Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The buzz around LAFD Station 118 hasn’t faded. Everyone’s still talking about the helicopter maneuver that saved Captain Bobby Nash and Sergeant Athena Grant amongst others from the capsized cruise ship. In one corner of the station, Buck pumps weights, watching as Tommy and Eddie lean against a table and laugh.

Eddie nudges Tommy with his elbow. “They’re calling you ‘Top Gun’ now,” Eddie grins.

Tommy Kinard–former military pilot and current firefighter pilot at Station 217–flashes his bright smile. “I’ll take it,” he chuckles. “Beats Tinkerbell, which was my nickname in the army.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Eddie snorts. “I’ve heard much better back in my time as a combat medic. You are definitely a Tinkerbell though.”

“I’m just glad no one drowned.”

Buck sets down the weights, wipes his hands, and approaches with a grin. Too eager, maybe, but he’s trying. Always. “Hey, at least now I know who to call the next time I start slipping.”

Tommy responds with a polite laugh. “Don’t go testing me.”

“Buck’s life is a test we’ve been failing for years,” Eddie warns with raised eyebrows. “Guy’s a magnet for chaos.”

“Hey,” Buck says, voice a little tight. “I don’t try to almost die. It just… happens.”

Tommy takes a few steps foward and places his hand on Buck’s shoulder. Buck glances at it–warm, grounding–then up into the pilot’s eyes. “Well, if you do almost die,” Tommy says, smiling, “at least make it dramatic.” He steps back and winks before exchanging another look with Eddie. “I like a challenge.” Another laugh. Another thing Buck isn’t a part of.

Buck forces a grin as Tommy walks off. “Right. Drama. My specialty.”

Eddie sips his coffee, lingering for a moment, then pats Buck’s shoulder on the way out. “You good, buddie?”

“Totally.”

The sound of their footsteps fades. Plans for the bar later trail off with the two men. Buck stays where he is, scratching absentmindedly at his arm. The weight of things left unsaid settles in the room around him. He picks up his towel and exhales, surrounded by quiet. Another plan Buck wasn’t invited to. Another moment where he feels left out.

The shift winds down. Most of the shift has already swapped out. Buck sits on the bench in front of his locker, shirt half-on, staring at nothing in particular. His hands rest still in his lap. Too still.

Hen walks in, tossing a towel into the bin, and pauses mid-step when she sees him. “You okay, Buck?” she asks casually, as if she’s just making conversation. But Buck knows Hen. She doesn’t ask questions she doesn’t already have the answer to.

He plasters on a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She arches an eyebrow, not buying into his pretense for a second. “Tired like you ran a marathon, or tired like you’re pretending you don’t feel invisible?”

Buck’s face falters. He was never any good at poker.

Hen sighs and sits down beside him, bumping her shoulder gently into his. “Talk to me, Buck.”

Buck shakes his head, eyes glassy but dry. “It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

A beat.

“I thought… I thought Tommy was cool,” Buck says softly. “He is. He’s brave and calm and all put-together. But it’s like–ever since he showed up, Eddie lights up around him. They’re always off doing stuff together, flying to Vegas, having inside jokes, laughing. Bonding.”

Hen listens intently, her expression warm and steady.

“And I know it shouldn’t bother me,” Buck continues. voice lower now. “They’re allowed to be friends. Eddie can hang out with whoever he wants. But I–” he swallows. “I feel like I got left behind.”

Hen leans back slightly. “You’re scared of losing Eddie.”

“Maybe I already did,” Buck admits, jaw clenched.

“No. You didn’t. But if you keep slipping into your own head like this, he might think you’re the one pulling away.”

That lands.

Hen shoulder bumps him again. “You gotta talk to him, Buck. Or Tommy. Or both. Don’t let this fester.”

Buck nods slowly, taking in the information.

Hen stands up and starts to leave–then pauses in the doorway and turns around. “You’re not invisible, Buck. Not to the people who matter. Go talk to them.”

Buck drops his head. Shirt still halfway on. Quiet breaths.

Chapter Text

The smell of fresh, hot coffee fills the air at Station 118. Sunlight gleams off of the polished counters. Eddie’s at the island chopping fruit–the crisp sound of the knife hitting the cutting board cutting through the morning silence. Toast pops up behind him while Tommy scrambles eggs on the stove, the sizzle low and steady. There’s a smooth, easy rhythm between them. They reach their way around each other without needing to speak like they’ve been doing this for years.

“So, you guys actually do this every day?” Tommy asks, skeptical. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”

“When I’m not chasing Christopher out the door,” Eddie replies, placing the knife in the sink, “But we all take turns.”

Tommy laughs. “Man, I’m lucky if I get a granola bar. We don’t do anything like this down at Harbour.”

“Now you’ve got me,” Eddie smirks. “Full service.”

Tommy puts a hand over his heart and mockingly swoons. “Be still, my beating heart.”

Buck walks into the kitchen as the rich laughter echoes throughout the station. He’s the opposite. Quiet. Not sulky. Just… muted. Withdrawn. The light doesn’t catch in his eyes the same way the rest of the room catches it.

“Hey,” Buck mumbles, moving to the coffee pot.

Tommy glances over. “Morning, Evan,” he says in his smooth, deep voice.

Buck freezes while reaching for a mug. “Well, actually it’s–”

Tommy looks up at him, a flicker of curiosity across his face. That cleft chin more noticeable when he tips his head just so.

Buck’s gaze lingers too long before he jerks it away. “Nevermind,” he says, his ears turning pink. He grabs a mug a little too quickly.

Eddie notices. Quietly, he offers Buck an apple slice like a parent giving their child some cut-up fruit: “You hungry, Buck? We’ve got eggs, toast, fruit. The Kinard-Diaz breakfast special.”

Buck brushes away Eddie’s hand and breaks eye contact with those warm, deep brown eyes and turns back around to his coffee. “Nah, I’m good.”

Tommy glances at Eddie and asks, "Is he always this quiet in the morning?" He hasn't been around much but even in his short time around them, he's noticing changes in Buck's behavior.

Eddie shakes his head and waves his hand. “You sure? You didn’t eat much yesterday either.”

Buck grips the counter. “I said ‘I’m good.’”

That’s sharper than either of them expects. The room goes a little still, like the moment before a glass tips. Tommy looks up from the pan, eyes narrowing slightly. “You okay?” he asks, calm but alert.

“I’m fine,” Buck shrugs, not turning around.

Tommy and Eddie exchange a look behind Buck’s back. No, he’s not.

Eddie sets down his apple slice, stepping closer. “You’ve been kinda quiet lately.”

Buck turns then–eyes a little too tired, smile a little too thin. “Sorry I’m not as fun as your new best friend.”

Tommy and Eddie blink in unison.

“What?” Eddie asks.

Buck waves his hand. “Forget it. I’ve got dishes.” He grabs a sponge and starts scrubbing the knife Eddie placed down in the sink earlier. Firmly.

Tommy watches him for a moment. Before Eddie got a chance to open his mouth, Tommy put his hand on Eddie’s arm and interjected, tone gentle but no-nonsense. “Evan.”

Buck doesn’t answer.

Tommy comes closer. “Hey, kid. Look at me.”

Buck stops his scrubbing and places down the sponge. His jaw’s tight. His eyes shiny. But he looks at the pilot.

Tommy softens, but his voice stays steady. “Are you feeling left out?”

That cracks something open.

“I don’t know,” Buck says, barely above a whisper. “You guys have this… thing. You click. And I’m just… there. I don’t know where I fit in anymore,” he says, gesturing with his free hand.

Eddie steps in. “Come on, Buck. You fit with me.  You always have.”

Buck catches his breath.

Tommy doesn’t argue. Just nods slowly, aware he might be guilty of excluding Buck. “You matter to both of us, Evan. We didn’t realize you were feeling like this. We had no ill intentions.”

Eddie touches Buck’s arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Buck sets down the knife and finally lets out a breath. “Because I didn’t want to sound pathetic, Eddie.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches.

“That was kind of pathetic,” Eddie jokes.

Buck rolls his eyes but laughs. Yeah, maybe I was being pathetic.

Tommy surprises Buck by reaching out, hand on his shoulder. Still warm. Still grounding. As if reading his mind, Tommy says firmly, “You’re not pathetic. And if we made you feel otherwise, that’s on us.”

Eddie gets serious again. “We’re sorry, Buck.”

Buck swallows. His shoulders sagged, like the men have taken and held all the weight for him–even just for a second.

Takeout containers–courtesy of Tommy–all but one lay empty on the patio table in Eddie’s backyard. Eddie snapped open two bottles of beer before clinking with Tommy. On the other side, Buck and Christopher are sitting together, roasting marshmallows.

“Buck?” exclaims Christopher, holding his skewer. “I think I burnt my marshmallow.”

“No, no. That–it’s perfectly fine,” Buck sugarcoats, “Why don’t you take mine and I’ll have yours.”

“Deal,” Christopher giggles.

Eddie and Tommy take some sips as they watch the curly-haired boys smiling and basking in the warmth and golden glow of their little bonfire. Pink, purple, and blue hues fill the sky as the sun begins to set. “Hey Buck, I think it's time our Christopher goes to bed.”

Christopher whines. “Aww, dad. Can’t I stay up with you guys?”

Buck answers for Eddie. “Sorry buddie, can’t have you falling asleep in school. Come on.” He gets up and waits for Christopher to get up too. “I’ll tuck you in.”

Buck and Christopher disappear into the house. “They’re both kinda adorable,” Tommy says. “Buck seems to have a real love for kids.”

“He sure is,” Eddie responds quickly, not realizing his use of the singular pronoun–much less how open to interpretation that statement was. It went over Tommy’s head, too.

The flames still dance against the night sky. Eddie’s sitting on the ground near the fire pit, legs stretched out. Tommy is lounging on the patio couch on one side, bottle in hand. Meanwhile, Buck takes up the other two-thirds of the couch. He’s hankered out, laying on his stomach with his feet hanging over the armrest and his arm dangling off the couch.

Tommy smirks in response to something Eddie said. “Evan, you dated a death doula?’”

Buck lifts his face and groans, “I liked her until all she wanted to talk about was death. Thanks for exposing my business, Eddie.” 

“No problem,” Eddie laughs.

Buck sits up and changes the subject. “Hey Tommy, why were you nicknamed ‘Tinkerbell?’”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?”

“Come on, Tommy,” Buck pleads with his wide eyes.

Tommy’s face softens for a moment. “I’ll tell you when you finally start dating the right people.”

“You guys are mean to me.”

“We’re honest,” Eddie corrects him, before gently adding “And we love you.”

Buck’s smile falters just for a second, caught off guard by how easily Eddie says it. How easily it rolls off his tongue. He looks away and tips his bottle back.

Tommy nudges his shoulder lightly with his own. “Seriously, kid. You’re good company. Even when you think you’re not.”

Buck grins, “Thanks, Tommy. I’m glad we’re friends, too.”

The night lapses. It’s quiet. No music. Just the crackles of the fire, chirping crickets, and a cool breeze. Buck’s tank top isn’t quite cutting it. He shivers. Without a word, Eddie tugs the soft throw blanket from the back of his chair and drapes it over Buck’s shoulders, fingers brushing the side of his neck.

“Thanks, dad,” Buck mumbles.

Eddie sits down on the other side of Buck and smirks. “Watch it. I’ll make you mow the lawn next.”

Tommy shifts over close enough that he brushes against Buck. “I’ll supervise.”

“Of course you will,” Buck says, already half-lulled by the fire and warmth.

The three of them sit there like that–shoulders touching and breathing slowly. Not completely leaning into each other, but not pulling away either. Buck starts to doze off, head lolling towards Tommy’s arm. He didn’t mean to let his head rest there. It just happened. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Neither of them moved. “Huh,” Tommy murmurs. He looks up. A few golden lights flicker around them.

Buck follows his gaze, eyes soft with sleep. “Fireflies,” he breathes. They drift and glow around them–quiet sparks in the dark.

Tommy shifts slightly to support Buck’s weight better. Eddie reaches over to tuck the blanket more securely around Buck. The men’s eyes meet across the firelight. No words needed. It’s the kind of silence that settles easy, the kind of fit that tells you where you belong.

Chapter Text

The air is thick with smoke. Everyone’s in motion. The sound of boots crunching through the dry brush and the crackling of the radios are all anyone can hear aside from the roar of the flames and Bobby’s orders.

Buck is hauling the firehose upwards, sweat streaking down his face. Eddie appears behind him without a word and helps feed the hose up the slope.

“Thought I had it,” Buck pants. Not annoyed. Just independent.

Eddie just glances over, eyes calm. “Didn’t say you didn’t, Buck.”

The sound of wind blades hovering up in the air grows louder, slicing through the smoke-choked air. Everyone pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes lifted to the sky. The helicopter crests over the glowing ridge, glinting in the early sunlight.

“Chopper inbound!” Bobby calls out.

The wind whips up around them as the red-bellied bird begins to descend into a nearby clearing. Dust and ash billow into the air like a second smoke cloud. Buck squints against it, one arm raised to shield his eyes. His ears deafen under the sound.

The moment the skids touch down, a familiar figure hops out of the doors–helmet under one arm and radio clipped to his vest.

“Tommy!” Buck shouts, relief in his voice.

Tommy jogs up, eyes scanning the scene. “You boys trying to make me earn my hazard pay?” he jokes, but there’s concern behind the words as he claps a firm hand on Buck’s shoulder in passing, then falls beside Bobby to coordinate containment lines and aerial water drops.

“Glad you made it,” Bobby says, without looking away from his map.

Tommy nods. “Let’s cool this thing down before it spreads.”

Hours later, when the sun is still moving across the sky and the worst is over, they regroup near the engine. Buck’s sitting on the bumper. Eddie spots the slight shake in his hands and hands Buck a bottle of water that is immediately gulped down. He crouches down, eyes narrowing at Buck’s hands. “You’re shaking.”

The helicopter sets down in the clearing and Tommy runs up and sits beside him. “You guys look cooked.”

“I’m fine,” Buck says.

Tommy lifts an eyebrow.

“Let me check, Buck,” Eddie says, gently taking Buck’s wrist. Buck flinches just slightly. Eddie notices and looks at him while checking his pulse. “You’re not fine. You’re dehydrated and probably running on fumes.”

Buck rolls his shoulders.

Tommy tilts his head toward the engine. “Lie down in the back. Five minutes. Your captain won’t say anything.”

Buck hesitates, but there’s no fight left in him. He nods. Eddie helps him up, steady hand on the small of his back. Buck mumbles, “You two always gonna gang up on me?”

Tommy chuckles. “Only when we’re trying to keep our favorite golden retriever from collapsing.”

Buck lies back in the rig, the cool shade wrapping around him. He hears their voices outside, low and calm. Just another day on the job.

The engine’s been wiped down, gear checked, supplies restocked, and boots kicked off. The usual noise of the station has faded to a hum.

Buck sits at the kitchen table, turnout pants still on, hoodie soot-smeared, and hunched over a notepad. He doodles circles absently with the TV low in the background. His food is half-eaten. There’s a rawness in his eyes he thinks he’s hiding. He’s quiet. More than usual.

Tommy walks in first. No announcement. Just opens the fridge, grabs a gatorade, and shifts his gaze. “Do you eat that or just admire it?” he asks, nodding towards Buck’s plate.

Buck shrugs, not looking up. “Trying.”

Tommy doesn’t push. He just twists the cap off, takes a sip, then slides the drink across the table to Buck. “You like the red ones, right?”

Buck pauses, surprised, and looks up before giving a small nod. “Yeah.” He takes a sip.

Tommy doesn’t say anything else. Just stands nearby.

A moment later, Eddie appears, towel slung over his neck from the showers. His hair is damp and weighed down. He sees Buck still in turnout gear and frowns. “You didn’t clean up?”

Buck shakes his head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Eddie watches him for a beat, then disappears down the hall. Buck thinks maybe that’s it. But Eddie returns a minute later with one of his own shirts, faded and soft. “Toss that hoodie,” Eddie says gently, placing his shirt on the table. “It’s covered in ash.”

Buck hesitates.

Tommy jokes from behind. “Don’t make me call HR and tell them Diaz is trying to undress you.”

That earns a smile from Buck, small but real.

“You gonna help me change too, Kinard?” Buck mocks.

“Don’t tempt me,” Tommy replies, deadpan.

Eddie snorts and claps a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Shower. Now. I’ll warm up your plate.”

Buck finally moves, mumbling under his breath. “Bossy.”

Without missing a beat, Eddie says “You love it.”

Tommy nods in agreement.

The men watch as Buck disappears into the locker room. Eddie turns around and looks at Tommy. “He was off all day.”

Tommy folds his arms. “You noticed the hand thing, right?”

“Yeah.” And the flinch. Maybe I’m just imagining it.

Tommy looks toward the locker room, keeping an eye out. “You think he’ll tell us if something’s really wrong?”

