said Chris. “Dad says his station is the best. Hey, maybe I can visit you there!”

Buck didn’t even bother glancing at Eddie. “You totally should,” he told Chris. “Captain Bobby is the coolest, he’d love to meet you.”

“Could I go down the fire pole?”

If Eddie's body could have gotten any tenser, it would have; but he would have been wrong for doubting Buck. “Oh definitely,” he said, easily. “It’s really fun. And you should ride in the truck! I can’t believe you’ve been on top of a fire truck and not in one.”

Eddie watched as his son opened up under the attention, totally charmed; he was pretty sure he and Chris were giving Buck identical starry-eyed looks. He tried to school his features, in case Buck ever decided to glance his way.

“Yeah,” said Chris, “I want to go in one! And then I’ll have to go under a firetruck, too,” he laughed.

“Ha!” Buck let out a laugh with an edge to it. “Been there buddy, trust me I would not recommend it.”

“Really?”

“Oh, Chris, it’s not—” Eddie tried breaking in, trying to save Buck from the sore subject.

“It’s fine,” Buck said, still looking at Chris. He tapped his own ankle. “A firetruck fell over on me a few months ago. I had to get surgeries and now I have pins in my leg.”

His son’s eyes went wide. “I had surgeries on my legs, too,” he told Buck.

“No way,” said Buck, properly impressed. “How many?”

“Three,” said Christopher holding up his fingers.

“Gah,” said Buck, acting wounded. “You beat me again. I only had two. How are you so much tougher than me, Superman?”

Christopher giggled, and Eddie tripped right over his crush and fell in love.

“Well Chris, I should get going, but I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” Buck said, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. His sweat-soaked tee rose up and exposed a view of his lower stomach; Eddie’s mouth went dry. That, of course, was the moment when Buck finally decided to look at him. “See you at work.”

“Bye!” his son called, and it wasn’t until Buck had turned away that Eddie grasped that he could not let Buck leave without talking to him.

“Wait—” he called to Buck’s retreating form, though he just kept going. “Chris, wait here, I need to—” he gestured towards Buck, figuring he could explain later.

He caught up with Buck ten yards away. From the look on Buck’s face, he could tell he heard him calling and had continued walking away on purpose.

“Buck,” he started, breathing heavily, though he had barely exerted himself. “Buck, I—”

He hadn’t actually thought about what he was going to say. He hadn’t even been sure Buck would stop, at all.

Buck’s gaze traveled over Eddie’s face, like he was searching for something. Then he glanced over his shoulder at where Christopher sat. “What, Eddie?” he asked. He sounded so tired, like he was a different person than the man who’d just crouched next to Chris.

“I—I didn’t know it was you,” he said.

Buck huffed out a loud sigh. “Me either. Surprise, I guess. My first name is Evan. Is that all you wanted?”

“No, I—I wanted to say thank you. I don’t know how—how I can ever repay you, I—”

“Jesus,” said Buck, and he raked his hand through his curly hair in clear frustration. “I didn’t help a kid during a fucking tsunami so that someone would pay me back for it.”

“No, no, I know you didn’t, I just—” he broke off when he saw Buck open his mouth, but then he just closed it again without saying anything.

Buck looked over at Chris, and Eddie should be saying something; he really needed to figure out the right order of words that would get Buck to understand how grateful he was, how much he’d done for him. But instead, he waited, desperate to hear what Buck was going to say.

After an endless minute, Buck finally spoke.

“You don’t . . .” he started, shifting his eyes from Chris back to Eddie. “You don’t talk to him like-like that, right?”

“I don’t—”

“What you said to me, in the locker room,” Buck clarified, impatient. His clear blue eyes pinned Eddie like a specimen in a lab; some low form of life that was so incomprehensible people had to study it. “You don’t say shit like that to Chris, do you?”

Eddie felt the blood drain from his face. Somehow, in a life full of bad choices, Eddie had never felt regret quite so acutely.

Buck didn’t just think he was an asshole; Buck thought he was a bad father.

Don’t drag him down with you.

“No,” Eddie said, voice cracking. “No, I—he’s all I’ve got and, I wouldn’t—I just—he’s everything,” he finished, blinking fast. He couldn’t really say more than that.

Buck’s gaze roved over him. After the amount of time Eddie spent wishing that Buck would look at him, the scrutiny was a cruel joke. Maybe karma was a thing, after all.

“Good,” said Buck. And then he turned and walked off.

Eddie didn’t call after him.

-----

Buck knew the universe wasn’t really a huge fan of him. But this? This was a new low.

He’d thought being back at the 118 would make him feel better; remind him of his purpose. But at every turn, there was Eddie, making him feel redundant.  

In his most sullen moments, Buck had one thought that made him feel better—Christopher. That kid was an undeniable bright spot; a tiny ray of sunshine. And irrefutable proof that Buck had done something that mattered. Sure, the things he does on the job matter too; but he knows that if he wasn’t there, another firefighter would be.

But with Christopher . . . Buck had done that without the uniform. His being there made an actual difference to Chris. And Buck couldn’t think of a better feeling than when Chris spotted him—at the pier, across the library, in the park—and he yelled Evan! Possibly, the most excited anyone had ever been to see him. 

So, of course, Eddie had to take that from him, too.

Eddie was Christopher’s father. How was that even possible? Besides the one-in-a-million chances, Buck didn’t even know Eddie had a kid. And if he had known, he would have assumed that Eddie Diaz’s child would be one of those little assholes you had to pretend was cute while you secretly hid the matches.

But Chris was so—so—soft. He was sweet. He’d been taken to therapy, multiple times; he made silly jokes and never let his CP stop him.

Buck knew the look of a kid being raised by parents who didn’t give a shit. That wasn’t Chris.  

Not that he wanted Eddie to be a bad parent, obviously. He would never wish that on anyone, let alone Christopher. He hadn’t even meant to accuse Eddie of—he didn’t really think Eddie would talk to Chris the way he’d talked to Buck. He’d just seen Eddie was a father and heard the words you made yourself everyone else’s problem and go waste someone else’s time and—and, well.

He’d just had to check, okay?

Buck had been nearing the last loop of his run when he saw them in the park. He was supposed to go home now and ice his ankle, just to be on the safe side.

Instead, he turned left out of the park, retracing his entire route back the way he came. He needed more time to think.

He would never admit it, but the words Eddie said that day had been cycling through his brain, bothering him when he tried to relax at the firehouse or sleep at night. And now, the context of Chris—of course Eddie had been stressed, it had barely been two weeks since his son was in a tsunami—gave his words new meaning.

Real problems, he’d said. It nagged at something in Buck’s brain. Eddie was a caretaker who had someone depending on him. He had actual responsibilities and life experience Buck couldn’t imagine, having spent his own adolescence rambling around wherever the wind blew him, like a nomadic, hypersexual tumbleweed. Compared to Eddie, who had at least eight years’ worth of roots growing, Buck came off juvenile and careless; the kind of person you would never take seriously. That you would never trust with anything important. That you would never see as an equal.

It was Abby all over again.

He stopped, right in the middle of the sidewalk.

That was it. That was why Eddie’s words had been messing with him so much. He’d seen Buck for all of thirty seconds and had been able to tell what it had taken Abby three months to realize: that Buck was still that reckless punk that Bobby fired. The same irresponsible kid who had been failing to meet expectations since the day he was born. He was a temporary solution; a short-term good time; a dog you bring home and then regret when you realize it’s constantly underfoot and can’t even fetch the paper.

He was always in the way, because no one needed him to be anywhere. No one wanted—

His phone rang.

He pulled it out of his pocket, stepping to the side when he’d realized he’d been blocking the path. The phone number was from Colorado; the continental US flashed in his mind, and his brain mapped a path of trajectory—Pennsylvania to Indiana to Colorado to . . .

It was too much to hope for. But then again, he’d never been one for self-restraint.  

He slid his thumb over the screen to accept the call. “Maddie?”

He couldn’t hear anything. He felt for the side buttons, trying to turn the volume up, and pressed the phone harder into his ear.

“Maddie, is that you? I’m here, Maddie—I’m here. Talk to me.”

He might have heard a breath on the other side, but it might have been nothing.

“Do you need help? I can come get you, no matter where it is, just tell me, please,” he tried. Salty water rolled down his face and he tasted in his mouth, probably sweat from his run. “Please,” he tried again.

The line went dead.

That night, Buck went out to Milo’s. Usually after a run he felt good, loose-limbed and high on endorphins. But today’s run had been so disastrous that he’d gotten home feeling worse than when he’d left.

Hence: Milo’s. If running wasn’t going to get the job done, he knew what his body needed. He tossed back a few beers, shooting the shit with the bartender until a guy with brown hair and brown eyes slid into the seat next to him.

“Guy looking like you, drinking alone,” the man said. “Must be after something specific.”

“Nah,” said Buck, signaling the bartender for another drink; something stronger this time. “Just looking for a little fun.”

Twenty minutes later, Buck was following him home. Like a stray dog, hungry for scraps.

Work was hell the next day. The last two shots he’d taken at the bar were coming back to haunt him with a pounding headache, and he really needed caffeine, but he couldn’t get any because Eddie had been lurking in the kitchen since their shift started. It was such a dick move; if he was going to try to carve out his own territory where Buck wouldn’t bother him, couldn’t he have had the decency to leave Buck access to the coffee pot?

It didn’t help that he was unreasonably sore from the night before.

Normally he hated slow shifts, but he was thankful for it, today. After six hours with only two short calls, he decided to take a nap in the bunkroom to catch up on sleep.

He’d only just started dozing off when someone knocked on the wall outside the open door.

“You planning on hiding in here all day?”

Hen was at the door, giving him a piercing look. He snapped his eyes closed and gave an exaggeratedly loud snore.

She laughed, but it didn’t work—she still came in. She nudged his feet off the edge of the bunk until he swung them off the cot to make room for her, and then sat down on the end of his bed.

“Eddie’s upstairs looking like a kicked puppy,” she said, going straight for the jugular like she always did. “I’m not going to say you have to forgive him for what he said, but maybe you should try talking to the guy. I know he feels terrible.”

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Buck said. Hen looked surprised by his caustic tone. He scooted onto the bed until his back was against the wall and he could pull his legs up in front of him. He braced his wrists on his knees and twisted his fingers. He should probably invest in one of those fidget spinner things. “Now that he knows—” he broke off. He hadn’t really decided about whether he was going to air all of this laundry to the station.

“Knows what?” Hen asked. He wasn’t looking at her, but he could feel her eyes on him; scanning him behind her shiny red glasses.

And Buck figured, why not? It was his story to tell, too; his laundry in tangled up in the mix.

“You know when I told you guys about the tsunami?” Bobby had told Hen and Chim that he’d been caught up in the tsunami when he told them Buck was back on rotation; that was how they’d gotten the accurate Buck vs. Death count for the bakery. During the little celebration they’d thrown together for his first day back, after he’d unwrapped his count-up calendar and pretended he wasn’t tearing up at the frosting on the cake, they’d demanded to hear the full story.

So, it came out: how he’d met Chris at the library and saw him again that day on the pier, how the kid had managed to hang on to a telephone pole until Buck got him on top of a firetruck; he even confessed to how he’d lost him and found him hours again later; how he’d gotten him to a triage center to his dad, gotten a quick blood transfusion for himself, and then gone home and slept for two straight days.

They were a rapt audience, gasping and reacting to his story in all the right places. Now, Buck got to deliver the epilogue—a final, shocking twist.

“Of course,” said Hen, still facing him.

“Did you know that Eddie has a son? An eight-year-old boy, named Chris?”

In his periphery, he saw Hen’s jaw drop open. Welcome to the club, he thought. She turned until her back was against the wall, too.

“Damn,” she breathed out. Buck nodded his head.

That was how Chimney found them both, sitting side-by-side, matching looks of bewilderment on their faces.

“Hey Buck, Bobby’s wondering if you’re—” he trailed off, looking at the two of them. “What’s happening here?”

Buck met Hen’s eyes; her eyebrow cocked in question. They both knew Chim couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. After a moment, he shrugged—it wasn’t really a secret, after all. Just an insane surprise.

Hen took it as permission to share. “The kid Buck saved during the tsunami is Eddie’s son.”

Chim let out a comically dramatic gasp. “No!”

“Yes!” said Hen, who, now that the shock had passed, was sounding a little too gleeful for the situation, in Buck’s opinion.

Chim rushed into the bunkroom and sat cross-legged on the bed across from them. “Tell me everything,” he demanded. They turned to him with identical, eager expressions.

Buck sighed. “I don’t know—every time I’ve seen Chris, he’s been with a nanny or grandparent, and when I brought him back to the triage center that night, the nurses recognized him because I guess Eddie had been asking around, showing pictures, so I didn’t hand him off directly . . .”

“I can’t believe Eddie didn’t tell us his son was in the tsunami,” Chim interrupted.

Hen nodded. “Right? When we yelled at him for what he said to you,” she nodded at Buck, who felt a jolt of warmth at the acknowledgment, “he just said some things with his son had been stressing him out. Like, why not explain?”

Buck didn’t really need to hear about how stoic and uncomplaining Eddie was; personally, he couldn’t relate. “Yeah, well,” he went on. “I was on a run yesterday and I saw Chris in the park, so I went to say hi and—” he gestured vaguely towards the direction of the station kitchen.

“Holy shit,” said Chim. “What did you say? What did he say?”

It felt a little wrong to be sharing all of this like it was fun gossip. But it also felt really good to have Hen and Chim here to unload on, knowing they were on his side.

“Not much,” he said. “I mostly talked to Chris and then tried to leave. I could tell he was like, in shock. And then he caught up with me and was like, how can I ever repay you . . .” Buck said, putting on an extra dumb tone for Eddie’s voice. He rolled his eyes. “Like, as if I care about that.”

“This is crazy,” said Chim. “This is too juicy. Especially given Eddie’s ob—” Hen kicked her foot out and bumped the bed Chimney was sitting on, and he changed track at top speed. “—jectively mean thing he said, in the locker room,” he finished. “Oh!” he said, snapping his fingers. “That’s why he’s sulking upstairs. It all makes sense now.”

“Yeah,” said Buck, “it’s so stupid. The guy’s been an asshole to me for weeks, and now that he’s found out I was with Christopher that day, he’s acting like he wants us to be cool. He’s just trying to make himself feel better. That’s not my problem.”

Buck looked up in time to see Hen and Chim exchange glances.

“Well . . .” Hen started.

“No,” he said, crossing his legs and sitting up. “Come on, you cannot be taking his side here.”

“We’re not on anyone’s side!” Chimney said, holding up his hands in a calm down gesture that was having the opposite effect.

“You should be! You should be on my side,” Buck cried. “I haven’t done anything wrong. And you guys were my friends first,” he added. He felt his cheeks flush after he realized what he’d said; he sounded like a whiny kid.  

“I think what Chim meant to say was, the sides might not be as, you know,” she gestured with her hands, indicating two spaces, “as opposing as they appear,” she finished, interlacing her fingers. Buck stared at her in confusion.

“Come on,” he argued. It was embarrassing, but he couldn’t make himself drop it. “He’s been ragging on me since I got back. He’s always like hey we need your Chinese food order since you haven’t been here for so long and you’re not gonna start bleeding everywhere are you? Like, can you stop bringing that up? Can you stop pointing out that I was out for three months? I was still here first. Who do you think even found that Chinese food place, huh? Me,” he finished, breathing heavily.

Hen and Chim did that annoying conversation-via-eye-contact thing.

“I think,” said Chim, slowly, holding up his hand again like he was approaching a feral dog. “Maybe, you guys got off on the wrong foot—”

“Because he was a dick!”

“—because he was a dick,” Chim ceded. “But that since then, he’s been trying to . . . befriend you?”

Buck scoffed.

“No, really,” Hen said. “I think he’s trying to be nice.”

“Well, he’s doing a terrible job at it,” grumbled Buck. This conversation wasn’t going how he’d anticipated.

“Yeah, no,” Chim agreed. “I would not say he’s knocking it out of the park. But maybe if you just—”

A sound creaked in the hallway and Chimney cut himself off. A second later, Eddie appeared in the door. Perfect.

“What?” Buck asked. He could feel Chim and Hen’s disapproving looks at his belligerent tone; but why did this guy have to be everywhere? Hadn’t he implicitly agreed to stay in the kitchen today?

“Hey, sorry to—there’s a woman here,” he said, meeting Buck’s eyes “She’s looking for you?”

Buck bolted up. “Who is she?” he asked, sliding forward to slip on his shoes.

“I—she didn’t say,” Eddie admitted, looking taken aback by his frantic reaction.

“What does she look like?” Buck tried. He could skip tying his laces. Eddie opened his mouth to respond but Buck didn’t wait for an answer before he slipped past him, into the hallway, ignoring all three questioning stares following him. If he was right about this . . .

He passed the locker room and turned to the truck bay, past the ladder truck, the ambulance, and then—then—there she was.

Maddie.

Chapter Text

Eddie hadn’t been having a great shift before the woman showed up, but she certainly didn’t help things.

After his disastrous run-in with Buck at the park, Chris had spent the whole night asking questions about him. Why does he go by Buck? Eddie didn’t know. Did he always want to be a firefighter? Eddie would have to ask him. Did he have a dog? He didn’t think so. Would he come over for dinner? Probably not, if Eddie was there.

He didn’t tell Chris that last part, obviously.

After the evening interrogation, Eddie had lain awake for several hours, replaying every terrible interaction he’d had with Buck, and every detail Chris had mentioned that he now saw in a new light.

Buck was the one who called his son Superman, who spent hours searching for him, who showed up at the VA looking like he was about to keel over. Buck was the one who had hand-delivered his son to the nursing staff; his son, who had laughed and said he was hungry and still had his glasses on. Buck checked out of the medical bay against recommendation, even though Eddie knew he was on blood thinners. In fact, the nurse said he never even checked in to the survivor’s list in the first place; which meant Buck he’d probably been at the pier alone. And that he didn’t think anyone would be looking for him among the survivors.

That day, the water had receded long before Chris showed up at the VA—at any point, Buck could have stopped, sought medical help, gone home; but he’d stayed out for hours, spent his entire night looking for Eddie’s son. He saved Chris; and then a week later, he’d written a note with Carla’s information on it, and he’d saved Eddie, too.

It was all so overwhelming. Eddie had already been trying to figure out how to win over Buck, and how he could ever find and thank Evan. Discovering they were the same person? That had moved the goalposts so far Eddie couldn’t even see them anymore.

Then, Buck had shown up with a hickey peeking out from under his collar. It wasn’t even obvious; it was just that Eddie was finely attuned to every part of Buck’s body.

So last night, he must have . . . after leaving Eddie and Chris in the park, he’d . . .

In a world where Eddie hadn’t pissed Buck off so spectacularly, maybe Eddie could have invited him over, instead. He could have answered all of Chris’s questions himself.

And after Chris went to bed, Eddie could have been the one marking Buck up.

He couldn’t imagine being rough, though. After weeks of seeing Buck defensive, high-strung, wary—like he was on guard, waiting for someone to catch him in the act, though he never seemed to be doing anything wrong—Eddie wanted to be the one to put him at ease. He wanted to smooth out all of Buck’s edges, soothe the tension thrumming in him. Make it all better.

The scenario flashed in his mind, tormenting him, as he soaped up the dishes in the sink from lunch. Buck hadn’t even come out of the bunkroom to eat with them. Eventually Hen had gone to look for him, and now Chim had disappeared, too. They were probably in there, trying coax Buck out.

What if he’d gone down there instead? If he’d found Buck asleep, he could have perched on the side of the bed and run his fingers through Buck’s needlessly styled hair, until it looked like it had at the park, curly and loose. And maybe he’d lean down and press soft kisses in the hollow of his throat, so Buck would wake up in the gentlest way possible. And maybe Buck would open his obscenely blue eyes, and look at Eddie, and Buck would—he would—

Call the LAFD HR department, is what he’d do.

“Hello?”

Eddie heard a voice echo over the truck bay to where he was in the loft kitchen. He turned off the sink and walked over to the ledge in time to see a woman walking into the station, looking around. He had a terrible flashback to the first time he saw Buck in the station, before Eddie even knew who he was.

But this woman wasn’t coughing, and she wasn’t walking with Buck’s confident stride. She was practically tip-toeing, and rolling a suitcase behind her.

“Hey,” Eddie called from the balcony, getting her attention. She froze, so he headed down the stairs to find out what she wanted without yelling across the station. When he reached the truck bay, he realized her dark hair was falling in front of her face, obscuring a nasty-looking black eye.  

He stopped a few feet away, keeping his distance. “Hey,” he said again, more softly. “I’m Eddie. Can I help you with something?”

Her eyes met his and then darted away, glancing around the station. “Um, is this the 118?” she asked, even though he could tell she was currently staring at the big STATION 118 spanning their engine truck.

“That’s us,” he said.

“I’m looking for-for Evan Buckley,” she said, glancing at him and away again. “Does he still—he works here, right?”

Eddie felt curiosity clawing its way up his throat, but he swallowed it back down. “Yeah,” he said, “he’s on shift. I can go get him for you—do you want to come wait upstairs?”

“No,” said the woman, who was looking even more agitated now. Eddie was burning with questions. “No, I’ll just wait here, if you could—thanks,” she said.

Eddie turned and booked it to the bunkroom. In the hallway, he could hear Chim murmuring, abruptly cutting himself off when Eddie appeared in the doorway. So, they had definitely been talking about him, then.

“What?” Buck bit at him. It was so comically different from Eddie’s stupid daydream that he almost laughed.

“Hey, sorry to—” exist, he thought, meeting Buck’s hostile gaze. “There’s a woman here,” he said instead. “She’s looking for you?”

Buck sat forward so fast that both Hen and Chim jolted in surprise. “Who is she?” Buck demanded, shoving his feet into his unlaced boots. Eddie thought of the woman’s black eye; Buck’s agitation. What the hell was going on?

“I—she didn’t say,” Eddie he said, uselessly.

“What does she look like?” Buck asked. But then he was up and brushing past Eddie before he could respond, his untied laces clicking down the hall. Without thinking, Eddie hastened to follow, hearing Hen and Chim’s steps behind him.

The three of them pulled up short in the truck bay, where they had a front-row view of Buck, who had frozen, a truck’s length away from the woman. She was looking at him nervously, fidgeting with her suitcase.

“Maddie?” Buck said, loudly enough that it echoed to the rafters.

“Hi, Evan,” she called, in a much softer voice. Eddie glanced to Hen and Chim, to see if they were any less confused than him, but they had equally baffled expressions on their faces. He turned back in time to see Buck taking long, purposeful strides toward the woman, who was now crying, and then—

Buck was hugging her. He wrapped the woman up in a hug so tight Eddie could feel the softness of it from the other end of the room. He hugged her like he hugged Chris, with his whole body; one hand on the back of her head, one squeezing her around the middle, like he was shielding her from the whole world. For a second, Eddie felt an envious hunger itch down his chest, pulse in his own empty arms.

After nearly a minute, Eddie wondered if he, Hen, and Chim should stop staring at this obviously private moment. But it was a really slow shift; and it wasn’t their fault Buck’s drama was playing out right in the middle of the station.

They watched them break apart, and Eddie saw Buck tenderly sweep the woman’s hair back, looking at her swollen eye. They were saying something to each other, but it was quieter now and none of them could make it out. Who was this woman? Clearly someone Buck loved; someone who loved him in return—you could tell that much from across the station.

An ex-girlfriend?

Eddie’s stomach clenched. What if Buck was reuniting with some long-lost love? He never even had a chance to get Buck to stop hating him. How was he supposed to compete with that?

Buck was moving away, now, stepping backwards towards the locker room, like he couldn’t stand to take his eyes off of her for a second. Eddie watched as he rushed to open his locker—their locker—and grab his duffle bag. Buck darted out of the room and called, “I’ll be right there—just a sec!” and jogged back towards Bobby’s office.

Eddie, Hen, and Chim stood, still staring at the woman, in a way that now seemed creepier without Buck there. She had clearly clocked them and was looking all over the station, everywhere but at where the three of them were standing.

“I’m going to go talk to her,” said Chim, stepping forward.

Hen slapped her hand across his chest. “You will not,” she warned in a harsh whisper.

He wouldn’t have made it, anyway—a second later, Buck was heading back towards her, practically running. He held up his keys to show her—was he leaving? He was. Eddie watched as Buck grabbed her suitcase for her and led her into the parking lot. Taking all remnants of his earlier daydream with him.

Before their next shift, Eddie left home thirty minutes early, so he’d have time to stop at the café down the street from their station. He’d finally given in and texted Hen to ask for Buck’s drink order, so he exited the shop with a large caramel latte with almond milk. But by the time he’d walked ten feet down the sidewalk, he’d changed his mind.

It was a laughably inadequate gesture. If he was just trying to make up for snapping at Buck, it would have been one thing. But what was he supposed to do—say thanks for saving my son’s life, here’s a seven-dollar coffee?

He threw the untouched drink in a garbage can and kept walking.

After ten more feet, he changed his mind again. Hen had told him to be nice to Buck—show him you care, she’d said. Bringing him coffee was small, but it was something, and he had to start somewhere, didn’t he? Or was that too small to count as a start? No, he had to at least try.

Eddie was nearly tugging out his own hair by the time he got back to the station, new latte in hand. The barista had been confused to see him back, and he’d had to pretend he dropped the first drink, but then she gave him another one for free, so he’d slipped a ten in the tip jar and thought about how hard Shannon would be laughing if she could see him now.

He got into uniform quickly and left the latte on Buck’s shelf inside the locker, deciding to forgo the awkward handoff. If Buck wanted to throw it out, that was fine, but Eddie wasn’t masochistic enough to want to see it.

But when Buck came up the stairs to the loft ten minutes later, he was holding the cup and walking right towards Eddie. He stopped directly in front of the couch, where Eddie was trying to look focused on a crossword puzzle, and said, “really?”

“No idea how that got there,” Eddie said, aiming for casual and overshooting so far that he landed somewhere around vaguely hostile. Gun to his head, he could not say what the fuck was wrong with him.

Buck just sighed and walked off. But he didn’t throw out the latte, and Eddie was counting that as a win.

By the time they were finishing up their third call of the day, it was taking all of Eddie’s self-restraint not to ask Buck about Maddie.

They were riding in the captain’s truck back to the station after a rescue involving a sky-diver, a roof, and bones sticking out of places that Eddie never wanted to see again. Bobby was catching a ride back to the station with Athena, who’d shown up to take statements, and Chim and Hen were dropping the vic off at Presbyterian.

Buck was driving the truck, focusing on LA traffic. And Eddie was sitting in the passenger seat, focusing on whether Buck could tell that he was silently freaking out.

Yesterday after Buck left, he, Chim and Hen had discussed Buck’s mysterious visitor for nearly half an hour before Bobby finally intervened.

“So, no one has ever heard him mention a Maddie?” Eddie had asked, for the third time. Kindly, no one called him on it.

“No,” said Hen. “Maybe she was like . . . his first love.”

“Torn apart by circumstance, reunited years later,” Chim mused. “Romantic.”

“Does he have a sister?” asked Eddie, desperately.

“I don’t know, I feel like he would have mentioned her when—I just . . . feel like he would have mentioned her.”

He thought of the picture that had been taped up in his locker for weeks, the one Buck took down on his first day back. It didn’t feel right to bring up, but it did give him a tiny sliver of hope.