Eddie sighs. “Not right away. But eventually.”

The men go back to warming the food, washing the dishes, and cleaning up the kitchen. Silent rhythm all over again. Two men watching out for their third–before any of them have a name for it.

The bathroom door creaks open. Steam spills into the hall, curling like the smoke from earlier. Buck steps out, curls damp and wearing Eddie’s too-big shirt. The hem brushes a bit of thigh that his boxer briefs doesn’t cover. He runs a hand through his hair and blinks at the light in the kitchen.

Tommy’s sitting at the kitchen table, phone in hand, legs kicked out. He glances up and just for a second–he freezes. At the shirt reaching halfway down to his knees. The birth marks adorning his eyebrow. The soft look in Buck’s eyes. It's like the volume in Buck's head finally matches the world around him.

“You look like a kid at a sleepover who forgot his pajamas,” he says adoringly.

Buck quirks a smile. “I feel like one.”

Eddie, standing at the stove, turns at the sound of Buck’s voice. “Feeling better?”

Buck shrugs. “Clean.”

Eddie lifts the now-reheated plate with a fork tucked in. “Sit.”

Buck knows better than to argue after today. He obeys, sliding into the seat adjacent to Tommy. He starts eating. Slowly, but he does. Tommy watches him gently. Eddie joins them, sitting on the other side of Buck–like instinct.

Buck, feeling conscious, pushes away his nearly empty plate of food and swallows. He glances down. His hands are a little better now. Steadier. But not by much.

Tommy’s voice breaks the silence. “You do that often?”

Buck looks up. “Do what?”

Tommy taps his own fingers lightly–mimicking the shake. “The tremor.”

Eddie adds softly, “We noticed it earlier on the ridge.”

He looks between them, eyes guarded but not shut off. “It’s nothing.”

Eddie responds, “Still gonna watch it.”

Tommy leans forward on his elbows. “That from anxiety or..?” trailing off.

Buck hesitates. His voice is small, like he doesn’t want to take up space. “Sometimes. Sometimes it gets worse when I’m… worn down and haven’t eaten.”

Tommy just nods. “So we pay attention.”

Buck blinks, thrown. “You don’t have to–”

“We know,” Eddie cuts in, calm and firm. “Doesn’t mean we won’t. That’s what friends do. Without asking.”

There's silence then.

Tommy taps the table once, like a gavel. “Alright, that’s it. Diaz and I are splitting dessert. You want in?”

“We have dessert?” Buck asks.

Eddie lifts a corner of his mouth. “We have a leftover brownie Hen made.”

Tommy’s already up. “I call the corner.”

“You always call the corner,” Eddie mutters.

“Because I get there first.”

They bicker good-naturedly at the counter, and Buck watches them with something warm in his chest. He doesn’t have the words for it yet. Maybe he won’t for a while. But when Tommy returns and drops a paper towel with the corner of a brownie in front of Buck, while sharing the other, softer half with Eddie, and Eddie sets down a glass of milk without comment–Buck feels whatever it is anyway. He never thought he'd feel this happy. This wanted. It can't be real.

Tommy picks up Buck’s glass of milk and takes a sip oh so casually and grins. “It’s good. Drink up.”

Chapter Text

A few days later, Buck is curled into the corner of the firehouse’s couch. He’s sitting upright, knees up to his chest and long-sleeved arms hugged around his legs. His eyes are open, but just barely.  Across the room, Hen sits at the table, sipping her tea and looking at some adorable family photos on her phone.

Tommy walks in from the kitchen, carrying a mug of coffee for himself and another filled with something lighter. He’s made himself at home since he transferred back with Captain Bobby’s permission and enthusiasm. “Hey, couch potato” he says, not too loud. His crow’s feet wrinkles handsomely as he smiles widely. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

Buck shrugs. His new favorite emote.

Tommy squints at him. “That’s not an answer.”

Buck exhales. “I didn’t really get much sleep at home,” he thinks. His memory flashes back to last night. Sitting on the cold, tiled floor of his apartment’s bathroom with his back against the even colder porcelain tub, in the same position he is now, looking up at the ceiling with tears dripping down his cheeks and wondering what’s wrong with him that he can’t appreciate all that he has in his life. His quiet sniffles echoing in the bathroom between each gasp of fresh pain. He pulls the sleeves further down over the slight tremor in his hands absentmindedly.

Tommy crosses the room, setting the other mug down in front of him. “Cappuccino, sickeningly sweet.”

Buck looks at the mug and then up at him, eyes sparkling. He couldn’t believe that Tommy remembered his favorite drink, let alone made it. “You made this?”

Tommy smirks, ruffling his curls. “No, I summoned it from the sky, silly goose. Drink up.”

Buck takes it with both hands, cradling it like the warmth might seep into his bones and snap him out of this funk. He probably should’ve insisted on getting his own damn coffee before they start thinking he’s a helpless baby, but the smell was good. He watches Tommy and raises the mug to his lips, slowly, and takes a steady gulp. He sets the mug down and licks his lips, savoring the kind act.

Hen’s eyes narrow.

Eddie walks in a moment later, half-dressed in turnout pants like he’s expecting dispatch any moment. The back of his wrist rubs his tight jaw like he’s deep in thought, when his eyes then immediately land on Buck. He looks like he’s ready for cuddles. Eddie’s eyes then shift to Tommy who seems to be preoccupied with something in Buck’s direction. It’s just Buck there though. “He sleep at all?”

Tommy jerks his head away from Buck’s direction towards Eddie, snapping back to reality, then nodding at Buck. “You tell him.”

“Kind of,” Buck mumbles, sitting on his hands. He doesn’t want to say anything more than necessary. They don’t need to know. But maybe they should. Buck opens his mouth. No, they don’t need another thing to worry about. He shuts it.

Eddie sighs and gets down on one knee in front of him so they’re at eye level with each other. “You’re gonna crash hard if you don’t rest, cariño.” His arm rests horizontally on his bent knee as he hunches over.

Buck ducks his head at the casual pet name, cheeks pink. Fuzzy, warm feelings stronger than the cappuccino fill his tummy. “I can’t. Not even here. Not really.”

“Why not?” Eddie asks, scrunching his eyebrows.

“Feels weird. Everyone’s moving around. Lights are always on,” Buck says, raising his hands in the air like there’s nothing that can be done.

Tommy tilts his head. “Want one of our bunks next time we’re off rotation?”

Hen places her phone down slowly, watching the scene unfold from over the top of her mug. Her lips purse on the rim of her mug and her eyebrows furrow. Bells are ringing and it’s not the station’s.

Buck stares at Tommy, caught off-guard. Partially because he hadn’t even realized how much Tommy’s been around to the point that he has his own bunk at the 118. Then again, he did transfer. Wait, why did he transfer back to the 118? He didn't lose his job, right? “Huh?” 

Tommy shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Mine’s closer to the wall. Less foot traffic. It’s quieter.”

Tommy sits at the edge of his seat, closer to Buck so he can see his reassuring nod. Buck needs to know that it’s really no big deal and they just care about their friend. “Especially when Diaz isn’t snoring.”

“I do not.”

Buck gives a small laugh at the interaction happening right in front of his face. “I couldn’t do that. You guys need your sleep.”

“Pretty sure you need it more, Evan. Try it? Just for me?" Tommy pleads. He gets hit with the urge to just tuck Buck into bed and play with his curls until the boy falls asleep. That's not abnormal, right?

Buck considers for a moment and gently nods.

Hen’s finished the rest of her tea by now but she still hides her shifting glances behind the mug. Under the table, her leg gently shakes and her shoe taps the floor quietly.

The closeness.

The way both men subtly flank Buck.

The soft tones they use towards Buck–especially towards Buck.

She gets up and walks past them without a word, seeing Buck starting to doze gently against the couch’s armrest. Eddie and Tommy are settled in nearby, closing around him like a net made of safety and aftershave.

The bells ring louder. Oh. Wait. That’s actually the station’s bells now.

An hour later, they’re all back at the station. Turned out it was just a cat that climbed a too-tall tree and was too scared to find its way back down. Buck didn’t listen to anyone’s warnings not to go near a cat that was potentially hostile by the way it was hissing. He shooed his haters in that moment away (Chimney and Hen told him to “be careful”), eagerly climbing the ladder and luring the cat into his arms with “pspsps” and promises of tuna. Now he’s back on the couch all smiley again, bragging, “Animals love me.”

Eddie’s also on the couch, lounging. His arm outstretched along the backrest, gaze fixed on the TV. “We get it, Buck,” he responds, having heard on the way back to the firehouse about Buck’s experiences volunteering at an animal shelter and the zoo–nothing he hasn’t heard already.

Buck stares at him. Another hater.

Buck’s practically melting into the cushion and just slightly into Eddie’s shoulder. Tommy walks in, tosses a protein bar that Buck catches with a sort of ease that suggests habit, then ruffles his curls before grabbing a water from the fridge.

Hen squints from down below where she’s working on inventory. Everything’s already organized but that doesn’t mean it can’t be improved upon. Although that might have to take a break with this new development. She’s known Buck for years and through all versions of him. She was there for Buck 1.0, the version that was stealing fire trucks to hook up in. She’s seen him fall for women who didn’t deserve him and seen him chase after people like a puppy who doesn’t know the difference between a leash and a pat on the head. But this? This feels different.

There’s a quiet rhythm between the three men and Buck is like the drumbeat keeping it all together. The way they circle him, nudge him, feed him. The way, even right now, Buck doesn’t seem to drink anything unless Tommy himself personally drinks from it and hands it to him. She watches as Buck drinks from the water bottle. And she listens as Eddie laughs in response to Tommy teasing Buck “You letting me do everything for you now?”

She can sense Buck’s eye roll.

The paramedic thinks back to her earlier years. Buck flailing around for affection and meaning and something that would finally stick. He and Eddie’s competitive streak. And way before that, her time with Tommy who eventually transferred out of the station.

Now, here’s Tommy–Mr. Square-Jawed-Pilot-Hero, slotting himself into the 118 like he was custom-ordered from a catalog of protective and emotionally available men. And Eddie–the broad-shouldered and soft-spoken soldier, reaching over to steady Buck’s hands on the water bottle before it tilts too far. This is domestic is what it is.

She shakes her head, laughing under her breath, and resumes packing. “Poor boy doesn’t even know he’s being co-parented.”

Chapter Text

Buck stirs from a light doze as the familiar clink of a spoon in a mug pulls him halfway awake. He blinks blearily, lifting his head from up against his hands on the kitchen table.

Bobby quickly sets down his phone, which he was using to take pictures of the sleepy golden retriever and the little tuft of hair sticking out the top of his head from when he accidentally brushed and slept on it with his arm. These were gonna make a hilarious gift one day. He smirks. “Morning, Buck.”

Eddie pulls a bubblegum lollipop out of his mouth, licking his lips and a bit of his mustache. “Still not getting any sleep?”

“I am,” Buck answers, rubbing his eyes with both hands. “But I still seem to be so tired no matter how much sleep I get.”

“Have you been eating?”

Buck doesn’t answer. He looks downward, hoping he can hide the guilt and shame on his face. He can’t help that he almost never seems to have an appetite for anything. Thankfully, he’s saved by the sound of Tommy in the corner, crouched in front of a microwave and punching buttons like it insulted his Evan.

Hen’s voice cuts through the button mashing, casual and pointed. “SO… when’s the wedding?”

Buck frowns, still fuzzy. “Huh?”

Bobby tilts his head.

Hen raises a brow, smirking just a little too much for it to be innocent, like she had found out a secret so big that no one else knew. “You, Diaz, and Captain Helicopter over there.”

Eddie blinks, lollipop in his mouth. “What wedding?” he asks, muffled.

Tommy stands, confused. “Wait. What?”

Buck snorts softly. “You okay, Hen?”

“I’m more than okay,” she replies, beginning her monologue. “I’m great. I’m perfectly fine. Just wondering how long I’ve got before you three start wearing matching shirts and cooking Sunday brunch together.”

Tommy lets out a short laugh. “We don’t even like the same eggs.”

Hen hums. “You don't have to. You just cook them for Buck.”

Bobby’s eyes flicker between all of them, soaking in this information with his eyes wide.

Buck feels the tips of his ears warm. “I am right here, you know.”

Hen turns to him, softening just a little. “I know, baby” she says before patting down the tuft of hair on his head. “That’s why I’m saying it.”

Eddie chuckles under his breath. “She’s being dramatic.”

“Observant,” Hen corrects.

Buck stretches out his tired legs and gestures with one hand in the air. “Hen, nothing’s happening.”

“Exactly,” she says. “Nothing’s happening, and yet you’ve got two grown men wrapped around your finger and arguing over whether you should drink water before or after your nap.”

Tommy points at Buck. “Before.”

Eddie points at Tommy. “After. That way you don’t get the urge to pee.”

Hen raises and throws back both hands like a preacher who just proved her sermon with a miracle happening right before her eyes.

Buck shakes his head and almost giggles, cheeks warm. “You guys act like I’m a plant or something.”

Hen leans in close to look him in the eyes. “You’re not far off. You wilt when you’re ignored and deprived of attention, thrive under sunlight, and apparently need watering every hour,” she says, glaring at Tommy who acts offended.

Buck tries to be serious but he has to bury his growing smile into the sleeve of his hoodie. “You’re the worst, Hen.”

“And you,” Hen says, getting up from her chair and walking off, “are being loved in stereo and don’t even realize it.”

Bobby pretends to take a call but secretly he can’t stop thinking, Wait till Athena hears about this.

Buck watches her disappear around the corner, heart thudding a little too loud in his chest.

Tommy leans back on the counter and says casually, “Should we be offended she thinks we’re in love with you?”

Eddie shrugs. “Nah. She’s projecting.”

“You know she’s right though. You do need sunlight,” Tommy says sweetly.

Buck just sinks back into his sleeve, unsure why his stomach’s doing little flips.

Or why he doesn’t want them to stop.

Station 118 jolts into motion.

The sound of the station’s bells ringing followed by chairs scraping fill the quiet air at the station. Six pairs of boots immediately hit the ground as the team moves together on instinct, running towards their lockers.

“Warehouse fire in east LA,” Bobby calls out as he pulls on his gear.

No one says it, but the tension is felt in the air the way that one word has everyone turning. Warehouse. Buck ignores the sets of eyes on him as he yanks on his jacket and straps his helmet tightly. After the last warehouse incident where Buck disobeyed protocol and rushed in to save a trapped man–as Buck does–and risked almost getting trapped in the process, everyone was worried how he would function during this rescue. As his wild card, Bobby suspected Buck might pull something similar this time around. It scared him how much he cared for this kid.

“Commercial building. Dispatch reported possible workers inside but no count,” Bobby continues before pointing at Tommy. “Kinard, get airborne and scout ahead. We need eyes the second we arrive. I want to know how much roof we’ve got left on the structure and potential survivors.”

Tommy is already moving to the helipad, calm but fast with his radio in hand. “You got it, Cap.”

The sirens wail to life as they pull out. The red lights slice through the darkness ahead, illuminating the path in front of them as well as the blades of Tommy’s chopper flying out of Buck’s sight from within the truck. He continues to lean his forehead against the glass window.

Eddie watches Buck from right beside him. “You good, Buck?”

Buck doesn’t look at him. “Yeah. Always.”

Hen locks her pack in. “Try not to give us a heart attack this time, Buckaroo.”

He forces a grin. “No promises.”

Smoke billows up into the night sky like a dark mass threatening to consume everything–thick, dark, and churning. Flames are flickering brightly behind the high windows of the building, casting a bright glow across the cracked asphalt outside. Multiple rigs screech to a halt by the warehouse’s fence with Bobby hopping out of one of them before it could fully stop.

“Structure’s compromised on the west side. Roof’s falling inward. I’ve got heavy fire venting from the south loading dock,” crackles Tommy’s voice over the comms.

Bobby commands the situation. “Alright, Hen, Chim–you take Bravo. Search and rescue. Eddie, Buck–you guys are with me. Tommy’s got eyes, but we move fast. This place is a coffin if it collapses and we don’t know if there’s any chemicals or flammable materials inside.”

The team moves. Buck barely hears anything but the roar of the flames and the thudding in his chest. He double checks his oxygen tank just in case.

The inside is a proverbial hellscape. Thick smoke curls low even down to the ground, severely limiting visibility even with all of the firelight. If it weren’t for the smoke, the team would see the plastic melting on the pallets and the metal shelves melting off the racks which are actively crashing around them. The radio is alive with chatter. Chimney’s voice calls out clear rooms and Tommy updates from above.

“Stay close,” Bobby orders. “Back area’s unstable.”

Buck nods.

But there’s a faint noise over the roaring fires. A cry? A bang?

Buck stares deep into the far end of the building where a metal beam from the roof above appears to have collapsed and now blocks a narrow hallway. Just beyond the metal beam, something shifts. Buck steps forward.

Eddie speaks with precaution. “Buck. Stay with the team.”