When Bobby finally emerged from his office, Chim flagged him down. “Cap,” he called, “you have to give us the dirt. Who was that woman who came here looking for Buck?”

Bobby gave him a look. “That’s not my business to share, Chimney,” he said, maddeningly professional.

“But Buck left mid-shift? Just like that?”

Bobby crossed his arms. “Do you know how many personal days Buck has taken since starting?”

“Zero?” Hen guessed.

Bobby nodded. “If the kid needs to take a half day, he can take a half day.”

Chim opened his mouth again, but Hen cut him off. “You can’t say anything to that,” she said, knocking him on the shoulder. “You took a personal day to see Blade Runner.”

“It was a sequel to the 1982 cinematic masterpiece, Hen, that was a solid use of—”

Eddie had zoned them out after that. But the question had haunted him all night. Buck was making him feel like he did when he was a kid, staring at one of those Magic Eye pictures. Every time he thought he knew what he was seeing, something shifted and new layers emerged. He couldn’t look away.

Even now, in the car next to him. Buck could probably tell that Eddie kept glancing at over, but he was studiously ignoring him; keeping his eyes on the road and only moving to fiddle with the radio every few minutes.

Earlier, during the call, Eddie had said, “can you bring the gurney?” and Buck had said, “on it.” And those were the only words they’d exchanged that day.

Eddie was dying to say something. Who was your visitor? Too bold. How was your night? Too invasive. What’s new? Too vague, Buck would just ignore him. Can I take you out to dinner? As if.

Before he could even start working up the courage to say anything, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out to see Pepa was calling him. He thought about asking Buck if he minded if he took a phone call; but he didn’t want to hear Buck say something like, I wouldn’t mind if you flung yourself out of this moving car, so instead he just answered it.

“Hey tía, I’m at work,” he said.

“I know,” said his aunt, and something about her tone of voice set him on edge. “I’m at the hospital with abuela. She had a fall.”

“How is she? How’s Chris?”

He noticed Buck turn to look at him. It was a hollow victory.

“She’s okay, she’s in good spirits.”

“But they took her to the hospital?”

At the word hospital, Buck pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road. There was something so decided about it that Eddie felt his chest tighten.

“They want to make sure it isn’t a hip fracture. We’re still waiting to hear from the doctors. Can you come get Chris? I can’t keep an eye on him with all this.”

“Yes, I—yeah, of course,” said Eddie, without thinking. “What hospital are you at?”

“Cedars-Sinai,” Pepa said.

“Cedars-Sinai,” Eddie repeated, and without having to say anything else, Buck pulled the car back onto the road in a tight U-turn. “Yeah, uh,” he told Pepa. “We can be there in—”

“Eight minutes,” Buck murmured next to him.

“Eight minutes,” Eddie repeated into the phone. “Thanks, Pepa.”

When he hung up the phone, they sat in silence. Fuck. Poor abuela; falls at her age could be very serious, he’d been on enough calls to know that. Had it been because she was watching Chris? Had Chris seen her hurt? How much had he traumatized his kid since bringing him to LA?

After a minute, he realized they were still sitting in a charged silence. Buck probably wanted to ask him what the call was about; maybe as much as Eddie wanted to ask Buck who Maddie was. He thought of himself, hurrying to get Buck for Maddie; of Buck rerouting to the hospital without Eddie even asking. It was exactly how they were on the job—totally in sync, anticipating the other’s needs, and never once acknowledging it.

Never speaking the thing out loud.

“That was my aunt,” Eddie said, finally. A sad little olive branch. “My abuela, she fell, and they took her to the hospital. She was watching Chris,” he added. “I have to—” he paused, his brain catching up to the logistical problem. “I have to pick him up,” he finished.

“Is she okay?” Buck asked. It was the first time Buck had voluntarily spoken to him with something other than annoyance in his voice.

“They’re waiting to hear,” Eddie said. “She said she was okay, but—they’re still waiting to hear. I don’t know what I’ll do with Chris,” he said, the worry slipping out.

Buck glanced over to him, then back to the road. “You can take him back with us,” he said, easily. “I meant what I said. Bobby would be cool with it.”

Eddie only mhmed in response. It was a nice thought, and Bobby was a kind captain; but Eddie knew Buck had never imposed like that at the station. Zero personal days, he remembered. Buck had years of goodwill built up at the 118; he wasn’t rolling in as a probie, hoping it would be fine to host an impromptu bring-your-kid-to-work day.

“Did you—” Buck started, then paused. “Did you call Carla?”

This was the first time they were acknowledging it. He took comfort in it; in the fact that Buck brought her up, and not just to say now that I know who you are, please delete her number.

“I—yeah, I did,” Eddie said, flustered. “She was amazing, really, I—she’s a total godsend. She helped me figure out—” he paused. Buck didn’t need to hear about all of the stupid VA forms and disability programs and the papers and systems that had been making his life hell. “She’s going to be Chris’s home health-aid, actually,” he said instead. “She just can’t start until next week.”

“That’s good,” Buck said, his voice sounding off. Eddie wanted to say something else, but then they were pulling up in front of the hospital. “Why don’t you head in,” Buck offered. “I’ll park the car and meet you inside.”

It wasn’t until Eddie was passing the front desk that he realized Buck didn’t have to come inside. He didn’t even have to wait; he could have dropped Eddie at the curb and left him to figure it out on his own.

Maybe this was progress.

-------

Buck pulled into one of the spots the hospital had reserved for first responder vehicles. Technically he wasn’t supposed to use it when they weren’t there for a call, but he didn’t have a handicap sticker and this was the closest he could get the car to the exit for Chris.

Since he was alone, he pulled out his phone and check his texts. Maddie had messaged him that morning about using the washing machine, but he hadn’t heard from her since.

did u figure out the dryer?

Not his best work; she’d see through him in a second. But then again, she was always going to—she was his sister.

His sister.

He couldn’t believe she was there. He’d hoped like crazy, but he had never really actually believed she was going to turn up in LA. And she wasn’t just in LA, she was in his apartment.

It was the best thing that could have happened, and also the absolute worst. Because apparently, she was there because Doug was an even bigger piece of shit than he had realized.  

Yes, Evan, she sent back. Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?

I’m a firefighter we have a lot of downtime, he sent back.

Plenty of time to make up with your coworker then, she sent back, with a cheeky wink emoji.

He rolled his eyes, even though she couldn’t see him. Just because he was driving Eddie to pick up Chris didn’t mean they were making up. Not that they—making up made it sound like they a couple, or something. That they had something between them in the first place. Which, they didn’t. And just because Buck wasn’t being actively hostile to Eddie while his grandma was in the hospital didn’t mean they were friends now.

He was mostly doing this for Christopher, anyway. Which reminded him—he was pretty sure Hen mentioned Bobby needing to clear it with the chief last time she brought Denny by for an afternoon. He pulled up Bobby’s number and dialed it as he got out of the car.

“Hey Buck,” Bobby answered after one ring. “Everything alright?”

“Well,” he said, walking slowly so he’d have time to finish the call before he got inside. “Eddie got a call, his grandmother fell and she’s in the hospital. She was watching his son, so we detoured to go pick him up. It’s okay if we bring him back to the station, right?”

“Oh,” said Bobby, the surprise so evident in his voice that Buck could picture his raised eyebrows. “Yeah. I’ll call the chief, let him know. But it should be fine.”

“Okay, cool,” said Buck. He paused, realizing what was going to happen when they arrived there.

“Is that all?”

“Uh, just—just so you know, Eddie’s son is . . . well, he’s Chris. You know, the kid I was with, during the tsunami.”

“Oh. Oh! Wow,” said Bobby. He went quiet, but Buck couldn’t think of anything else to say, so they just said in silence for thirty seconds or so. Eventually, Bobby said, “what are the odds. Wow—huh.”

Buck could relate.

“Yeah, just like, in case it comes up. Eddie and I only just realized it the other day,” he said. The words Eddie and I felt strange in his mouth.   

“Okay,” said Bobby. “Got it. And hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.”

Bobby hung up, leaving Buck standing outside the hospital doors, staring at his phone in surprise. He was in range of the automatic sensors and they kept opening and closing; Buck watched them absentmindedly while he wondered what prompted Bobby to say that. Maybe it was about helping Chris survive the tsunami. Maybe it was about being decent to Eddie while he was having a family crisis.

It would be even more decent, he guessed, to go inside and see how everything was going. In the waiting room, he spotted Eddie deep in discussion with an older woman and Chris in the corner, charming the nurses. Neither of them noticed him, so he decided to just grab a seat in the corner and wait, but then the woman spotted his uniform and nudged Eddie, nodding in his direction.

He didn’t really want to get even more involved in Eddie’s family than he already was. But since he, unlike some people, didn’t make it a habit of antagonizing strangers, he walked over.

“Hi,” said Buck. “Sorry to hear about—” he said, trailing off and gesturing towards the doors leading through to the ER.

“Thank you,” she said, looking between Buck and Eddie like she was waiting for an introduction. Which made sense, because that would be the normal thing to do.  

But as usual, Eddie seemed to prefer to ignore his existence.

Instead, Eddie said, “I should go get Christopher,” and fled the scene. Buck watched him. Watched as he surprised Chris and pick him up with ease. Watched as Chris’s face lit up at the sight of his father.

Something twinged in his chest at the sight of it. Chris was an easy kid to love—Buck had understood that after five minutes of meeting him. But it was still unexpected, seeing the way Eddie loved him so openly. The way his body softened around his kid, and he had this smile . . . Buck realized he hadn’t seen Eddie smile before. It was an objectively good one, all sharp canine teeth and dimples; predictably, as perfect as the rest of him.

Buck watched as Eddie angled Chris away from where they were standing, saying something with raised eyebrows. His grin turned a little mischievous, and he shook his head once, twice, and then he whipped Chris around so he was facing Buck.

Buck hadn’t been expecting that, so he didn’t even know what expression was on his face; but then he was smiling, too, the way it’s impossible not to when you’re in a ten-foot radius of the best kid in LA, possibly the world.

“Evan!” Chris cried, the same way he had at the library and the park. Buck loved their little routine.

“Superman!” he called back, and then Eddie carried him over. He expected Eddie to put him down, but instead Chris lunged forward out of Eddie’s arms into Buck’s. Between the two of them, they managed to get his limbs reorganized in Buck’s arms this time, though it involved leaning close enough to Eddie that Buck got a whiff of his something sweet and smoky, traces of his body wash and his turnouts.

With Chris back in his arms, Buck felt his stomach settle; the weight of him was like the press of his gear, comforting and familiar.

The woman looked even more confused now, glancing between Chris and Buck like she had no idea what was going on. Same, Buck wanted to say. But before she had a chance to ask, a doctor stepped out of the swinging doors and waved over to her.

“I should go,” she said, waving to the doctor. “You’ll be alright with Christopher?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie, and even Buck could tell it was a lie. “Yeah, we’ll figure something out. Tell abuela—” he switched to Spanish, rattling off several points. From the little Buck had picked up over the years, he could make out sorry, idiot, problem, good, and love you.

Not wanting to intrude, Buck stepped away with Chris still in his arms. “How would you like to spend the afternoon training to be a firefighter?” he asked, and he was rewarded when Chris cheered.  

The drive back to the station would have been very quiet if not for Chris. Buck didn’t know what had happened to Eddie in the last words he exchanged with his aunt, but he seemed to have sunken in on himself. He let Buck and Chris carry on the conversation in the car, and spent the entire drive furiously texting and occasionally chiming in with a “yeah, buddy,” or a, “that’s great, Chris.”

Chris was too excited at the prospect of seeing the 118 to notice, but Buck felt hyper aware of the tension Eddie was radiating from the seat next to him. The closer they got to the station, the more agitated he seemed, and it reminded Buck of what Chris had said at the library, about how stressed out his dad got. A germ of an idea formed in the back of his brain; a stupid, stupid idea.

As soon as they parked, Eddie sprung out of the passenger seat like it had burned him, hurrying to unload Chris. The garage doors were open and the firetrucks sat in the bay, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. He felt a thrill of pride at it all: the shining red engine he’d helped polish, the turnouts that had seen him through so much, the ladder truck he’d once been too nervous to climb. With Chris there, Buck felt like he was seeing the station again for the first time.

Bobby was waiting inside the open garage, watching them with his hands in his pockets. Buck looked over to see if Chris was as excited as he felt, and he noticed Eddie looked a little gray. He almost did something ridiculous like ask if he was okay; instead, he just leaned down to Chris and said, “ready to meet Captain Bobby?”

Chris nodded eagerly and Buck led him over, Eddie following behind.

“I see you boys picked up the reinforcements,” Bobby said, saluting to Chris, who giggled. “You any good with a hose, kid?”

“I can try!” said Chris, in that irrepressible way he had. It was so goddamn cute.

“Cap, I’m sorry,” said Eddie, stepping up and placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I didn’t know where to take him—”

“Yes, you did,” said Bobby. He was clearly fine with it, just like Buck had told Eddie. “Right here. Buck called and gave me a heads up, I already cleared it with the chief.”

Oh. Eddie whipped his head around to stare at Buck’s profile, but Buck kept his eyes firmly on Chris; until Bobby said it out loud, he hadn’t realized that he wasn’t expecting Eddie to find out he’d done that.  

“Come on, kid,” Bobby said, gesturing for Chris to follow him. “I’ll give you the tour.”

Once they’d taken a few steps away, Buck finally looked up at Eddie. He was giving him a weird look.

“I—”

“Don’t.”

“What?” said Eddie, defensively. “I was going to thank you.”

“Well, don’t,” said Buck. Even though he hadn’t known that was what Eddie was going to say.

Two hours later, Buck was having what was probably his favorite shift of all time. Chris had joined them on a call for a minor hit-and-run, and Buck could see he was having a blast in the back of the truck, wearing the same turnouts and headsets as the rest of them. Back at the station, they each took turns showing him around, and Bobby had just declared that he was making grilled cheeses and tomato soup for dinner, in honor of Chris.

Everyone was loving having him at the station.

Everyone except Eddie, who had somehow only gotten more stressed as the afternoon turned into evening.

“You okay?” Hen asked him, finally. She, Buck, and Eddie had ended up at a table in the loft, while Bobby got started on dinner and Chimney taught Chris the finer points of pinball. Eddie hadn’t looked up from his phone in so long that Buck thought he might have forgotten they were there.

“What? Oh, yeah, fine,” he said, distractedly.

“Convincing,” said Hen, leaning in until Eddie had to meet her eyes. Buck watched from his seat, wondering if he was right about what had Eddie in a twist.

“It’s just—my tía Pepa was supposed to take Chris for the night, but the hospital is saying they might release Abuela and she can’t look after both of them,” he explained, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Buck watched as Eddie’s head dipped forward in defeat, as he raked his hands through his hair and let out a deep sigh. “I’d been using this home-aid service but I already didn’t trust them and then they—they—the point is I can’t call them anymore. So, I either have to ask for the rest of my shift off or—I don’t know, see if Chris can sleep in the bunkroom? Is that even legal? I can’t believe I can’t figure this out, I’m dragging him—”

“My sister can watch him.”

Eddie snapped his head towards Buck. He was always doing that; it was like he couldn’t meet Buck’s eyes unless he was shocked into it.

“Your sister?” Hen asked, raising both eyebrows. Buck knew what she was thinking about: that night at the karaoke bar when he let slip about Daniel. He’d had so many drinks that he teared up during a painfully off-key rendition of I Can’t Make You Love Me,and when they’d all made fun of him, he’d drunkenly thought it would be a good idea to retort by revealing his sad little origin story.

That he was born a mistake. That his parents made him for spare parts that turned out to be defective.

Immediately—even seven drinks in—he could tell he’d ruined the mood. What he’d meant as a funny rebuke, a bet-you-feel-bad-now kind of moment, actually seemed to make everyone feel, like, too bad. He should have seen it coming, given the reaction that bringing up Daniel always got from his parents; it was why he usually kept it to himself. But he’d forgotten his rule that night and overshared. After that, the least he could do was to stop talking and keep his whining to himself, which is why he’d never gotten around to mentioning Maddie.  

“Uh, yeah,” said Buck, already beginning to regret the offer. It was just that, if Eddie kept looking that stressed, Chris was going to notice. And anyway, he was sure Maddie would be up for it; she seemed like she could use a distraction, and Buck knew firsthand that Chris was the best possible kind. “She—she’s the one who-who came here yesterday. She’s staying with me for a bit.”

Eddie was looking about as uncomfortable at the offer as Buck felt. “I can’t ask you—her to do that,” he said. But he was finally looking at Buck, head on and steady.

“You didn’t ask, I offered. I mean, I offered for Maddie, but I’m sure she’d be fine with it.” Eddie opened his mouth to object, and Buck found himself strangely motivated to get him to agree to this. He just knew Maddie would love Chris, the way he did. And then Chris would be in good hands, after all of those uninterested aids. “She’s a nurse,” he said. “A kick-ass ER nurse, so you don’t have to worry about her, like, qualifications or whatever. And she’s like, the best person in the world,” he added.

Hen was giving him a look, like she was saying if she’s the best person in the world why have you never mentioned her before?

Buck shrugged and looked away, twisting his phone in his hands. He felt the need to text Maddie like an itch. It’s just, it would fix everything. It would be so easy—he’d even left her his car and Ubered in that morning, in case she needed to go anywhere.

“I—” Eddie was still looking at Buck with his intense stare. “I—”

“Why don’t you invite her for dinner?” Bobby intervened.

Buck looked up at him in surprise; he hadn’t even realized Bobby had been paying attention to their conversation. “What?” he asked, dumbly.

“Your sister,” said Bobby. He scraped something off the cutting board into the pot on the stove and met Buck’s eyes while he stirred it. “We’d all love to meet her. She could come and join us for dinner. And after, if it seems like a good plan, she can take Chris home; and if not, Eddie, you can have the night off. It’s a Tuesday, it should be pretty slow.”

Eddie was now directing his dumb little doe-eyed look at Bobby, who was waiting for Buck to answer.

“Yeah,” said Buck, warming to the idea. He was excited for Maddie meet the 118, but also weirdly nervous—like that unexpected self-consciousness you got when you were a kid and you had your friends over to your room for the first time. “Yeah, I’ll go call her.” He got up from the table and headed over to the other corner of the loft and dialed Maddie on the new number she’d given him.

“I haven’t burned down your apartment yet, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said, in lieu of a greeting.

“Obviously,” said Buck. “I would already know if you had. You know, firefighter and all.”

“Right,” said Maddie, as if she was still getting used to the idea. “So just a wellness check, then?”

“Actually, I need a favor,” he said. He waited for her to call him on it—wow, I’ve only been here for one day and already you’re cashing in favors; something teasing she would have said when they were kids. But the heaviness of their current arrangement weighed between them instead. I just need somewhere to lay low for a bit, she’d said, as if he’d ever turn her away.

“Shoot,” she said.

“So, uh—okay well I might have volunteered you to help with something, and now I’m realizing it’s kind of a big favor, and—”

“Buck,” she said, a gentle laugh in her tone. God, he’d missed her so much. “Breathe. Tell me what’s going on.”

“You know my coworker, Eddie?”

“Hm… Eddie…” she said, like she really had to think about it. “Is he the one whose son you saved in a tsunami? The guy who yelled at you on your first day back? The one with the beautiful brown eyes and swoopy hair and an eight-pack and—”

“Okay, I did not say any of that,” Buck contested. She was making it sound like he was obsessed with Eddie, or something. Just because he’d spent half of their night—the first night he’d seen her in three years—bringing her up to speed on his workplace nemesis—and, anyway, that wasn’t the point. “But yes, that Eddie,” he conceded. “His grandma was watching Chris today, but she had a fall, so he’s been staying with us at the station; she was the only one he had to watch Chris,” he said, then paused. This really was a lot to ask of a sister he hadn’t seen in three years.

“You want me to watch him?” Maddie offered.

“I—yeah, maybe. Would you mind?”

“Buck, you’re putting me up here with zero notice. Besides, it’s not like I have a lot else to do. And I’ve heard he’s a great kid.”

“Actually, if you want to meet everyone, Bobby said I should invite you to the station for dinner,” he said. She hesitated, so he went on, “he just thought, that way, you could meet Chris first, and Eddie could meet you, and-and Hen and Chimney, they’re all excited to meet you, too.” He breathed out, still met with silence. It felt thick, like the way Abby had fallen silent after he’d said I’ll wait. “You know what, never mind, it was a stupid idea. You don’t have to do that,” he said, hurriedly. “You barely just got to LA, you don’t want to—”

“Buck,” interrupted Maddie. “I’d love to come to dinner.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Maddie, softly. “They sound—it sounds like they’re all really important to you. I want to meet them. And besides, I need to make sure I approve.”

“Of Eddie?”

“Of—of Eddie? What? No, I meant approve of the team that’s supposed to be having your back during emergency calls. What did you mean?”

“Just that like, that you’d want to watch his son,” Buck said. “Shut up. I’ll text you the address.”

And he hung up. After the last three years, he never imagined he would be casually hanging up the phone on his sister.

But it didn’t matter; she was coming for dinner.

Chapter Text

Buck came back after hanging up with his sister with this ridiculously soft look on his face, and Eddie . . .  well.

The other day, dispatch had sent them out for a wellness check on an older couple. In an attempt to corral their cat into its carrier, the man had crawled under the bed and gotten stuck, and then he’d talked his wife out of calling 9-1-1 until nearly four hours had passed. Buck had been in his element on the scene—he coaxed the cat into its carrier with uncanny ease; he joked with the man about how he’d once gotten stuck inside pull-out couch—Eddie still had questions about that—and made a big show of how heavy the bed was; he even harmlessly flirted with the wife, who must have been pushing 70 but still flushed at the attention.

Midway through the call, Eddie had caught his own reflection in their bedroom mirror, and that was the moment he realized that his expression was obviously, painfully, infatuated. He’d never seen himself look like that before; even in his own wedding pictures, he’d been wide-eyed, dazed in a way that read more anxious than enamored. But here was proof that he was capable of feeling so smitten that it was, essentially, written across his face.

Since then, Eddie had been constantly reminding himself to school his expression around Buck. He saw Buck lifting weights; he pictured that unlucky sky-diver’s gruesome shin bones. Buck scooped up a crying baby from a stroller and soothed her while Hen and Chim attended to her concussed dad; Eddie thought about low crawling under barbed wire during bootcamp. Buck got distracted helping Bobby in the kitchen, telling some story that required all his limbs to illustrate; Eddie bit his own lip so hard Hen pointed out that he was bleeding and asked if he needed Chapstick.

Baseball stats, small intestines, maggot larvae, the squirrel he might have run over last week—he was building a disturbing collection of ways to make himself feel bad enough that his stupid, lovesick face wouldn’t give him away.

When he saw the pleased look on Buck’s face as he walked back after calling his sister, he reminded himself of the last time Chris had the stomach flu and he’d needed to scrub vomit out of his backpack.

“She’ll be here in twenty,” Buck said. And then he’d gotten weird.

Eddie knew it was a bit rich, coming from him—after he’d spent the entire day panicking—but he really did think Buck needed to calm down.

He started tidying up the loft, stacking magazines and fluffing pillows. He followed Bobby around the kitchen, cleaning up items before Bobby was even done using them, before he gave up and shooed him out.

“Sit down, Buck,” said Hen, finally. “She’s been here before. Also, it’s a firehouse, what do you think she’s expecting?”

“I don’t know,” said Buck, clicking and unclicking the pen they saved for the communal crossword puzzle. Then he’d looked at Bobby and Hen—his eyes had been darting to Eddie throughout the evening, but never lingering—and said, “just don’t . . . don’t say anything. Please.”

Eddie expected Hen to tease him back, ask how they were supposed to have an entire dinner without talking. But she just reached across the table and put her hand over his, squeezing it. “Don’t worry about us, Buck, okay? It’ll just be nice to meet her.” And then she mercifully took the pen from his hand and started quizzing him on crossword clues.

The distraction worked; by the time they heard footsteps echoing on the bay floor fifteen minutes later, Buck was looking marginally more relaxed. But he still practically jumped out of his chair and ran down stairs to greet her.

When they came back up a few minutes later, it was right as Chim and Chris gave up on the pinball machine and wandered over towards the smell of dinner. Eddie edged closer to where Buck and Maddie met them at the top of the stairs.

“Guys, I want you to meet my sister,” Buck said, gesturing with a smile. It was a how-lucky-am-I kind of smile; it hit Eddie right in the solar plexus. “Maddie, this is Chris and Chimney,”

Eddie watched as Maddie reached out for Chimney’s hand first. “Wow, Christopher,” she said, and from his vantage point, he thought he saw her wink at Chimney. “I’ve heard great things, I’m so excited to meet you!”

“I’m Chris!” his son waved for Maddie’s attention.

She shifted it to him. “Wait, what?” She put on a confused expression, hands on her hips. “Buck told me Chris was his friend who helped save a bunch of people during the tsunami. I assumed he meant another firefighter,” she said, pointing at Chim’s uniform.

“No,” said Chris, whose smile was now so big that Eddie had to remind himself of the existence of papercuts and the pain from stepping on Legos. “That was me,” he said.

“Wow,” said Maddie, suitably impressed. She reached out to shake his hand, waiting patiently while he shifted one crutch to free up his arm. “You’re one brave kid, Chris.” His son gave a shrug that was half shy, half pleased. “So that makes you . . . Chimney?”

“Yes-yes, hi,” said Chimney, wiping his palms on his pants and reaching back out to shake Maddie’s had for a second time. “I was also helping people during the tsunami, just so you know,” he tacked on.  

Buck was giving Chim a weirdly intense look until Chris caught his attention. “Oh!” Chris said, looking back and forth between the siblings. “She got your letter,” he said to Buck.

“Yeah, Superman,” said Buck, messing up his son’s hair in the same way that Eddie liked to. It was kind of killing him that his son and Buck had such a rapport already. “Come on,” he said to his sister, “you have to meet—”

He turned and bumped straight into Eddie, who hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten. The way Buck was affecting his spatial awareness could probably qualify as a job hazard.

“Hey,” Eddie said, sidestepping Buck and looking at Maddie for the first time since learning who she was. Physically, she couldn’t have been more different from Buck: dark hair, dark eyes, and short stature. But when her eyes narrowed in blatant assessment of Eddie, that was when he could see the undeniable familial resemblance. “Hi, again,” he said again, trying to remember what it was like to not feel flustered. “I’m Eddie,” he reached out a hand. “Chris’s dad,” he added.

“Eddie,” she said, eyes still roving over his face. She curved her lips into a smile when she reached out to shake his hand, but there was a sharpness in her expression—the set of her jaw and the twitch of her eyebrow—that made Eddie dread her next words. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said.

Chim let out a snort and even though Eddie kind of wanted to kick him for it, he was thankful when Maddie’s eyes shifted to him instead. Her face relaxed, and she bumped Buck’s shoulder. “Who else do I have to meet?”

After she was introduced to Bobby and Hen, they all grabbed seats around the table. With the addition of both Chris and Maddie, it almost felt like they weren’t at work at all; like they were just gathering for a family meal.

And like most family dinners, Eddie’s goal was to keep his head down and not get caught in the crossfire.

“We’re glad you were able to join us for dinner, Maddie,” Bobby said, after everyone finished complimenting the food and the table had fallen silent.