Buck hesitates. “I think someone’s over there.”

“Buck, that hallway is unstable,” Bobby says, firmly. “We clear our zone first and then we can find a way around. That’s an order.” He picks up the radio. “Hen, Chim. We’re gonna need you here in a minute.”

“On it, Cap,” Hen responds.

But Buck’s already moving. Eddie sees it too. There’s no time to argue. Buck groans and heaves the beam off of a trapped worker who’s barely conscious, without waiting for backup. The strain extends down into the tremble of his hands that he uses to try to wrap around and lift their body.

Tommy radios something about a potential survivor seen through an opening in the roof. Bobby stays behind to check the surrounding area.

Eddie steadies Buck as they carry the young worker out together. “Buck?” he asks tightly once they hit open air.

Hen and Chimney arrive on the scene and immediately begin administering first aid.

Bobby reports, “There’s a survivor on the second floor, but these stairs don’t seem to be stable.”

Buck’s eyes flash. “I’ll go up,” he says, heading for the stairs.

“Nope,” Eddie intercepts him. “Didn’t you just hear?”

“I have to TRY, Eddie!”

Eddie grabs him by his arm. “You won’t help anyone if those stairs or the floor it’s attached to collapses on you.”

“I’m not fragile,” Buck snaps, shaking his grip free. “I can handle it.”

Tommy’s voice cuts in from overhead: “Diaz is right, Evan.”

Buck hesitates, jaw tight. Then he bolts anyway. Not up the stairs, but around.

Hen and Chim exchange a look. The same look they wore the last time Buck nearly didn’t make it out. Yet here he is being stubborn and finding an alternate route in the true Buck fashion.

“Damn it,” Eddie curses, scanning the flame-lit chaos. He holds his radio up to his mouth. “Buck, where are you?”

No answer.

Aside from Bobby, Tommy can only see 3 figures on the ground. “Eddie, what do you mean?”

“He ran back in. I’m going after him.”

“Negative,” Bobby says, lifting his radio. “Tommy, give me eyes on Buck’s last known position: West wing–collapsed hallway.” Bobby swears under his breath as he sees Buck disappear around the corner. He’s doing it, again.

Tommy bends the controls, trying to get a better view. “Cap, I’ve got eyes on him. He’s boxed in. No roof collapse yet but it’s close.”

Eddie breathes heavily as he runs after Buck. “He’s gonna get himself killed.”

“Come on, Evan,” Tommy speaks into the radio. “Evan, answer me. Please.”

Buck’s muscles are burning. Just one more. Then maybe I won’t be a burden. He lifts another worker–conscious but limp–and braces him against the wall. A groan rumbles above. The sound of metal creaks. Something shifts. Buck stares upward at the hole in the roof that’s about to become a crater. It’s happening again. Just like the last time. The warehouse. The fear. The heat. He disobeyed orders and now he’s gonna get himself killed. This is what I deserve. He holds his breath.

Eddie catches up just as the floor groans beneath them. “Buck!”

Buck startles, filled with relief, shame, and gratitude all at once.

Tommy tries to reposition the helicopter, unable to see even the silhouette of their bodies. “Eddie, do you have eyes on Evan?” he shouts into the radio.

Eddie grabs the other side of the injured man. Dust and heat pour upward and the sound of the metal creaking gets louder. He looks Buck in the eye. 

Tommy’s voice cuts through the radio again. “Get out. Now! The whole top floor’s unstable.”

They move. Fast.

Back outside, Hen’s waiting for them, dropping to her knees besides the survivor while Chim tends to the younger one, checking vitals while her eyes flick briefly to Buck–his shaking hands and his face pale with adrenaline.

Buck slumps against the truck, plastered in sweat. His hands are at his sides, shaking again. He bends down, putting his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

Tommy lands and jogs over, helmet still on. He approaches fast, eyes wide, his steps a little uneven like he hasn’t been breathing right since Buck disappeared into the building. When he sees Buck there–shaking, pale, but alive–he closes the distance and pulls Buck into a tight hug, that makes him weak in his knees, and presses his palm against the stubborn kid’s chest. Just to feel him breathing.

He pulls back, pressing a water bottle into Buck’s hands. But his fingers stay there a beat longer, lingering on Buck’s. Tommy’s other hand is still on his chest, making sure that he is indeed real and there and safe. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Buck fumbles with the cap, his grip too shaky.

Tommy takes the bottle, twists the cap off himself, and hands it back. He wasn’t gonna let Buck out of his sight.

Eddie storms up to Buck as the last of the smoke settles in the night air, helmet in hand and sweat streaking through the soot on his face. His chest rises and falls fast like he hasn’t caught his breath even though the fire’s been out for a couple minutes. “Are you out of your mind?” he yells, standing over Buck. “Are you actually trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’m fine,” Buck says automatically, taking a big gulp of water. Like it’s a fact he doesn’t believe but keeps repeating anyway just to get over a conversation. The rasp in his voice betrays him. “We did it, didn’t we?”

Eddie exhales sharply, like that answer physically hurts. “No, you’re not. You never are when you say that,” he says, earning a look from Buck. He points a finger at Buck’s face. “You can’t keep running into danger like that.”

Tommy agrees, jaw tightening. “Eddie warned you. I warned you. You could’ve gotten buried under that roof. Everyone was so worried for your safety.

Buck shrugs, like he doesn’t want to argue.

Eddie catches the way Tommy’s jaw clenches as he steps back. The guy’s trying to be a rock. But Eddie knows the look. He’s scared too.

They couldn’t believe Buck’s lack of care for his own life. How could he believe it? His brain would never not do that for Buck. Eddie snaps. “Jesus, Buck–FIGHT BACK!” he shouts, voice breaking with something halfway between rage and fear. “Say something! Don’t just sit there like you deserved whatever the hell that was in there!”

Buck flinches. Not because of the volume, but because he wants to. He wants to fight back. He wants to scream I’m trying! But the words just won’t come out right. He breathes out, barely a whisper, “I didn’t think it would matter.”

Eddie stares at him, thunderstruck. “What?”

“I knew what I was doing.”

“I don’t think you do, Buck. You didn’t even hesitate to run in until I spoke up. You saw a wall of fire and just WENT. Like your life didn’t matter? Like none of us were going to have to live with that?” Eddie growls, voice thick.

Bobby’s jaw clenches in the background with a disappointed look.

Buck tries to ignore the sets of eyes on him and the shame that accompanies them, but Eddie steps forward, eyes locked on him and his hands clenched.

“We get it–you’re tough. But you matter to people,” he says, voice lower now. “TO M–” he cuts himself off, rubbing his jaw and teeth clenching like the rest of the sentence would sting too much to say. “You don’t get to throw yourself away and pretend it’s noble. It’s not.”

Buck’s breath caught. Not because of what Eddie said, but because of what he couldn’t. I do? He swallows hard. “I was trying to help.”

Eddie just stares at him, full of hurt. “And I was trying to keep you here,” he says, voice cracking just like the dam holding all his emotions in. “You think I want to have to explain to Chris why you’re not around anymore?”

Tommy feels the silence that falls between them–hot, heavy, and unresolved. He adds, “We’re not asking you to sit out, Evan. But we are asking you not to get yourself killed.”

“I’m sorry.”

Neither of them responds. But the weight in their silence is louder than any words.

Hen crosses behind them and for a moment, Buck thinks she’ll say something. Anything to cut the tension between them. She doesn’t. She just reaches out, giving Buck’s arm a quick squeeze, and keeps walking. That’s somehow worse.

Back at the station, Buck sits on the bench in the locker room, head bowed slightly with a towel slung over his neck like a weight. More and more this seems to be his quiet place. He raises his head slightly to see Bobby passing by him in the hallway without a word. Buck wasn’t sure if that meant forgiveness… or just a quiet concern that had worn too thin.

The station’s lights are low with the hum of the vending machine being the only real sound. His gear is folded besides him. Too neat for someone who feels this messy. His hands are resting on his thighs–still trembling in that barely-there way that you’d miss if you weren’t watching for it.

Tommy is watching though. He leans in the doorway, arms crossed. He doesn’t speak at first.

Buck notices him and gives a small but tired grin. “You here to lecture me too?”

“No,” Tommy says. “You’ve already got an earful from Diaz. And you don’t seem to listen anyway.”

Buck huffs, pointing at himself. “I earned it.” He catches Tommy staring at the tremor in his hands and pulls them back by his sides, clenching them still.

There’s a pause. Tommy doesn’t argue. He just lets that truth hang there before walking over, sitting beside him. “I’ve seen pilots with hands like that,” he says quietly, eyes flicking to Buck. “After crashes. Or near misses. You don’t really talk about it. You just… try not to slip up again.”

Buck stiffens slightly, remembering the callback.

Tommy opens his mouth again, but hesitates. He wasn’t one to really express his feelings whether he was upset or not. But this kid needed to hear it. “You know what scares me the most up there?”

Buck blinks at him. Did I?

“It’s not the heights. Not the fire. It’s the split second where you lose contact with your crew. When the radio’s dead and you don’t know if the people you care about and see as your family are still breathing.” Tommy answers. He brushes Buck’s hair back from his forehead and takes a shaky breath before admitting something he never thought he’d admit. “When I couldn’t see you, I was scared. I-I’m not used to that.”

Buck stays quiet, eyes glimmering up at the man. I did.

“I’ve had to sit with that silence before,” Tommy says, still brushing Buck’s hair, but deep in thought like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “I know what that silence does to you. It makes you start rewriting the story in your head. Makes you think you should’ve said something more. Held on longer. Looked closer.”

He leans to Buck, slow and intentional. “I don’t want to rewrite your story, Evan.” Tommy gently reaches down and takes Buck’s right hand into his own, holding it in his much larger palm. His touch is firm and grounding. Butterflies flutter in Buck’s stomach. “Will you let me know if you’re slipping?”

Buck nervously laughs and tries to pull his hands away. He hated how good it felt to be steadied by someone else. To be noticed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Tommy pulls his hand back, holding it steady. “Good. You should go talk to Eddie and make up with him. I promise he’s not angry anymore. He and I are just worried about our best friend.” He doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps holding on until the tremor fades, except for a moment where he turns away to wipe a tear forming in his eyes.

A few butterflies disappear from Buck’s stomach. “Yeah.”

Later that evening, Buck walks into the kitchen with his jacket on.

“You eat yet?” Eddie asks, not turning, still upset with Buck.

“Yeah, Tommy forced half a protein bar on me.”

“That doesn’t count,” Eddie says, facing him. His eyes narrow when he spots the tremor back in Buck’s hands. Without comment, Eddie walks over and grabs Buck’s hand by the wrist.

“I’m okay–” Buck starts.

Eddie doesn’t reply. He just lifts both of Buck’s hands and holds them in both of his rough and familiar hands, frowning slightly as he brushes a thumb across the knuckles. He squeezes. Gently. “Sit down. I’ll make you a plate to eat before you get home.” Eddie’s not ready to apologize for his concerns. Probably not ever. But he’s definitely not gonna let this man starve.

Buck listens and eats his food while Eddie stands back to make sure he does.

Buck shuts the door behind him with a dull click. The silence of his apartment feels too still, like the quiet after an explosion. There’s no more sirens. No more radio. No more people yelling his name. Just the hum of the fridge, the ticking of his clock, the distant buzz of traffic far below.

He walks through the dim light, weaving between piles of crumpled laundry and a few stacks of unopened mail and old takeout that litter his counter. Smudges on the floor followed his boots to the bathroom where his hands shook as he ran a towel over them, skin still pink and raw from trying to scrub off the feeling that he was too much.

Buck heads back into his dining room and drops down onto the chair and pulls off his jacket, blinking hard. The adrenaline’s gone now, leaving only the raw weight in his chest. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands in his hair. He had eaten earlier and yet his stomach felt hollow, like his insides had been scooped out and never put back.

Maybe he was too much. Too reckless. Too intense. Too emotional. He tried to save people by running into fire–again and again–yet couldn’t understand why everyone around him looked so tired in their eyes even though their mouths curled upwards.

He was the guy everyone had to worry about. The guy who needed saving. He closed his eyes and bounced his legs. For a second he imagined what it would feel like to be someone simpler. Someone easier to love. Someone who didn’t scare Eddie and Tommy and have to make them look after him all the time. Every time Bobby gave him a worried look. Every time Hen covered for him when he acted impulsively. Every time Chim had his back. Every time Christopher and Maddie had been there with a hug. It was all because they cared about him.

He knew his 118 family loved him. That wasn’t the problem. The problem is that every one of them had to work to love him. When he got knocked down, someone had to put him back together and hold him in place. And he hated that. Hated needing it. Hated taking up so much space in other people’s lives just by existing.

“I’m not enough,” he whispers. His shoulders sag with the weight of being a burden unto others.

His breath holds as his gaze falls to the counter. Tucked between a tangle of receipts and a takeout menu is an orange bottle he never threw away.

The ticking of the clock is the only sound he can focus on. He stares at it.

Then, ever so slowly, he reaches for it–resting his hand on the cap.

They’ll be okay. Eventually.

A tear falls down his face.

He lets the silence press in around him.

Chapter Text

The house is quiet except mainly for the soft hum of laundry tumbling in the dryer. The scent of lemon dish soap hangs faint in the warm air. Eddie stands at the kitchen sink, complementing the hum with the sounds of him scrubbing a pan from breakfast that could’ve easily waited–but his hands needed something to do. His mind, not so much.

He keeps replaying yesterday’s events in his mind. Buck risking his life without hesitation and brushing off his own safety like it was an afterthought. An inconvenience. Eddie yelling, not because he was mad, but because he was scared for Buck’s life. The little flinch in Buck’s tired little face when Eddie raised his voice.

Later that night, Eddie had tried to steady him–just a simple touch. But the texture he felt under his fingers was too familiar. Buck had pulled away, like he knew what Eddie would feel.

“I’m okay,” Buck had said.

“I’m fine.” Same as always.

But Eddie wasn’t sure he believed it anymore.

Eddie is so deep in thought he doesn’t notice his son, Christopher, coming around the corner of the island until his voice breaks through the static in his mind.

“Dad?”

Eddie looks at him over his shoulder, startled. “Hey, mijo. You need something?

Christopher shakes his head, watching him for a second with a frown on his face. “You’ve been staring at that pan for like… a full song, dad.”

Eddie looks down and blinks. Sure enough, the pan is clean and spotless. He rinses the pan and sets it aside on the dishrack. “I guess I was thinking,” he says, drying his hands.

“About Buck?” Christopher asks, pushing up his glasses.

Eddie stiffens. Seems like his face is easier to read than he thought. “Why would you think that?”

Christopher just gives him his signature unimpressed tween stare that he inherited from Tia Pepa. “Because you only do that face when you’re thinking about something you care about. Or someone. Also, you talk about him a lot. You and Tommy.”

Eddie sighs. He pulls out one of the kitchen counter stools before lifting and placing Christopher on it. He takes the other stool and sits across from his son. “Okay. You’re right. I was thinking about Buck.”

Christopher’s voice softens and his eyebrows furrow. “Is he okay?”

“I-I don’t know,” Eddie stutters. “He’s not okay, I don’t think.”

Eddie pauses. “I mean, he says he’s fine, he always does. I think he’s going through something, but… he won’t really let anyone help. His hands were shaking after the last call. And he flinched when I touched his wrist.”

Christopher frowns again. That doesn’t seem like his Buck at all. “Like he was scared?”

“Of me?” Eddie asks. “No. Just… surprised. Maybe ashamed.”

“Do you think he’s hurt?” Christopher asks.

Eddie considers for a moment. “Maybe. Not like how we get hurt on a call. I think this is deeper than that.” Much deeper.

Christopher plays with a piece of his bacon. “So what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, buddy.” Eddie rubs his hand over his jaw. He doesn’t know how to begin to even address it. Is this something you even address? What if he brings it up and it makes Buck more likely to do something? No, that’s not how it works. His shakes his leg nervously. “Uh, well, he’s stubborn. You know that.”

“Yeah, but so are you,” Christopher says, chewing his piece of bacon. “I know when I get sad, sometimes I pretend I’m fine so you don’t worry.”

His dad’s chest tightens from the ache in his heart. Eddie just wants to reach out and give Christopher a tight hug, but he knows Christopher is starting to get to that age. “I know. And I always wish you’d tell me when that happens so I can do something about it.”

“Maybe Buck wishes that too. That someone would just… notice.”

Eddie nods slowly, taking that in as he spoons his cereal. “I did. I think I might’ve gone about it the wrong way. I kind of yelled at him for pretending to be fine.”

With a mischievous little smirk, Christopher notes, “You act like such a dad towards Buck.”

Eddie nearly chokes on his cereal. He covers his mouth, swallowing quickly, like the words “dad towards Buck” got lodged in his throat right alongside his breakfast. “What? No I don’t.”