“Thanks for having me,” said Maddie. “It’s so nice to be here. And—I’m happy to be of help, if I can,” she added, her eyes skipping over Eddie’s and landing on Chris, who was busy dipping his grilled cheese sticks into his soup. “I’m sure you know my qualifications,” she added, looking back at Eddie.

“Buck mentioned you’re an ER nurse,” Hen interjected. “Impressive stuff.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Maddie, with a cheeky smile. “But actually, I was referring to keeping Buck alive for most of his life.”

Buck scrunched his nose up at her, and it was so cute that Eddie nearly stabbed himself in the leg with his fork.

“You must have had your work cut out for you.” said Chim. He stood up so he could reach the ladle out of the pot of soup in the middle of the table. He was smiling at Maddie and completely missed the wide-eyed look Buck was giving him. “He’s nearly died three times this year, I can’t even imagine what he was like as a kid.”

“What?” asked Maddie sharply, all teasing dropped from her tone.

Chim looked between Maddie and Buck, who was now glaring at him. “Oh, I didn’t—I just mean—”

“It’s nothing, Maddie,” Buck said. “Just, you know, job stuff—”

Maddie’s eyebrows furrowed. When Buck refused to meet her eyes, she started scanning around the table for answers, but none of the 118 were willing to say something before Buck did.

“A fire truck fell over on him.”

Eddie winced as his son filled the silence. Chris dipped another piece of his grilled cheese in his soup and started swirling it around, happily oblivious to the tension at the table. “He had to have two surgeries.”

“Evan, what—why—” Maddie’s voice was hushed, agonized. Eddie watched as Buck finally met her eyes, as he raised one eyebrow and shrugged. Whatever he was conveying, it caused Maddie to flush and look back down at her soup.

“Uh, Hen,” said Chim, desperately. “Did you and Karen take Denny to that new exhibit at the aquarium yet?”

“No,” said Hen, seizing on the topic. “We’re thinking maybe next weekend. Karen has a big project so she’ll probably have to work most of this one.”

“There’s an aquarium here?” Chris asked.

“Yeah,” said Buck, rejoining the conversation more animatedly than he had left it. “They just re-opened the sea otter enclosure. And they got a new octopus,” he added. Eddie wondered what was wrong with him that Buck talking about sea otters was kind of a turn on.

“I want to go!” Chris said. He couldn’t even be offended that his son addressed this to Buck instead of him; it was too endearing to care.

“Me too, buddy,” Buck replied.

The rest of dinner passed like that, with Hen, Chim, Bobby, and Chris filling most of the silence. As soon as dinner was over, Buck excused himself to the bathroom and disappeared.  

In the flurry of post-dinner cleanup, Eddie almost missed Maddie heading downstairs. He didn’t know where Buck had gone, but it he was hoping to catch Maddie alone so he could make sure she was actually comfortable with watching Chris for the night.

He hadn’t believed his ears when Buck volunteered the offer. He’d seen Buck’s generosity again and again, but he’d been the recipient of it as Chris’s dad, before Buck knew who he was. But he’d made the offer so easily, as if it were nothing, solving Eddie’s problem. This was the fourth tight spot Buck had gotten him out of so far, and Buck didn’t even like him.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs the truck bay sat empty and echoey, the way it gets at night between calls, when everyone retreated to the more comfortable spaces. Maddie was nowhere to be seen, so he headed down the hallway towards the bathrooms and the bunkroom.

“—bombing? I mean, that was even on the news in Pennsylvania. What the hell, Evan?”

Oh. Sounded like he found her.

Eddie froze outside the bunkroom, far enough down the hallway that he wasn’t visible, but close enough that he could hear every word Maddie said to her brother.

He really should give them privacy.

“Can we not do this here?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t—” Maddie broke off; Eddie held his breath.

“What?” Buck said, with a fraction of that brusqueness he usually reserved for Eddie. “Tell you? How was I supposed to do that, Maddie?”

“I don’t know, I just—I should have—” Eddie could feel her frustration from outside in the hall. “If mom and dad knew, they could have told me—”

Buck let out a laugh, but it was harsh, pained, like it had been pushed out through a thickness in his throat. “They knew.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” said Buck, the volume of his voice fluctuating; Eddie wondered if he was pacing. “Bobby managed to get ahold of them while I was unconscious, otherwise I would have told him not to bother.”

Eddie thought of the silence in the ER waiting room when he’d asked if Buck’s family had been contacted—this was the context he’d been missing.

“They knew?” Maddie repeated again.

“Yeah,” said Buck. “Apparently they told Bobby they don’t do hospitals,” another laugh, a heavy sniff. “And asked him to keep them posted. He never called back, and neither did they.”

Eddie felt something violent twist up in his stomach; the ugly inverse of butterflies. He tried to imagine a scenario in which someone called him and told him Chris was in the hospital and he didn’t drop everything to come running.

He’d seen the footage when the news broke, and again after Chim and Hen told him that it had been Buck—seen him lying alone in the blast radius, seen him screaming under the weight of the firetruck. Did his parents even bother to look up the news articles? They weren’t hard to find.

“Buck, I—” she trailed off, and Eddie knew that he and Maddie were thinking the same thing. Who was with Buck during his recovery? Who was there when he’d woken up? How alone had he been through all of that? “I can’t believe they didn’t—” she started again, but abandoned that train of thought.

A second later, he found out why.

“Can’t believe they didn’t what, Maddie—come cry at my bedside? Fly out here so they could wait on me, hand and foot?” he scoffed, like parents traveling to check on their injured son was an outlandish concept. “After the shit I put them through, they probably wished the truck had finished the job.”

“You didn’t put them through anything,” Maddie said, her voice high and pained. “And they do not wish you were dead.”

Eddie should really, really not be eavesdropping on this.

“Sure,” said Buck, letting out a softer sort of that awful laugh. “They just wish they could trade me in.”

“Buck—”

“Listen, don’t—don’t feel bad about it, okay? Chim shouldn’t have said anything. You’ve got enough going on and—”

“You’re my brother,” she said. “And I—wait, he said three. The truck, the tsunami, what was the third time?”

Buck sighed so loudly Eddie could hear from where he stood. “It was nothing. A minor medical thing,” he said, which was not at all how Eddie would describe Buck coughing up blood and collapsing in his arms. “Some clots,” he added—Maddie must have stared him down. “It’s fine though, I’m on blood thinners now.”

“Buck. Are you saying you had a . . . a what? A pulmonary embolism?” A pause. “Don’t roll your eyes,” Maddie snapped. “Are you kidding me? How did you survive that?”

“I was here when it happened,” said Buck. “First responders, they’re handy like that.” Another pause, and then, like it pained him, “it was—it was Eddie, actually. He was the one who kept me alive.”

If he had like, even one ounce of dignity, Eddie would have made his exit then.

“So,” Buck huffed out, sounding watery. “If you don’t mind watching his kid, I owe him one.” If it was a joke, it landed so flat that Eddie felt the weight of it in the hallway. I owe him one. What flawed math led Buck to that conclusion?

“Buck—” Maddie started again.

“Can we just—not do this here?” Buck asked, coughing his voice to clear his throat. “Or like, at all? I mean, you have real problems—” the writhing creature in Eddie’s stomach clawed up his throat, making him feel sick, hearing his own words in this context.  

“Buck,” Maddie started again. “Just because I have my own things going on, doesn’t mean you don’t, too. I ran from Hershey,” she said, so quietly Eddie could barely hear her. “But I ran to you. I want to be there for you, too, okay?” He heard a sniff, but he couldn’t tell who it was coming from. “Buckley siblings against the world, right?”

Whatever Buck said to that, Eddie couldn’t hear. He was absolutely not supposed to be hearing any of this.

“I’ll meet you upstairs, okay?” Buck asked. “I actually came down here to find a book for Chris, I know it’s around here somewhere . . .”

“Yeah,” said Maddie, and, way too late, Eddie realized what that meant. “I’ll meet—” she came out the door, spotted Eddie, and continued on without a hitch, “—you back upstairs.” His body had been standing tensed and frozen for so long that his brain stuttered, leaving him in the middle of the hallway, directly in Maddie’s line of sight.

To Eddie, she jerked her head, gesturing for him to follow her. She led him out of the hallway, through the truck bay, to a spot tucked under the stairs and then wheeled around on him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. What else was there to say? Her gaze remained on his, even sharper than when she’d first met him. “I just wanted to talk to you about Chris,” he went on, holding up his hands in a sign of innocence that neither of them was buying. “I didn’t realize—I—he doesn’t owe me anything.”

“I know he doesn’t,” said Maddie, neutrally.

Eddie waited—for Maddie to pass her judgment, or for the ground to swallow him whole; whichever came first.

“I’d be happy to watch Chris tonight,” she said finally, surprising him. “I can take him back to your place and crash on the couch.”

“Oh,” said Eddie, feeling off-balance. “I—that would be great, thank you. We’ll be off at six tomorrow morning so I’ll be back in time to get him to school.”

She nodded, like a dismissal. But neither of them moved. Eddie broke eye contact first, scanning behind her, waiting to see if Buck would emerge and catch them in this unexplainable conversation. He didn’t.

“Eddie?” Maddie said, and he dragged his eyes back to meet hers. “If you hurt my brother again, I’ll end you.”

And then she turned and left him standing alone, in the dark. With a lot to think about.

-----

Buck knew there was no way this was Maddie’s fault. But still, it felt like kismet that a few days after Maddie pressured him to talk it out with Eddie, he found himself literally trapped alone with him.

During a call to a broken elevator that Eddie and Buck were running point on, the cable weighting the car downward snapped, causing it to relapse fully towards the other direction—up, and fast. Luckily, they’d already off loaded the victim, but Buck and Eddie had been standing on top of the elevator when it started flying upward, and had both only just managed to jump through the hatch to avoid being pancaked by the ceiling of the building.

Bobby radioed immediately to make sure they were okay. Once he was assured of it—he’d made them both confirm separately, on their own radios—he told them they were going to secure the elevator before attempting to drill them out.

Which is why, for the last twenty minutes, he and Eddie had been sitting in complete silence.

His phone started vibrating in his back pocket, buzzing loudly against the floor of the elevator. He dug it out and felt his stomach drop at the name on the screen. “I—I have to take this,” he said. “It’s my mom, she never calls.”

Eddie gestured for him to answer it and looked away, as if that gave Buck any semblance of privacy. Well. Best get this over with.

“Mom?”

“Evan, have you heard from Maddie?”

Turns out the grating pitch of his mother’s voice sounded exactly how he remembered it.

“What? No—no.”

“Doug came by, and apparently Maddie just took off. He said she was stressed about work and said something about wanting to get away—are you sure she hasn’t reached out to you?”

Fuck fucking Doug. Enlisting Maddie’s parents to drag her back to Hershey. Buck would let that happen over his dead body. “No. I—I haven’t heard from her in three years.”

“In three years? Evan, Maddie is your sister.”

“I know,” he said, exhausted.

“Do you even try to keep in contact with her?”

“Yes, mom. I send her cards.”

“You send her cards?” She sounded astounded at the concept. Probably hadn’t been sure he’d ever learned to read. “Well maybe that’s what happened. Maybe you missed something. Maybe she sent a card back—you don’t even have a permanent residence.”

“Yes, I do. I have an apartment in—in California,” Buck said, glancing around at where Eddie was studiously looking anywhere but Buck’s half of the elevator. He wondered what he was making of Buck’s side of this conversation. They weren’t sitting very far apart; maybe he could just hear the whole thing.

“Does Maddie know that? Are you sure she hasn’t turned up there?”

“Am I sure my sister who I haven’t heard from in three years didn’t show up on my doorstep?” He demanded. It wasn’t even hard to act pissed off and unhelpful; it was exactly how he felt. “Yeah, I would have remembered that.”

“This is serious, Evan. Your sister could be in danger, and you’re doing nothing.”

“Sorry, mom. Didn’t realize both my siblings’ lives were my responsibility.”

A sharp little intake of breath told him he might have gone too far that time. After a second, his mom collected herself enough to say, “how could you even joke about that?” The same tone she always used whenever Buck brought up his brother. “Your father and I are concerned for your sister, and you have to bring up Daniel. And you—you’re being about as helpful for her as you were for him.”

Well, that one stung. He really shouldn’t have set himself up for it.

“Listen, mom, I have to go. I’m actually at work right now.”

“Oh, so your job is more important than this?”

“Well, actually I’m a firefighter, so technically, yes, my job is more important than this conversation.”

“Still? Evan, it’s such a dangerous job. Why would you keep doing that?”

“Just like wearing the cool outfit.”

His mom let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, Evan,” she said. “I don’t even know why I called you in the first place.”

“Yep,” he said. “Good talk.”

She hung up.

Silence rung in the elevator. After a few minutes, they heard the muffled tones of Bobby and the rest of the crew; not clear enough to make out their words, but enough to tell they were probably standing nearby, in the elevator bank of the top floor.

Buck chanced a glance over at Eddie, who was currently wiping off the reflective part of his turnouts with such deliberation you’d think he was going to use it for a light source. Of course, Eddie Diaz had to be the one to overhear that mortifying conversation. He’d prefer literally anyone else. Even O’Donnell on C shift.

But there was one other thing—Maddie had found him by walking into the 118 and asking; and she’d found him right away, because no one thought twice about it.

But what if Doug showed up, asking for her? Asking for him? Asking his friends if they’d seen him with a woman named Maddie? He was planning to give Bobby a heads up about Doug, and probably Hen and Chim, too. So, Eddie might as well know—the more people on the lookout, the better.

“My sister, Maddie, uh—” he started, coughed. Eddie jerked around at the sound of his voice so suddenly the elevator gave the tiniest wobble. Buck ignored it and pulled up the photo app on his phone, scrolling nearly four years back, to a Christmas card Maddie had sent with a picture of herself and Doug, in matching Christmas sweaters in front of a fireplace. Buck had taken a picture and texted it back to Maddie and said really? And she’d said shut up I hate you and it had been really nice, even if it had been one of the last times she’d talked to him for years.

He zoomed in on Daniel’s face and flipped his screen towards Eddie. “That’s her piece of shit husband, Doug Kendall,” he explained. Eddie nodded, seriously. “So, if you see him around anywhere, just let me know. Please.”

“Yeah,” said Eddie, his eyes shifting around the elevator and then back to Buck, in that way he did sometimes, like his body physically couldn’t stand to look at Buck. “If you—if you need anything, let me know. I was in the army, and I do some muay tai.”

“Really?” The offer was so surprising that Buck forgot to suppress his instinctual reaction. He raised his eyebrows at Eddie. “Are you offering to teach my sister self-defense or to beat up her husband?”

Eddie gave him a smile, and it wasn’t unlike the teasing look he’d given Chris at the hospital. “Legally, I wasn’t making an offer,” he said, lightly. “Just stating a series of facts that may or may not be helpful to know.”

Buck almost snorted, but he didn’t want to let Eddie get the upper hand like that. He fell silent, and he waited for Eddie to ask why his mother didn’t know where he lived or what his job was.

But instead: “you’re right,” Eddie said, finally.

Buck snapped his head up to look at him. He’d gone back to polishing the same corner of his turnout sleeve. “About what?”

“The best part of the job,” Eddie said, tapping his helmet. “It’s definitely the outfits.”

That time, Buck let himself laugh. Just a short one. He’s trying to be nice, Hen had said. Part of Buck chafed at it—at Eddie trying to navigate their weird dynamic, now that he knew Buck had been the one with Christopher during the tsunami. But a part of him appreciated that it was nicer than the alternative. After all, Eddie certainly could have picked up worse threads to pull.

He fell quiet again, and the murmur of voiced planning continue to slouch, muffled, through the exterior of the elevator.

“Hey, uh, Buck?” Eddie asked, and Buck looked up to see him shifting to the other side of the elevator, his back to the opposite wall. He pulled his shoulders up and back, too, and he was really trying to look Buck in the eye, now. “I know it’s not really cool to do this while you’re, like, physically trapped in here with me, but would you mind if I—if I said a few things?”

Buck looked at him, looked away. The shiny elevator buttons were rounded, reflecting distorted versions of himself and Eddie, looking much farther apart than they actually were. He thought about saying no—Eddie would probably respect that and let them slip back into silence until Bobby broke them out.

“Sure,” he said, and it came out less resentful than he’d thought.

“I’m . . . I’m really sorry about what I said in the locker room on our first day. I—I was stressed, and I let myself pretend that was any kind of excuse for being an asshole,” he said. He kept eye contact with Buck the whole time, and it made him feel like a live wire was burning down his abdomen.

Buck could only take so much of that. After weeks of Eddie avoiding his eyes at all cost, he’d been unprepared to experience what it was like to receive his full attention. He glanced at the other corner of the elevator; a security camera was angled towards the room. Buck wondered if somewhere a security guard was watching them like a soap opera.

“It’s fine, Eddie,” Buck said. He was so tired. Tired of being the recipient of Eddie’s regretful gazes. Tired of the mental energy it took to be hostile to Eddie when he was using up all of his rage for fucking Doug. “I get it.” Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to object, so Buck added, “besides, not like I haven’t heard it all before.” He huffed a laugh and gestured with his phone. “I—”

“No,” interrupted Eddie. “No, it wasn’t, like that—” he looked frustrated. “What I said about you—you being—that wasn’t about you. That wasn’t like, based on anything other than me just, just being really stressed. And I saw you were pissed, and I knew I’d already blown my first impression and I’d been really nervous to meet you, and I just wanted to like, get it over with. So, I just snapped and said something dickish and I’ve felt bad about it ever since.”

Buck watched his expression, waiting for the words to sink in; was Eddie going to realize that he’d just confessed to being worried about making a good impression on Buck? But Eddie’s eyes just kept darting around his face, waiting for Buck to acknowledge his little speech.

It was nice of him to clarify, Buck guessed. He hadn’t—like, he hadn’t really thought that Eddie had picked up his general lifelong predilection to being redundant; unnecessary. But it was nice of Eddie to say that.

“And—and about Chris,” he went on.

“Hey,” Buck interrupted. “I meant what I said, you can’t thank me for that.”

“No, I know you didn’t do it for recognition or anything, you just did it because you’re—you know,” said Eddie, gesturing to Buck, inscrutably. Buck was dying to know what he meant by that. “But you have to understand that from my perspective, it’s like . . . it was like this: I heard the voicemail the school left on my phone, that Christopher was last seen off on his own, out on the pier. I thought he’d been alone,” Buck’s winced at the sound of Eddie’s unsteady words. For a second, his body tensed the way it had that day, when it tried to brace for a wave of water.

Eddie rubbed at his eyes with both hands, and then went on. “And then he’s just . . . handed to me, a few minutes later. Safe and sound. Totally fine. Glasses on, and everything. Says he’s hungry, but other than that, he was just happy to see me. I thought he was—dead,” he said, voice cracking. “And it was the worst thing I could possibly imagine, that Chris had been there alone when the tsunami hit. And then I found out . . . that never happened,” Eddie stopped to laugh, a shaky sound. “None of it. I wasn’t there, but . . . but you were. You kept him safe. You saw him. You called him Superman. You don’t understand what a miracle that was.”

Buck felt the tips of his ears go warm; an annoying an indication that he was blushing. The way Eddie talked about that night brought it all back—the aches in his arms, the fear in his chest, the way his whole vision had narrowed to Christopher. He never wanted to consider what could have happened if he hadn’t spotted Chris on the pier that day.

“He did most of it himself,” Buck disputed, “I just did what anyone would have done.”

“No, you didn’t,” disagreed Eddie, shaking his head like Buck was talking crazy. “You didn’t. Even if anyone else could have saved him—which is unlikely,” he emphasized, “they wouldn’t have treated him the way you did. I know it. Not even his own grandparents can do what you do.”

Buck thinks that, on some level, he gets that. So many adults don’t remember what it’s like to be a kid, to understand so much more than people think you do. To wish people would just give it to you straight, but also, to wish they would say, we’ve got everything handled, you’re good.

If you can remember that feeling, it’s not so hard to talk to kids the way they want to be talked to. Christopher, especially, Buck could read like a book.

“Chris is a really good kid,” he said, instead of any of that. “You did a good job with him,” Buck said. Which reminded him— “What I said at the park . . .  I didn’t really think you would—”

Buck saw remorse of all things flash across Eddie’s face. “No, after what I said, it was—fair,” he conceded. “Besides, you’re not—I haven’t always been the best father,” he confessed.

Below the elevator, a whirring noise started and something knocked the bottom of the elevator. Probably Bobby securing the elevator with a quick-build scaffold. Buck didn’t take his eyes from Eddie.

“When he was first born, Shannon and I were so young, we had no idea what we were doing,” Eddie paused and fidgeted with his hands, the way Buck did when he got restless. “I enlisted, and then I enlisted again. By the time I got back, Chris was four. And Shannon . . . she left right after I got discharged. And I went from deadbeat dad to single father overnight. Feels like I’ve been catching up ever since.”

“Eddie,” Buck said, surprised at how unsettled the self-loathing in Eddie’s voice made him feel. “That doesn’t make you a bad father.”

“Being there is a pretty important requirement,” Eddie argued. “Ninety percent is showing up, and all that.”

“I don’t know,” said Buck. “There are a lot of ways parents can fail to show up for their kid, even if they’re in the same house.”

Eddie shrugged. “Sorry,” he said eventually, instead of responding. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe I’m still trying to guilt you into accepting my thanks.”

“Well, it didn’t work,” said Buck. “You still can’t thank me for that.”

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but Buck’s radio flared to life and cut him off.

“You boys ready to get out of there?"

No, he thought, ridiculously. For some unnamable reason, he wanted more time.

Chapter Text

“Screening of The Shining at the New Beverley.”

“Date night with Athena.”

“Hosting five seven-year-olds for a sleepover,” said Hen, voice drenched in regret. They were nearing the end of a brutal 48-hour shift, and everyone was looking forward to the upcoming 4-off.

“Hook & Ladder,” said Buck, leaning back in his chair and crossing his long legs on the coffee table. “Maddie’s started work at dispatch and she has such weird hours, so I’m going out on the town.”

“Oh,” said Eddie, at the same time that Hen said, “we work weird hours, Buck.”

And even though Hen’s comment had been a fully coherent thought, Buck’s gaze snagged on Eddie. He hadn’t meant to make a sound of disappointment; it had just slipped out.

Buck was eyeing him, warily. “Did you—did you want to come?” he asked, but it came out less like a question and more like he was confused by the words coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, no,” said Eddie. And then his mouth kept going, against his will. “I just realized I’d forgotten—Chris wanted me to invite you over for dinner.”

He hadn’t forgotten. He’d seized on the idea a few days before, when Christopher had asked when he could see Buck again. That was him basically wanting Eddie to invite Buck for dinner, wasn’t it? Surely Buck would want to see Chris, too. And then he’d get to see Buck outside of work and maybe he’d let his guard down just the tiniest bit—

But then Eddie had lost his nerve. All week he’d been turning it over in his head—how to bring it up, what to say, how to say it. And now it was all for nothing, because Buck was going out, instead. Eddie would go home alone, imagining all of the people trying to pick Buck up at the bar; he’d go to sleep at the same time Buck might be taking some faceless person to bed; he’d come back to work the next day and see proof of Buck’s late-night activities in the locker room; and he’d—

“Oh,” Buck said, interrupting his spiral. “I’ll—I’ll come over for dinner tonight,” he said, his tone almost defensive.

Chimney started coughing on his gum, but Eddie ignored him. Because Buck . . . Buck just agreed to come over to his house. For dinner. With him.

Holy shit. Buck was coming over to his house for dinner.

Subconsciously, he must have never expected himself to extend the invitation, or Buck to accept it, because he was just realizing that he has no food in his house, and no idea when he last vacuumed, and no way to give Chris a heads up so he wouldn’t be confused, so Buck wouldn’t know this was all Eddie’s idea. But now Buck was staring at him—along with Hen, Chim, and even Bobby—waiting for him to respond.

“Great. That’s great. That’s—good, yeah. Chris will be so excited,” he said, hoping his face didn’t look as stupid as it felt. “Yeah, that’s—”

The bell went off. Thank the lord.

Three hours later, after rescuing a man who had somehow managed to wall himself up during basement renovations, they were finally back in the locker room, changing back into civilian clothes. It was the first time they were both using their shared locker at the same time, and Eddie was trying so hard to be normal about it. And about the tank top Buck had on under his LAFD shirt, and the way his hands looked undoing his belt buckle—which he only saw for a split second before he realized where his eyes had gone.

Eddie was really going to have to say something, soon, but he was afraid it was going to come out like, when you agreed to come over, that happened in real life, right?  

They both left the locker room at the same time, shoulders almost bumping as they crossed the empty truck bay. A call had come in right as B shift started, so the trucks were gone and the lights were off so the station was filtered through late afternoon sunlight. “So, uh,” said Buck, breaking the silence. “Did you still want to do dinner? If you’re like, too tired or changed your mind or something—”

“No,” interrupted Eddie. “No, I didn’t—I’m not too tired. You should come. I want you to come.”

“The Tell-Tale Heart!”

Eddie and Buck both jumped, turning to look at where Chimney was coming from the back hallway, shouting in victory.

“What?”

“I couldn’t think of the thing—the, you know, the Edgar Allen Poe story?” Chim said, catching up with them. “Guy kills an old man and walls him up in the basement. But a cat gets stuck in there and it meows and he gets caught.”

Eddie slid his eyes to Buck, looking for some solidarity in his bewilderment; and like a small miracle, Buck was looking back at him, too. He had one eyebrow cocked, like, do you know what he’s talking about? And even though Eddie vaguely remembered learning about gothic fiction in high school, he shook his head, like, I have absolutely no idea.

“It was his wife,” corrected Hen, who had followed Chimney over. “And that one’s called The Black Cat.”

“No,” said Chim, pulling up his phone. “It was a guy, and he like, bricks him up in a wine cellar.”

“That’s The Cask of Amontillado,” said Hen. When all three of them stared at her, she said, “what? I was an English minor. And Karen loves all that spooky shit.”

They were standing in the parking lot, waiting for Chim and Hen to sort this out before going to their cars; but Eddie was too busy trying to remember if he’d loaded the dishwasher or dusted, ever. “What happens in The Tell-Tale Heart?” Chim asked.

“I think he buries a guy under the floorboards,” Hen said.

“Are all of these stories about hiding bodies in different spots around your house?” Buck asked. At least this conversation was making him feel better about the state of his own home. “That’s dark.”

“Pretty much,” said Hen. “At least the guy today did it to himself.”

“So, wait, why is it called The Tell-Tale Heart, then?” Chimney asked, flipping his keys around his finger. Eddie wondered if he could give Buck bad enough directions to his house that he could buy himself some time to get his house in order. Or himself in older.

There wasn’t enough time in the world for that.

“He gets driven mad by the guy’s beating heart,” Hen answered, her eyes glancing away from Chimney just long enough to look at Eddie.

“Ah, hearts have been known to do that,” said Chimney, sagely, his eyes firmly on Hen. Eddie hated both of them. “Anyway, Buck, Eddie, have fun tonight!”

They headed to their cars, leaving Eddie standing alone next to Buck in the deserted parking lot.

“I can, uh, text you the address?”

“You don’t have my number,” Buck reminded him, and Eddie felt an ache in his sternum. But then Buck held out his hand, gesturing for Eddie to give him his phone. “We should probably have each other’s,” he said, typing his number into Eddie’s phone and then calling himself from it. “For work stuff.”