“You and Tommy!” Christopher laughed, swinging his legs under the stool. His voice was light, but Eddie could feel the truth tucked behind it. “You guys are always like: eat your food, drink your water, go shower–like you’re co-dads or something. Do you care for him?”

Eddie stares at him, stunned. A hundred memories rise up altogether in his mind. Buck laughing with Christopher. Buck being there for him in one of his darkest moments when he took a bat to everything and scared Christopher (who, thank god, was on the other side of the door and didn’t have to witness it directly). Eddie running up the ladder to save Buck after he was struck by lightning, and later on, wiping away his tears in the back as Christopher pleaded for Buck to come back out of his coma. Buck really was such a central part of his life. He doesn’t even realize he’s clenching a napkin.

“Not like in love,” Christopher adds quickly. “Just… love. Like family. Like someone you want to keep safe.”

Eddie laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I guess we are kind of like that.”

“Then don’t give up,” Christopher says confidently. “Even when he says he’s fine. He almost always listens when it’s you two.”

Eddie smiles, eyes a little misty now. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

Christopher beams brightly. “I know.”

Eddie swallows that down along with a small realization, this time seemingly lodged deep in his chest. Not his feelings for that brave and kind-hearted golden retriever, but Eddie’s own importance to him–and vice-versa.

They finish breakfast together, light talk returning in bits and piece. It’s a gentle and normal morning as Eddie drives his son to school. Until halfway there, when Christopher has a gasping realization, “Dad, I think I left my glasses at home.” Eddie turns the car around. He doesn’t say it, but he’s breathing through his nose thinking this kid is gonna be the death of me. Thankfully, Chris is only a few minutes late. No harm, no foul.

Eddie pulls back into his driveway and walks past the chaotic little garden of marigolds and lavender–that Buck insisted should be planted together–and the four of them planted together in their yard. The laughter from that afternoon still echoes in his hand. Buck in a bandana, dirt smudged on his cheek, pretending he knew what he was doing. Meanwhile, Tommy mocked him and Chris just sat in between and giggled. Tommy was really like his co-dad, huh? They took care of their boys. Well, boy and Buck.

He sees their smiles in each petal and hears their laughter in the rustle of the wind.

He walks into his home all alone, setting his keys down on the table with a jingle that sounds louder than it should. The laundry seems to have finished so he unloads the hot, scented fabric, yelping, “Ow, ow, ow” and dumps the basket onto his bed where he begins folding. As he folds, his mind drifts. Again.

Three colorful birds hopping outside the window catch his eye. The brightest one has feathers the color of Buck’s laughter–unfiltered, radiant, and never enough. He watches it a moment longer than he should.

He reaches for his phone.

Unlocks it.

Buck’s name is right there, pinned at the top of his messages.

His thumb hovers. Just long enough to feel it–how much he wants to keep Buck safe. But also how much he’s afraid.

He locks the screen.

And sets it face-down on the table.

Then goes back to folding clothes in silence.

The lights were low, shadows stretching across the living room in soft pools. A slow jazz tune drifted from the speakers in the background–comfortable, familiar. The kind of song you could confess something to if you weren’t careful.

Takeout containers are spread across the coffee table of Tommy’s place. The spice of chili oil lingers in the air. Tommy leans back on the couch with a beer, absently turning the bottle in his hand as Chim talked. He hadn’t drank from it in a while. He was just holding onto it. Like maybe it was an anchor. The only thing keeping from floating off somewhere else right now.

“I still don’t know how you eat spicy food after a shift,” Tommy mutters, taking a long sip of his beer. “My stomach would file a complaint.”

Chimney laughs while poking through his lo mein with a pair of chopsticks. “You’ve flown into wildfires and pulled people out of rooms mid-explosion, but god forbid you have some seasoning.”

Tommy smirks. “That’s controlled danger. This is internal combustion.”

They eat together in silence for a bit before Chimney starts again, casually. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Eddie lately.”

Tommy glances at him from the side. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Nah,” Chimney shrugs, devouring his lo mein. “It’s just… rare. You’ve always been a bit of a solo flier. Even back in the day, you would show up to poker nights or heck, even just dinner nights, and never really stay.”

Tommy nods and tilts his head, watching Chimney. “People change.” Eddie was refreshing to be around. The way he and Eddie connected and worked around each other was a rhythm you'd feel like you could only find after being friends with someone for years.

“Or maybe some people are worth slowing down for,” Chimney replies, looking up from his container. “You and Eddie have a good dynamic. Especially with Buck, too.” They did all seem to work together like a well-oiled machine.

Tommy stiffens slightly, but doesn’t look away. It’s nothing for him to be offended about anyway. It’s not like anything happening. They’re all just really good friends “Buck’s a good guy, Just needs…” he purses his lips for a moment. “I don’t know. Stability.”

Chimney laughs with all his heart. “Let me guess. You think you are stability?”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “I can be.”

“You care about him,” Chimney says. It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

Tommy leans his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “He’s… easy to care about.”

Chim raises a curious brow, but doesn’t interrupt.

“He’s got that look, you know? Like someone dropped him from heaven, but nobody cushioned the fall.”

A breath.

“A fall that left those little red birth marks on his forehead right above and below his left eyebrow. Like little kisses.”

His voice is quieter now.

“And they forgot to send down an instruction manual with him, too. So he got up from that fall like it didn’t break something in him–and just kept going. Like he thought that was normal.”

Chimney speaks softly. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Chim leans back, eyes drifting to the floor. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but I don’t think Buck ever really got to be a kid. He’s always been trying to be what someone else needed. Always afraid of being too much or not enough.” He places his takeout container down on the table and crosses his legs. “He’s got this thing, y’know? With being left behind. I think Hen might know a bit more than I do.”

Tommy recalls one of the first few times he hung around the 118 and was starting to get close to Eddie. Evan would stand in the corner, staring like the last kid to be picked for dodgeball teams. Tommy hated that it took him and Eddie a while to notice how left out he was. Yet even with all the patio talks and movie nights they have together, he can feel Evan bracing for something.

Tommy exhales, running his fingers through his hair. “Kid’s strong. So, so strong. Smarter than he thinks. But sometimes, I watch him laugh at something Eddie says and it’s so loud and warm… and then an hour later he’s somewhere else. It’s like his body’s here but the rest of him just isn’t.”

Chimney listens quietly, letting the words settle.

Tommy continues, swiping his thumb across the rim of the bottle. “Makes you want to… wrap him in bubble wrap and keep him close. Just in case.” He doesn’t say how that feeling scares him. How unfamiliar it is. How warm yet heavy.

Chim smiles faintly, nodding. “That’s how he gets you.”

There’s another silence, then Tommy leans forward and places the bottle on the table. “Don’t read into it too much,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Chim smirks. “Sure. Totally normal to want to keep a grown man warm and fed and emotionally supported.”

Tommy shoots him a look but doesn’t argue.

The music winds down to a soft saxophone solo, the light from the lamp warming the couch.

Tommy sinks deeper into the cushions, glancing towards the window where the last streaks of pink, purple, and blue dusk fades into a grey.

He pulls out his phone.

No new messages.

His thumb hovers over Buck’s name. He imagines him curled up on the couch with his sketchbook doodling. Or standing in the hallway or staring at the wall, blinking through one of those quiet fogs he gets stuck in.

He contemplates saying something.

But it’s so late.

He tells himself he’ll reach out tomorrow. But he doesn’t know how far away tomorrow is.

He locks the phone and places it on the armrest beside him.

Then leans his head back and stares at the ceiling, listening to the last bit of music around him.

Chapter Text

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Each second slips past with a steady, insistent rhythm. The clock on the wall loudly taunts him for every moment he does nothing but sit there holding the same damn bottle while wrapped in a weighted blanket of silence that he can’t shake off. It’s not a comforting silence. At least not alone. He can’t hear anything else. Not the fridge clicking to life. Not the low buzz of traffic or nightlife below his apartment. Not the chirping of early birds as the sun barely begins to break the sky nor the sound of a siren wailing faintly before disappearing into the distance. Life goes on and he can’t hear it or see it.

Not that it matters.

I don’t matter.

Buck has since moved from the kitchen counter to the floor, his back slouched against the base of the kitchen cabinet and his legs half-folded beneath him. The cold floor underneath him bites at his skin through the thin fabric of his pants. Is this how cold my body will feel when I’m finally gone?

He’s not even sure how long he’s been sitting there. He’s been turning the pill bottle in his hand over and over in a constant motion for so long that even the label on it can’t be read anymore. The ink is smudged and rubbing off on his fingers. It could be minutes. Hours. A lifetime.

Maybe that’s good. If anyone finds me, they won’t know what I took and try to save me.

His thumb presses against the childproof cap, not to open it yet but just to feel the ridged texture and to remind himself it’s real. That he can. That it’s an option.

He takes a little breath. “How did I even get to this point?” his voice hoarse and small. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to. The clock on the wall? The ghosts of people who’ve left him in the past? Maybe to the part of himself that still remembers what it feels like to be wanted.

All of his thoughts process through his mind in flashes now. Not complete memories exactly. None of them are clear. No, they’re more like little snapshots through foggy, broken glass. 

Buck hears Eddie’s voice, sharp and scared, cutting through him almost deeper than he ever did. He remembers the look in Eddie’s face as he fights to hold back his tears while interrogating Buck, trying to understand the mindset of someone so loved having such little care for themself.

Tommy’s voice, sincere and cracking while admitting how much Buck’s silence worried him. His stoic face etched with concern as he reaches to brush back Buck’s hair like he’s trying to make sure he actually is there. Even with physical confirmation, Tommy’s eyes look at Buck like he could see through him.

There was a time when Buck used to crave for and thrived on being the center of attention in the room. His whole life he had always wanted to be seen. To feel seen. To feel needed. He wipes a tear from his eye.

But now it feels like he’s under a microscope being analyzed and cared for in a way he doesn’t know how to manage.

Everyone’s always worried about him.

Everyone’s always seeing through him.

Buck can feel it every single time from the way they watch him like his peripheral vision is nonfunctional.  The way conversations pause when he enters a room. He’s too much. Or not enough. Or both. Somehow always both.

They call him the puppy of the 118. A golden retriever. Loyal. Eager. Sometimes stupid but adorably so. It used to be a joke that he was fond of. And it only felt more real the way Tommy made sure he drinks plenty of water while Eddie makes sure he eats food. God, the way Tommy and Eddie take care of him like he’s their puppy warms him from the inside. And the rest of his team would make little jokes about Buck being wild and jumping headfirst into situations, all of which are technically true and meant with good intent. 

But what happens when the puppy starts whining? When it can’t learn new tricks? When it becomes more of a job looking after it than joy? The puppy just falls into the same routine over and over, suffering unreachable struggles. People don’t put down their dogs because they stop loving them, but because they can’t bear to watch them suffer.

Maybe the puppy should put himself down so others don’t have to.

His chest aches with the thought of putting himself down, a deep pressure that feels like it’s squeezing the air out of his lungs one square inch at a time. He reaches for his phone, hoping for something, anything. A distraction. A message. A reason. The screen comes to life beneath his touch.

No messages.

No missed calls.

Of course no one’s going to reach out. They’re all sound asleep after dealing with that warehouse fire.

At least there’s a photo on his lock screen that warrants a small smile from Buck no matter how much it hurts to do it. It’s a photo of him and Christopher. They’re both covered in dirt, smiling with big grins in one of the little gardens they tried to plant together. Buck has a smudge across his nose and Christopher’s wearing one of Buck’s bandanas like a headband. The picture is sunlight in a bottle. And it hurts. God, it hurts. Because Buck can barely remember when it felt like to be that version of himself–the one with dirty hands and a full heart, laughing like he had all the time in the world.

Though, even in that photo. Buck had a few well-hidden scars.

His thumb hovers. For one small, fragile moment, Buck considers unlocking the screen. Maybe just to check in case of anything. Maybe just to send a message. Something simple, stupid. Hey, you up?

Maybe Tommy would answer. He usually does. Or maybe Eddie would call. Eddie always calls.

Buck imagines their names lighting up his screen, their voices cutting through the static in his mind and in his chest. He imagines the both of them showing up at his door, sitting beside him on the floor and holding him, telling him it’s okay and that he doesn’t have to carry this alone.

He wants that so much.

But the same cruel whispers return. You’re too much. You always need. You always ask. They’re not tired from the warehouse fire. They’re tired of you. They just don’t know how to say it yet.

He removes his thumb away and sets his phone down face-first. He can’t look at it anymore.

His heart races, pounding loud enough that he wonders if his neighbors would be able to hear it through those thin walls. His limbs, slow, heavy, and numb, move like he’s wading through water. He holds the pill bottle up to his face and stares at it like it’s fragile. Sacred. The sun outside has already made its way halfway across the sky.

There’s no plan. No note. No grand exit for Evan Buckley. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself. He doesn’t think he could. There’s just an exhaustion pressing down on him deep to his bones and the thought that if he goes through with this, everyone else will finally get to breathe. Sure, it’ll be hard in the morning and the following days. Christopher asking where his Buck is. Eddie and Tommy showing up too late and trying to save him. But they won’t have to worry about him anymore. He won’t be a nuisance in their life anymore. They can move on.

He presses down on the cap and starts to twist.

Except.

His fingers twitch. The tremble is small at first. Just a flutter. Barely noticeable. He exhales sharply and tightens his grip further. He tries to twist it again. The shake gets worse. His own muscles are betraying him.

Frustrated, Buck brings the bottle closer to his chest where he wraps it in his shirt, trying to use the cotton to improve his grip and allow him to twist the cap. Nothing. He tries again but his hand just slips off the cap. He shifts and wedges the bottle between his knees, squeezing tight. The plastic creaks, but doesn’t yield. 

His jaw clenches and he swears under his breath. His vision blurs with frustration or shame or just sheer exhaustion. His mind’s already decided and yet his body isn’t working right.

Anger consumes Buck as throws the bottle to the ground with a roar. It hits the floor with a thunk, popping open and rolling across the floor into a corner while scattering the pills like confetti. Like someone threw him a party for failing at the one thing he thought he could do right. He doesn’t move at first. Just stares at the chaos he created. Stares at one pill like he could still make do with it.

He curls inward on the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees and his head dropping in like something’s breaking. The disappointment seeps in. Quiet. Cold. It moves into his body and makes itself at home.

Can’t even do this right.

He doesn’t wail or scream. Silent sobs claw up from the pit of his stomach and his body trembles. His breath hitches. And he shakes.

Outside, the night begins to take over. Gold cools into navy and moonlight shifts and spills across the cluttered floor, onto a photo frame of him and Maddie tucked away by the TV, onto the rim of the counter, and onto Buck laying on the floor.

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes.

But when he opens them, unwanted sunlight pierce through the window blinds with a brightness that makes him wince. His back is screaming. His head is pounding from dehydration. His mouth tastes like dust. The floor beneath him is hard and unforgiving. He shifts, muscles sore and heavy, and blinks against the light.

The pills are still scattered.

He steps around them slowly. A few crunch softly beneath his socked foot.

He doesn’t bother to look at the mirror in the hallway. Just walks, quiet and hunched, toward his room–each step echoing a new kind of ache.

Chapter Text

The pills are gone.

Not “gone” as in discarded or flushed in a sense of finality. In a moment of mechanical movement, Buck’s fingers moved on autopilot, scooping the pills back into the bottle before shoving them into the bottom drawer of his dresser with a rattle. He just needed the pills to disappear for the time being. He’ll deal with them later. And the rest of the clutter in his not-so-walkable apartment. He doesn’t have the energy to decide what dealing with it means exactly right now.

His phone buzzes with two notifications that he ignores: Voicemail from Eddie Diaz and Text from Tommy Kinard.

Right now he just needs to fall back into his normal routine. Even then, he feels too automated. He’s showered. Sort of. More like stood under the hot water long enough for its scalding heat to burn the sleep off his skin. His hair’s still damp when he pads to the kitchen, wearing nothing but his trunks, and opens the mostly empty fridge. He grabs the last chocolate-flavored protein shake and drinks it straight from the bottle, cold and metallic against his tongue. He stands in the exact spot where his body broke open the night before. A tremor rakes down his spine as the memory claws back in, sharp and sudden like ice down the ribs.

Not now, brain, he tells himself.

If Tommy and Eddie were here, Tommy would probably be personally holding the shake to Buck’s mouth. That man would watch him intensely, yet in a comforting way. Meanwhile, Eddie would probably be sitting right behind Buck making sure his curls are towel-dry and that he’s getting dressed in the right clothes.

Tommy and Eddie.

Right.

He unlocks his phone with a click to listen to the first notification:

Eddie: Hey… hey, Buck. Just wanted to say good morning. I, uh… I know two nights ago was intense and I probably could’ve handled some things better. Just checking in. Call me if you feel like it, okay? No pressure. Just… yeah. We care. I care.

The message ends. Buck stares at the phone for a long time, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. He can imagine Eddie just sitting there rehearsing this message about 10 times in the mirror before finally picking up the phone. The feeling spreads up to his ear tips before he finally presses on the group chat he made with him and the other two men.

The last messages are still there. A picture of Buck smiling adorably in a little apron with his pink mittens holding up a delicious strawberry shortcake he baked last week to the camera. Messages of “It looks absolutely delicious, Buck” and “Absolutely adorable, Evan,” from Eddie and Tommy, respectively, follow. Right below that is the most recent text:

Tommy: Good morning, Evan. Hope you’ve gotten plenty of rest. Let us know if you need anything today. Anything at all. No pressure, just offering.

Bubbles start appearing, followed by another text.

Tommy: And yes, that includes food or cappuccino or whatever else you want. I’ll come over personally and make it myself.

Buck huffs out a tired breath that doesn’t quite become a laugh.

He starts to type a reply. Stops. Deletes it. Clenches his jaw. Starts again. Pauses. Hits send.

Buck: I’m okay. Thanks.

It’s a lie. But a gentle one.

He couldn’t let the men come to his apartment. His space was too cluttered. Too messy. Too disorganized. It’s too much for him alone to navigate, let alone others.

On the other side of that message, Tommy sits in his parked car just outside of Eddie’s house, the screen still glowing in his palm. He reads it three times. Then once more, like more words might appear if he stares at it hard enough with his blue eyes.

It’s not a bad text. But there’s something off about it. It’s too… clean. Too vague. Too quick. It feels like a little white lie.

The passenger door opens and Eddie climbs in with a sigh, tossing his bag into the backseat. He closes the door behind him. “Did he text back?”

Tommy doesn’t answer. Just passes the phone over without a word.

Eddie stares at the screen. “I’m okay. Thanks,” he reads aloud, then hands it back. “That boy’s lying.”

Tommy has a little chuckle to himself. “Yeah,” he agrees, sliding his phone into the cupholder. “I figured.”

There’s a moment of silence. The engine hums softly.

“I left him a voicemail this morning,” Eddie says, eyes on the dash. “Tried to keep it light. Told him we care. That he can reach out if he needs us. That I probably could’ve handled things better.” He looks down at his clenched fists.

Tommy looks over and puts his hand on the back of Eddie’s neck. “Hey, it’s okay. You had a normal reaction to someone risking their life. I’m sure when you’re both ready that you guys will have a conversation about it and he’ll understand, if he doesn’t already.”

Eddie’s soulful, deep brown eyes meet his understanding gaze. “Thanks, Tommy.”

Another beat.

Tommy catches himself smiling and takes a breath. The urge to use his grip on Eddie to pull him into a hug that would’ve been healing for the both of them subsides. “I was going to text Hen. Chim suggested it. I want to ask if she has any more insight on… well, Buck’s past. Buck trusts her. She might know things we don’t.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Do it. I don’t think we’re going to fix anything overnight, but… Tommy, I’m worried Buck might be harming himself.”

Tommy’s face drops. “What?”

“I’ve noticed it a few times. I try to tell myself I’m just seeing things, I’m just imagining things. But Tommy, when I reach for his hands and aim a little too high, he flinches and pulls himself away. But in that millisecond that I do get skin-to-skin contact, I feel scars.”

Tommy pulls out his phone again and opens a new message.

To Hen: Hey. Can we talk later today?

Tommy pulls out his truck and starts driving to the 118. It’s a good thing he has the route memorized by now because all he can think of now is that poor boy.

By the time their shift begins, the sun hangs overhead at its peak, bathing the firehouse in warmth that bleeds through every window pane. The clatter of boots and gear, and the hum of conversation and radio chatter all filter through the firehouse like usual. The kitchen smells like black coffee and something delicious baking in the oven behind Bobby.

Tommy is seated at the table with Eddie and Hen, as well as Chimney. All four of them are in various stages of decompressing from the commute. They talk, Tommy and Hen seemingly agreeing on something, but it’s quiet.

Buck walks in thirty minutes late. He’s clean-shaven. His uniform is crisp. His smile is enough to land just shy of real–like sunlight without the warmth. A box of donuts lay on his outstretched arms.

“Peace offering,” he says with a lopsided grin, setting it on the table. “Figured if I’m late, I should at least bribe you all.”

“Only works if they’re filled with jelly,” Chimney says, already reaching for one.

Bobby lightly smacks Chimney’s hands. “I did not slave away in this kitchen making homemade food for you to pick up sugar circles the first chance you get. You can wait for my lasagna to finish baking.”

Chim fake pouts.

Buck chuckles. It sounds right, but Hen isn’t sure she buys it.

She watches the way Buck’s eyes have yet to actually land on anyone since entering the station. Not including the way Bobby is currently speaking to Buck sternly with his arms folded (“Buck, this is a verbal warning…”) and lightly threatening duties, since no one wants to look Bobby in the eyes in case he follows through on his bluffs.

Tommy sees the little twitch in Buck’s hand as he pours himself a cup of coffee, the slight pause before he sips it like he has to remind himself how to move through the motions. It’s all so controlled. Too controlled.

They get called to a minor scene later that afternoon–an elderly woman stuck in her bathroom after a jammed lock. It’s quick work. Buck’s there first, kneeling at the door with some tools.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. Rescue puppy to the rescue,” he chirps, grinning like he’s holding something back.

Her laugh echoes behind the door and the others smile. Buck pops the lock and helps the old lady get out. But as they walk back to the truck, Hen lingers. She watches Buck reach for the door handle and notices how his fingers clench a little too hard. His smile falters. Tommy sees it too from the opposite side. The way Buck’s breath gets faster, like something’s pressing down on him.

“Good work,” Eddie says beside him. Buck nods, still not meeting his gaze.

Later, Buck’s in the station’s gym. He hits the punching bag hard. Then harder. His rhythm is off. His breath too quick. Eddie walks in and leans on the post.

“You okay?”

Buck slows, panting. “Just rusty,” he replies, flashing a grin. “Gotta shake off the weekend.”

By dinnertime, Bobby’s lasagna is out and the kitchen is filled with warmth and laughter. Buck compliments Bobby’s skills twice, grabs a plate with a measly portion, and then disappears.

Hen, Tommy, and Eddie share a look. Tommy nods at Eddie, and a moment later, Eddie finds Buck tucked in his bench corner picking at his food that’s gone cold.

For a moment, Eddie doesn’t say anything. He just watches. Buck doesn’t notice him yet. His shoulders are hunched, like they’re bracing for an impact that has yet to hit–blame, maybe. Or silence. The kind that means someone’s done trying.

Eddie wants to say something. God, he wants to. He wants to go over, sit beside him, and tell him he’s sorry. Sorry for letting his fear get the better of him. Sorry for raising his voice. He wants to promise that he’s not going anywhere and that Buck is allowed to fall apart and still be wanted.

But his throat turns dry. His legs feel heavy. He doesn’t move.

Buck turns his head slightly just enough to spot him standing there.

Eddie offers the gentlest nod.

Buck gives the smallest smile back.

The rooftop is quiet. The air is cool and the glow of the city burns gold across the skyline. Tommy’s leaned on the railing with his hands resting on it, jacket open. Hen joins him, holding a shiny, reflective silver thermos of tea in both hands.

“Earlier you asked me to talk, and then you come and get all broody and poetic up here?” she teases gently.

Tommy cracks a tired smile. “Was waiting for the perfect breeze.”

Hen snorts. “You and Buck both.”

He doesn’t respond. He closes his eyes and lets the rooftop breeze run its fingers through his hair and against his face like it’s trying to soothe something he hasn’t let out yet. He returns an exhale.

Hen takes her cue. “It’s about him, isn’t it?”

Tommy drops his head and nods once. “Yeah. It’s… I don’t know. He kind of disappeared after the warehouse thing. And today he comes in smiling like a politician. I’ve never seen him that composed. It’s wrong. Evan is supposed to be clumsy and impulsive and carefree.”

Hen hums in agreement.

“He wouldn’t even look at me or Eddie. And Eddie…” Tommy trails off, not sure he should even be telling others this next part. “Eddie thinks he might be harming himself.”

As if summoned, Eddie steps up onto the rooftop, coffee in hand. He joins them quietly, gaze distant for a moment. “Are we talking about Buck?”

Hen raises a brow. “When are we not?” 

Tommy chuckles, but it fades fast. “I suspected maybe he was going through stuff. That if we just kept being there, we’d get through. But if what Eddie thinks is true, what are we supposed to do?”

Hen looks between them, her expression soft but amused. “You two are like a pair of overgrown guard dogs.”

Eddie blinks. “Excuse me?” Just to make sure he’s hearing right, he walks across the rooftop. His boots lightly stomp and his turnouts reflect the horizon’s glow.

She laughs. “Seriously. Always flanking him. Watching his hands. Watching each other watching him. I’m waiting for one of you to start barking if someone so much as startles him or just gets too close.”

Tommy presses his lips together. “There’s nothing wrong with that. He’s our friend.”

She stares. Obviously, these oblivious men might need a bit of hand-holding. “Only thing is Buck doesn’t know he’s the center of the pack. He still feels like he’s a stray who wandered in and is just lucky he hasn’t been found out and kicked out yet.”

The wind picks up. Tommy folds his arms. “Do you think he’ll talk to us?”

Hen sighs. “Eventually. Maybe not everything. But I think… I think he wants to be found and kept. He just doesn’t believe he deserves it yet.”

Eddie’s voice is quiet. “He kept saying he was fine. Even back at the warehouse. Even when I–” he trails off.

Hen doesn’t push. “Yeah. He’s probably been saying that his whole life.” She takes a long sip of her tea.

“I know we’re not owed an explanation. At least maybe not me given how new I am,” Tommy says, gesturing to himself. “But I don’t think he’ll ever tell us how bad it is.”

Hen lets out a quiet breath. “He never does. That boy could have a hole in his chest and he’d say it’s just a scratch if it meant sparing someone else the worry.”

Tommy turns to her. “What happened to him? If you don’t mind sharing.”

Hen’s expression softens. “The short version? Buck’s spent most of his life being made to feel like an afterthought. By his parents who almost never acknowledge him. Sometimes by Maddie, even if she didn’t mean to and had justifiable reasons. By other people who left. So now… when someone stays, he thinks it’s temporary.”

“He doesn’t believe he’s allowed to be kept,” Tommy murmurs.

“Exactly.”

“I saw him earlier. Bench corner. Shaking hands. Blank eyes. Why do you think that is?” Eddie asks.

Hen speaks. “I noticed too. It seems like his comfort zone. A space away from everyone else where he can get lost in his thoughts.”

“He’s disappearing into himself,” Tommy corrects.

“And he doesn’t think we’ll follow him in there,” Hen nods. “But we will. You and Eddie already have. You just haven’t realized how far yet.”

Eddie asks one last question, “Do you think he even knows how much he means to us?”

Tommy swallows. His voice cracks when he says, “We’ll go as far as it takes to make sure he does. Both of us.”

“You better. He’s not just a puppy. He’s a person trying to believe he deserves love.”

They stay like that for a moment longer, letting the air carry the weight of what hasn’t been said.

By the time night falls, the firehouse is dim and quiet. Most of the world has gone to bed. Except Buck.

Buck’s curled on the firehouse couch again–hood up and body folded inward. The TV flickers low in the background with some old rerun. He’s not watching. He’s not sleeping, either.

A few minutes later, Tommy climbs up the curved firehouse staircase and comes across the little angel burying himself into the couch. He stands there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of Buck’s breath. Shallow, like he’s holding his breath. He looks so cuddly in his oversized sweater. And the birthmark that adorns his face looks so beautiful.

Tommy crouches besides the couch like a gentle giant careful not to startle his surroundings.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Tommy says, voice low and resonating but warm. “You’ll sleep better in my bunk.”

Buck’s eyes barely open, caught off guard by the pet name. “Huh?” he whines.

Tommy offers his hand, steady and unflinching. “Come on. I’m not letting you spend the whole night out here pretending you’re okay. Plus, you agreed to try it for me. Remember?”

Buck blinks. Buck hadn’t explicitly agreed to borrowing Tommy’s bunk. If anything, it felt like he was peer pressured by two grown men who don’t seem to understand that he’s just fine and somehow thought he needed babying. But when Tommy grabs his hand and starts pulling on him, Buck has no choice but to get up and follow him to the bunk room.

Eddie’s laying back in his own bunk, adjacent to Tommy’s, lost in a book when he sees what appears to be Tommy dragging in a smiling but lazy Buck. “Uh, what’s going on here?” he asks teasingly, brows furrowed.

Tommy tugs back the blanket to his own bunk. “Someone’s finally going to get some proper sleep.” He gestures. “Evan, get in.”

Buck’s face turns bright red. It’s one thing that he doesn’t want to be a bother to anyone and already feels guilty about asking for anything. But now these two are actively offering him help and comfort without him needing to seek permission. He begins to turn away. “You know what, it's okay I'll just go back to my—”

Buck only makes it a few steps before Tommy hooks a finger in Buck's belt loop. Tommy pulls him in close and slips another finger through it while resting the rest of his hand on Buck’s hips. “Evan,” he says with determination. His eyes drop down and up again.

Buck looks down with a shaky breath at the strong hand and then up at those cool yet warm eyes. Tommy doesn’t need to say anything else. His stare says enough. Listen to me and get in bed.

“Listen to Tommy, Buck,” Eddie insists.

“Yeah, okay,” Buck whispers, sliding in under the sheets. For some reason it’s so hard to break eye contact with Tommy.

At least until Tommy lifts Buck’s head so he can adjust the pillow and sets him back down before pulling the sheets over him. It’s oddly tender.

Then he crouches again, pressing a hand gently to Buck’s hair, smoothing it back. Not forcing anything. Just grounding him.

Eddie crouches besides him too. “Hey,” he says gently. Eddie reaches out his hand so that he can grab Buck’s arm, but he catches himself and hesitates for a moment. He reaches for the next best thing, if not better–Buck’s face.

“Hi,” Buck replies with a smile that could light up the whole world. Not that it isn’t for Eddie already.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you since the warehouse. I’m sorry for how I acted that night. I was so, so scared and worried about you risking your life like that that I just… I’m sorry. I should’ve told you that without raising my voice.”

Eddie strokes Buck’s cheeks with the back of his hand now, feeling his soft stubble. “It’s okay if you don’t feel fine, okay?” his voice cracks on that last word. “You don’t always have to be. Not with me or Tommy. You matter too much for me to let you forget that.”

Tommy hums in agreement.

Buck’s eyes sting, but he nods. He’s never felt so seen. This is the kind of care and attention he’s ever truly wanted from those around him. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Eddie gently reaches down mindfully and squeezes Buck’s hands once, then stands up again. He looks between Buck and Tommy. “You’re in good hands,” Eddie says softly. “Stay with Buck tonight and make sure he gets some sleep. I-I’m gonna go check on some things and make sure Christopher’s in bed.”

Tommy nods. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie starts to leave but pauses in the doorway and lingers for a few moments longer.

Before Buck can process what they meant, Tommy climbs into the bunk behind Buck without hesitation. The mattress shifts under his weight, a quiet surrender to his presence. Buck tenses for a moment, his breath catching in his throat as he feels the warmth of Tommy’s chest press along his back. Not invasive. Just… there.

The sheets rustle softly as Tommy’s arm then moves, slow and steady, and curls across Buck’s middle. His hand settles lightly with his fingers splayed over Buck’s stomach, and for a moment, neither of them breathes.

Tommy’s warm breath ghosts against the back of Buck’s neck. It’s a quiet exhale. Almost reverent. His palm simply rests, as if anchoring Buck.

“Just breathe,” Tommy murmurs.

And Buck does.

Buck’s already started to melt into Tommy’s touch. There’s something sweet and relaxed about the way Buck exhales like he’s finally found air. The blanket is drawn halfway up and Tommy’s chin rests against Buck’s curls.

Eddie watches the way Buck lets himself be held. And something in his chest aches–warm, deep, and unfamiliar.

His fingers curl onto the doorway.

He could stay. He could crawl in and tuck himself into the other side. He could ask to be part of it, even if just to rest his hand on Buck’s shoulder. Not just for Buck–but for himself. For all the fear he carried and all the nights he stayed up wondering if Buck was okay, if he’d pushed too hard, if he’d done enough. But Christopher’s waiting. And if there’s one thing Eddie knows, it’s that Buck wouldn’t forgive himself if Eddie let someone else down just to take care of him. At the very least, he watches quietly for a few more breaths as something he can’t name stirs deep inside him. Eddie smiles one last time before slipping out of the door. 

Buck lets his shoulders drop, lets the tension bleed from his spine, lets his head tip slightly back toward the chest behind him. He never knew how much he needed permission to finally relax.

Tommy traces the edge of Buck’s ribs through the blanket with the back of his fingers, just enough to ground him. Just enough to say I see you. I’m here. I’m staying.

“You’re so warm,” Buck whispers, almost not even realizing he said it until Tommy chuckles.