Eddie tried very hard to focus on the having-Buck’s-number part and not the for-work-reasons part. He took his phone back from Buck, clicked on his new contact, and texted his home address. “Chris will be so excited,” he said again, as if Buck might change his mind if Eddie didn’t remind him that Chris was waiting for him.

Buck smiled at him, then—not one of his wide grins or troublemaking smirks, nothing so genuine. But he’d made an effort to smile back at Eddie at all, which was a huge improvement.

Twenty minutes later, Eddie parked on the street out front of his house—Pepa’s old jeep was in his driveway and he didn’t want to block her in. Buck pulled up behind him, and Eddie felt all warm about it, about the idea of Buck following him home.

Sorry to the people at Hook & Ladder tonight, he thought. Buck had other plans.

He waited for Buck to join him in the yard and then led him to the front door, feeling weirdly like a realtor showing a house. Hi, I’m hoping you’ll find this home to your liking. What he actually said was, “sorry in advanced—we’re still not entirely unpacked, and, you know, Chris is eight, so—”

Buck didn’t say anything, though that might have been because within thirty seconds of getting the door open, he’d been tackled by a determined, surprisingly fast Christopher. “You came!” Christopher said, doing Eddie a real solid.

Pepa followed Chris into the room and was now watching the scene with a bemused expression. “Pepa,” said Eddie, desperate to fill the silence. “You remember Buck—you met at the hospital.”

“Si,” said Pepa, with a knowing look on her face. “Hi Buck, it’s good to see you again. Goodbye mi amor Christopher, I’ll see you soon,” she said, placing a kiss on Chris’s cheek. Then she put her hand on Eddie’s arm, and he realized he wasn’t getting off so easy. “Eddito, walk me to my car, yeah?”

He spared a glance at Christopher and Buck, but Chris was now leading Buck around the house for a tour. For a second, he felt nervous, like maybe he’d left out a pair of underwear or a diary that had I <3 Buck scribbled on it. But he always put his clothes in the hamper, and he didn’t even have a diary, and there was no reason not to leave Buck in Chris’s capable hands and walk Pepa to her car.

No reason except Eddie didn’t like the look on her face.

It was still light outside, with the late summer sky a brilliant mess of pinks and oranges. Insects hummed in the background, and Eddie thought of the other night he’d sat outside with Michael. I had to see if I could have them both: my family and myself.

“Who is this Buck fellow?” Pepa asked, cutting straight to the chase. “The first time I see him, he and Christopher are like long lost friends. And now he’s coming over after work? Is he a . . . friend of yours?”

She said friend with such an inflection that Eddie felt it in his bones.

“It’s complicated,” he said. What was he going to tell her? They weren’t close to being friends-friends; they were barely on friendly terms at all. But he didn’t want her to think that Buck meant nothing, that he was some random colleague.

Pepa was a step ahead of him, though. “Complicated as in, he’s the reason you’re always too busy to go on these dates I set up for you?”

“No,” he said. He ducked his head, thought about lying. Then figured, why put off the inevitable? There was no way he was getting over Buck any time soon. “I only met him a few weeks ago. But if you tried again . . . yeah, he would be.”

“Oh, Eddito,” she said, looking at him with softness in her eyes. “Come here,” she pulled him in for a hug. A good one, where she squeezed him tight around the middle, like she did when he was little. She pulled back and examined him, then glanced back towards the house. “I like him.”

“You don’t even know him, Pepa,” Eddie said.

“I’ve seen the way you and Christopher look at him,” she said. “That’s all I need to know.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t like me,” Eddie confessed. After months of dodging Pepa’s pointed questions about his love life, he couldn’t believe he was just handing all of this information over. But he’d been working so hard to keep his feelings to himself around Buck, and now it was all spilling out of him.

“That’s not true,” said Pepa, patting him on the cheek. “Who could not like you?” He snorted. “He came here, didn’t he?” she asked, and then climbed into her car.

Eddie leaned down, resting his elbows on her open window. “Yeah, well,” he said, “he came here for Christopher.”

She rolled her eyes at him and turned the key in the ignition, only—nothing happened.

She tried again and again, and the engine gave a few sad sputters, but it wouldn’t turn over.

Pepa cursed.

“I can take a look at it,” Eddie offered. He was no slouch at cars—he’d accidentally crashed the family car once, and his parents made him help his tío David at his garage on weekends to make up for the labor costs of fixing the repair—but it had been a long time since he’d looked under the hood of anything aside from his ancient pickup.

“No, that’s fine,” Pepa said. She already had her phone out and Eddie saw her google call cab la. “I’m meeting the ladies for lotería. I’ll just do one of those uber things you guys are always talking about.”

“Pepa, you are not ubering to your game night.”

“You can’t leave, you have a guest over!”

“I told you, Buck came over to see Christopher, not me,” Eddie said. “It’ll make his night if I leave.”

“Eddie—”

“Besides, it’s dinner time, you’ll have surge pricing—”

“I don’t know what that means,” she said, still clicking around on her phone, like she was going to figure out how to install a new app.

“—it means, I’m driving you,” he insisted. “Here, trade,” he offered holding out his keys and exchanging them for hers. “Go wait in my car, I’ll just go give him the good news.”

“Edmundo—” she reprimanded, but he was already walking away.

Inside the house, he found Buck and Christopher at the kitchen table, pouring over the tsunami book that Eddie had called the library three times to renew. They both looked up at him with identical grins; Buck’s barely faded when he saw Eddie, which boded well.

“Hey Buck, can I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, jerking his head back towards the hallway.

“Uh, yeah.” Buck furrowed his brow but just said, “be right back, bud,” and followed Eddie out of the kitchen. “What’s up?”

Eddie should have thought this through—standing in a dim hallway meant there was only about a foot of space between him and Buck, and for a split second he forgot what he’d brought Buck out there to say.

“My aunt’s jeep won’t start,” he said, when he finally remembered. “I’m not going to make her call a car at this time of night, so I’m going to drive her—she’s got a game night, it’s not important—anyway, the point, is, it’ll probably take like, 45 minutes, at least.”

“I can watch Christopher,” Buck offered, before he could even form the question. “I mean—if you—I don’t have to, I totally get it if you don’t want to leave him with me—”

“If I don’t—” he broke off, confused. “Why wouldn’t I want to leave him with you? Buck, you’re the one person I trust most with Christopher,” he said. “I just didn’t want to ask in front of him, in case you changed your mind. I could always take him for the drive if you didn’t want to stay, I know you had other plans tonight . . .”

Buck was staring at him with a weird expression on his face. Eddie would kill to know what he was thinking—was he regretting agreeing to come over? Relieved that Eddie was leaving? Wishing he’d gone to Hook & Ladder tonight, after all?

“No,” he said, finally. It came out so faint, Eddie resisted leaning closer to hear better. Buck coughed and then repeated, louder, “no, that’s—I want to stay with Chris.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s eyes scanned his face, trying to detect a lie, a hint that Eddie was indeed overstepping; but there was none. Just Buck’s insanely blue eyes, looking earnest. Almost looking like he didn’t mind that his plans for a night out had turned into an evening of babysitting.

“Okay,” Eddie said, finally. “Okay, thanks. I’ll leave some cash, you guys can call a pizza,” he said, and then he winced. Just because Buck was actually babysitting didn’t mean it wasn’t weird of Eddie to treat him like a babysitter.

Buck must have thought it was weird, too, because he snorted; but he didn’t say anything sassy back to Eddie, which he surely would have if this had happened a few weeks ago, so Eddie was taking it as a win.

------

Buck wasn’t really sure how he’d gotten here.

Here, being, in Eddie Diaz’s house. Without Eddie Diaz. He’d thought he would feel grateful for the reprieve—Christopher was much easier to hang out with—but as Eddie kissed Chris on the head and waved to Buck on his way out the door, he felt something closer to disappointment.

He guessed it was just on Chris’s behalf; the kid seemed bummed to lose quality time with his dad. “Hey Chris,” he said, bracing his hands on the back of the chair across from Chris. “What do you say we get some dinner? Your dad said we could order a pizza.

Chris scrunched up his nose. “No pizza?” he asked. Chris shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, so that’s a definite no to pizza,” Buck clarified.

Chris gave a little giggle, and Buck wanted to bottle the sound.

“It’s just boring,” Chris complained. “Dad can’t cook so we always order pizza.” Buck was delighted. He was eating up this new dirt on Eddie. Finally: a flaw.

“Well, it just so happens that Captain Bobby has been teaching me to cook,” Buck bragged. “And I’m pretty good at it. So maybe we could figure something else out, and you could be my sous chef?” he asked, turning to rifle through the cabinets.

“What’s a sous chef?” asked Chris. Buck wasn’t surprised he didn’t know—their kitchen looked like it hadn’t been used for anything beyond frozen meals and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The only pasta they had were the macaroni in the mac-‘n-cheese boxes, and it wasn’t until Buck opened the freezer that he finally saw some vegetables. He really hoped Chris had daily vitamins, because that kid was definitely not getting his nutrients from that kitchen.

“The head chef’s right-hand man,” Buck said, pulling out some of the frozen vegetables. “Hey, Chef Christopher, how do you feel about noodles?”

“Good,” said Chris, who had gotten up and walked over to see what Buck was doing.

“And how do you feel about peanut butter?”

“Really good,” he said, watching as Buck gathered eggs, peanut butter, soy sauce, and a few other ingredients on the counter.

“Last question,” said Buck, finding a trove of hot sauce in the cabinet. “How do you feel about spice?”

Chris grinned. “Really, really good,” he said.

They couldn’t make spicy peanut butter noodles without actual noodles, but Buck had spotted an ancient looking pasta maker in the back of one of the cabinets, wedged in between a dusty waffle press and a slap-chop—how embarrassing—so they’d whipped up a batch of pasta dough and just had to rest for thirty minutes.

When he paused long enough to take in that the kitchen was now fully covered in flour and bits of dough, Buck wondered if Eddie was going to be annoyed at this. He’d asked him to order pizza and keep an eye on Chris, not destroy his kitchen. But—he’d also said you’re the one person I trust most with Christopher.

Just like that. Like it was obvious, like it was no big deal. Like it didn’t turn Buck inside out to hear.

He guessed helping keep Chris alive during a tsunami would go a long way in Buck’s favor, if they were comparing babysitting qualifications. But still . . . the one person, he’d said. Buck made an executive decision that he’d be waiting until he was out of Eddie’s house to think any more about that.   

He checked his watch; Eddie had only been gone for about fifteen minutes, and they still needed to wait for the dough to be ready.

He wiped down the counter and looked over at Chris, who was watching the ball of dough underneath the clingwrap like it was going to do a magic trick. “Hey Chris, did your dad say your aunt drives a jeep?”

Chris slid his eyes to Buck. “Yeah. She said it’s always breaking down.”  

“Hm,” said Buck, checking the window. It looked like they had about a half hour left of waning daylight. “Broken down jeeps happen to be my specialty,” he told Christopher. “Should we go look at your aunt’s car for her?”

“Can I be your sous mechanic?” Chris asked, already leading him towards the front door.

“Of course, you can,” said Buck, grabbing the keys Eddie had left on the console table by the door on his way out. “Disaster planning, cooking, and car repairs? Is there anything you can’t do, Superman?”

“Math,” said Chris.

They came to a stop in front of Pepa’s jeep. It was a different model, older than the jeep Maddie had given him, the one he’d driven around the country—but by the time Buck had left for Peru, he’d changed so many parts out that it was almost an entirely new car, anyway.

He opened the driver’s side door and popped the hood. “Can you see, or do you need something to stand on?” he asked. Chris stepped up to the engine and stared at it, looking overwhelmed.

“I can see . . . but . . .,” said Chris.

“You don’t know what you’re looking at?” Buck guessed. “I know, it’s a mess,” said Buck. “Makes you wonder how people ever invented cars in the first place, right? We should google that later,” he added. He pulled open the driver’s side door again. “I’m going to try to turn the car on, will you tell me if you anything weird happens?”

“Yes, chef,” said Christopher.

He turned the keys and heard a sad sputtering. After a few attempts, he called, “see anything, sous mechanic?”

Chris reached out and pointed at a valve where tubing met the throttle position sensor. “That was dripping,” he said. “Is that bad?”

“No, actually,” said Buck, “that’s great. That’s super easy to fix—it’s probably just clogged. We just have to clean it. Where’s your dad’s toolbox?”

It was nearly an hour before Eddie got back. By then, Buck and Chris had unscrewed, cleaned, and reinstalled the throttle position sensor, scrubbed the grease off their hands, cranked the pasta maker until they had enough noodles to feed the entire firehouse, and were just getting started on the sauce. Chris was on stirring duty, while it was Buck’s job to taste the increasingly spicy hot sauces to prove his tolerance.

“I’m home,” called Eddie, after they heard the front door open. There was something uncomfortably domestic about it; Buck felt like he was playacting house, cooking with Chris in the kitchen. “What kind of pizza did you guys order?” Eddie asked, turning the corner into the kitchen. “What—?”

Chris turned, still stirring the bowl he’d helped mix all the sauce ingredients into. “We cooked!”

Eddie pulled up short at the sight of them. Chris, with flour on his nose and soy sauce stains on his shirt and smears of grease on his forearms—Buck looked down at himself and realized he hadn’t fared much better.

“What did I miss here?”

“Sit down, Dad,” Chris instructed, pointing to the dining room. Eddie glanced up to meet Buck’s eyes, almost like he was looking to Buck for permission—everything okay here?

Buck raised his eyebrows towards the dining room, like, you heard the kid. “Hey, chef Chris,” said Buck. “Why don’t you take our guest to his table and tell him about our restaurant?”

He picked his favorite of the hot sauces up and added some more to the sauce, giving it a last stir before dumping it over their bowl of homemade noodles—Bobby would be proud. He pulled down three bowls from the cabinet, which he could find easily because he’d become thoroughly acquainted with Eddie’s kitchen. Bowls and silverware in hand, he popped into the dining room to drop them off and saw Eddie watching Chris very seriously as the kid explained, “—so the su in superman would be spelled like sous, which Buck said—”

He stepped back into the kitchen before Eddie could see his smile. When the rest of the kitchen was tidied up and the noodles had a few minutes to soak in the sauce, he leaned through the doorway and interrupted Chris. “Hey sous chef, want to add the garnishes?”

“What are garnishes?” asked Chris, already passing him back into the kitchen, which meant Buck was now just staring at Eddie.

“Want a beer?” Buck asked him, before his brain could tell him you are a guest in this house why are you so bad at acting like it?

But Eddie didn’t look annoyed at Buck’s familiarity. He actually looked kind of entertained. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, the picture of ease. “What service,” he commented. “Yeah, I’ll take whatever the house recommends.”

“I think I saw two Miller Lites in your fridge,” Buck offered.

Eddie nodded. “Sounds perfect.”

Buck walked Chris through sprinkling the chopped peanuts and red pepper flakes on top of the noodles, and then carried the bowl out, balancing two beers in his other hand. He handed one to Eddie and placed the bowl in the center of the table with a flourish, and said, “ta-da!”

“It’s spicy peanut butter noodles!” Chris said, excitedly.

“Woah,” said Eddie, leaning over to get a better look. “You really went straight from chicken fingers to gourmet cooking.” Chris beamed at his dad as Eddie started dishing some onto his plate. Buck loved watching the two of them interact; it was like a documentary on perfect father-son relationships. “I didn’t know you ate noodles that weren’t covered in cheese.”

“That’s because you can’t make any other kind of noodle,” Chris sassed him. Eddie cut him the least-intimidating glare Buck had ever seen

“Yeah, well—” Eddie paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Buck had been watching, because he kind of wanted to see Eddie’s reaction to the taste. “Wait, did we have noodles? Where did you get all the ingredients for this?”

“We made the noodles,” Chris gushed. “Buck knows how to do everything, Dad. We also fixed tía Pepa’s car. And Buck tried the El Diablo hot sauce and he didn’t even need to drink milk after.”

What a little hype man; Buck wanted to write down Chris’s words and carry them around in his wallet. Eddie still hadn’t tried the noodles—his fork dropped back down to his plate as he’d turned to stare at Buck.

Buck hurried to swallow down the forkful of noodles he’d just put in his mouth—not bad for a meal made in such an understocked kitchen. “I’ve had to fix my jeep up a lot,” he explained. “Looks like it was just a clog in the throttle position sensor. Chris is the one who figured it out,” he added, and Chris nodded very seriously. “We cleaned it out and then it started up okay, so it should be fine. She might want to take it to a mechanic anyway, but knowing jeeps, they’ll probably just find another problem.”

Eddie was looking at him in that weird way again, somewhere between wary and surprised. Like Buck was a wild animal he just found in his house.

That was probably how he felt—Chris had begged Eddie to invite Buck over, and now he’d made himself right at home, rooting through Eddie’s kitchen cabinets and helping himself to Eddie’s toolbox, Eddie’s aunt’s car. He was doing it again; inserting himself in other peoples’ lives, bulldozing his way in, acting like he could fix problems that no one thought were his business.  

Eddie finally ate his noodles as Chris prattled on, filling the silence, but Buck had averted his eyes by then, so missed his seeing reaction to the food.

After dinner, Eddie shooed Chris towards the bathroom, telling him he had to shower and make sure he’d washed off all of the smudges and stains he’d gotten during his hour with Buck. He thought about leaving, but Eddie didn’t tell Chris to say goodbye, so he figured he should wait around, at least until Chris came back in his pajamas.

In the kitchen, he pulled out a Tupperware container from the cabinet he’d seen them in earlier and dumped the leftover noodles into it, scraping down the bowl and then filling it with water in the sink—it was one of those big bowls that probably wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher. He turned to put the leftovers away but was blocked by Eddie, who was leaning against the fridge, staring at him.

Eddie made no effort to move, and instead of handing off the container, Buck stopped, too—watching Eddie, watching him. Finally, Eddie said, “are you for real?”

Buck’s stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. He thought they’d moved past this, the tension that had been between them since his first day back. But he’d messed it up. He must have crossed a line—he’d been too familiar, too comfortable, too quickly. Just because Chris had developed an attachment to Buck didn’t give him the right to walk into Eddie’s house like he belonged—

“Okay, whatever you’re thinking, however you’re taking that . . . that’s not what I meant,” Eddie said. He sighed, scrubbing his hands down his face, and Buck had a flashback of his dad doing a similar move. You’re exhausting, Evan, he used to say. “I didn’t mean it like—I feel like you take everything I say as a dig, and that’s not how I mean it. I mean—the opposite of that.”

He tightened his grip on the Tupperware, clutched it like a lifeline. “Eddie,” he said, glancing towards the hallway that led to Chris’s room. “We don’t have to do this. I know you don’t really like me, and you’re being nice because of Chris—”

“I don’t not like you.”

He sighed; how long were they going to have to play this game? “Fine, you find me annoying—”

“I don’t find you annoying.”

“Eddie,” Buck sighed this time, his turn to be the exasperated one. “Whenever I talk, you get this look on your face, like you’re in pain.”

“That’s just because I—because I—”

“Hate me,” Buck filled in.

“Because I’m attracted to you,” Eddie blurted. His face was flushed and his chest was heaving and Buck was staring at his mouth, sure he heard him wrong.

“What?”

Eddie huffed a breath out, dropped his head back against the fridge. He wasn’t looking at Buck anymore. “I—listen, I’m sorry, okay? This is—new for me. I’ve only . . . I’ve only ever been with Chris’s mom,” he admitted quietly; as if Buck had any legs to stand on when it came to judging other people’s sex lives. “And you—you’re—” he did that thing again, where he gestured to Buck’s body, like Taylor had in the news van. “And I just, obviously, haven’t been handling it well.”

Buck’s mind was bouncing in a million directions, trying to keep up. Eddie hated him. Eddie didn’t hate him. Eddie was attracted to him. Eddie might hate that he was attracted to him—Buck was still unclear on that.

“I’ve been . . .” Eddie went on, paused. “Thrown off,” he said, finally. “I’m just not good at this. And I don’t mean to—I’m not trying to come on to you, or anything, I swear. I just think, I’ve been acting weird and you think I’m annoyed, but I’m actually just trying to like, control myself. Around you.”

Something warm and mushy was sliding down Buck’s spine, pooling in his stomach. This was the last thing he’d expected. But they had finally arrived on familiar ground, terrain that Buck understood—Eddie found him attractive. Eddie, with his insane abs and swoopy hair and big brown eyes; competent Eddie, who had capable hands and a Silver Star; Eddie, who might be the best father Buck has ever seen, to the cutest kid he’s ever met—that Eddie, found him attractive. Buck knew what to do with that.

“Hm . . .” he said, finally loosening his grip on the container of noodles and dropping it on the counter. “Why aren’t you?”

“What? Controlling myself?” Eddie asked, his head straightened, his shoulders tensed. He was staring at Buck with the watchful gaze of a zookeeper seeing a predator approach.

“You said you’re not coming on to me . . .” asked Buck, another slow step forward. Eddie’s kitchen was dim and warm and Buck knew where everything was; he knew every move he could make. “Why not?”

Eddie released a shuttering breath; Buck was so close now he could practically feel it. “I told you, I—I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, so quiet he might as well be whispering.

Buck stepped in closer—so he could hear better, of course. “Need someone to show you the ropes, Diaz?” He was inches away.

Eddie nodded his head unsteadily, like a cute little bobble-head. That curl of hair bounced in front of his forehead, and Buck wanted to mouth at it. Wanted to run his fingers through Eddie’s hair and pull.

“Don’t worry,” Buck said, leaning forward, softly pressing his lips against Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, pressing his lips over and over until he reached Eddie’s mouth. He pressed over Eddie’s top lip, then sucked his bottom lip in between his own. Eddie let out a shuddering breath, and Buck tasted the peanut butter and hot sauce, and despite what he’d promised, he wanted to eat Eddie alive.

He kissed him, softly prying Eddie’s lips open with his own, and reached a hand up to where Eddie’s head was leaning back against the fridge. He cupped his palm between Eddie’s head and the hard surface, scratched his fingers against Eddie’s scalp, hoping to hit that spot that caused goosebumps. If Eddie was feeling all unsettled—and he’d—well. He deserved goosebumps, is all.

Eddie’s hands came up to rest on Buck’s hips; a good sign. Buck wrapped his other hand around Eddie’s neck, thumbing at his jawline, using it to tilt Eddie’s head back further, and then he took advantage of his open mouth to lick his way in. Eddie was no slouch in the kissing department, and he met Buck’s sloppy thrusts with his own; Buck had no idea how they’d gotten there. Kissing Eddie was bending his brain, making everything feel floaty and unreal. He hadn’t felt like this since the time he’d accidentally eaten a laced brownie.

He slid the hand he had around Eddie’s jaw downward, thumbing at his collar bone and dragging his fingers over his chest. He reached his arm behind Eddie’s back and stepped closer, crowding Eddie’s body until his back was pressed against the fridge and Buck was flush against his front. He nipped at Eddie’s bottom lip again, timed to a thrust of his hips, and he succeeded in pulling a moan out of Eddie. The noise was so delicious he wanted to swallow it.

A door closed somewhere in the house, and they both stilled. Buck pulled in a breath and remembered—gentle, he needed to be gentle. If Eddie’s weird behavior from the last few weeks had been more about a sexuality crisis than about Buck, it wouldn’t be fair of him to take advantage of that. To seize on Eddie’s newfound exploration as an invitation for Buck to go to town on him.

But—he could help. If Eddie wanted to dip his toes into the world of gay hookups, Buck was happy to be his introduction; his training wheels.

He forced himself to lean backwards, to give them both some breathing room. Eddie blinked at him slowly, as if coming out of a trance, and Buck tried not to preen in satisfaction—he’d done that. After months of being driven wild by Eddie, he’d finally had a chance to return the favor. Eddie’s eyes were more lucid now, searching around Buck’s face like he couldn’t fathom what had just happened. Are you for real, he’d said. But he’d meant it in a good way.

“I should go,” said Buck. It went against all his instincts, all the urges that were screaming through his body. But Eddie deserved gentle; he needed slow. He was new to this, and Buck was going to respect that.

Eddie licked his lips, kept scanning Buck’s face. “You don’t have to—” he said, then broke off, too loud for the quietness of the kitchen. In the silence, they could hear Chris moving around in his room.

“Eddie,” he said, and leaned in and pressed another kiss to his lips, languid and slow, but with less intensity. He pulled back; then couldn’t resist, and pressed forward for one more taste of him. “I should go,” he repeated, more firmly.

He stepped back. Then back again. He should go say goodbye to Chris, but he didn’t want to stop looking at Eddie, with his swollen lips and debauched hair and that look in his eyes. He kept his eyes on him as he backed out of the room, only turning away to say goodnight to Chris.

Eddie didn’t walk him out—Buck thought he might still be in the kitchen by the time he closed the front door behind him. He walked down the grassy yard, lit up by the moonlight, and climbed into his jeep. He put both hands on the steering wheel and let out a long, shaky breath, and thought: what the fuck.

Chapter Text

Thanks for tonight

I mean like, for coming over and hanging out with Chris

I guess also for the other stuff

Is it weird to thank you for that?

It is

Can you pretend I was normal about this

Fuck

Eddie knew he was only making it worse, but he couldn’t stop digging himself deeper into this stupid hole. Did he mention he met Shannon in high school? He had no idea how adult relationships worked; let alone how you were supposed to navigate confessing your newly discovered gay feelings to your coworker and then having the hottest make out session of your life, while your kid—who arguably had a better relationship with the man than you did—got ready for bed in the other room.

Buck had left an hour ago. By the time Eddie had shaken himself out of his stupor and gone in to say goodnight, Chris was half asleep, so Eddie slipped on his sweats and got into bed. And that’s where he’d been, for the last thirty minutes, staring at his message thread with Buck, which had previously only contained Eddie’s address.

Until he’d panicked and sent all of these messages.

He clicked out of the message app and googled can you unsend text messages and gathered that if he deleted the messages, their conversation would show Eddie unsent 7 text messages which was somehow worse than what he’d already done. He had no choice but to wait it out and—

Buck responded.

you’re welcome

this is actually normal hookup etiquette

Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. He responded. He responded! 

Really? he sent back.

no, Buck’s response came through instantly. but i respond well to positive reinforcement so this is actually kind of working for me

Eddie felt hot under the covers; he couldn’t tell if Buck was trying to steer the conversation in a more explicit direction or if he was just joking; and he desperately didn’t want to guess and be wrong.

Good to know, he typed out and hit send.

It was good to know. Eddie wanted to know everything about Buck. He wanted to fill in all the blank spaces in between the pieces he’d learned so far. He wanted to know who Abby and Daniel were, and what they meant to him; why his parents never called him and what he thought about not hearing from Maddie for three years. Eddie wanted to know what Buck had been like in high school and what he did before joining the Academy and why Chim and Hen knew so much about his sex life and why he’d said I should go tonight.

Buck probably wanted to go slow, for Eddie’s sake—it was the sort of mindlessly thoughtful thing he’d do. But maybe . . . maybe he also wanted to go slow for himself, too. Everything Eddie had seen, all of the ways Buck contorted himself to make things easier for others—it gave Eddie the sense that Buck wasn’t used to being seen. To being taken care of.

Be nice to him, Hen had said. Show him you care. Eddie could do that. Eddie cared so, so much.  

Good night, Buck he sent. And then he navigated back to his contact list and started scrolling.

The next day was what he and Chris called a Doctor Day, which was when he scheduled all of Chris’s semi-annual appointments back-to-back, and once they finished, Chris got to pick out a new video game. So, for most of the day, Eddie was busy and didn’t even notice that he hadn’t heard from Buck. And for the rest of it, Eddie tried to stay busy and not even care that he hadn’t heard from Buck.

It wasn’t a big deal. Buck had replied with night, eddie, sometime around midnight, and he was probably sleeping in and enjoying his day off. It’s not like there was anything to text about, anyway.

Except, when he and Chris finally got back to the house, Eddie saw that two boxes had been delivered on their front stoop, which meant he did have a reason to text Buck, after all.

Hey, he sent, after Chris had been fed dinner and set up with his new zombie-rabbit video game. Chris has school tomorrow, he added. Can I stop by after drop-off?

yeah, Buck’s reply came, comfortingly quick, followed by his address. Then: so like 8?

Probably closer to 9 depending on LA traffic, Eddie texted back. He could probably make it there by 8:30, but it would be closer to nine if he stopped to pick up breakfast.

never scheduled such an early booty call, Buck texted back, and Eddie laugh-reacted to the message.

The next morning went surprisingly smoothly for a weekday, probably because Eddie woke up at 5 am and couldn’t fall back to sleep. He showered, had a brief panic about what clothes to put on, got Chris cereal, and packed the supplies in the car. After dropping Chris off, he detoured to the coffee shop and then put Buck’s address in his GPS—only twelve minutes away from his house, he noted—and some nice guy in a baseball cap even let him into the building, so within the hour he was knocking on his door.

Or, more accurately, he was kicking at it with his foot, because his hands were full with coffees, breakfast sandwiches, and a two boxes of security supplies.

“Hey—uh—hello?” Buck opened the door and was probably staring at him in confusion—he couldn’t see, because of the boxes. “Eddie?”

“Hey,” Eddie said, turning so he could see Buck. “Glad I had the right door, that would have been awkward.”

Buck was staring at Eddie like maybe he did have the wrong door, but then he shook himself and reached forward to take the top box from Eddie. “Come on in,” he said, keeping the door propped open with his elbow.

Eddie followed him in and took in Buck’s apartment. It wasn’t what he expected—Buck had so much personality, and his apartment reflected so little of it. But it was airy and open and light, and he could see why Buck would have picked it.

He put the box down on the table and looked in the bag he was carrying—it didn’t look like the coffees had spilled much. He put them on Buck’s counter and unpacked the breakfast sandwiches, and then finally let himself stop and look at Buck.

Buck, who he hadn’t seen in 36 hours. Buck, whose appearance in Eddie’s dreams last night made him wake up to messy sheets for the first time in 15 years. Buck, who was looking at Eddie in absolute confusion.   

He guessed he never really explained why, when he asked Buck if he could stop by.

“Is Maddie here?” Seemed like as good a place as any to start.

“What?” Buck asked. “Why would Maddie be here?” Eddie noticed that when he looked confused, his one eyebrow went up, and it was very distracting.

Eddie made himself look away and checked the drink labels for Buck’s latte instead, and pushed it across the counter at him. “I thought she’s been staying with you?” Eddie asked. He probably should have clarified that before this errand.

“She has, but I asked her—she’s out, uh, for a bit.”

Eddie found Buck’s breakfast burrito—he’d been talking about following this diet where it sounded like he was mostly eating egg whites, so Eddie had grabbed him an egg white wrap with avocado. He’d gotten himself and Maddie egg and cheese bagels, so he pushed one of those and a coffee towards Buck, too. “I didn’t know what she liked, so I just guessed. It’ll probably keep if she’s back soon.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Buck, both eyebrows raised, now. “Are you going to tell me what’s with the boxes?” he asked, gesturing. “Because I have to tell you, I have literally no idea what’s going on here.”

“Right,” said Eddie. He stepped over to the box Buck had carried in and started opening it. “I’m not trying to overstep, so let me know if you want me to drop it, but—you said Maddie’s ex was a piece of shit, and she really doesn’t want to run into him here, right?”

“Right,” said Buck, still holding his unopened burrito and his undrunk coffee.

“An old buddy of mine from the army, he runs a security firm now,” Eddie said, resting his hands on the top of the box. “I asked him for tips on personal security, just, you know, said I had a friend who might need it—anyway, he shipped these boxes over last night. I thought maybe you could use some of this stuff, so you and Maddie can have some piece of mind.”

He hadn’t actually had the chance to sort through the items yet, but he’d told Keridac the basics—an apartment, a car, two residents who work weird hours—so hopefully some of it would be useful.

“Oh, this could be good,” he said, examining an item and then reaching out to pass it to Buck. “A security camera, since your door doesn’t have a peephole.”

Buck took it, and Eddie kept digging around. “An alarm for your keychain, pepper spray for your keychain—not sure that’s legal, mini stun-gun for your keychain—that’s definitely not legal, are these . . . brass knuckles? Yup, also a keychain. Haven’t seen this much suffering caused by a keychain since my sister had a Tamagotchi.”

Buck laughed, and Eddie looked up, desperate to see it. Buck was giving Eddie a smile, one he hadn’t had the chance to catalog yet.

“What?” asked Eddie.

Buck looked down at the coffee and burrito in his hands, then back up to Eddie. “Just happy you’re here,” he said, finally. And Eddie had to believe him, when he was smiling like that. Buck had a happy-Eddie-was-there smile . “Hey,” Buck said, putting his breakfast down and leaning forward across the counter. “Maddie won’t be back for a few hours. Wanna go upstairs?”

Yeah. Eddie was gay.

He hadn’t really been expecting it, on a bright weekday morning after school drop-off and talking about security alarms but, well. If Buck was going to—the security supplies could wait, was the point.

Buck led him up the stairs—they’d both seen too many slips and falls to try any funny business on Buck’s staircase—and then they were in front of Buck’s bed, and suddenly it all felt very real. Buck must have picked up on his tension; but Eddie wasn’t sure if he could tell that he was also already getting hard.

“We don’t have to—” he offered.

“No,” Eddie interrupted. He’d let Buck leave the other night, he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. “No, I want to—” to what? He felt out of his depths; he barely knew how to finish that sentence. He wanted Buck on him, was what he wanted. He wanted to feel the electric jolt he’d gotten when Buck kissed him and chase the feeling as far as it would go.

“Just relax,” Buck said, and then he leaned in and kissed him again. It started off slow, all gentle hands and soft presses; but it quickly changed, grew sloppy and frantic. Eddie couldn’t tell if it was because of him or Buck, or if it was just the both of them, nearly desperate to swallow the other. 

Buck started walking backwards, towards the bed, and Eddie was happy to be pulled along, chasing his lips like a magnet that just wanted to cling. 

Buck backed himself up until his knees hit the bed and he dropped down, leaving Eddie standing in front of him. Buck’s height was all in his legs, so when he was sitting on the low bed, he was the perfect height to lean forward and mouth at the bulge in the front of Eddie’s pants.

Eddie let out a hiss and reached forward, one hand through Buck’s hair—loose and curly, just like he’d hoped—and the other rubbed the top of his shoulder, kneading it gently.

“Can I—?”

Eddie should probably start thinking about contingency plans for Chris’s care if he ever dropped dead; a scenario that was increasing in likelihood along with the amount of time he spent with Buck.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, stupidly. “Thanks—please, yeah.”

With deliberate hands, Buck reached up and undid the button on his jeans. Then, achingly slowly, he reached out for the zipper and slid it down. Eddie was watching him so intently he could barely see even his own stomach as it pulsed with apprehension.

Buck reached up and around, peeling the layer of jeans down, and Eddie let out a sound he wasn’t sure he’d ever made before. Warm wet heat was pushing against him—Buck was sucking his dick through his boxer-briefs. The sensation of the thin layer of fabric and the knowledge it was Buck, Buck who had his mouth on him . . . Eddie’s hips jolted forward at the thought.

“So eager,” Buck said, in between breaths. His hands were holding Eddie’s hips, and Eddie felt like he was a teenager again, fumbling and desperate, knowing he wasn’t going to last. Actually, scratch that—even as a teenager, he hadn’t felt so hungry for it. Probably the result of pretending it was something different than what he actually wanted.

But he wanted Buck, oh, did he want him. “Yeah—yeah,” he said, continuing to smooth his hands through Buck’s hair. “Just for you.” He’d never been this out of control this fast, and then Buck moved—he slipped his hands down the back of Eddie’s boxer-briefs and palmed his skin, while his mouth slid up and sucked the fabric over the tip of his cock, and Eddie came apart with a shout.

Thanks to Buck’s grip on him, he’d managed to stay upright, but he wasn’t going to be for long. He felt exploded, like he was coming apart at the seams, like he never wanted Buck to stop touching him. 

“That was so good,” Buck said, placing a kiss on his stained briefs and making Eddie jolt. “You did so good,” he added, easing his ruined underwear down, off of him. Eddie had never been so aware of every point of his body.

Buck stood and lifted Eddie’s shirt over his head, and then guided him back onto the bed, to lay with his head on the pillow. “Buck, you—” he started, but Buck shushed him.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, fitting his body over Eddie’s, so that his clothing was chafing against Eddie’s bare skin. He sucked hard at a spot low on Eddie’s neck, then worked his way down to where Eddie’s spent dick was already trying valiantly to revive. Eddie looked down, transfixed, as Buck made his way down past his chest and belly button and hips and—then detoured around to the top and inner parts of Eddie’s thighs.

“I—I just—” Eddie tried, voice shaking.

“Just relax,” Buck said again. “Let me make you feel good.” He did feel good; he really, really did. Eddie had never felt like this in his life, languid and wrung out and paid such close attention to. Buck had a talented mouth and a single-minded focus on making Eddie lose his mind.

He had never in his life pictured himself like this—naked and keening, in full, sunny daylight, getting his dick sucked for the second time in twenty minutes by his boyfriend. Was Buck his boyfriend?

At that moment, Buck hummed and swallowed around Eddie; effectively ruining any previous train of thought. Eddie felt high, out of control—a feeling that he normally hated. But here, with the heady weight of Buck hovering over him, with the careful ministrations of Buck’s tongue on his skin, with Buck’s sea-blue eyes and his self-satisfied grin and his stupid jokes and his endless kindness—it was exactly what he wanted.

He’d been fighting to earn Buck’s trust, but he already trusted Buck with everything: his harness rope and his son and his feelings. He wanted to hand over control to Buck; wanted to trust that Buck would take care of him, and know that he could take care of Buck in return.

But that was all things he’d have to think about later, when all the blood in his body hadn’t pooled to his groin. “Buck,” he half-said, half-groaned. “Buck,” he repeated again, just because he could. Buck hummed in response and tightened his grip. After a few more tugs, Eddie tried again. “I’m gonna—I’m not gonna last—”

Buck just hummed louder, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking as Eddie came apart again.

After he swallowed and caught his breath, Buck pulled the tip of his dick back into his mouth, sucking gently. It was all so much, the release and the overstimulation; it felt amazing, even as his hips finally jerked at the sensitivity. 

Finally, Buck climbed back up the bed and collapsed next to him.

Eddie wanted to return the favor; he really did—even if he had no idea what he was doing. Only, Buck had kind of made all of his bones turn to jello, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to move again.

“God, you’re good at that,” Eddie said when he finally caught his breath.

“Yeah?” Buck asked, rolling on his side to look at him. Eddie mirrored him on the other side of the bed. He was still naked and Buck was still fully clothed, and it should be some sort of crime.

“So good,” Eddie confirmed. “It’s literally dangerous how good you are at that.”

There it was—his just-got-praised smile. It was finally directed at Eddie. He wondered how much he’d weird Buck out if he told him about this victory. I’ve been dying for you to give me that smile for weeks. He could say. I think I love you.  

He rolled flat on his back; if he kept looking at that smile, he was going to say something stupid. “How are we supposed to act normal at work?” he babbled instead. It seemed incomprehensible that he and Buck were going to change in the locker room and go out on calls and eat in the kitchen and somehow keep their hands off each other.

Buck let out a small laugh next to him and rolled to get up. “Come on,” he said. “There’s breakfast burritos waiting for us downstairs.”

----

If he was being honest, Buck would say that he had no idea what was happening. Everything he’d done since Eddie said are you for real? felt like something out of a dream.

A week ago, Buck had been pretty sure he hated Eddie. But if that was the case, then why was he so obsessed with Eddie’s dark brown eyes and his scruff and his shoulders? Why was he desperate to see Eddie’s smile and also his orgasms?

Even now—Eddie across from him at his kitchen island, looking relaxed and at ease—Buck didn’t really understand where they stood. Which was fine.

It was. It had only been two days since Eddie admitted he was attracted to Buck; nowhere near defining-the-relationship territory. Not that Buck would know, because the only relationship he’d ever defined was with Abby, and he’d been very wrong about it that time.

He should learn from his mistakes and just ask , but he really didn’t want to hear Eddie say this isn’t a long-term solution, Buck. It’s just not.

So instead, he ate his breakfast burrito and tried to enjoy the moment. As long as he didn’t think about what Eddie meant about them acting normal at work; and as long as he didn’t think of what it would be like to work with Eddie after—if he got tired of Buck and whatever this arrangement was came to an end . . . as long as he didn’t think about any of that, it was actually a really nice morning.

After they finished breakfast, Eddie helped him install the security camera in the hallway and a few alarm sensors around the windows and balcony door—something that seemed like overkill given he was on the fourth floor, but he would cover his apartment in trip wires if it meant Maddie could relax.

They also sorted through the remaining items, which included a window breaker, a lethal-looking switchblade, and a Hildy-operated keypad and sensor that you could call 9-1-1 from, and which Eddie was hilariously suspicious of.

“I’m just saying, if it’s listening to hear if you say—” he mouthed “call 9-1-1,” and then resumed in a normal voice— “that means it’s listening to everything you’re saying, all the time.”  

“So, what? You think the tech industry is dying to hear my commentary on Blue Planet? ”

“But what are they doing with the information?” Eddie argued. “I would never put that in my house.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to put it up—”

“Don’t do it!”

“Eddie, you literally brought it over and gave it to me. What did you think I was going to do with it?”

“I didn’t realize it was in there!” He paused, mid-sip of his latte, which had to be room temperature by now. “Wait, do you think it heard us . . .” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head towards the Buck’s bed, in a show of prudishness that was so far from how he’d acted earlier that Buck laughed. He wanted to lean in and kiss Eddie to distract him from his technophobia, but he wasn’t sure if that was a thing yet.

“So he just . . . brought over all this stuff?” Maddie asked, eyeing the series of progressively more violent keychains.

Maddie had ended up staying out for nearly the whole day—she said she’d gone to the beach, so Buck didn’t feel too bad about sexiling her—and he and Eddie had hung out for hours. After finishing going through the boxes, they’d sat out on the balcony with their coffees, shooting the shit. And then Eddie had asked him more about Blue Planet , so he’d put an episode on; and within two episodes they were making out on the couch like teenagers.

By the time things were heating up again, Eddie had to go pick up Chris. Buck had given him something to remember him by—a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the door—and then shooed him out so he’d make it to Chris in time. 

“I—thanks,” Eddie stammered, once Buck got finished with him.

He laughed. “You gotta stop thanking me for that, Eds. It’s not like I’m not enjoying myself.”

“No, I know,” Eddie said, but from the way he flushed and ducked his head, maybe he didn’t. “I just mean like—well I told you I’m out of my depth and I appreciate you, you know. Being so cool about everything.”

Buck had just leaned forward to give him one more kiss and said, “you don’t have to thank me for that, either.”

And then he’d closed the door behind Eddie, and realized he had his answer. Reading between the lines, it sounded like Eddie wanted to keep this thing between them. 

Which was fine with Buck. It wasn’t like they were sneaking around and having an affair; Eddie was just figuring himself out and needed time. It was a good thing Buck hadn’t added pressure by asking something stupid like hey so what are we? 

Maddie had stopped examining the keychains and was now staring at Buck.

“His army buddy runs a security firm and sent this stuff. I just—I didn’t tell the team anything, just told them to give me a heads up if they saw…” he didn’t want to say Doug’s name out loud in his apartment; this was Maddie’s safe space. “So, we’ve got a camera doorbell thing now! And some sensors on the window. And you could probably take down a bear with this keychain, if you wanted.”

Maddie pursed her lips at him, but he could tell she was almost smiling. 

“He also said, uh—he said that if you wanted to meet him at the gym, he could go over some self-defense—just, things that would be good to know, in general,” Buck tacked on, turning to get the ingredients out for dinner so Maddie had some space with the idea. “Like, I guess he knows stuff from the army and he does jujitsu or something, so he could like—you don’t have to, obviously, just . . . Yeah.”

He trailed off, and when he finally turned around, Maddie was eyeing him suspiciously. “What’s going on with you two?” She asked, instead of answering. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean first he yells at you, then he’s looking at you with these puppy dog eyes—”

“He wasn’t looking at me—”

“And then you say you hate him— ”

“I never hated him, I just didn’t—”

“And then you kick me out at eight in the morning for a sex marathon—”

“Oh my god, it was not a—”

“But now you say you guys aren’t dating—”

“We’re not—”

“And now you’re arranging for him to train me—”

“I didn’t say training, I just said—”

“I just . . . don’t want to see you get hurt.” Maddie finally finished, but Buck was out of interruptions. A childish part of him—a part of him that was still smarting from the years of radio silence—wanted to point out that she hadn’t been looking out for him for a while now, and he’d managed just fine on his own.

But he really had managed just . . .  fine. Maddie looking out for him, Maddie caring—he’d missed it. Isn’t that why he sent her that sad postcard in the first place, some kind of sibling distress signal? And she’d answered. And Eddie had kind of been a dick at first, so she wasn’t in the wrong for having reservations. He just didn’t want her to see how quickly and firmly Buck was becoming attached to the Diazes and blame Eddie for it; especially not when Eddie could help her.

“I know you don’t,” he said, finally. “But you don’t have to worry about me, okay? I know what I’m doing,” he lied. She still looked suspicious, so he confided a little more—Maddie could always be trusted to keep a secret. “Eddie was separated from Chris’s mom, and then she died, and he’s just now . . . figuring stuff out. So, we’re just keeping it light and casual for now.”

“Buck, you saved his kid’s life. Chris loves you. And you work together. How is any of that light and casual?”

“Maddie—”

“Okay,” she backed off, holding her hands up. “I’ll back off. I’m not trying to judge,” she promised, looking at him with those earnest big-sister-eyes he could never stay mad at. She’s always been the one person in his corner; he knew she was only throwing punches in his defense. “I just want to make sure this all . . . ends well. For you.”

“How about you just promise to be there when it does?” he bargained.

She looked down at the array of violent keychains. “Fine,” she said, picking up the brass knuckles and tried them on, throwing a few practice jabs. “I’ll be there for you and I’ll kick his butt.”

“Does that mean you’ll take him up on the self defense class?”

The next morning, Buck and Maddie met Eddie at a boxing gym in Van Nuys. When they arrived, Eddie was already sparring with someone in the ring. Eddie was flushed and sweating, chest heaving, in a black tank top that showed off his arms and shoulders, striking with a single-minded focus.

“Okay,” Maddie said, nudging him with her elbow and raising her eyebrows towards the ring. “I mean, I see it.”

“I’m going to get us gloves,” Buck said, instead of responding. At the front desk, Buck rented a set of boxing gloves for Maddie and a set of focus pads for himself, figuring they could start practicing while Eddie finished sparring. But Maddie had barely had a chance to start throwing punches before Eddie ended his fight and came over.

“Hey, you guys came,” he said, happily, even though Buck had texted him to confirm this morning. Eddie did an aborted half step towards Buck that he turned into a shoulder bump; Maddie watched the interaction with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, eager to keep the peace. “This place seems cool.”

“It’s alright,” he said, giving Buck a smile he felt in his spine and then turning to Maddie. “Wanna get in the ring?”

Maddie had a glint in her eye that made Buck nervous. But Eddie could hold his own. And anyway, they were there so Maddie could learn some basics, so she could walk around with more confidence; this was more important than Buck’s love life.

“Let’s go,” Maddie said, and ducked under the rope like a pro.

“Have you done any training before?” Eddie asked, climbing in after her. Buck didn’t bother averting his eyes as Eddie bent over to join her in the ring. “Or do you want me to start with the basics?”

“It’s been a while,” Maddie said. “So, let’s go with the basics.”

“Okay,” said Eddie, pulling off his gloves. “Let’s start with form.” He tossed his gloves into the corner and looked at Buck, who was not expecting to be looked at. He had no idea what his face was doing.

“Can I borrow those pads, Buck?” he asked, eyes sparkling. Buck wanted to give him the pads and anything else he ever asked for, and then some.

“You’re the boss,” he said, and tossed the focus pads towards Eddie. He had Maddie remove her gloves, too, so he could go over proper form for throwing punches; and then she practiced into the boxing pads. Buck tried desperately to pay attention, to not let his mind wander at the sound of Eddie murmuring encouragement, “that’s it,” he said. “Come on, harder, harder. You got it.”

If he wasn’t so determined to not leave Maddie and Eddie alone together, he would have gone for a walk at that point.

They got into a rhythm, Maddie throwing two punches and then ducking under Eddie’s arm when he threw it out; Buck could see Maddie getting into it, sparking her competitive spirit back to life. He’d forgotten she could get like that.

“So, Eddie,” she said, after a few punches. “How did you find this place?”

“A friend recommended it,” he said, nodding his head towards where the woman he’d been sparring with when they arrived was unwrapping her hands by the water fountain.

Buck watched Maddie’s eyes flit towards the woman, skim over him, and land back on Eddie. “A friend?” Buck felt something close to mortification; he felt a rush of sympathy for teenage girls with overprotective parents.  

“Yeah, Bosko,” Eddie said, as if it was a totally normal question. “She’s with the 136. So,” he said, pulling his hands back. “Do you feel good about your punches?”

“As good as I can feel when I’m only hitting pads,” she said, fists on her hips. Buck got the sense she was laying down a threat, but he wasn’t sure Eddie was clocking it.  

“Makes sense,” he said, tossing the pads into the corner. “We should go over some more practical techniques. Now, do you know the number one rule if you find yourself in hand-to-hand combat?”

“Aim for the groin?” she said, archly.

Eddie chuckled; Buck wondered if he heard a manic edge to it. “Basically,” he conceded. “The rule is: fight dirty. If it comes down to you or the other guy, you can bet they won’t be aiming to win most sportsmanlike behavior. You have to just . . . let your lizard brain takeover,” he advised. “It’s hardwired for survival.”

He took a step back and gestured to himself. “If I’m coming at you, how are you gonna stop me?”

Maddie eyed him, and Buck couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or amped at the challenge. “Throw something at you?” she suggested.

“Could work,” Eddie said. “Though you have to make sure you’re not handing your opponent a weapon they could use against you. You have to be careful of that with baseball bats, knives, pepper spray, whatever. If you bring one of those into the fight, your number one priority is hanging onto it, even more than doing damage. What else?”

“Knock you down?” she asked. “Hit you low, throw off your center of gravity?” she added, gesturing to his groin and bouncing lightly on her feet, kind of giving the impression that she wanted to try it.

“That’s good,” he said. “But to do that, you’d have to get enough momentum to run at me, and if you’re that far away, you should think twice before entering back into my reach. The goal here is for you to be standing at the end of this, so don’t forget you always have the option to run away. What else?”

Maddie roved her eyes over Eddie and let out a frustrated sigh. Buck could tell she wanted to go back to punching Eddie. Her eyes flicked over to him. “Distract you with Buck?” she offered.

Buck looked at Eddie, worried he’d see something—discomfort, or maybe annoyance—but Eddie just laughed, smiling wide so you could see his canine teeth. Buck wanted to lick inside his mouth.

“Okay yeah, that would definitely work,” Eddie conceded. “If I’m ever attacking you, just throw Buck at me.”

Maddie’s lips finally twitched up in a smile. “Knew it,” she said, smugly. “Okay, what else?”

Eddie gestured for her to step closer. “Pretend you’re going to hit me; where are you aiming? Besides my groin,” he added.  

Maddie telegraphed punches to Eddie’s stomach and then his cheek. “Right, those are the classic targets,” he agreed. “But those aren’t what do the most damage. You’re a nurse, right? You know where the kidneys are?”

She reached out again, aiming her fist to the lower center of his abdomen and knocking her fist against him, gently. Buck wondered what was wrong with him that he was kind of jealous of his sister right now.

“Perfect,” said Eddie. “Another thing that’ll work to your advantage at your height: the chin. Instead of trying to punch my cheek, which might hurt your hand—”

“Think highly of your cheekbones, huh?”

Eddie smiled again, cutting a look at Buck, finally. Buck raised his eyebrows at him, like, it is a good face.

“Go for the chin,” Eddie continued, focusing back on Maddie. It would be ridiculous to miss having his eyes on him. “A straight uppercut to the chin is going to do a lot of damage. Also, behind the ear,” he added, showing where on himself. “That’s where you aim for a knockout.”

“And the temple?” Maddie added.

“Yeah, that works too,” Eddie agreed.

“And the eyes,” Maddie went on. “Thumbs to the eyeball, right? And did you know it actually doesn’t take that much strength to rip someone’s ear off from the right angle?”

“Is this what they’re teaching at nursing school?”

“You could also try to sever the Achilles Tendon,” she went on, on a roll now. “To incapacitate their mobility.”

“Damn,” Eddie said, looking back to Buck, who was openly laughing now. “Maybe you should be teaching me.”

“No, no, this is useful,” Maddie said, hopping from foot to foot again. “I know the human body, but not much about actually fighting ba—fighting,” she said. Buck stopped laughing.

Eddie looked back at him and he knew they were both thinking about the black eye that Maddie showed up with.

“Right,” said Eddie, focused again. “The most common reactions are fight, flight, or freeze, and the important thing is to not hesitate, so if you think you might freeze, try imagining yourself in a scenario; imagine yourself reacting fast, hitting hard. The more you tell yourself that’s your instinct, the more it becomes your instinct.”

Maddie closed her eyes for a second, inhaling deep. There was something dark in the set of her eyes when she opened it, and it made Buck want to put on some gloves and start punching things, too. She breathed out and nodded at Eddie.

“Wanna practice?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, dropping into a fighting stance. “I really, really do.”

Chapter Text

It was Eddie’s first day back at work since he and Buck had become a thing, and Eddie had no idea how to be cool about it.

Not that he’d been able to remain cool about much lately. Two days before, when he and Maddie had sparred at his boxing gym, she’d landed such a good hit to his liver that he’d dropped to the ground. While he was sitting, hunched over, trying to regain his breath, Buck had climbed into the ring and joined Maddie in fussing over him.

“Jeeze, Maddie, can you not maim my—my coworker?” Buck said, to which Eddie snapped his head up and fixed Buck with a look, like, coworker?

Maddie had also stopped to look at Buck, which made Eddie feel a little bit better. But then Buck flushed and stammered, “not—you know what I mean. Shut up. Don’t kill Eddie, I like him.”

At which point Eddie had forgotten all about the searing pain in his abdomen and gave Buck a look that, if Maddie’s reaction was anything to go by, was objectively disgusting.

“Okay, you’re fine,” she’d said, standing up and giving them space. “I’m going to grab some water, don’t be gross while I’m gone.”

“You like me,” Eddie teased, when he and Buck were alone.

“I don’t.”

“You want to protect me from your scary sister,” Eddie prodded.