“I run hot,” he says, voice low, lips close but not quite touching the back of Buck’s ear. “You should know that by now.”

That should warrant a giggle if not a laugh from Buck. He huffs instead, a small, broken thing. Like he wants to find something funny but can’t quite get there.

Tommy doesn’t push. He just presses his chest forward slightly, letting Buck sink into him a little more. He nuzzles gently into the space just behind Buck’s ear. Not a kiss. Not even close. But it sends a ripple of unspoken desire through Buck. On one hand, he wants to turn around and bury his face in the crook of Tommy’s neck. On the other, he doesn’t want to move and risk losing this quiet.

Tommy’s voice is even softer now. “I don’t need you to talk. I don’t need you to be anything other than right here.”

Buck’s fingers twitch against the blanket. Tommy notices, and without breaking contact, slides his hands and threads it together with Buck’s beneath the covers. Their hands slot together like puzzle pieces, perfect fits but just a bit incomplete. Tommy’s thumb brushes over Buck’s knuckles.

“You don’t have to hold anything right now,” Tommy says, barely audible. “Let me.”

Buck shudders. Not from fear, but from the unfamiliar safety from it. From someone not just offering to take care of him, but expecting nothing in return.

The blanket shifts as Tommy draws it up around both of them, cocooning Buck in warmth.

Buck breathes in.

It’s subtle at first, but that scent is almost unmistakable.

Coffee. Like the kind Tommy makes on slow mornings, strong but mellow. Cedarwood, maybe. The smell of the inside of his truck, like the worn leather of his gloves. Underneath it all, something deeper and warmer and grounding. Something Buck doesn’t have a name for but makes him want to get closer to his skin. At home, everything smelled like dust and old takeout. But this… this smelled like a place he could stay.

Buck shifts just slightly before going for it. He turns around and rests his head deliberately against Tommy’s chest, letting his ear rest flat against it. And deep beneath the fabric and skin, he hears it.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

He listens to it like a lullaby.

“Is that… is that your heartbeat?” Buck asks.

Tommy’s answer is slow. “Yeah. It’s yours now too. If you want it.”

The silence that follows isn’t really silence at all. It’s the kind that comes with being kept. It’s Tommy's rhythmic heartbeat and subtle scent. It’s the feeling of being held without conditions.

Buck’s body curls tighter into the embrace, letting the soft thump-thump lull him deeper. I want it to be mine. Eventually, his breathing slows and deepens. The stiffness in his limbs ease with every breath until the dark softens into sleep.

Tommy watches him for a long time, his fingers brushing small circles at the base of Buck’s spine under his shirt.

And only when Buck is truly asleep, his still lashes sparkling under the moonlight, and the softest of snoozes escaping his lips…

Only then does Tommy lean forward.

He studies the birthmarks along Buck’s eyebrow. Those soft little wound marks from heaven.

Tommy presses a single, reverent kiss there. Slow. Still.

“You don’t even know how loved you are,” he whispers, not for Buck to hear.

But maybe, just maybe, Buck does.

Chapter Text

Tommy isn’t sure what pulls him out of sleep at first. Maybe it’s instinct. Or maybe it’s the faint, choked sounds coming from the sweet boy on his chest. Those small, breathless whimpers so hushed they nearly blend into the creaks of the mattress. Whichever it is, the way Buck shifts against him wakes him up fully. Buck jolts with twitches beneath the skin like his muscles are trying to outrun something he can’t see. His face is scrunched, eyebrows furrowed in some kind of pain his conscious mind can’t reach yet. His lips are parted around the tiniest whimpers, ready for help he can’t call. He’s pulling himself inward like he’s bracing for something awful in his dreams.

Tommy’s heart lurches. He sits up, slow but urgent, careful not to jostle Buck more than necessary. The mattress creaks in protest of the shift in weight. His arms find Buck, scooping beneath the crook of his knees and behind his shoulders to pull him up until Buck is curled in his lap. He’s so pliant and loose-limbed in his sleep, yet full of tension just below the surface.

“Hey, firefly,” Tommy whispers, lips brushing against the crown of his curls. The nickname lands softly. “Wake up, sweetheart. I think you’re having a nightmare.”

Buck doesn’t startle awake. He doesn’t even open his eyes, instead, holding them shut even tighter through the worst of it. Buck’s head lolls weakly against Tommy’s shoulder. His eyes are still closed, but his fingers twitch like they’re trying to find something or someone to hold onto. Tommy rubs Buck’s temples, swaying slightly like they’re on a porch swing, and reaching with the other hand to grab the half-full water bottle sitting on the nightstand beside the bunk.

“Here,” he says, tilting the bottle. “Just a sip.”

Buck’s eyes flutter open. He turns his face away with the smallest shake of his head. “No,” he whines.

Tommy frowns and lowers the bottle. “Okay, okay. Not yet,” he murmurs, like he’s speaking to a child mid-fever incessantly refusing cough syrup and acting like the taste will be more deadly to their existence. He tucks Buck’s legs over his lap and rubs soothing circles into his back with a palm. “You were dreaming,” his voice careful and calm. “Wanna tell me about it?”

There’s no answer. Buck just burrows closer, hiding his face deeper into Tommy’s shirts. The fabric dampens with the barest trace of sweat or tears or maybe some combination of both.

Tommy adjusts again, wrapping his arms tighter around Buck. “Can’t talk about it?” Tommy asks, careful not to press too much. “Or just don’t want to yet?”

Buck breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, uneven and shaky. “I dunno,” he finally admits, cracked and fragile.

Tommy doesn’t push Buck to talk about something he’s not ready for. He only nods. “It’s okay. Some dreams aren’t meant to be shared right away.”

Buck swallows.

Tommy keeps going, rocking them slightly with an unconscious back and forth rhythm. “Whatever it was,” he says, soothingly, “It’s not here. Not in this bunk. Not in this room. Not while I’ve got you. It’s just you and me.”

Tommy’s deep voice sinks into Buck’s bones, low and warm, like a lullaby meant just for him. He’s not quite relaxed, but not bracing anymore. Less rigid.

Tommy reaches for the water bottle again. “C’mon,” he says. “Just a sip. You’ll feel better.” He unscrews the cap again and lifts it to his own lips first, drinking a small sip as if to prove there’s no danger–that it’s safe. The quiet gulps ripple through the air. Then he tilts the bottle toward Buck again, resting the cool plastic against his lower lip.

Buck looks up at Tommy with the faintest silver of moonlight shining in his eyes. He looks dazed. Vulnerable in a way that’s too raw to meet with anything but softness. But after a beat, he opens his mouth.

He drinks.

Only a little.

Just enough to cool the back of his throat.

Tommy pulls the bottle away slowly and sets it aside. His free hand rises to Buck’s cheek, brushing his thumb along the bone with a featherlike stroke. “Good,” he whispers, more breath than sound. “Attaboy.”

There’s no teasing in the phrase. No patronizing tone. Just quiet pride and recognition in seeing Buck take care of himself

After a second, Buck shifts a little closer like the words carved out a space between them he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take. Tommy wraps his arms tighter, pulling him into the space with open acceptance. “You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready for. But I am here when you are.”

He holds him through it all.

Long after the tremors in his limbs fade to stillness.

Long after Buck sighs–a soft, worn sound that carries more vulnerability than Tommy’s ever been trusted with before–and buries his face fully into the curve of Tommy’s neck.

No questions. No expectations. Just gentle, rhythmic motions: a hand slowly carding through messy curls, a thumb brushing over the juts of knuckles, the occasional whisper of “You’re okay now, I’ve got you” wrapping around them like the night air.

Eventually, when Buck falls into a boneless sleep, Tommy shifts just enough to peer down at him.

The look of someone who time forgot to harden. Lips parted, lashes still damp, cheek pressed warm against Tommy’s chest. Every line of tension smoothed out. His brows relaxed. One hand resting limply on him.

Tommy smiles faintly and dozes off.

A few hours later, the door creaks open so softly most people wouldn’t hear it. But Tommy does. He glances up to find Eddie silhouetted by the hallway light, his gaze unreadable but full of something tender. They don’t speak. They don’t need to.

Carefully, Tommy begins to move. He untangles himself inch by inch, supporting Buck’s head with one hand while guiding him toward the other man waiting to slide in with open arms. Buck stirs only once. Confused and unwilling to be moved from warmth, Buck lets out a small sound of protest at whatever movement seems to be going on–but Tommy hushes him, soft as a tide. “Shh… it’s okay.”

Eddie receives him without question, curling Buck against his chest like he’s done it a hundred times before and Buck’s weight fits him perfectly.

Tommy straightens the blanket over them, brushes one last hand over Buck’s hair, then steps out into the hallway.

Time moves strangely after that.

The darkness outside fades gradually to a gray and then to a pale peach. The hum of morning begins to stir across the station: soft footsteps, clinking mugs, and the distant sizzle of breakfast.

Buck wakes slowly this time, as if surfacing from the bottom of a very deep pool. His body doesn’t get jolted around like waves are crashing around him. It’s a drift, like being carried on a gentle tide. There’s warmth all around him. A heavy blanket draped across his back, comforting and grounding. And on the other side he’s tucked in against someone’s beating heart.

Wait.

This thump-thump feels different. Sounds different. It’s faint but the steady sound echoes against his ear with a rhythm that’s so familiar and yet different.

An arm is curled protectively over his waist. And there’s a smell of soap and cologne. It’s a little woodsy but also citrus-y. Something very familiar. Something very Eddie.

He blinks open carefully, lashes brushing against a collarbone. The room is still dim with the remnants of early dusk. A slant of sunlight sneaks in through the slightly parted blinds, carving a soft line of gold across the floor and illuminating the gentle but sharp slope of Eddie’s jaw.

It’s not Tommy’s chest he’s resting on.

It’s Eddie’s.

How?

Buck remains still, not even daring a breath. The heartbeat, the breath, and the near-silent way Eddie seems to be waiting–like he’s been holding still for hours just to be something steady for Buck to wake up to.

“Hey Buckley,” Eddie says, voice barely above a whisper, low and still laced with sleep. His breath warms the top of Buck’s hair. “You know you snooze when you sleep?”

Buck shifts just enough to glance up at Eddie’s face, tickling Eddie’s neck with his curls in the process. “I didn’t mean to…” Buck starts before trailing off. What is he even apologizing for? For snoozing? For being held?

“You’re fine,” Eddie replies, his tone immediate and soft. One hand lifts slowly and brushes a loose curl from Buck’s forehead. “Tommy said you had a rough night. He stayed with you the whole night. But he–we didn’t want to leave you alone. It seemed like the first actual sleep you’ve gotten in forever and I didn’t want you to wake up alone either. So, I switched in.”

Ah, that makes sense. Buck swallows. His throat feels thick and his voice is ragged when it comes out. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Eddie replies gently. “You’re allowed to be cared for, Buck.” Eddie’s fingers move like they’ve done this before, gentle strokes over his curls. A kind of remembering. As if his body has always known how to care for Buck. It doesn’t hurt that Buck’s curls remind him of son Christopher’s curls. Or that their smiles are some of the brightest things in his world.

The words settle like a quilt. Heavy. Protective. Intimate. Air slips out from Buck’s lungs in a shaky, grateful sigh, as if releasing something he hadn’t noticed was gripping him in place. He turns his face inward, resting his forehead more firmly against Eddie’s chest. “Sorry for everything.”

Eddie’s fingers move slowly across his back, tracing circles through the fabric. His eyes widen for a moment and he shakes his head left-right. “Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t handle that night the way I should’ve. I was scared. I let it come out wrong. I’m sorry it took me some time to apologize.”

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I know, buddie,” Eddie says. “I just… I need you to know that you don’t have to walk through fire to prove anything to us. Not to me. Not to Tommy.  You already matter just by being here.”

Something tightens in Buck’s chest–not panic, but something tender and raw. Curling in closer, Buck lets himself be held.

Eddie lets him. He keeps holding him, one hand gently rubbing up and down Buck’s spine. He adjusts the blanket that’s slipped down a little and smooths it with care.

And when Buck finally relaxes enough that his breath begins to deepen again, he speaks. “Tommy,”  Buck pauses, “He helped me through a nightmare last night. I don’t really remember it. Just that it felt very heavy.”

Eddie nods slowly. His hand slides up to Buck’s shoulder with a grounding calm. “I figured,” Eddie replies. “I saw you both. You looked safe.”

Buck’s breath hitches.

“I want to talk,” he says, walking his fingers along a crease in the blanket. “Just… maybe with both of you. At the same time.”

He lifts his hand up to Buck’s face, holding his stubbled chin and stroking his jaw with a thumb. “Okay.” The word is wrapped in patience and warmth. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Buck nods. The idea of talking still worries him, but it no longer feels as terrifying–not with Eddie holding him like so he may never fade away. Not with the memory of Tommy’s voice calling him a good boy.

Chapter Text

Buck’s usual bench–the one in the far corner just out of the main flow of foot traffic–has become something of a second skin. Although this time, it’s colder than usual like it’s threatening to freeze him if he so much as breathes the wrong way. Hunched low on it, his elbows rest on his knees and hands twist together in his lap like he’s trying to wring the words out of himself.

He watches as Bobby walks out. Across from him, the row of lockers gleam under fluorescent light. Everything is too sharp, too sterile. Faint buzzing sounds overhead mirror the static in his brain. Buck tries to swallow but his mouth feels too dry.

Tommy and Eddie flank him like bookends. Mr. Pilot sits to his left, legs spread comfortably with a steaming coffee mug in hand. Meanwhile, Mr. Medic stands to his right, back leaning against the locker and arms crossed–but not closed off. Their presence is solid. But the gravity between them feels heavy and tugs on Buck’s throat.

“I, uh…” Buck begins. But his voice is a ghost of itself. He coughs, clearing it. “I wanted to talk. To the both of you.”

Tommy straightens, inching a bit closer. Eddie sinks into a crouch beside him, forearms on his knees. The quiet that falls between them isn’t uncomfortable, not exactly–but Buck can feel himself shrinking inside it. Why do they have to wait on him so gently? Buck stares past them. At the chipped paint on the walls, the worn shelves from having shoes repeatedly placed on them and pulled off. If only his shoes could remember how to work right now. A vague shimmer of his reflection in the silver handle of a locker door watches him back.

He stands suddenly, clenching his fists. “Not here,” he says, voice tight. “It’s too–too closed in. I can’t… I just can’t.”

Eddie is already rising, reading his body language. “Rooftop?” he asks Tommy.

Tommy nods once. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The stairwell echoes with footsteps. Concrete and breath and noise of city life waiting outside. When they emerge onto the rooftop, the world feels different. The last traces of early morning blues still hang around the city.

Buck walks to the edge and wraps his hands around the metal railing. It’s cool and grounding. Like touching something, or someone, that doesn’t expect anything back. The wind is light, threading through Buck’s curls and all his cares.

He breathes in.

And out.

Eddie and Tommy find their way to their respective spots, right besides the little flower currently reaching for the sun on his face. They stand close, but not enough to crowd or scare him off again.

No one speaks yet. The silence is different here.

Buck closes his eyes, then opens them. “I don’t really know how to begin this,” he admits, looking down at the streetlights blinking out below. “I keep trying to hold it in, but I feel like if I don’t get this out…”

The steam from Tommy’s mug curls into the air. A bird flits overhead and disappears into the awning.

“It’s loud up here.” Buck lifts a hand and taps his temple with two fingers. “Really, really loud. There’s this constant… noise. So many voices in my head telling me different things. That I’m too much. That I talk too much. Feel too much. Ask for too much. That there’s a reason people leave me behind. Or look tired when they choose to stay.”

He exhales sharply. “Some days, I can’t even separate the voices. It gets so loud I can’t think. They all blend into this static. And I can’t breathe.”

His hands tighten on the rail.

“And the only way I’ve figured out how to quiet it–even for a second–is to…” he trails off, unable to finish with the taste of poison in his mouth. Heavy and honest, the words linger. Buck doesn’t look up but he can see in his peripherals the looks being exchanged between the two men. Their stillness.

“I haven’t really been eating,” Buck continues, forcing a half-laugh that dies instantly. “It’s not–It’s not on purpose. It’s just hard to remember how, sometimes. Or nothing sounds good. Or I think I should wait until someone reminds me. Like a kid.”

Eddie shifts. Tommy’s jaw tightens.

“I don’t sleep either. I try. I really do. But I just… some nights I lay there for hours, and I feel like I’m drowning. In my own thoughts. And sometimes,” he swallows, “Sometimes I hurt myself. Because it feels better to feel pain I can control than to sit there with everything else.”

Buck pauses. “And the other night after the warehouse… I almost–” his voice falters. “There were pills. Please don't be mad at me. I didn’t take them. I didn't. I promise I didn’t. But I really wanted to.”

It’s out. Too late to take back. The admission lingers in the air between them like smoke that no breeze can carry away. Buck flinches, already regretting saying it.