“Can’t have you out of commission,” Buck said.

“Because I’m your coworker?”

“Because of the things I want to do to you,” Buck corrected, and if Eddie wasn’t already on the ground, his knees probably would have given out.

He reached out and shoved Buck back, gently; mostly he just wanted an excuse to touch him. “Okay, you officially can’t say things like that in a public space,” he griped.

“You started it,” said Buck, standing up and offering a hand to pull Eddie up. Eddie took it, eagerly; he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to hold Buck’s hand.  

They hadn’t made plans to see each other after Buck and Maddie left the gym, but he and Buck were both on shift, so they’d get to spend the next 24 hours together. Eddie left so early for the shift that he’d ended up stopping to pick up everyone’s coffee orders just to kill time.

He beat Buck in, so he left his latte on his shelf again and resisted the urge to do something embarrassing like draw a heart on the cup.

“Good morning,” he called to Hen and Chim, who were already dressed and sitting at a table in the loft. He passed them their drink orders and pulled out a chair to sit next to them, and it wasn’t until he sat down that he noticed they were eyeing him suspiciously.

He lowered his cup. “What?”

“You’re in a good mood,” Hen commented.

“An unusually good mood,” added Chim, looking at his cup after taking a sip. “You even got my actual drink, not that iced latte thing you get me when you pretend you forgot my order.”

“I do usually forget your order,” corrected Eddie. “It has a million specifications.”

“But you didn’t today,” Hen said. “And you look—” she broke off, looking at Chim.

“Cheerful,” Chim supplied, narrowing his eyes at Eddie.

Hen nodded in agreement. “He does, Chim. And you know what else?”

“What?” Chim answered.

“Did you realize this is the first time we’re seeing Eddie since Buck agreed to have dinner at his house?”

“I do realize that, Hen,” Chim said. “I wonder if the two things,” he gestured with both pointer fingers and then brought them together. “Could be connected.”  

They both hmmed loudly and looked at Eddie expectantly. He wondered if they rehearsed this.

“Can’t a guy just bring his coworkers coffee?” he asked, innocently. His eyes kept flicking to the staircase, but Buck still wasn’t appearing.

“No,” said Chim, definitively. “Spill.”

Eddie took a long sip from his coffee, trying to buy himself time. He hadn’t really thought this part through—mostly because he and Buck hadn’t talked about it yet. Was there some sort of rule against dating someone on shift? Was there official paperwork they had to fill out? Buck had been there longer; Eddie felt like he should be the one to make the call about when to tell Bobby.

But he’d already dragged Hen and Chim into his tragic pining; they were fully onto him. There was no way they’d be put off with some evasive answers. Plus, Eddie wasn’t a very good liar.

Finally, he said, “come on, guys. You know a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Aha!” Chim yelled, at the same time that Hen let out a playful, “damn,” dragging the word out so long that Eddie was sure he was blushing by the end of it.

“Pay up,” Chim said, gesturing across the table at Hen.

“You guys bet on if we’d get together?”

“Not if,” said Chim. “When.”

“I thought Buck was gonna make you sweat for it a little longer,” Hen admitted, pulling a folded wad of bills out of her pocket and peeling off bills to hand to Chim.

“And I am blessed with a superior understanding of human emotion,” added Chim, tucking the money into his shirt pocket. “So—come on, how’d it happen?”

“Why?” asked Eddie, feeling salty. “Is there a bet on that, too?”

“No, that would be way too invasive,” Chim said. “Now give us the details.”

Eddie didn’t think they deserved to hear them, to be honest. But did actually kind of . . . want to talk about it. It was an unfamiliar feeling. He hadn’t really ever done this part—the sparks and butterflies and all those feelings they talk about in love songs, the things that all sound like exaggerations and hype, until, apparently, you met the right person and everything clicked.

He’d always been tight-lipped about anything relating to his love life, but since meeting Buck, he’d been spinning out. And, unexpectedly, it felt kind of good.

“We went to my place,” he told them, leaning in to make sure the details stayed between the three of them. Their eager faces reminded him of how he and his sisters used to feel watching soap operas with abuela during the summer—who didn’t love a good love story? He told them about Pepa’s car trouble; about how he’d come home to find Buck teaching his son to make homemade noodles and how he’d fixed his aunt’s car and how he had still thought Eddie was annoyed by him so Eddie had had to set him straight, and how one thing had led to another . . .

He waited for the teasing to start, but instead they both fixed him with serious looks. “We’re happy for you two,” Hen said, meeting Chim’s eyes and nodding. “But you have to be careful with Buck, okay?”

“What do you mean?” said Eddie. He was so confused that suspicion seeped into his tone. “You think he’s gonna do something?”

“No,” said Chim, dismissively. “Not like that, Buck’s loyal to a fault. It’s the golden retriever in him.”

“Yeah, and it’s gotten him burned before,” Hen added, surveying Eddie through her cat-eye glasses. For the first time since he started at the 118, Eddie felt like the new guy again.

“Wait,” Eddie said, sitting back in his chair. “You guys think I’m gonna do something to Buck?”

“Maybe not intentionally,” Hen offered.

“Yeah, I mean, we’ve seen how pathetic you are about him,” Chim said, in a way that might have meant to be comforting. “We just—we’ve seen him go through it. He doesn’t really have . . .”

“A sense of self-preservation?”

“Right, that,” Chim said, pointing at Hen. “We just don’t want to see him get hurt again.”

Eddie’s instincts warred; he wanted to defend himself, wanted to confess how truly fucked he was over Buck. But the other part of him—or maybe it was the same part, since it was also obsessed with Buck—appreciated that Hen and Chim were looking out for him.

After all, it’s not like Eddie had a glowing track record with relationships—his entire dating history was basically one big slow-motion car wreck.

But so much was different about this, about Buck. He was older now than he’d been at nineteen, in more ways than one; not to mention the whole repressed sexuality thing. He’d loved Shannon, he was sure of that. He always would. But Buck . . .

He’d never met someone as all-in as Buck. Someone who he’d trusted so quickly, so implicitly. Not only did Buck keep having his back, picking up the slack Eddie hadn’t even realized he’d dropped—but he did it like it was second nature. Like he was happy to.

Eddie had gotten used to living like he was on the defense; always aware of how close he was to messing up with Chris and proving his parents right. After Shannon, he’d never seriously believed he’d meet someone else; at least not someone he liked or trusted enough to risk messing up the delicate system he and Chris had kept balanced since he’d become a single parent.

But that was before Buck. Before he took on all of Eddie’s problems like they were nothing; before he became Chris’s favorite person. Now Eddie could think about things that had never seemed possible before: getting Chris into a private, accessible school and finding a babysitter for a date night he actually wanted to go on and day trips planned for three.

He’d even sat Chris down the day before and had The Conversation, about Eddie dating someone, and about that person being Buck. Chris had barely blinked at the news that his father apparently wanted to date men; he’d only asked if that meant Buck was moving in with them.

Eddie opened his mouth to start explaining, but the bell went off.

He texted Buck from the back of the engine.

FYI we got a call already, he wrote. Bobby says you’re man behind :(

Chimney tried to make a joke about your butt but I defended its honor

everything okay? You’re not usually late

One day, maybe, Eddie would develop the skill of texting Buck while remaining chill; today was not that day.

Buck sent through a saluting emoji and said, thx for ur service and then jeep wouldn’t start so I ended up ubering in with an eyeroll emoji.

Aren’t you an expert at fixing jeeps? Eddie sent back. And then, we should start carpooling.

By the time Buck’s replies came through—couldn’t figure it out without my sous mechanic and don’t want you to start getting sick of me—they’d arrived at the convenience store where a teenager had driven their car through the front window of a quick mart and he only had time to laugh-react to the text before he had to put his phone away.

According to Chim, Hen, and Buck, someone might as well have said the word ‘quiet’ in the station that day—which was apparently a thing you weren’t supposed to do—because their shift passed with non-stop calls. A kitchen fire in a house that was bigger than their entire station; an incident involving an exploding popcorn machine at a movie theater; a pre-school teacher who’d gotten so thoroughly wedged in a covered slide that they had to dismantle half the playground—it went on and on and on.

They were so busy that Hen and Chim didn’t even have time to tease him and Buck about what he’d told them that morning; though there was a chance that was actually due to a surprising show of restraint on their end, instead of distraction. Eddie hadn’t had time to think about what they’d said to him about Buck; he barely even had time to talk to Buck at all until they were back in the locker room after clocking out the next morning.

“If you want—I was thinking, we should take Chris to the aquarium,” Buck suggested, while he and Eddie took turns pulling their clothes out of the locker.

“We don’t have anything on for today,” Eddie said. “He’s even learning about sea life in science class right now. The aquarium sounds perfect. What time?”

“Oh—”

“Ooh, aquarium date?”

Chim and Hen entered the locker room, apparently right when Chim’s ability to keep his mouth shut had been exhausted.

“No,” Buck said, quickly. Eddie frowned at him. “I mean,” Buck went on, “I was just going to tell Eddie how that marine biologist offered to give us behind-the-scenes tours, you know, the one from penguin incident. I bet Chris would love it.”

“You mean the one who wanted to sleep with you?” Chim said. “You’re gonna take her up on that with Eddie and Chris? Stone cold, Buckley.”

Buck whipped Chim with his shirt before putting it on; the sight of Buck shirtless was almost enough to distract Eddie from this conversation, but not quite.

“She didn’t offer aquarium tours so I’d sleep with her,” Buck protested.

“She didn’t?” Chim challenged.

“No. Because I did sleep with her like, a week later,” Buck said, and he was either totally oblivious or purposefully avoiding Eddie’s eyes. “And she was still really cool about it when I asked her if she could give Harry and Denny a tour last month.”

“He’s not wrong,” Hen added, looking back and forth between Buck and Eddie like she was monitoring a science experiment. “They went for Harry’s birthday; they had a blast. They got to feed the seals.”

“I want to feed seals,” Chim whined. “How come everyone else gets to benefit from Buck’s sex life?” Chim glanced at Eddie and his expression dropped. “No, wait, that’s not what I meant—”

“You can come, too,” Buck interrupted him with the offer. Eddie was getting whiplash from this conversation. “I—I was thinking about inviting Maddie, too,” Buck went on; even though when he’d first brought it up to Eddie it had sounded like a three-of-them outing. Buck shot him a look that was somewhere between panicked and guilty; but Eddie was even less sure than him what was happening. “She could use the distraction,” he added.

Chim was looking between them now. “Are you sure? I mean, I do want to feed seals, but if this was like—”

“You should come,” Buck added. “You both should. Hen, are Denny and Karen free?” Eddie would bet that if Bobby walked by the locker room, he’d get an invite, too.

“Thanks for the offer, Buckaroo,” she said, her eyes on Buck before darting to Eddie. “But Denny has a birthday party at the Sky Zone today and I promised I’d take him. Karen wants insurance that a paramedic will be on standby.”

“Fair,” Buck said. “I’ll go call Maddie, then,” said Buck. “And April. Meet you guys outside.” And then he practically sprinted from the locker room.

“Okay, that was weird, right?” Eddie asked, after a beat.

“What, Chim inviting himself on your date?”

“Hey,” Chim complained. “I just said I wanted to feed seals.”

“He was just . . .” Eddie squinted, not able to pinpoint where the conversation had gone off the rails. Except— “wait, who’s April?”

“The marine biologist,” Hen said, sounding apologetic.

Just perfect.

--------

For an outing that he had absolutely bungled, Buck was having a pretty good time at the aquarium.

He hadn’t really meant to invite Chim and Maddie out with him and Eddie and Chris; he also hadn’t meant for Eddie to hear all that backstory about him and April—he knew she would have been cool about it; much cooler than Chimney, for sure—but that’s what he got for trying to make plans while they were still in the locker room.

It’s not like it was supposed to be a date, anyway. He’d only thought of it because Chris had mentioned learning about sea life in his science class. But he didn’t want Chim and Hen to think he meant it as a date. Mostly because he wasn’t sure if what he and Eddie were doing was technically dating.

Regardless, he didn’t think Eddie would appreciate the pressure of Chim and Hen knowing about them. The two of them were as tactful and relentless as middle schoolers when they heard a rumor. And since Eddie hadn’t been with anyone since Shannon, he was extra sensitive to how they acted around Chris.  

So he’d been trying to be subtle; low-key. Restrained.

Eddie, on the other hand . . . well. Buck had no idea what the hell Eddie was doing.

It hadn’t even been a week since Buck kissed him in his kitchen, and Eddie kept . . . smiling at him. He kept finding excuses to touch him, even when they were around other people. He knew his coffee order and texted him at all hours. He brought Buck breakfast and asked his army buddy about security supplies for Maddie and didn’t once tell Buck to be quiet when a documentary was on, even though Buck knew that he always got way too talkative.

He was acting like—like—he was kind of acting like—a boyfriend.

For instance, now, he was glowering at April as she pointed out the different animals in the sea otter exhibit, explaining their names and dynamics and food preferences in a fun-teacher voice.

April had been kind enough to meet them at the front so they didn’t even have to buy tickets to get in, and Chris had taken to her immediately—probably because of her blue hair and bright smile and trove of animal facts; things that had drawn Buck to her, too.

Maddie and Chimney had also been pulled into her sea otter spiel, so Buck hung back with Eddie and bumped his shoulder to draw his attention.

“You know,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It kind of looks like you hate sea otters right now.”

Eddie turned his glare on Buck; Buck couldn’t believe he ever found Eddie intimidating. “Sorry,” he griped, looking churlish. “Should I be paying better attention to your ex?”

“She’s not my ex,” Buck murmured back, smiling. “But if you listen, you might learn something—she does know what she’s talking about.”

“Is that a euphemism for something?”

“No, Eddie,” Buck said, trying not to laugh. “It’s a fact. Because she’s a marine biologist.” Everyone was really absorbed in something cute the otters were doing, so Buck leaned in closer, bumping his shoulder again. It was a good thing Eddie’s arms were crossed or Buck might have done something reckless like tried to hold his hand.

It was so stupid of Eddie to act like he cared about whatever Buck and April had done months ago. But there was also something a little sweet in it, something kind of fun about the concept. No one had ever gotten jealous over him before. There was that one time he’d gotten catfished and Abby thought he was cheating on her, but nothing had felt fun about that at all—she’d just left before he could explain, and he’d spent the next three days with the knowledge that she thought he was capable of that. She finally said she believed him; but then she’d went ahead and broken up with him, anyway.

“You should come over tonight,” Eddie said, apropos of nothing. Buck felt his cheeks color, which was ridiculous; he wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin. But the way Eddie said it just made Buck wish they were alone; or at least, not in a room with a child, his sister, his coworker, and a woman he’d slept with.

“You know we just worked a 24-hour shift together, right?” Buck replied. “Are you sure you’re not going to get tired of me?”

Eddie looked like he was considering the question. “Dad!” Chris called out, distracting them both. “April said it’s almost feeding time for the seals! Can we go?”

“Yeah, can we go?” Chim echoed. Buck noticed Maddie laughing at his antics; he wondered when exactly they started getting chummy. But it was nice; she hadn’t seemed so carefree since she’d been in LA.

“Sure,” said Eddie, softening at Chris’s enthusiasm. Buck even heard him thank April as they filed into the employees-only corridor that led to the seal exhibit.

After they each took turns throwing fish to the seals—except Eddie, who’d passed all his fish to Chris—they filed back out into the main area of the aquarium and stopped to see the new octopus before heading to the giftshop.

Maddie caught up with him in between aisles of stuffed stingrays and clownfish.

“Hey,” she said, looking lighter than he’d seen her in—years, maybe. “Thanks for inviting me today. This was really fun.”

“Yeah?” he asked. He felt a little guilty that his main motivation for inviting her was panic, but it had all worked out way better than he’d expected.  

“Yeah,” she said, examining a stuffed blowfish. “I’d kind of forgotten you could do stuff like this,” she said, putting the blowfish back and picking up a dolphin plushie. “Just doing something for the sake of doing it, you know? Not to be seen or—no drama, or anything,” she said. This was the only way she talked about Doug, cryptic and roundabout. But Buck figured she’d eventually feel comfortable enough to say more.

“You know,” he said, taking the stuffed animal from her, “apparently dolphins are total dicks.”

“What?” she said, laughing.

“Yeah, they’re the assholes of the ocean. You can ask any marine biologist.”

“Well, I’d go ask April but then I think Eddie would combust,” she said, taking the dolphin from his hand and sticking it back on the shelf. “If that guy was pining any harder, he’d be a Christmas tree. I feel like I should be telling you to put him out of his misery, but aren’t you already sleeping with him?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be minding your own business?” Buck fought the urge to shush her, but only because he could see Eddie, Chris, and Chim, clear on the other side of the giftshop, looking at a wall of puzzles.

“When have I ever said that?” said Maddie. “Also—I think I’m—Chim and I are going to go see a movie tonight.”

Buck raised his eyebrows at her.

“Don’t be weird,” she rolled her eyes. “As friends, obviously. We were just talking about Jaws and apparently there’s a cool theater that plays old classics and it’s screening tonight, so we thought, why not make it a whole themed day, you know?” Buck pursed his lips. “Can you please be normal about this?” she said, finally.

He was sorely tempted to say something like, oh, as normal as you’ve been about me and Eddie? But there was something fragile in Maddie’s eyes and Buck wasn’t going to be the one to call her on it. “Chimney’s a good guy,” he said, finally.

“I said we’re just going as friends,” Maddie repeated.

“I know,” Buck said. “Though, he was my friend first, so if he should be inviting anyone to Jaws, it should be me.”

“Come on,” she scoffed. “We all know you have a better offer,” she said, leaving the plushie aisle and joining Chimney where he and Chris had discovered orca-shaped grabbers.

He was like, 80% sure he had plans tonight—he just needed to check. He found Eddie loitering by the giftshop entrance.

“So, about tonight . . .” he started.

“What?” Eddie blinked a few times, turning to focus back on Buck. “Sorry—I thought I saw someone—what did you say?”

“Did you—I mean, did you want to do something tonight? Only, Chimney and Maddie are going to a movie, apparently, and Chim was my ride so—”

“Oh, yeah,” said Eddie, easily. “You’re coming over tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” said Buck. “Yeah, I am.”

Buck was really enjoying Eddie’s couch.

He liked a lot of things about it. He liked how Eddie had sat on it, unbothered, while Buck and Chris rustled up a dinner of fried rice and homemade sweet and sour chicken—Buck was coming around to cooking in Eddie’s understocked kitchen; the challenge of it made him feel like he was on an episode of Chopped. He liked how he, Chris, and Eddie had piled on the couch after dinner to play Chris’s undead rabbit video game. He liked how Eddie told him to sit tight on it while he put Chris to bed.

And he really, really liked how Eddie had come back afterwards, climbed on top of Buck, and was now attacking his mouth with gusto.

“Been thinking—about this—all day,” Eddie gasped out in between kisses.

“Yeah?” asked Buck, reaching up under Eddie’s shirt. His eight pack really was insane.  “Even in the sea otter exhibit?”

Eddie rolled his hips down, eliciting a hiss from Buck. “Especially there,” he said, moving his lips to mouth at Buck’s jaw, the sensitive part behind his ear. Buck had a flash of Eddie pointing to that spot on himself, in the ring, saying that’s where you aim for a knockout, and he saw his point. 

Buck really wanted to get Eddie’s shirt off. And his pants, too, while they were at it. But when he tried to pull Eddie’s shirt over his head, he disentangled himself from Buck’s grip and sat back, looking at him.

Eddie was flushed and panting, and his eyes were glittering. Buck had never felt so dazzled. “Come on,” Eddie said, climbing off of him and reaching down a hand to pull him up. “Bedroom.”

The way he gave the instruction was really doing something to Buck. This was going to be a problem, because Eddie used that commanding voice at work a lot. But that was a problem for later Buck—right now, he had orders to follow.

“Yessir.” He meant it as a joke, but as he got up from the couch, Eddie’s gaze darkened and Buck noted that for later. 

Eddie grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway, even though Buck had figured out where his bedroom was by now. They were quiet as they passed Chris’s door, and Buck kind of felt like a teenager again, sneaking around a suburban house. A little unsure. A little out of his league. 

It had been a long time since Buck felt that way about sex; but that’s what Eddie did to him. 

Eddie closed the door to his bedroom and backed up against it, pushing it closed and looking up at Buck. “We have to be quiet,” he whispered. Buck would put duct tape over his own mouth if it meant Eddie would keep looking at him that way. 

“Yeah—yeah,” he breathed out, voice shaky, breathing out against Eddie. It’d been too long since his lips were on Eddie’s, so he leaned down for a hot, open-mouthed kiss, and he snaked his arm down between his legs and scooped his thigh up, until Eddie was nearly off the ground. Buck pushed his palm flat against the wall behind him, using his forearm to keep Eddie pinned, open. With his legs spread wide like that, Buck could thrust directly against him; he could feel Eddie’s hard cock, and he wanted to get his mouth back on it so badly he was nearly salivating. 

Bed—they needed to get on the bed. As much as Buck liked having Eddie pressed up against him, he didn’t want to have to worry about things like balance and gravity.

“Off, off,” Eddie said, yanking on Buck’s shirt, so he stepped back and peeled it off. “Pants, too.” Eddie ordered as he followed suit, and then he pushed him backwards until he landed on his bed.

Eddie climbed back on top of him, the only things between them now were Buck’s boxers and Eddie’s briefs. Eddie put his knees on either side of Buck and leaned down to lick into his mouth, grinding their hips together. The last time, in Buck’s bedroom, Eddie had seemed to be happy to let Buck take the lead; it had been his first time since Shannon, his first time with a man. Buck had wanted to ease him into it, make it about Eddie, make him feel good. 

But apparently this time, Eddie had other ideas.

He ground down again, and the pressure had Buck seeing stars. “Can you feel that?” Eddie asked. Buck nodded, because words were hard to come by. Eddie leaned forward and put his lips back on Buck’s neck.

Buck could tell from the delicious sting of Eddie’s teeth on his skin that he’d be marked up in the morning; he’d have to think of a cover story for that before their next shift. The nips and bites peppered down his chest as Eddie kissed further and further south, until Buck decided to let himself worry about the rest later.

Later came around 2 am, when Buck was lying awake in Eddie’s bed.

After what was definitely the best blow job of his life—if it wasn’t the most, like, technically proficient, it was definitely the most enthusiastically given; and for sure the most enthusiastically received—he’d tugged Eddie over the edge with him, and then they’d laid next to each other, blissed out and catching their breath.

“How was that?”

Buck thought the question was a little hilarious; Eddie could have stripped and laid there getting only himself off and Buck would have had a good time. 

“Could use some work,” Buck said instead. “Think we’ll have to keep practicing.”

Eddie elbowed him in the side and then shifted until he was looking at Buck. “Tough feedback to hear, but I appreciate the honesty.” Buck huffed out a laugh and kept his eyes on the ceiling while Eddie studied his profile. He wondered what he was looking at.

Eventually, Eddie reached out to rest his hand on Buck’s chest, and said, “speaking of honesty…”

But Buck reached down, grabbed his hand, and sucked two of his fingers into his mouth; effectively derailing that train of conversation. Eddie gasped, so then Buck had to lean over and stick his tongue in his mouth. 

“Let’s save the honesty for after round two,” he murmured in Eddie’s ear. And then he went to work distracting Eddie with every trick in his arsenal.

Afterwards, Eddie fell asleep almost immediately.

Buck stayed awake.

What had he been about to say? Speaking of honesty… I want to see what else is out there? Speaking of honesty… that was too close of a call in the locker room? Speaking of honesty…you should leave before Christopher wakes up?

Shit. Christopher. 

Earlier, at the aquarium Eddie had said you should come over—not you should stay over.

Buck knew the drill; in any other situation he would have left hours ago. And now, when there was a kid involved, was when he decided to push his luck? It wasn’t fair to Christopher—or to Eddie—to let himself fall asleep, to make himself their problem in the morning. 

Slowly, carefully, he extracted himself from Eddie’s warm bed. He used his phone light to collect his scattered clothes, the same way he’d done a hundred other times.

And with one glance back at Eddie’s sleeping form, he slipped out the door. 

Chapter Text

There were a lot of things Eddie hadn’t expected of Buck—the way he could posture like a tough guy while being a complete marshmallow, and how good he was with babies, and how bad he was at texting.

But waking up alone the next morning?

Eddie really hadn’t expected that.

At first, he’d thought maybe Buck was in the bathroom; maybe even in the kitchen, getting started on breakfast. But then he realized that all of Buck’s clothes were missing, his shoes and his keys no longer by the door where they’d been the night before.

Why . . . why would he leave? Eddie thought back to the night before—he’d thought . . . he’d thought they’d had a good time? And if Buck was going to freak out and be weird after they hooked up, wouldn’t he have done it after the first time?

At Buck’s apartment, they’d spent the rest of the day together after; it had felt so normal. So comfortable. Eddie was looking forward to a repeat today, since it was a weekday and they both had off. He’d imagined them dropping Chris off at school together, maybe stopping at that diner on 6^th Street and then coming back to the house.

With a free day stretching in front of them, they could have done anything—going back to bed would be nice, but they could also have gone for a hike or built that Ikea bookshelf that had been in his garage for two months or watched that documentary Buck had been talking about, the one about the defunct waterpark that had killed several people.

It was becoming apparent that, aside from whatever else was going on, Buck was quickly becoming his best friend. Eddie just . . . wanted him around. And if he wasn’t misreading the signals, he was pretty sure he was becoming Buck’s best friend, too.

So why had Buck left?

Eddie looked at his phone, but it showed no new messages. He scrolled up and read through their recent texts; after Eddie had met them at his gym, Buck had sent:

starting to regret this

you’ve only made maddie stronger

To which Eddie had replied, guess I should start tutoring you on the side.

And then Buck sent back, I’ve never been a teacher’s pet but i bet u could change that

Eddie had never replied to that, because it had been late, and they had work in the morning, and looking at his text thread with Buck was making him a little too wound up to sleep. But that didn’t seem like an I’m-about-to-break-up-with-you-text, even by Eddie’s inexperienced standards.

Though he did propose to Shannon right before she asked for a divorce, so maybe he really was just that bad at reading his partners.

No—he was right about this. He knew it. Buck liked him, and Buck had had the idea to go to the aquarium, and Buck had been very vocal about his appreciation for Eddie last night—as vocal as he could have been with Chris sleeping down the hall.

Something else had to be going on. Eddie turned his phone facedown and forced himself to not think about it as he got Chris ready for school. And on the way back from dropping Chris off, he drove straight to Buck’s apartment.

Buck wasn’t there.

Eddie had banged on the door, staring sternly into the newly installed security camera, which he wouldn’t have done if he knew Maddie was going to open the door.

“Hey,” she said, looking at him with that unreadable expression he’d seen in the ring a few days before. “He’s not here.”

Eddie felt the fight leave his body. Not that he’d shown up to fight, per se; he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to actually consider what sort of conversation he and Buck would have. He just knew that they weren’t on the same page and that he really, really needed them to be.

Maddie’s eyes softened; he must have looked especially pathetic. “Do you want some coffee?” she offered, holding the door open. He followed her in and accepted a mug. He didn’t even have to ask before she answered his question. “He went to an autobody shop in Culver City for a part for his jeep,” she supplied. “He still can’t figure out what’s wrong.”

“Lot of that going around,” Eddie mumbled into his coffee. Maddie looked at him. He probably should have waited for her to take the lead, to say more; or he should have left altogether and not vented about his and Buck’s love life to Buck’s own sister. But Buck had been sending so many mixed signals that Eddie needed a translator; and well, Maddie was there.

“He left, last night. I woke up and he was just . . .gone. And—I mean, he likes me, right?” Dimly, Eddie registered that this was vaguely embarrassing—the kind of thing middle schoolers asked their crush’s friends. But he didn’t care about his ego; he just cared about Buck. “I feel like he likes me. I know it hasn’t been that long but, I thought we were—but he keeps giving me these looks and being weird in front of the team and he says things like—like I can’t tell if he thinks that, or he thinks that I think that, and I know this doesn’t even make any sense, but—”

“No,” said Maddie, interrupting his rant. She poured herself some more coffee and hopped up onto Buck’s countertop. “It does make sense, actually.”

“How?” he asked, feeling desperate.

She brushed her hair back and met his eyes. “Buck has this thing, where he—” she paused, closed her eyes and sighed.

After a moment, she started again. “You have to understand, our parents kind of. . . did a number on Buck. We—we had a brother, and he died when Buck was really young, and our parents—they handled it . . . badly. Buck spent his whole childhood trying to get their attention. And they spent the whole time missing the son they’d lost. It wasn’t—it’s impossible to compete with a ghost. But that’s how they made him feel. Like he’d never measure up.”

Eddie thought of the snippets of conversation he’d overheard, the accusation in Buck’s mother’s voice; the defensiveness and the hurt in Buck’s. They wish they could trade me in, he’d said. For Daniel—that’s what he’d meant.

It made a sick sort of sense, he guessed. He’d noticed the way Buck bent himself backwards for others; the way he ranked his own well-being as the absolute last priority.

He looked up at Maddie’s face; her teeth pulling at her lip, her eyes watering. There was something vulnerable in them that reminded him of Buck. He thought of her mean right hook and the Hildy-powered 9-1-1 panel he’d talked Buck out of installing. Maddie hadn’t gotten off scot-free, either.

Eddie knew a little something about being the oldest sibling; about the weight of responsibility that gets put on your shoulders when your parents don’t know how to handle their own shit.

“That must have been tough for you, too,” he said.

Maddie blinked a few times, staying quiet until her eyes landed on a bird on Buck’s balcony. Eddie watched her watching the bird as it hopped around for a minute, wondering if he’d overstepped and somehow alienated both Buckley siblings in one day.

“We coped differently,” she said, finally. “I run. He clings.”

Eddie didn’t think that was necessarily a fair way for Maddie to describe herself; escaping an abusive situation isn’t the same as what he’d done to Shannon, as what Shannon had done to him. But he got the sense that she didn’t want to turn the conversation towards herself.

“If he clings, then why did he leave?” he wondered. It wasn’t accusatory, it was just—Eddie wasn’t exactly playing hard to get, here. Why was Buck trying his hand at running now?

She leaned back against the cabinets and let out a long sigh. “Yeah, well, our parents aren’t the only one who’ve broken Buck’s heart,” Maddie said, a new edge of bitterness seeping into her voice. “I wasn’t around for Abby, but he told me a little and—I think she was the first person he was really serious about. And I think that when she broke up with him, she made him feel like . . . like he was stupid for feeling that way.”

Ah. Abby. He’d heard the name a few times and he’d always wondered, what kind of person she was that they now alluded to her so cryptically? And how could someone be on the receiving end of Buck’s devotion and not see that for what it was worth?

“Well, she sounds fucking stupid,” he said.  

Maddie snorted, and Eddie appreciated that he had an ally who agreed with his take. “I know. It’s why I keep telling him to talk to you.”

“Why hasn’t he?” Eddie griped, getting up from the table so he could pace. “I tried, he just—” he paused, thinking about what exactly Buck had done to change the subject the night before. Had that just been a distraction? How had he gotten this so wrong? How had he wound up in bed with Buck twice without realizing that he had one foot out the door?

“He’s scared, Eddie.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, looking at him. “He’s attached, and he’s scared that you’re going to pull the rug out from him again.”

“I’m not,” Eddie insisted, well aware he was arguing this to the wrong Buckley. “I’m attached! I want him on the rug. I don’t know what the hell was wrong with Abby, but I’m—I’m not—that’s not what’s happening here.” When he’d told Chris about them, and Chris had asked does that mean Buck’s moving in with us? And Eddie had said not yet. Not yet! And yet somehow Buck was out there, still thinking he didn’t care.

For as far as they’d come, it felt like he was still trying to win Buck over, like he’d been doing since day one.

Or—day two.

“I know, Eddie,” said Maddie. “I was worried about you, at first. But when I saw you two together at the gym, I realized you weren’t the problem here. But he wants this, Eddie. I know he does.”

Eddie put his mug down on Buck’s kitchen table. He was sick of this, of knowing that things weren’t right between them. Of Buck being out there, doubting him. Doubting them.

“You said he’s at an autobody shop in Culver City?”

Maddie’s eyed him appraisingly. “Yeah,” she said, hopping down from the counter. “Yeah, he said it was called Floyd’s,” she told him.

“I’ll be back,” he said, picking up his keys. “I owe you one, Maddie.” He felt bolstered by the smile she’d given him as she waved him out the door.

In the elevator, he googled the address for Floyd’s Autobody Shop—it was only a nine-minute drive. It may have been stupid to go, to not just wait for him to come back, but Buck would never get that Eddie was serious about him if he didn’t start showing him.

The elevator dinged open on the bottom floor, and a man in a baseball cap was waiting to get on—for a second, he thought it might be Buck, but the man had a different build, different coloring. Actually, he—

He’d seen him before, hadn’t he? The day when Eddie carried in the security supplies. And . . . and yesterday, when a guy at the aquarium had caught his eye, and—and—

And the day he and Buck got trapped in the elevator—

That’s her piece of shit husband, Doug Kendall.

Fuck.

Maddie’s ex-husband was here—he was in the building—he was in the elevator—

Eddie found the stairwell, slammed the door open, and sprinted up the four flights of stairs, grateful he didn’t have seventy pounds of gear slowing him down.

He burst into the hallway. It was empty—did that mean he was already inside? He ran back to the door and tried the handle but it was locked; had Maddie locked it behind him? He banged on it instead, calling while fumbling in his pocket for his phone.

“Maddie! Maddie!” He was out of breath, “Mad—”

She pulled it open.

She was fine. She was confused, but she was fine. “Eddie, what—?”

And then everything went black.

A minute later, Eddie came to. His head felt groggy and slow, sure signs that he had a concussion. Something warm was trickling down the side of his neck, which would normally be a concern but it seemed unimportant when he could hear sounds of a struggle somewhere in the room.

“Fuck you,” he heard a woman yell—Maddie, he was with Maddie. But something was wrong—

Another bang echoed somewhere throughout the apartment, and Eddie tried to open his eyes so he could see. Everything was so fuzzy and lagged; he felt like the apartment was in a spin cycle.

Help—he needed to call for help. He should find his phone. Dimly, he registered that if he hadn’t talked Buck out of hanging up that creepy Hildy surveillance technology, he could have just shouted out for it to call 9-1-1. Buck would definitely say I told you so. Buck would say—

Shit. Buck would say, why the fuck did you lay on the ground uselessly while my sister was fighting for her life?

Eddie blinked, hard, willing his vision to right itself. He was right by the door, which was good, because they’d have to go through him to leave, but by the sound of it, he wasn’t sure Doug had bothered planning an exit strategy.

“Come on, Maddie,” he heard a voice taunt. “What did you think was going to happen? You came here to hide behind your little brother?”

Maddie yelled, but he couldn’t tell if it was in response to his words or something worse.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Doug said, infuriatingly calm. “Do you really want us to still be here when he gets home? I already had to take care of his coworker. You don’t want another death on your hands, do you?”

Finally, a bit of good news—even if everything about that pissed him off. Like hell was this dipshit going to touch Buck. And it was low on his list of complaints, that he was still being referred to as Buck’s coworker, but it was still on there.

This asshole thought he’d killed Eddie? Clearly he’d never been in combat before; had probably never faced a threat more serious than his own wife—and that was when she wasn’t fighting back. He was about to realize how much he’d underestimated her.

“Woah, Maddie,” Doug said, and Eddie’s vision finally cleared enough that he could see that Doug had his back to Eddie. His focus was entirely on Maddie, who had produced a knife from one of Buck’s kitchen drawers and was on the other side of the kitchen island from him. Eddie willed her to remember what he’d said about bringing a weapon into a fight.

Weapons—the keychain. The fucking violent keychain Keridac had sent—it was here. He and Buck had joked about it being too heavy to hang up on a normal key hook, so he’d left it on the console table to Eddie’s right.

Slowly, he lifted himself onto his knees. In a second, Maddie would be able to see him; but he’d seen her keep a straight face before, she probably wouldn’t give him away. Still, he had to be prepared for the possibility that Doug would turn around.

“Just put the knife down, honey,” Doug was saying. Eddie couldn’t wait for Maddie to kick him in the balls.

He was standing up now, fully in Maddie’s sight; but she didn’t even so much as flick her eyes to him. She kept them entirely on her husband as he pulled back his jacket, revealing something, and said, “I didn’t want to have to do this, but—”

Maddie’s face dropped and Eddie froze. There was only one thing that could mean—Doug had brought a gun.

He needed to move fast. His eyes landed on the keychain and he scanned it, looking for the stun-gun—once he picked it up it was going to make noise and then he would lose the element of surprise.

“Doug,” said Maddie, “Doug, please.”

She was trying to buy him time, keep his focus on her. She slowly putting the knife down, and Eddie watched her hand, timing the knife clattering to the counter with the moment he picked up the stun gun.

He flipped the on-button a second before making contact with Doug’s neck, and it gave him just enough time to flinch, so the stun charge barely skimmed his skin. Fuck.

Eddie stepped in, trying to land the weapon on him again, but Doug twisted backwards, pulling the gun out and training it on Eddie now.

After two tours in Afghanistan, this only served to piss Eddie off more. No way in hell was he getting shot again, and by this piece of shit.

“Hey, man,” Doug said, backing himself away from Eddie. “I don’t want to have to kill you. Why don’t you go lock yourself in the upstairs bathroom and I might leave you alive. If Maddie cooperates.”

“How about you get the fuck out of this apartment,” Eddie offered.

Doug thumbed the safety at the same moment Maddie came flying from the other direction, tackling Doug from the side. It didn’t fully knock him over, but his arm jerked and the gun went flying—but not before it went off.

A bang echoed through the apartment and Eddie felt an agonizing sting on his right shoulder; but it wasn’t the deep, thudding pain of getting shot—it felt like a searing burn, probably just a graze. Doug was still standing and Maddie had followed her momentum passed him, diving for the gun, so Eddie threw himself in his way, trying to get between Doug and Maddie, Doug and the gun.

He wanted to wind up and land a satisfying punch, but his arm felt like it was on fire. He brought his knee up instead and nailed Doug in the stomach; but then Doug slammed his elbow into his bleeding shoulder and Eddie’s vision went white.

When it cleared, he saw Maddie scooping up the gun. Maddie, running up the stairs. Doug, following her.

He staggered forward, realizing he’d landed right next to one of Buck’s windows—windows that now had security sensors installed, set to go off if they were opened without being deactivated. He reached down and wrenched the pane up with his left hand, causing a screeching alarm to blare through the apartment, hopefully distracting Doug. Between that and the gunshot, the police should be arriving soon.

He ran towards the stairs as fast as his fucked-up body would allow, grabbing the handrail to pull himself up after them. “Maddie!” he yelled pointlessly. He could hear a struggle, he could tell he wasn’t going to be fast enough and then—

A body went over the railing.

------

The chair next to his sister’s hospital bed wasn’t comfortable, by any means, but Buck had fully settled in for the night. The chair really didn’t have a lot going for it, but it was three feet away from Maddie, and that was his main concern.

“Stop staring at me, Buck.”

She hadn’t even looked up from her phone to confirm that he was. But—of course—he was. He didn’t know how he was supposed to stop staring at her, after today.

After his uber driver had asked, “uh, this you?” when they pulled up outside Buck’s apartment to find the parking lot lit up with blinding emergency lights. After he’d seen what turned out to be Doug’s body wheeled away in a body bag. After he’d found Maddie and Eddie sitting on the back of an ambulance, both of them huddling in thermal foil blankets, looking bruised and bloody and shell-shocked.

“Oh my god, Maddie—Eddie—what?”

He’d barely had time to stutter his surprise at the sight of them, at the sight of their disturbingly dazed eyes, before the EMTs descended upon them, guiding Maddie onto the gurney and shepherding Eddie towards a different ambulance.

Buck had stood between them both, paralyzed with confusion and fear and frustration that they couldn’t be treated in the same ambulance, so he wouldn’t have to—

“Go—go with Maddie,” Eddie said, pausing where the EMT was leading him away. The entire right side of his shirt was covered in blood and his eyes looked glossed over. Buck felt like he might cry. He was still holding the bag from the autobody shop, with the piece he’d needed for his jeep—which he now realized had probably been broken on purpose—and feeling entirely useless.

“Eddie—”

“”m fine,” Eddie said, fending off the EMT with his left arm. “Just a headache—”

“Concussion,” the EMT amended.

“‘nd a scratch,” Eddie diagnosed, gesturing to his bloody arm.

“Bullet wound,” she corrected again.

“Do you mind?” Eddie griped, sounding not entirely lucid. Buck wasn’t sure what the EMT’s response to that was, because he couldn’t look away from Eddie’s face.

“Eddie—” Buck said again.

“She-she needs you,” Eddie said. “I called—the team. I’ll be good. You—go.”

“Eds—”

“D’you trust me?” Eddie asked. Buck nodded, a knee-jerk reaction. “Then go,” Eddie said, and then he let the EMT finally pull him away.

“Sir, are you riding with us?” the EMT from Maddie’s ambulance—station 9, he registered—called out from where he stood by the door. Buck vaguely recognized him from other calls they’d both been on. He thought his name was something really generic, like Smith.

“Yeah—I—yeah, I’m coming,” said Buck.  He’d sat next to Maddie in the ambulance, listening as Smith declared that Maddie had a broken wrist, two fractured ribs, and a dislocated shoulder. Listening as Maddie gave him a stilted and tearful explanation of what had happened.

So, no. He wasn’t going to stop staring at her.

He couldn’t believe how close Doug had come to taking away everything Buck loved most. If the fall over his loft balcony hadn’t broken Doug’s neck, he would have wanted a go at him, himself. He had never felt so full of rage and worry—a huge adrenaline rush that hit him after all of the action was over, so there was nowhere for it to go.

He knew Maddie had more complex feelings to sort through—guilt and grief and relief and hurt. She’d been cycling through them over the course of the day since she’d been admitted to the hospital. But within the last hour or so, it seemed like she’d exhausted her ability to emote—which was fair enough—and the painkillers had probably kicked in, so she’d mostly been watching HGTV and fiddling on her phone.

“Delivery for Maddie Buckley?”

Buck whipped around at the voice, surprised to find Chimney in the doorway. He was holding two different bags of take-out in one hand and a laptop and a stack of movies in the other.

“What are you doing here?” Buck asked.

“I asked him to come,” said Maddie, as if it were obvious. Buck turned back around to stare at her. “What? We knew you wouldn’t go check on Eddie unless I had a babysitter.”

Chimney did a dumb little salute and said, “reporting for duty.”

“Why would I—would why I need to check on Eddie?”

“Uh, you mean, besides the fact that he got shot and concussed trying to help save my life?”

“Maybe because not going would make you a terrible boyfriend?” Chim added, stepping in and starting to unpack the bags onto Maddie’s bedside tray.

“I’m not—I—” Buck knew he wasn’t pulling off the lie; it was just that, in the wake of today, he couldn’t exactly focus on keeping his story straight.

Chim passed Maddie a bag of French fries and then paused while pulling out a container of Chinese food to fix Buck with a confused expression. “Eddie was right—why are you being so weird about you two?”

“Why did you say you two like that?”

“Uh, because Eddie told us you two were dating, like, two days ago?”

“Ha!” Maddie let out a gleeful bark of laughter that should have surprised Buck, given the day, but his brain was already glitching from this development.

“What?”

“He asked you over, you fixed his aunt’s car and made dinner with Chris, then you made out in his kitchen? Any of this ringing a bell?” Chim raised his eyebrows and exchanged a look with Maddie. “I thought Eddie was the one with the concussion.”

“He—he told you about that?”

“Yeah,” said Chim, dragging a chair from the corner of the room up to the other side of Maddie’s bed. “He had to. The loser had been pining after you for months and Hen and I were too invested.”

“I—”

Maddie was eating French fries like they were popcorn, watching Buck with a rapt expression. She held out the fries, offering them to Chim, without taking her eyes off Buck. He had no idea what his own face was doing.

“I’m confused,” said Chimney, taking a fry and chewing it thoughtfully. “Normally I can’t keep a secret, but I thought this was safe. Like . . . did you not know you two were dating?”

“I don’t think he did,” Maddie stage-whispered.

Buck ignored both of them; his brain was too busy replaying his and Eddie’s greatest hits, reframed in this new light. Weeks of Eddie approaching him cautiously, making comments about Buck’s health and Buck’s cooking and Buck’s coffee orders and Buck’s performance on calls. That one time Eddie cleaned the ambulance for him and then acted all weird about it in front of Bobby. The way Hen and Chim had tried to get Buck to give Eddie a chance.

He knew Eddie liked him—of course he did. After the last week, he wasn’t that obtuse.

But he’d assumed it was a passive thing, something vaguely opportunistic. That Buck was there, and Buck was willing, and Buck was fine with keeping things between them.  

He’d never imagined that Eddie had been—what had Chim said? Pining. After him. Specifically. So much so that he’d told Hen and Chimney. Chimney.

“I think we broke his brain,” Chimney said, pulling Buck back to the hospital room. “I’ve never had to do this before,” Chim murmured to Maddie. “Break the news to someone that they’re in a happily committed relationship.” He looked back at Buck. “You going to be okay there, buddy?”

A happily committed relationship. Oh fuck—he’d snuck out the night before. Eddie must have been so confused. And then—and then he’d—

He stood up. “I—I have to go—”

“There he is,” said Chim like he was commenting on a sports game, leaning back in his chair in satisfaction. “Knew he’d get there eventually.”

“But—Maddie—”

“Go, Evan,” she said, with more energy than he’d heard her have all day.

“He’s at home,” Chim offered. “Chris is staying at his aunt’s house, and Bobby’s there on concussion watch.”  

“Say hi for me,” Maddie said, waving him out of the room. As turned to leave, he heard her say to Chimney, “okay, start from the top, I need all the details from your side of the story.”

It wasn’t his first choice, leaving her alone with Chimney to dissect his love life; but after today, he figured he’d let it slide.  

The car dropped him outside Eddie’s house, where he could see Bobby’s truck parked in the driveway. He hadn’t figured out what he was going to say—the entire drive over, his brain had been stuck in a loop of Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Bobby answered the door, and he didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

“Hey kid,” he said, with that knowing look Bobby had way too often. “I heard you were on your way over.”

Buck huffed out an embarrassed laugh, cut his eyes sideways. “Is there a group chat about how clueless I am?”

Bobby shrugged. “If it helps, I only got added to it today.”

“It really doesn’t.” He sighed; glad Bobby hadn’t ushered him inside yet so he had a moment to gather himself. “How is he doing?”

“His arm seems fine,” said Bobby. “The concussion is pretty mild—a little confusion and disorientation—”

“Join the club—”

“But the doctors said that should be cleared up by tomorrow.” Bobby crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “How are you holding up?”

Buck shrugged. Bobby didn’t press him on it.

“Okay, kid,” he said, reaching out a hand and grasping him on the shoulder. “I know this is a lot to sort out—I’m here for you if you want to talk, alright?”

“Yeah, I—thanks, Bobby.”

Bobby gave his shoulder a squeeze and waited until Buck met his eyes. “Should I be drawing up some paperwork for the next time you’re on shift?”

So, he really was the last to know. He felt spectacularly idiotic. “I, uh, yeah—yeah,” he stuttered. “If Eddie still—you know.” He rolled his eyes at himself and was embarrassed to feel his throat tighten, like he might tear up.

Bobby seemed to realize he’d reached his limit and pulled his hand back. “Come on,” he said, straightening up and turning to lead Buck into the house. “He’s on the couch.”

Eddie was lying flat out across his couch cushions, with a warm compress over his eyes. A bandage was visible peeking out from under his tee shirt sleeve, and a baseball game was on the TV, with the sound on low.

“Eddie, you up for a guest?”

Buck watched as he stirred, pulling the rag off his eyes. Watched as he registered Buck standing in his living room. Watched as he let out a long breath, his mouth curving up in a smile as he looked at him.

“Come on, Bobby, it’s Buck,” said Eddie, keeping his eyes on Buck’s. “He’s not really a guest.”

Buck felt a pang in his stomach. It hurt, but in a good way.

“In that case, I’ll leave you boys to it,” Bobby said, picking his coat off of where it was hanging over the dining room chair. “There’s a lasagna in the fridge and cookies in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, Cap,” said Eddie, still looking at Buck. They kept staring at each other until they heard the door close behind Bobby.

Eddie scooted up into a seated position, making room for Buck at the other end of the couch.

Buck didn’t know where to start.

“How’s Maddie?” Eddie asked, finally breaking the silence.

“She’s—she’s okay,” Buck said. “I think as okay as she can be right now. The painkillers kicked in and Chimney brought her a bunch of takeout.” Eddie nodded, like he was glad to hear it—but not like it was a surprise. Buck wondered if Eddie was in the Buck-is-Clueless Group Chat.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry for—with Doug, I never thought—I don’t know how-how to repay you—”

“Hey,” said Eddie, gently, nudging Buck’s thigh with his foot. “I didn’t help so that someone would pay me back.” His voice was soft and teasing. “You can’t thank me for that.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at that. Either way, his eyes felt watery.

“Hey,” said Eddie. “I want to talk to you.”

Buck waited for the anxiety to come; the fear. The feeling he’d gotten the night before when Eddie said speaking of honesty . . . but instead he felt strangely calm. He met Eddie’s eyes, brown and warm and familiar. He nodded.

“It’s weird, because we’re so in sync most of the time,” Eddie said, unfolding and refolding the rag he’d been using as a compress. “You know what I mean? On calls, you always know what tool I’m going to need and I always know when you’re going to do something reckless,” he met Buck’s eyes and waited for him to nod. “And even—even in bed,” he said, stumbling over the words. But he didn’t flush, and he kept eye contact the whole time. “It feels like we just get each other.”

“Yeah,” Buck said, but it came out strangled. He coughed and tried again. “Yeah, it does.”

“I think we’ve taken it for granted that we understand what the other is thinking. And I think you’ve been misinterpreting this—I think you think I’m not all in. You think I don’t know how lucky I am to have you.”

“I don’t—”

“Buck, you think you have to like, earn attention from other people. That you have to be useful and prove your worth so people want you to stick around.” Buck felt that pang in his stomach again, twisting and hurting and soothing all at once. But Eddie wasn’t done yet. “It’s so hard to prove the opposite to you, because you keep fucking doing it—you keep saving my ass and fixing my problems.”

Buck opened his mouth to interrupt, but Eddie barreled on. “But even if you never did any of that—even if you weren’t the one who saved Chris, or if you hadn’t have found Carla or called Bobby or any of the million other ways you make my life easier, I’d still want to be with you. I don’t need you to make my life easier. I want you, because you make it better. Just because of who you are. And I know it hasn’t been very long, and I know it’s been a really traumatic day, but I just need you to know that. That I’m all in. That I—I love you.”

Buck blinked, blinked again, tried to clear out the tears; gave it up as a bad job and scrubbed at his eyes with both hands.

“That was a really good speech,” he told Eddie, sniffing in a way that was objectively gross.

“Thanks,” said Eddie, smiling at him. “I workshopped it with Bobby.”

Buck let out a noise—somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Fuck,” he said. “I didn’t—Eddie, I don’t know how, but I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t,” said Eddie, still giving him that soft look that was eating Buck up inside.

“You must have thought I was being so weird,” Buck went on.

“I was confused,” Eddie admitted, “when you invited Chimney on our date. And when you snuck out last night.”

“I’m sorry I did that,” Buck said.

“I’m not,” said Eddie. “Otherwise, Doug—”

“Oh,” said Buck. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Eddie nudged his thigh again, harder. “But don’t do it again.”

Buck sniffed again, wiping his nose off on his sleeve. He was a mess. “I just didn’t want to confuse Chris.”

Eddie gave him this look like he was trying not to laugh at him, but he wasn’t really giving it his all. “Confuse him about what? Buck, I told him we were dating.”

“So you told basically everyone else except for me,” griped Buck.

“I thought it was obvious!”

“Telling someone you’re attracted to them and telling them you’re in love with them are very different things!” said Buck, accusatorily.

“Well, now I’ve said both,” challenged Eddie. That time he kicked Buck’s leg, and Buck reached out and grabbed his foot. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Depends,” said Buck, rubbing his thumb over the bottom of Eddie’s socked foot. “What did the doctor clear you for?”

Eddie squirmed, trying to pull his foot back, but Buck held on, squeezing his fingers around Eddie’s ankle. Eddie sighed in defeat, like a liar. “No exerting myself until tomorrow,” he confessed, annoyed.

“In that case,” said Buck, dropping his foot back onto the cushion and kneeling up on the couch. He crawled up Eddie, making sure their bodies were touching at as many points as possible, and when he got to Eddie’s neck, he nuzzled into it. “I’ll just tell you,” he said, whispering into Eddie’s ear, “I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

The second time Eddie expects to wake up next to Buck, he’s right about it. Still—it’s not quite the languid, slow-kiss morning he’d anticipated.

“What year is it?”

“What?”

Buck was poking Eddie in the side, digging his fingers in more than necessary, in Eddie’s opinion. “We have to do your concussion test,” Buck said, way too loudly for whatever time of morning it was. “What day is it? Do you remember how you got here?”

“Buck?” Eddie groaned, blinking slowly awake. “From work? Why are you in my bed?”

Buck stilled for a moment, and then resumed poking Eddie with more gusto. “That’s not funny. You think you’re cute, but you’re not cute.”

“People keep calling me your coworker,” Eddie griped. “See how much you like it.”

“I noticed you still haven’t answered the questions,” Buck said. “Is that because you’re still concussed?”

“It’s because I’m still asleep,” said Eddie, letting his eyes drift closed.

“Don’t make me call Hen,” Buck warned.

“Fine,” said Eddie, finally opening his eyes and focusing them on Buck. It was a good decision—he hadn’t gotten to see sleep-rumpled Buck before. His curly hair was flattened on one side and his tee shirt was wrinkled. He looked so big and so soft in Eddie’s bed; he wanted to pull him on top of himself, like a weighted blanket. Husband, he thought, insanely. “I was concussed because you had a terrible brother-in-law. We are here because you’ve been obsessed with me for months and I finally gave in.”

“Oh no,” said Buck. “Your brain’s been addled. Time to get you to the hospital.”

“Is that not what happened?” Eddie said, making a face at Buck. Buck hissed out a breath and shook his head, pretending to look apologetic. “Maybe you should refresh my memory then.”

Buck shifted so he was fully on top of Eddie, lowered himself so he was a breath away, and then whispered, “nice try. Tell me what date it is.”