Eddie freezes, the words landing like a blow to his chest. “Jesus, of course we're not mad, Buck… I-I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Tommy steps forward from the other side, setting down his coffee and closing the distance with a calm that’s become signature. His hand curls up around the back of Buck’s neck, thumb brushing just behind his ear. “You told us,” Tommy says, voice like corduroy. “That matters.”

Buck’s voice breaks as he mutters, “I didn’t want to be a burden.” That sentence should’ve been a whisper but it lands like a punch.

Eddie steps forward instinctively, snapped out of shock by that impact. His fingers curl around Buck’s wrist. Buck doesn’t resist as Eddie slowly lifts it, not to examine or judge, but to see him. To witness him. “Buck… mi corazón…” Eddie’s voice is a rasp of gravel and guilt. He hadn’t expected to call Buck that but he continues. “You weren’t a burden. You were bleeding. I didn’t see it. I should’ve. I see everything when I’m on a call–every fracture, every burn, every danger before it spreads–but I missed you.”

The medic’s lips press together as he feels Buck’s pulse. “I kept telling myself you were strong. You always bounce back. You always have. And I didn’t think–God, I didn’t want to think–that maybe you were just keeping yourself stitched together so tightly that I couldn’t see how much it hurt.”

His head shakes like he’s trying to deny himself any emotions, but when his eyes flicker up to Buck’s, they’re wet. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said more. Done more. Told you that I see you–not the guy who’s always smiling, not the guy who runs headfirst into danger, not just Buck the firefighter. You. Evan Buckley. You’re the heart of this family, buddie.”

Buck is stunned into silence. His lashes flutter, wet with tears. He’s not crying, at least not yet. But his whole body feels like it could tip any moment.

“I fly people through the worst nights of their lives,” Tommy says, voice low and even. “But you’re the one who’s been navigating through smoke and wreckage without a map. And I didn’t think to ask if you were flying blind.”

The pilot chuckles, barely. It’s sad. Not bitter. Just achingly fond. “You remember that day when I told you I was scared when we lost sight of you in that warehouse? I wasn’t just scared, Buck. I was terrified. Because I realized something up there in that chopper, praying I’d see your dumb curls come out of the smoke or that I’d hear your goofy voice–I care about you. More than I knew. And it hit me that if you hadn’t made it back…” He takes a breath. “I’ve attended too many friends’ funerals. I don’t think I could make it through yours.”

Tommy’s hand falls down to the shoulder, grounding not just Buck but himself. “You’re not a stray, Evan. You’re not someone we’ve picked up out of pity. You belong here. With people who are going to stay even when you think you don’t deserve it. You burn so bright, firefly, sometimes I think you forget that you don’t have to do it alone.”

 Buck breaks. And for the first time, he doesn’t break alone.

His breath hitches, sharp and sudden like a glass edge catching the skin, and then the dam gives way. The first sob punches out of him before he can stop it. And then another, and another. His whole body folding in on itself like paper too wet to hold its own shape. His knees buckle, but he doesn’t hit the ground.

Eddie is already there, pulling Buck into his chest with strong arms that wrap around him completely. “We’ve got you.” The cadence is reassuring. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

Tommy steps behind Buck, sliding in like a wall at his back. One arm wraps low around Buck’s waist, the other wide across Buck’s shuddering chest, as if anchoring his heartbeat to something steady. His chest presses to Buck’s spine, chin lightly resting against damp curls.

“No estás sola, cariño,” Eddie whispers.

“You don’t have to hold it in anymore,” Tommy adds. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Up the stairwell, just beyond the open rooftop door, Bobby stands silently. Not eavesdropping. Not spying. Just there because something in his gut told him to check when he saw Buck earlier.

Bobby doesn’t step forward. Doesn’t speak up. He just watches with a hand resting on the doorframe.. His boy is hurting. And he hadn’t seen it. Not really. Not the way he should have. As a captain. Like a father.

He stands there, letting his own chest ache and the sight of those two men holding Buck remind him that the family he put together and helped build is doing exactly what he had always hoped it would: holding each other up when one of them falls. He takes a breath and quietly retreats, leaving them to it.

Buck’s sobs keep coming. Loud and gasping and real. Not pretty, but the kind that shakes the soul and heart clean. The kind that only comes when you finally, finally feel safe enough to fall apart.

When the cries begin to taper, hiccuping and slow, Buck doesn’t move. He stays where he is, nestled between the two men like it’s the safest place in the world.

And in that space between heartbeats, the noise in Buck’s head finally softened.

Later that night, after everyone’s asleep and the lights at the 118 are down to a soft hum, Buck lies in the bunk still surrounded by two sets of strong arms. His phone buzzes quietly against the pillow beside him. Sneakily, he slips an arm out and reaches for it.

Maddie: Hey, you’ve been on my mind all day. Just checking in. No pressure. But if there’s anything you want to talk about. I’d love to hangout.

He stares at the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then he locks it, sets the phone back down, and snuggles back in.

Not tonight. But maybe tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Hen liked mornings. Or at least she liked them at the firehouse. It carried a certain rhythm: the sharp hiss and sputter of the coffee machine under pressure, a pungent aroma of over roasted beans wafting through the air, boots scuffing across worn concrete, low thuds from someone shutting a locker a little too hard, and sleepy grunts from the men still stumbling into uniforms. It was a common routine with a soothing predictability.

Which is exactly why the sight that greets her this morning makes her pause in the doorway of the bunkroom, one eyebrow arched.

Buck is sitting on the floor in front of one of the bunks–Tommy’s, definitely–like a burrito with the blanket still halfway around him. But the tug on his sleeves made him twitch. Eddie is crouched in front, strapping the boots, carefully adjusting the suspenders, and rolling up the sleeves on a phone-fidgeting Buck. He didn’t twitch because it hurt, but because he could’ve done it himself. “I got it,” Buck murmured quietly as Eddie adjusted one of the suspenders.

“I know,” Eddie said, still doing it. He didn't know when it had started, this quiet ritual of dressing Buck like he was made of something worth protecting. He just knew it felt right. Like someone lighting candles within a sanctuary out of sheer habit. Like keeping something sacred from unraveling.

Behind Buck, Tommy is sitting on the bunk with his legs spread and an open jar of curling cream beside him. Fingers comb and smooth out cowlicks while scrunching Buck’s curls in place like sculpting him into the best version of himself. Buck felt too seen. Too exposed. Like a doll being dressed.

Hen looked away. Partially because she felt like she was watching something private–something sacred. Partially because she had to look at the calendar on her phone. For a second, she was worried she might have forgotten Denny and Mara’s first day of school.

Buck tilts his head up, voice soft and a little shy. “Is it okay if I hang out with Maddie tonight instead?”

“You don’t need to ask us for permission,” Tommy replies, tipping Buck’s chin a little more so their eyes meet. “You’re allowed to see your sister. You should.”

“I know, I just didn’t wanna leave you guys alone,” Buck mumbles, like he’s asking for reassurance that they’ll be okay without him.

“You’re allowed to see your sister, Buck,” Eddie repeats, coming in clutch. “Tommy and I will miss you but we’ll be okay.” Gentle pats find their way to Buck’s cheeks.

Hen tilts her head.

It’s not just that the three of them seem attached at the hip. It’s that they’ve practically fused into their own solar system with two of them orbiting around a very content Buck. If this were any other pair of men, she might chalk it up to overprotectiveness after a rough call.

Who am I kidding? There is no heterosexual explanation for this.

Hen steps forward, arms crossed. “Hydrated?” she calls, loud enough to make all three men flinch like deer in headlights.

“Huh?” they ask in unison.

Hen smirks. Those three couldn’t be more in tune with each other. She tosses a water bottle which Buck barely catches. He tries to twist the cap off himself, but his fingers fumble. Just slightly. Tommy silently reaches over and opens it for him. Buck flushed. The stupid water bottle hissed as it opened. It was a piece of plastic and yet it was accusing him of being a failure.

“Do you need me to take a sip first so you know it’s safe?” Hen teases.

Buck groans and drags a hand down his face. “That was ONE time.”

“Who are you lying to, Buckley?”

Tommy’s eyes widened like he suddenly remembered something. “Ah, thanks for the reminder.” He grabs the water bottle and takes a sip before handing it back to Buck.

Buck glares weakly and mutters something into his hoodie sleeve. It’s too quiet to hear but the tinges of pink in his cheeks speak enough.

“You also happen to eat almost every bite of food they make up for you,” she points out.

“Now that’s just good manners,” Tommy offers innocently.

Hen continues, “And wear their hoodies for hours.”

“Nothing wrong with sharing hoodies, Hen,” Eddie says.

“They’re comfy,” Buck interjects.

“Buck, their hoodies just barely fit you.”

“You’re doing that Hen thing where you think you know what’s going on, but you just want someone to say it out loud so you can tell them you’re right,” Buck grumbles. “There’s nothing weird going on.”

“It’s not weird,” Hen agrees. “Just a little suspicious. You have two tall, rugged men acting like your personal caretakers, fussing over your hair, feeding you, dressing you, and I’m supposed to believe you haven’t noticed how they look at you? Or how you look at them?”

Buck flushes.

 “You respond to them like they hung the moon,” she says, leaning in. “And baby boy… you’re their sun.”

“Don’t call me that,” Buck says, horrified. The blush on his cheeks told her enough though.

“Oh honey,” she drawls. “They already do.”

Tommy smirks. Eddie sips his coffee. They both refuse to comment.

Hen had walked away smirking, but Buck was left feeling a sting. Not from her teasing, but from how true it felt. That he liked being cared for. That his knees had buckled last night when Eddie and Tommy reassured and hugged him last night. That part of him wanted to say yes every time they offered help.

And that part scared the hell out of him.

Buck had laughed when Hen teased them, but the laugh hadn’t reached his eyes. It sat in his chest like a stone he couldn’t swallow. The echo of “baby boy” followed him down the hallway. He didn’t hate that part. But he hated that he hadn’t corrected her. Something about being seen that clearly brought a discomfort that clung to his skin like sweat.

Morning light filters through the blinds in pale, gold slats, catching on the rim of Buck’s cereal bowl as he idly pushes oats through milk with his spoon like he’s navigating tiny boats in a sea too calm to be real.

Tommy’s at the sink, hand towel over his shoulder, washing dishes vigorously. Eddie’s sat nearby, still in his undershirt, sipping slowly from his favorite chipped mug–one Buck had once dropped, apologized for seven times, and then offered to super glue back together.

Eddie reaches over and wipes some milk off of Buck’s upper lip with a thumb. Buck doesn’t pull away. But he doesn’t smile either.

Buck clears his throat. “You guys act like you’re my dads or something.”

Eddie blinks mid-lick and lowers his thumb from his mouth just enough to arch a brow and look bemused. “That’s funny,” he said, lips twitching. “Chris said the same thing once.” 

Tommy leans back and winks. “Dibs on being the hot one.”

Eddie chokes.

Buck manages a weak smile, but it’s not real. Not quite. His fingers tremble as he stabs at a soggy oat.

“You guys don’t have to do everything for me,” he says suddenly, more serious now. His leg bounces under the table. There’s an edge in his tone, like he’s been rehearsing that sentence many times in his head and this is the best he could do.

Eddie lowers his mug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you want us to back off?”

Buck hesitates.

Tommy looks up from the sink. “We can give you space, Evan. If that’s what you need.”

There was a long pause. Buck presses his thumb into the woodgrain of the table, tracing it gently. He didn’t look up. “Y-Yes. No. I don’t know,” he mutters. “Nevermind, I’m fine.”

Both of the men exchange a look.

“What’s bringing this up?” Eddie asks.

“I said I’m fine.” Buck’s voice was sharper now. His spoon clatters into the bowl with emphasis.

Tommy rinses off and dries his hands. “That sounded a lot more like ‘I’m pissed, but I don’t want to admit why.’”

“You guys don’t have to hover over me all the time. I’m not made of glass.”

The air went still. “We’re not hovering. We’re taking care of you,” Eddie says, straightening up.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t need to be taken care of!” Buck snapped. His voice rang way louder than he intended. He shifted in his seat, tense all over. “Maybe I’m sick of being treated like I’m some project or-or some pet you’re nursing back to health.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “That’s what you think this is?”

Buck’s breath hitched, but he pressed on. “Hen was right. You guys cut the crusts off my toast, you roll up my sleeves, you tell me when to drink water. Do you even hear yourselves? It’s pathetic.” His voice cracks. His knee bounced under the table, faster and faster. “I’m pathetic.”

“Pero you’re not,” Eddie said, too fast. “Don’t twist it.”

Buck shoved his chair back with a screech that scraped across the floor like a warning siren. The sound vibrated through the room and set Eddie’s jaw clenching tight. “You don’t even see how much you’ve made me rely on you! And now I feel like I can’t function unless someone’s right there with a fork and a goddamn sippy cup.”

Tommy comes closer. “We didn’t make you rely on us. You did that because you needed help. And we chose to be here. C’mere, Evan. I think you just need a hug,” he pleads, pulling Buck into his arms.

Just for a moment, Buck lets himself melt into the older man’s chest. It’s so strong and warm. And the heartbeat. That heartbeat. “I-I can’t.” He pulls himself away. “I don’t deserve this.”

“You do deserve this. Why are you acting like that’s a bad thing?” Eddie asks, frustration creeping in. A hand reaches across to hold Buck’s arm.

Buck shakes off the hand.

“Because it makes me feel WEAK!” Buck shouted. “It makes me feel like a child! Like I can’t do anything without one of you watching over me.”

There it was. The crack.

“I hate that I need you. That I want you. I hate that it feels good when someone pulls me into bed or rubs my back or makes me food because it shouldn’t. I’m a grown man.” His voice cracked like glass under pressure. He was standing alone now, fists curled at his sides, breath coming too fast like the air in the room wasn’t enough. Like he was choking on care.

Tommy’s expression softened, but his voice stayed firm. “You’re allowed to want softness. It doesn’t make you weak. We’re looking out for you. That’s what people do when they care.”

Buck’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel like care. It feels like pity.”

Eddie gestures with his mug. “That’s not fair to us.”

Buck’s voice cracked. “You don’t understand. You’ve never had people look at you like you’re a burden. Like a wind-up toy you have to keep resetting. Like you’re this fragile little thing they have to tiptoe around and get stuck with managing for the day.”

Silence fell like ash.

“You think I of all people wouldn’t know how that feels?” Eddie says, voice low. “I had a father who only looked at me when I screwed up. A wife who walked away before I could fix anything. A kid who needed me to be a rock even when I was breaking apart inside because she died during our do-over. I know what it’s like to feel like a burden because I’ve spent years pretending I wasn’t.”

Eddie’s mug hit the table harder than necessary. “And you want to tell me after all we’ve been through together that’s all this is? Management?” His face was tight. A muscle jumped in his jaw. For a moment, his eyes didn’t look like the man who tucked Buck into bed last night. He looked like a soldier–back straight, jaw locked, eyes hard like boot leather. And then, all at once, he looked like a boy again. Not Eddie, but Edmundo. Small. Shoulders pinched inward. Staring down a father who only ever taught love in the language of silence and scolding. Who called softness a weakness. Who raised a son to mistake gentleness for failure.

“I’ve lost people,” Tommy says quietly. “You think I’m just here out of guilt?”

“I don’t know! Maybe!” Buck shouts. “Maybe I remind you of someone you couldn’t save. And now you feel like you need to coddle me!”

Tommy stepped forward, disbelief raging in his eyes. “So it’s coddling when we make sure you don’t starve yourself? When we make sure you sleep longer than two hours? You think we like watching you fall apart and not being able to do a damn thing about it?”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Buck shouted. “To feel like your worst days are homework someone else has to carry. Like I’m just extra weight that people shoulder and smile through. I hate it. I hate that I need any of this! I’m neither of your responsibilities. And I’m not either of your kids. So stop treating me like one.”

Tommy’s eyes flash. His last mentee in the Army had said the same thing once. It had been during a call that went bad–after too many lives were lost and too much blame settled in. The kid had stood just outside the flight line, fists clenched at his sides, face red with humiliation and heat. I’m not your responsibility, the kid said, voice cracking under the weight of pride and pain. Just like Evan. Same stubborn jaw, same tremble in the voice like the words were too heavy. Tommy wished he argued that day. Done anything to stop him from getting back in that seat. Should’ve dragged him off by the collar if he had to. But he hadn’t.

Now here’s Evan. Someone whose name is in every breath that escapes from Tommy’s lips, unraveling in real time and blaming himself for needing anything at all. And Tommy feels it. Deep in his bones. Deep in that helpless, aching pressure in his chest. The kind that says Please, not again. 

“Why did you transfer from Station 217 in the first place?” Buck demands.

How could Tommy even begin to explain that he transferred because he couldn’t keep watching Buck burn and stand there holding a bucket he never got to use?

“Did last night mean nothing to you?” Eddie asks, facing Buck while putting a hand on Tommy’s chest to hold him in place.