“It’s Thursday, August 12^th,” Eddie answered dutifully.

“And what’s your full name?”

“Edmundo Diaz.”

“Your name is Edmundo?”

“Is this still part of the concussion test?”

“Tell me what you did yesterday,” said Buck, still hovering over Eddie.

“I woke up alone,” whined Eddie, reaching his hands up and under Buck’s shirt. He wanted to yank Buck down until he was crushing him, but he resisted. “And then I spiraled for several minutes about why my boyfriend didn’t seem to like me very much.”

“Wow, that’s really sad,” ribbed Buck. But Eddie saw his eyes flash at the word boyfriend. “Can’t believe you admitted that.”

Eddie squeezed, delighting in pressing each of his fingertips into the muscles on either side of Buck’s abdomen. “Then I realized he was probably just being an idiot.”

“That thought process will serve you well in this relationship,” said Buck, and he was still holding himself up, but his eyes were looking a little glazed; Eddie was winning.  

“Look at you,” said Eddie, “admitting we’re in a relationship.”

Finally, Buck leaned down, pressing his lips to Eddie’s neck. “Mm,” he groaned, kissing his way up. “Say it again.”

“That you’re my boyfriend?” Eddie asked, totally understanding why this was working on him. Buck made a noise of assent, and Eddie took that as encouragement to keep going. “That we’re in a relationship,” he added, and this time Buck drove his hips down. “Exclusive—committed,” he was babbling at this point, but if Buck’s reaction was anything to go by, he’d found a trigger point, and he wasn’t going to let up any time soon.

Buck’s lips were working a spot onto his collarbone so Eddie barely had to lift his lips to whisper in Buck’s ear, “long-term.”

Buck lifted his head, and his obscenely blue eyes scanned Eddie’s face; without waiting for him to look his fill, Eddie lifted his own head up to capture Buck’s lips with his own. He gave him a long, slow kiss; wanting to pour all of his love into Buck, wanting to fill him up with a sense of security, and permanence.

He reached down to Buck’s sweatpants and began working them off, as well as he could manage without pulling away from his lips. Once Buck’s were kicked off, Eddie lifted himself off the bed enough to get his own briefs and sweats off; causing him to push up into Buck. The feeling was so delicious that he had to break the kiss to let out some sort of embarrassing keening noise he’d never heard come out of his own mouth before.

Buck sat back on Eddie’s legs, pulling his own shirt over his head, and then reached out to peel off Eddie’s, and hovered back over him. “God, you—you have no idea—”

“How good it feels?” Eddie asked, trying to get his hands on every bit of his uncovered skin. He reached down to where Buck’s cock was leaking against his thigh, and gave it a tug. “That you’re my partner?” Another tug, this time his fist giving a firmer grasp. “That I love you.” Buck was leaking so much Eddie didn’t even need lube, his hand sliding up and down easily.

“Eddie, I—”

He didn’t let up the punishing pace, or the murmuring in Buck’s ear. “I love you so much,” he said, wondering if he could talk Buck over the edge with praise and promises. “You’re so good to me, you’re so good,” he rambled. “Feel so good, just like this, forever,” he said, speeding up his hand on Buck, playing with the pressure. “Keep-keep you,” he breathed, reaching up to lick into Buck’s mouth. “Mine,” he switched up the tempo, running his fingers feather-light down Buck’s length, and then gave another hard tug up and—Buck was coming.

Eddie covered his mouth with his own, feeling the hum of Buck’s moans as he rode out his pleasure. He wanted to swallow every noise he made, keep them inside, just for him. He was glad Buck was getting off on this, because Eddie meant every word—no one else was ever going to get to see Buck like this again.

He was struck by the thought; of how they’d get to experience every first together, and every last. He was already hard, but the idea of it had him throbbing. He ran his hands up and down Buck’s back, smoothing circles onto his skin as he came down from the high.

They were barely kissing at that point, mouths open on each other, just trying to be as close as they could get. Eddie didn’t care about oxygen; he didn’t care about the cum spreading over his stomach, dripping onto his sheets; he just wanted more.

“God, I—I love-love you so much,” Buck breathed out, panting heavily. Then Buck pulled himself off of Eddie, and cool air rushed in and filled the space where Buck had been, setting goosebumps off over his skin.

“No—” whined Eddie, feeling floaty and out of control.

“Sorry, sorry,” he heard Buck from where he’d drifted off to the left. “Just looking for—lube, got it,” he said; and Eddie felt a rush of gratefulness for his past self, who’d grabbed a tube of it during his last trip to the grocery store, even though it had felt painfully optimistic at the time.

Buck was back on top of him, but not close enough; he was kneeling on either side of Eddie’s left leg, squeezing out some lube and barely touching him at all. Eddie let out a pathetic whimper, hoping Buck would get the memo and cover his body again with his own.

He didn’t, but instead he leaned over and nearly swallowed Eddie whole. Eddie’s whimper turned into a shout, and he fisted the sheets below him, feeling desperate. He looked down at Buck and saw that he was watching him back, eyes hungry, pupils blown wide. Carefully, Buck reached out to Eddie’s fist, and when he unclenched it, Buck lifted it until Eddie’s hand was on the back of his head.

Instinctually, Eddie tugged, pulling the curls between his fingers; Buck hummed in appreciation, and the Eddie felt the vibration deep in his stomach. Buck bobbed once, twice, and then used his other hand to push Eddie’s right leg up and open. His slick fingers left smears of lube where he slid them up Eddie’s thigh, until they were pushing between his cheeks.

Eddie let out a choked sound, not expecting it. “Buck—Buck—” he breathed, needy and wound up.

Buck stopped at the tip of his cock and sucked, hard, and then let go, while his finger prodded at Eddie’s entrance. “Just relax,” he said, voice ragged. “Can you relax for me, baby?” And oh—Eddie didn’t realize that he cared about pet names, but something about Buck calling him baby was really doing it for him.

He breathed past whatever wretched noise had come out of his mouth at the word, and said, “yeah, yeah,” near incoherent. Except how was he supposed to relax when all of his nerve endings were on fire?

Buck’s finger circled his rim, sliding easily around because of the mess of lube and cum. Buck was pressing kisses and bites around the inside of Eddie’s thigh now, while his neglected cock leaked onto his stomach. He pulled Buck’s hair and pushed forward, trying to steer him back towards where he wanted his mouth most.

“Patience,” said Buck, between licks. He opened wide and sucked Eddie’s balls into his mouth, one, and then the other, and Eddie’s hips jerked up and then down, seeking friction. Buck was going to kill him, one of these days.

“You’re going to kill me,” he told Buck. Buck licked a stripe up Eddie’s dick at the same time that his finger slipped inside him, and he made another incoherent noise.

“No, baby,” said Buck—he clocked him, of course he did. “I want to make you feel good.” He kept working his finger into Eddie, and the pressure of it was starting to turn into something else; Eddie was starting to understand why people did it. “That’s it,” said Buck, and Eddie could feel his breath against his weeping cock. “Let me take care of you.”

He started working in another finger, right as he went back to sucking Eddie down. He pumped his fingers in and out as he bobbed his throat up and down, and Eddie was quickly becoming undone. Then Buck did a twist with his fingers and—

“Fuck!” Eddie shouted, his body pulsing like a live wire. “What—what the fuck,” he panted, Buck’s fingers still inside him.

Buck eased his mouth off his dick and said, “feels good, right?” Another press, and Eddie found his body tensing at the heady feeling, stars bursting behind his eyes.

“Yes—god, yes—” he tugged Buck’s hair, wanting him closer. “Come ‘ere,” he mumbled, too far gone for more. “Buck, come—”

He successfully guided Buck up right where he wanted; where he could tug him in for a kiss. A sloppy one, their tongues barely making it into each other’s mouths. Buck kept his fingers in Eddie, pumping and pulsing and hitting that spot over and over and—

“Can you come, like this?” Buck asked. “I think you can, baby.” He increased his pressure, matching Eddie’s hip thrusts with his own. “Come on, I’ve got you. Let go.”

And Eddie did—his whole body taut like a tension rod, clasping around Buck’s fingers, back arched and fist tight in the sheets. The only part of him that hadn’t clenched was the hand he’d had in Buck’s hair, which thumbed softly over his eyebrow.

He collapsed flat down after, all the tension ripped from him. Buck followed him down, though angled his body a little so he was only half crushing him. His fingers were still inside Eddie, keeping him full.

He turned to Buck, whose face was now inches away on his pillow. Barely moving, he leaned forward, kissing Buck. Their lips barely met; there was so much saliva involved. Eddie loved it.

He loved Buck.

Slowly, Buck eased his fingers out and started tracing patterns up Eddie’s body. If he felt any more relaxed, he’d disintegrate into his mattress.

“That was something,” Eddie said softly, nearly whispering. “What’re you trying to prove?”

“That I’m boyfriend material,” said Buck, leaning back and smiling at him, like he was waiting for Eddie to decide if he was or wasn’t. Husband, his mind thought. Buck’s smile turned thoughtful and he paused. “I actually don’t think I’ve ever been a boyfriend before,” he realized out loud.

Eddie snorted. He reached out and carded through Buck’s curls. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

“So maybe,” said Buck, nuzzling into Eddie’s hand. “We can figure it out together?”

He liked the sound of that.

An hour later, after they showered and stripped the bed and Buck had made them omelets and smoothies, Buck ruined his own day.

“So . . .” he said, passing his smoothie from hand-to-hand. “I think I need to call my parents.”

“Why would you need to do that?” Eddie asked, emptying the dishwasher so he could reload it with the remains of their breakfast. Buck seemed to have moved past his concern for Eddie’s concussion and his shoulder, and now he was free to do as many chores as he wished.

“Uh, so they don’t find out their son-in-law died via Dateline?”

Eddie frowned, mulling it over as he unloaded the cutlery into the drawer. He reminded himself that it would be insane to say that’s fine they have a new son-in-law. He turned to look at Buck. “I see your point,” he admitted, aiming a newly cleaned spatula at him. “Counterpoint: fuck your parents.”

Buck snorted out a laugh, but then eyed him and plucked the spatula out of his hand. “You don’t even know my parents, Eddie.”

“I overheard your mom when she called you that one time,” Eddie said; and he didn’t have to get any more specific, because there had only been that one time. He handed Buck the silverware basket, so he could unload it. “Plus, I talked to Bobby about it. And Hen and Chim. And Maddie, actually—probably Maddie, the most.”

Buck gaped up at him, still clutching the flatware. “What? How have you—I haven’t even talked about my parents that much in the last five years. There isn’t even that much to say!”

“Did you miss the whole part where I was obsessed with you for months?”

Buck finally turned away, but not before Eddie saw the blush creeping up his neck. “First the group chat, and now this?” asked Buck, unloading all the spoons into the drawer. “What else have I been missing?”

“Hm,” said Eddie, pausing midway through reassembling the coffee pot to think. “Did you know about the bet Hen and Chim had about us?”

“What?”

They were getting off topic—Buck was trying to change the subject away from his parents. “Anyway,” said Eddie, “the point is, I don’t like the way they treat you.”

“Hen and Chim? They always do shit like that.” Eddie stared Buck down until he rolled his eyes. “Fine. But it’s fine, Eddie—I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be—”

“And anyway, it’s not even about me,” said Buck. “It’s about Maddie. It’s for Maddie.”

 Eddie sighed.

“Fine,” he said, eventually. “But you’re doing it on speakerphone.”

Buck didn’t actually take the call on speakerphone, but Eddie was hovering over him while he sat at the table, so he could hear most of it anyway.

“Hey, mom, is dad there? I have some news.”

“You got a girl pregnant.” Eddie bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“What? No. Why do you always think that’s why I’m calling you?”

“Well, I’ve seen your behavior, Buck. I’m still not convinced it hasn’t happened,” she paused, and he heard muffled yelling on the other end of the call.

Eddie leaned down to the opposite ear from where Buck was holding the phone and whispered, “to be fair, you did kind of end up with a kid.” Buck elbowed him in the gut.

“Your father’s here,” his mom said, in the other ear.

“I—no, it’s not that. I’m actually calling about Maddie. She’s fine, but—”

“So you have been in touch with her?”

“Yes, but—”

“So you lied, when I called you? Your own mother calls you in tears, begging for your help, and you just had no problem lying—” Eddie missed the days where they used landlines with phone hooks, and you could simply press in the cradle to hang up someone else’s call for them. He used to do it to Adriana all the time in high school.  

“Mom, can you please listen? Doug was abusive, okay, and Maddie was hiding out with me.”

“That’s no explanation for why you couldn’t tell us where she was,” his mother rebuked. “Where is she now? Put her on, we want to talk to her—”

Eddie paced around his own dining room chair, trying to will Buck to hang up the phone.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, mom. He found her here and there was an altercation and—Doug’s dead, now.”

“What are you saying? Buck, what? You’re saying Maddie—Maddie killed Doug?”

“Technically he died from the blunt force trauma of falling over my loft balcony,” said Buck. Eddie realized that if Buck didn’t want to keep living in his apartment—which was now technically a crime scene—he had a good idea for where he could stay.

“Is Maddie in jail?”

“What—no, no. It was self-defense, Eddie was there, and—”

“Who’s Eddie?”

“Oh, uh—my—my co—” Eddie must have been making a face at him, because Buck changed tact at top speed. “My co-ol boyfriend,” he said. Eddie snorted.

“Your what?”

“My boyfriend,” Buck said, sounding sure this time.

“Well, we’re very happy for you, Buck, but is now really the time to talk about your social life? What is going on with Maddie? Was she hurt? What happened?”

Eddie hit his limit. He reached down and plucked the phone from his grasp. “Mr. and Mrs. Buckley, hi, this is Eddie Diaz,” he said, in his most friendly professional work tone. “I’m Buck’s boyfriend—I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I—”

“I was with Maddie when Doug attacked. As you can imagine, it’s been an ordeal for her, and for Buck. But I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.” He glanced down at where Buck had turned around in his chair and was leaning on his own arm, watching Eddie on the phone.

Buck’s eyes were sparkling, looking delighted as he tracked Eddie pacing across the room. After fielding a few of their questions and then promising Maddie would want to call them in a week or two, Eddie finally hung up. They hadn’t asked to talk to Buck again.

“Hey Buck,” he said, hanging up the phone and sliding it across the table towards him. “I don’t like your parents.”

“How could you not like them?” Buck wondered. “They’re so warm and friendly. Didn’t you hear my mom say she was happy for me?”

“Because you have a cool boyfriend?”  

“Shut up.”

------

Buck loved the 118’s annual holiday toy drive. Bobby made a huge carafe of peppermint hot chocolate and they busted out old Santa hats, and they got to interact with the community in a fun way, for a change. They usually saw people at their worst moment, so it was nice to see them cheerful and full of holiday spirit. And sometimes the people they’d saved on calls came by, and it was a nice little chance to see how they were doing.

So Buck was used to blasts from the past; he was expecting a few faces that would surprise him.

What he was not expecting was Abby.

Abby Clark. There, in the 118.

He hadn’t heard from her since before the fire truck blew up—which he remembered, since he thought she might have reached out when he was in the hospital. He hadn’t talked to her since the day she held his hand and broke his heart, since she packed her bags and left the country.

Her hair was wavy and loose, and she was wearing these clear pink glasses that made her blue eyes stand out; her white sweater looked soft to the touch.

“Hey, Buck,” she called out as she approached. He almost felt a little stupid in his Santa hat; immature. But it was his job to stand on the other side of the donation table and accept toys for the gift drive, and he refused to be ashamed of doing his job. She held out a bag full of Lego kits as an offering.

Buck had done enough Lego sets with Chris to know that those boxes added up; this was probably a couple hundred dollars’ worth of presents in there. Abby was always classy like that; thoughtful.

“Hey, Abby,” he said back, taking the bag. “You look good,” he told her. Because she did.

He’d thought about this moment many times—albeit, mostly last spring, and not much since then. But he’d spent a decent amount of time imagining what he’d say when he saw her again; what she’d say; how it would feel. He was surprised to find that he mostly felt . . . indifferent.

At one point, he thought he might have loved her. He loved how compassionate she was, and how capable, and how funny. He loved how sure of herself she was, and how steadfastly she’d cared for her mother and how much patience she’d had with him, as he bumbled his way through his first real relationship. But standing in front of her, he was realizing that what made her an amazing person didn’t make her perfect for him, the way he’d imagined it did.

“Thanks, Buck,” she said, putting her hands in her pockets now that she’d handed over the bag. “You do, too.”

He shrugged and started unpacking it kits of pirate ships and dinosaurs and castles. He’d have to grab that pirate one for Chris, he thought; they were reading a chapter book about kids who time travel to a pirate ship, or something—they were working up to The Phantom Tollbooth. “What brings you to the 118? We did a lot of outreach for our gift drive, but I didn’t think we were gaining international traction.”

She laughed, like it surprised her. “Yeah, no,” she said. “I’m—I’m back, stateside. In Phoenix, actually.”

“Wow,” he said. “I, uh, hear it’s really nice there.”

“Yeah, it is,” she said. He waited for her to answer the subtext, why are you here? “My uh—I’m in LA with my boyfriend, Sam,” she said, gently, like she was breaking news of a diagnosis. “We’re in Phoenix, but he wanted to—you know, wanted me to show him around LA, so we’re here for a week. I’m going to catch up with Carla, too, and I just—I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh,” said Buck. He was a little confused, if he was being honest—probably because aside from Abby, all of his exes were hookups that could barely be called exes at all. Usually if someone reached out, it was because they were in town and newly single; otherwise, the understanding was that they didn’t have much else to talk about beyond that. He’d never been in a situation like this before. “Well—I’m good,” he said, though it came out almost like a question.

“Yeah?” she asked, looking at him a little too earnestly. “I know that we didn’t—I’ve thought a lot about how we ended things, and—”

“Oh, it’s okay,” said Buck. He’d spent enough time rehashing the way Abby had broken up with him; he didn’t need to relive it in the middle of their holiday toy drive. “Really, I—”

“I can’t find dad,” interrupted Christopher. In the cacophony of the station, Buck hadn’t heard him approach. The last time he’d popped over to check, Chris, Harry, and Denny had been huddled in the bunkroom with two plates of Bobby’s cookies and several Nintendo switches between them.

“Hey, bud,” said Buck, thrilled at the interruption. He was always happy to see Christopher; but sometimes it seemed like the kid had a sixth sense for when Buck needed a distraction. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

“Oh,” said Abby, concern taking over her previous awkwardness. “I can take you around, honey, if you need help looking for him. I know it can be scary, especially somewhere like this, but we’ll find him.”

“The firehouse isn’t scary,” said Chris, looking confused, from her to Buck. Buck realized what was going on, and tried to figure out how to tactfully explain to Abby that her concern was really not needed.

“It’s okay, Abby—” he started.

“Are you sure? You seem busy, with—” she gestured to the piles of toys that had stacked up on the other side of the table, which Buck was definitely supposed to be sorting through.

“Buck’s never too busy for me,” said Chris, looking to Buck for confirmation.

He felt a thrill of satisfaction that Chris could confidently say that; as a kid, Buck would never have made such an audacious claim about either one of his parents. But Chris knew the adults in his life always had time for him.

He ignored Abby—if there was a choice between paying attention to her or Christopher, Chris won every time. He squatted down until he was on eye level, and said, “that’s right Superman. Do you need your dad or can I help?”

“I need to get my other game—it’s in his bag in the locker.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Buck. “You know which locker, right?” Chris nodded. “The code is 1-2-3-4. Simple, right?”

“I think that might be a bad code,” Chris said, looking concerned. “Isn’t it supposed to be hard to remember?”

“Ah, you really are Eddie’s kid,” sighed Buck. “Go on, scram,” he added, nudging Chris in the direction of the locker rooms.

“He’s cute,” said Abby.

“I know,” said Buck, who always felt a thrill of pride when people said stuff like that to him about Chris, even though he really couldn’t claim any credit.

“Is he one of the firefighter’s kids?”

“Yeah, actually—”

“There you are,” said Eddie, who followed his son’s suit and appeared next to him with no warning. He looked out of breath, like he’d booked it there. Buck liked him that way—panting, hair a little messed up, eyes glittering at Buck. It was one of Eddie’s best looks.

“What’s up?” He asked. “Did you need me?”

“No more than usual,” he said, then turned to face Abby. “Hi.”

“Oh, right,” said Buck. He wondered if he should feel weird about introducing Eddie to Abby; mostly, he felt like he was ready for the trip down memory lane to be over. “Eddie, this is Abby. Clark,” he added, though, he was starting to realize that Eddie already knew that. “Abby, this is my partner, Eddie.”

Buck took the moment to steal a sip of Bobby’s hot chocolate as Eddie stuck out his hand. “I’m a firefighter too,” he said. “Buck meant we’re work partners.”

“Oh—“

“Because otherwise, we’re fiancés,” he added.

Piping hot chocolate burned Buck’s sinuses as he choked on his drink. 

Whatever Abby’s reaction to that news was, she switched to concern instead. “Are you okay, Buck?”

Buck coughed, hard, and gave her a thumbs up. Eddie was rubbing his back now, gently, which felt nice, but didn’t mean Buck wasn’t going to still kill him later.

“You sure?” checked Abby. When he nodded, she turned and offered Eddie a smile. “You gotta watch this one and choking—on our first date, he—”

“He told me,” Eddie interrupted. “What brings you to our station?”

Buck had seen glimpses of jealous Eddie—times when they ran into people Buck had slept with, or when someone flirted with him on a call—and it always warmed him, the little glares Eddie would give when he could get away with it, absurd ways Eddie would work their relationship into the conversation. But he’d never seen him quite so antagonistic. 

“She brought a toy donation,” said Buck, gesturing at the pile of Legos in front of him.

“Nice,” said Eddie, glancing at the stack of gifts and fixing his eyes back on Abby. “They don’t do gift drives in Ireland?”

“Eddie—“

“No, no,” said Abby to Buck, giving a smile that looked a little tender and a little guilty. “It’s a fair question.” To Eddie, she said, “my boyfriend Sam and I live in Phoenix now, and we’re just back in LA visiting. I just wanted to say hello.”

Buck was begging Eddie to not be a total shit and say something like, you did, now leave.

Eddie must have seen something of this on Buck’s face, so he just hmmed and stayed quiet.

“I’m glad I did,” said Abby, earnestly. “I can’t believe you’re engaged!”

“Me either!” said Buck.

“Did you meet at work, then?”

“Yeah,” Eddie jumped in. “Well, I started here while Buck was out on medical leave—I’m not sure if you heard that he was injured pretty seriously in the fire truck bombing; that would have been shortly after you left—“

“Eds—“

“And then while he was out recovering, he actually saved my son, Christopher,” Eddie said, pointing to where Chris was still rifling through Buck and Eddie’s locker. 

“But when he started back, I didn’t know,” Eddie continued, and his matter-of-fact tone dipped into something warmer as he looked at Buck instead, giving what Maddie called his heart eyes. “But within one shift, I was a goner.” 

“Aw,” said Abby, who was being a very good sport about all this, in Buck’s opinion. She gave them an indulgent smile they didn’t deserve. 

“He’s a liar,” he told her. “He actually yelled at me during our first shift.”

Eddie huffed out a breath. “Yeah, but by the end of that shift I was in love with you.”

“I know what you mean,” Abby said. “I knew Buck was special after one phone call.”

It was a peace offering neither of them wanted. He wasn’t annoyed, exactly, it was just—he would have killed for her to say something like that, ages ago. But now it felt wrong to think of her, thinking of him. It felt wrong to think of a time when he was with anyone other than Eddie.

Buck found himself wishing they actually were engaged—a thought he’d had before, fairly often, if he was being honest—because it would have felt nice to see matching rings on his and Eddie’s fingers. Mine. It was one of his favorite things to hear in bed for a reason.

Eddie didn’t look pleased at her parallel either. He reached down and grabbed Buck’s hand, even though he was usually good about keeping the PDA out of the firehouse. 

“That’s why I knew I had to lock him down,” said Eddie, rubbing a thumb over his hand, so gently that Buck almost wanted to forgive him for the lie. “I’d never let him get away.”

Buck snorted a laugh, but Eddie just kept his warm brown eyes fixed on his. And as much as Buck knew a lot of this was for show, he also knew Eddie meant it. He just normally said this stuff at home, not in the station, because otherwise Hen and Chim would start booing them.

“I’m-I’m really happy for you,” said Abby, finally. “Both of you. Buck, it was good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Abby,” said Buck.

“Yeah, thanks for the donation,” said Eddie, in his friendly-public-servant voice. Buck’s lips twitched at the tone. 

“Take care of yourself,” she said, turning to leave. 

“You too,” said Eddie, unable to resist the parting shot. “Hopefully we won’t see you again.” Buck elbowed him in the side. “What?” said Eddie, guiltlessly. “We’re first responders, Buck, people see us at emergencies. It’s actually rude to say you hope to see people again.”

It was childish, but Buck didn’t actually care enough to make Eddie be nicer. He actually kind of loved when Eddie got bitchy; especially over Buck. So he missed it when Abby gave a final wave and left the station; he was too busy looking at Eddie.

“What?” said Eddie, his lips pursed.

“I can’t decide if I want to take you out to the alley way and kill you or blow you.”

“Oh my god! We are at work, you animals!”

They both jumped, realizing Chimney had stopped by the table to grab the stack of Lego boxes. “There are children here,” he continued, hiss-whispering. “Including yours! Can you two keep it in your pants for one day.”

“Sorry Chim,” said Eddie, who hadn’t toned down the heart-eyes at all, actually. Buck knew which way he was leaning about the whole alleyway situation. “I just can’t resist Buck in a Santa hat.”

“Leave me out of it, I am begging you.”

“You’re just jealous because you and my sister refuse to admit you’re dating,” pointed out Buck.

“I—you—this is a hostile work environment,” said Chim. “Bobby!” He called, picking up the stacking and taking them to the wrapping table, pausing to throw one more dirty look at the two of them. 

Eddie turned to look at him. “Hey—”  he started, but then a voice distracted them.

“Dad?” Eddie and Buck both turned to where they could see Chris standing in the locker room, holding Eddie’s bag.

They crossed the steps to the glass door, so Chris wouldn’t have to yell, and Buck could hear Eddie muttering “fuck fuck fuck,” under his breath. 

“What—?”

“What’s this?” Chris pulled out a small box—the kind you might keep a ring in.

Buck felt like he was going to have another coughing fit. “Ah,” said Eddie, taking the box from him. “Remember what we talked about, buddy? About me asking Buck if he wants to get married? Normally when you do that, you give the person a ring.”

“Yeah—oh, wait, wasn’t that supposed to be a surprise?”

Eddie laughed at his son. The kind of laugh that made Buck fall in love with him the first place. “Uh, surprise?” He said, flicking the box open and holding it out to Buck.

Buck looked at the ring, a simple gold band; it looked like there was an engravement on the inside, but his eyes were too watery to read it. He looked back up at Eddie.

“Fiancés?” he asked, breathlessly.

“If you’ll have me,” said Eddie. “Us,” he corrected, stepping towards Chris. Buck thought of how Eddie always teased him for loving Christopher more; said he only stuck it out so he could be roommates with Chris.

Buck had no idea how he had lucked out with such a package deal. He had no idea how he managed to find his favorite people, and that they wanted him to stick around.

“Yeah,” said Buck. “Yeah, I really, really will.”