The color drained from Buck’s face and for a second, he looked like a child who’d touched a hot stove and didn’t know what to do. Except for one thing. He grabs his jacket from the chair and shoves past them.

“Buck?!” Eddie exclaims, reaching out for him.

“No,” Buck pulls back from his grasp. “I’m not worth this.” He disappears down the hallway. The room shrank, pulling inward like a collapsing lung. Either that or Buck was folding in on himself once again.

The door slams.

Tommy stays frozen like he's been pulled back through time, jaw clenched like he’s bracing for bad radio silence again.

Eddie lowers himself into the chair like gravity’s doubled. He pressed the heel of his hand to his chest like it physically aches to hold so much love and not know where to put it. The ache of something holy slipping through his fingers.

“...shit,” Tommy whispers.

That evening, Buck sat at his older sister’s kitchen table like he was in time-out. Not exactly sulking, but his shoulders hunched and knees drawn in too tight for someone of his size. His fork had barely touched the chicken she made, serving no purpose other than picking.

Maddie didn’t say anything at first. She moved around her small kitchen with a practiced purpose, the way only older sisters and ex-nurses can–fluid, methodical, and pretending to be unfazed by how her little brother flinched at every noise: cabinet doors and drawers that clicked shut a little too loudly or the clink of her glass against the counter. It reminded her of a time she didn’t like remembering. But she understood it. And she knew better than to point it out.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asked eventually, her voice barely above the hum of the fridge.

Buck didn’t bother looking up, instead, stabbing harder at the meat like it deserved it. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Maddie watched him for a moment longer, then added, “You wanna tell me why it feels like you’re vibrating out of your skin?”

Like his chest couldn’t keep it in anymore, he muttered, “Do you ever feel like maybe you… missed something?” he asks finally. “About yourself? Like you’ve been living this life and suddenly there’s this shift. And you don’t know if it means anything. Or if you’re just making it up.”

Maddie furrows her brows, puzzled. “What’s going on, little brother?”

The meat stabber sighs. "I think I really messed up.”

“With Eddie and Tommy?”

His head snapped up, eyes wide. “How’d you know?”

“Chim might’ve texted me that you left your shift early looking like a kicked puppy,” Maddie said, smiling faintly. She sat down across from him, folding her hands in her lap. “But also? You. You only get like this when someone who matters sees something you weren’t ready to admit. Plus, you have yet to make a single joke since walking into my place, which is honestly a bit alarming.”

Buck winced. “Of course he did.”

“He was worried,” she said gently. Her hand reached out, warm fingers wrapping around Buck’s forearm. “So am I.”

Buck nearly pulled away, shaking his head, pressing a palm to his forehead like he could rub the whole day out of his brain. “Everything was fine this morning. They were just being themselves. Eddie was fixing my straps. Tommy was setting my hair. But I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Something about it felt too much. I said things that–Maddie, I don’t–I don’t know if I can take them back.”

Her voice dropped. “What happened?”

“For one, I said that it felt like every little thing they did for me was just one more piece of proof that I was a baby that can’t take care of myself,” he said, voice fraying.

Maddie’s voice was careful. “Is that what they were trying to say?”

“No,” he admitted quickly. “I know that. I do. They were doing what they always do. But I panicked. So I snapped. I told them I hated it. I said I didn’t want to be babied. And then I accused them of–” he stopped, rubbing the side of his face. “I basically accused Tommy of using me as some kind of emotional redemption project.”

Maddie winced. “Oof.”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “And the worst part? None of it was true. I think I do like it. The way they take care of me. I mean, Eddie always makes sure I eat. He watches my hands when I’m fidgety. And Tommy literally tucks me into bed, Maddie. I let them. I like letting them.”

Her eyes softened like velvet, but she let him keep talking.

“There was this night,” Buck said slowly, like pulling words from a wound. He hesitated, not sure whether to tell her about his attempt a few nights before. “Last night. I cried, Maddie. Not a couple of tears. Like full-on sobbed. And they just… held me.”

Maddie’s lips parted slightly, her chest rising with a quiet inhale. Her hand curled under the table like she wanted to reach out and give him a hug now, but didn’t want to interrupt him.

"Tommy wrapped around me from the back and Eddie held me in the front like I was–” he choked, blinking fast. “–It was the safest I’ve ever felt in my life.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “So you finally let someone hold you. And the sky didn’t fall.”

He smiled just for a second. “But then this morning,” he continued. “I woke up feeling… wrong. Hen teased me, but I’ve been feeling this way for a while. Like I’ve taken too much. Like I was too much. She just kinda… held a mirror up, I guess. But I took the mirror and lashed out.” He finally looked up and met her eyes, voice quieter. “Why do I do that? Why do I take something good and ruin it?”

Maddie reached out, resting her hand on the tale between them, palm open. Buck stared at it until she beckoned with a smile, then placed his fingers there like a kid reaching for safety.

“You don’t ruin things,” she said softly. “You’ve just never had something this safe stick around long enough to believe it. And your brain doesn’t trust it.”

Buck swallows.

“You’ve lived your whole life thinking that love comes with conditions,” Maddie went on. “That you have to earn it. Perform for it. Hurt. Be useful enough, cheerful enough, selfless enough. But Evan…” she tilted her head to meet his eyes. “Sometimes, love is just sitting with you. It is holding you while you cry and not asking for anything back.”

“We’re just friends,” he blurted suddenly.

Maddie’s smile was soft, but not mocking.  He doesn’t fully realize it yet, but that’s okay. “I didn’t say you weren’t. Love exists in many forms.”

His lower lip trembled. “Then why does it feel so big? Like if I let myself need it, I’ll never be able to stop.”

“Because it is big. And it’s okay to want that. I think you’re so used to giving others love that you don’t know what to do with yourself when it’s finally your turn.”

Buck’s jaw clenched. “But I don’t know how to let that happen without feeling like a burden.

“You’re not a burden. You’re a person who needs and deserves care. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

Buck was quiet again. Then he whispered, “I think I’m scared they’ll stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Loving me,” he whispered. “If I need too much.”

Maddie’s heart twisted, but she held his gaze. “You could need everything in the world, and I promise you, Evan, they’d still show up with more.”

He blinked fast. “Even after the things I said?”

“Especially then.” Her voice trembled faintly then, not with fear but fierce protectiveness. There was something warm in her grief–for her little brother who had once been starved of gentleness and the grown man he is now, starting to learn he deserves it.

Buck closed his eyes. For the first time that day, his shoulders dropped just slightly. The fight left his bones in little sighs.

Maddie rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand, crossing over his knuckles like she was reading into his future and getting as much insight as possible. “You didn’t push them away. You got scared. And if they’re the men I think they are, they’re going to be right where you left them. Waiting.”

He nodded slowly. “I want to fix it.”

“You will,” she said. “But first, eat the chicken. You’re gonna need energy for all the groveling.”

A soft, wet laugh slipped from Buck’s chest, reaching his eyes this time.

Chapter Text

Eddie rested on the edge of Christopher’s bed, thumb absently tracing the stitched hem of the comforter while his son finished the latest chapter of a fantasy book. It was something about dragons and a bunch of kids with the power of friendship.

“You ready to sleep, Christopher?” Eddie asked gently.

Chris nodded, closing the book with a soft thump and wide grin. “Yeah. It was a good one.”

“I wouldn’t know. Someone wouldn’t let me read it to him.”

“Dad, that’s because you make it boring,” Chris stated, eyebrow raised. “At least Buck does cool voices.”

Man, their kid was blunt. Eddie chuckled and leaned over, running a hand through curls that reminded him so much of the ones from this morning. “That’s true.”

Chris yawned. “Is Buck okay?”

Eddie’s hand stilled for a moment. He drew in a slow breath and a half-truth spilled from his lips. “He just… had a rough morning. We haven’t really spoken since. He’s okay, though.”

A satisfied nod. Chris mumbled sleepily, “You should tell him you kept his hoodie.”

Eddie turned, puzzled, then spotted it draped over the bed: Buck’s old navy sweatshirt, left behind from one of those long Saturdays where Buck made pancakes and made Chris laugh until he hiccupped. It’s wrinkled, probably from being used as a makeshift pillow during their last movie night together. He picked it up slowly, brushing off imaginary dust.

“He always leaves something behind,” Chris added, barely audible. “I think he does it on purpose.”

He meant to fold it. That was all. But instead, his fingers clenched in the cotton and he brought it to his face. The scent hit him all in a wave. Bright and warm. A little bit of citrus. Beneath that, something unmistakably Buck: sun-warmed skin, fresh bread, a bit of saltiness like he’d just come in from a long day, and a faint echo of firehouse soap. Eddie closed his eyes.

Chris caught the softening of his dad’s eyes. “Do you miss him?”

For a few stolen seconds, everything else disappeared. The whir of the ceiling fan above faded out. The half-washed dishes in the sink were no longer a priority. The weight of the day pressing down on the back of his neck eased up. At least until gentle static shocks bring him back.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I do.”

Soft rustles of blankets filled the room as Chris shifted under the covers and lightly snored. Rolling his eyes, Eddie stood and leaned over to switch off the lamp. Though the room dimmed, the kiss he pressed to his son’s forehead was bathed in the orange glow of the hallway outside.

He lingered for a while in the hallway after Chris nodded off. The house felt too quiet, like the air itself was waiting for a change. Hoodie still in hand, he rubbed circles into the cuff with his thumbs. Part of him wanted to go. To Buck. To knock on the door and apologize for them overstepping. Or maybe punch Buck in the arm and tell him he’s an idiot–their idiot–for thinking any of this was pity. But the truth was, he didn’t know what he’d say. At least not yet.

And yet he drifted toward the front door, hoodie draped over his forearm. The night was cool when he stepped out. Constellations smeared across the sky like little drawings. He slipped the hoodie over his head and pulled it down. Cozy, like being wrapped in a hug. He slid into the driver’s seat of his truck and shut the door.

He could picture Buck too clearly–curled up somewhere probably thinking he deserved the silence. At least Buck had his sister to look after him for tonight. Someone else’s eyes held that look earlier. Someone else he couldn’t leave alone with that weight.

Buck’s name scrolled by on his phone until he got to Tommy’s name. A moment passed. Eddie looked behind him, through the back of his windshield, and reversed out of the driveway.

Several minutes away, Tommy was rubbing the sleepiness out of his dark circles. The silence of his home pressed in around him in a way that made his ears feel like they had tinnitus and made his chest heavy like sandbags had been stacked on it. The living room was low-lit, not by design but by habit. A single antique, green-shaded lamp buzzed in the corner, warm and dim, barely illuminating the open cardboard box at his feet nor the worn edges of the rug. 

Inside were old papers. Printouts. Photocopies. Faded handwriting on the back of training evaluations. And a name written in sharpie at the top of every page: Reyes, A. There was a photo paperclipped to one of the files. Creased. Faded at the edges. Tommy turned it over and ran his thumb along the achievement written on the back. Pilot certification. The boy’s smile still stung.

Tommy sighed and leaned back against the couch with a leather soft from years of use and molded to a man who didn’t mind silence. In his other hand was a glass of whiskey. It was strong, smoky, and burned at the back of his throat in a way he needed. He tried not to let the familiar guilt climb up his throat like smoke in a chimney–not that one.

His thumb was still rubbing circles over a corner of the paper when there was a strong knock at the door. He frowned. Clock read 11:39 pm.

Through the window blinds, Eddie stood there, hands in the pockets of a navy hoodie and eyes rimmed red.

Tommy opened the door and blinked. “You alright?”

Eddie nodded, tilting his head. “Can I come in?”

Tommy stepped aside. “Please.”

Eddie walked in slowly, the way people do when they don’t want to disturb a coffin on sacred ground. His gaze fell on the framed black-and-white photographs of squadrons lining the mantle and the open box on the floor, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he sat on the other end of the couch like they were both waiting for a train to pass between them.

Tommy broke the silence first. “Is that Evan's hoodie? Did Evan send you?”

“Huh?” Eddie said. He waved his hand. “No, I haven’t spoken to him since our fight this morning at the firehouse. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

Tommy squatted down to set some logs in the stone-lined fireplace. It was a cold night but he wasn’t expecting guests so he didn’t bother earlier. “Why are you here, Eddie?”

Eddie looked up from his hands. His eyes were clearer now, quieter. “Well, I put Chris to bed earlier but I couldn’t sleep. And I didn’t want to leave you alone with your… ghosts.” He eyed the stacks of papers resting on the mahogany coffee table. “Mind if I..?” Eddie asked, reaching out for one of the evaluation sheets with a photo attached.

Tommy’s lungs sped up a bit. “Sure, yeah. Go ahead.” The kindling caught slowly until it bloomed, a hush of amber and gold licking against the stone. It flickered over Eddie’s face and danced up the tan walls and stacks of old books, casting shadows across the room

Diaz’s eyes scanned the paper, pausing on a list of awards that stopped too soon and a faded photo of a young man smiling like someone who hadn’t been taught about consequences. “When you said you lost people… was this who you meant?”

“He was nineteen,” Tommy’s jaw tensed. He grabbed onto the photo. “Reyes. I was assigned to mentor him during my third deployment. Bright kid. Grew up in Arizona. Wanted to fly. To taste freedom. Be more than his father was. He had so much potential but couldn’t slow down long enough to notice.”

Reyes’ smile stared back at him.

And suddenly, the air seemed to shift. The soft hum of the corner lamp faded into a tinny buzz of overhead fluorescents and the hiss of rotors. The room was gone.

It was hot that day. One of those bone-dry, copper-colored days where the air itself buzzed and you felt sand filling your ears for hours after. Reyes had been bouncing on his heels by the flight line, goggles lopsided, smudges of oil on his uniform. That stubborn grin had stretched across his face like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

“Too eager,” Tommy had muttered, watching from a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest.

“You worried about me again, Sarge?” the kid asked, shooting him a mock salute. “I told you. I’ve got this.”

Tommy sighed. “That’s what worries me.”

Their arguments had become ritual by then.

“You’re not my dad,” Reyes snapped once, after Tommy dragged him off a dangerous test run. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not trying to be your dad,” Tommy had snapped back, trying to bury the rise in his voice but failing. “But I sure as hell am your superior. You don’t get to play cowboy out there because you’re feeling bulletproof.”

Reyes turned his back on him, clenching his fists by his side.

Tommy rubbed his face. “He said it like it was shameful to need someone’s help.”

Eddie stilled. “That sounds like Buck.”

Tommy shook his head. “No. Evan’s louder. Goofier. Stubborn in ways Reyes never had the time to learn to be. That was the start of me silently watching the edge of a cliff form behind someone and knowing they'll fall if they take one more step back.”

“What happened?”

Tommy’s voice cracked. “One night, the base went hot. We were pulling out from a compromised site. Reyes was on evac rotation. I was coordinating air when he began loading up without hesitation. I ordered him to stay. Told him it’s not worth risking his life. Begged him to just wait and we’ll figure something out. He looked me right in the eyes. ‘I’m not your responsibility.’” His hand clenched around the photo, creasing it under his grip. “Then… we lost comms.”

Eddie’s heart clenched at that familiar phrase he heard in the kitchen.

“Eight minutes,” Tommy whispered. “Eight minutes of silence.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers raking through his hair. “I called his name. Over and over. Until my throat hurt. And even then, I didn’t stop. The whole line went dark. Static. That’s all the headset gave back. I–I thought it was a glitch. Thought maybe he couldn’t hear me. I still remember my fingers cramping around the receiver. But when the line crackled back to life, the wrong voice came through.”

A beat.

“‘Reyes didn’t make it,’ they said. He had gone back in for a casualty. A casualty. But it was too late. They were all gone.” Tommy turned his head slightly, blinking like he was still trying to see through the smoke on that day. “He didn’t wait for orders. Didn’t check in with me. Just went. I’ve had to sit with that silence before. But I sat there in the air rewriting every part of his life. Wishing I never let him come with us in the first place. Wishing I had the chance to tell him how proud I was. Wishing I could’ve hugged that kid goodbye.”

Tommy trailed off. His chest heaved once, then twice, and he let out a ragged breath that didn’t quite finish. For a moment, the fire was the only thing breathing in the room. Towards the mantel, he paced three uneven steps before turning away like the air around the flame was too hot. His glass was half empty, knuckles whitening around it.

“I didn’t even cry that day,” he admitted hoarsely. “Not once. Not until after the body came back and I realized I hadn’t told anyone he liked sugar in his coffee. I knew that. I knew that stupid, sweet detail.” 

Tommy’s voice cracked. “But I was the only one who knew how Reyes took his coffee, and that’s what broke me.”

Eddie rose from the couch, slow and deliberate. He paused beside the old footlocker stacked with gear Tommy hadn’t touched in years. “You didn’t fail him.”

Tommy let out a dry laugh, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. “You’re wrong. I failed him the second I believed I’d have more time. And now I’m failing Buck.”

Eddie stepped forward, close now. One hand hovered near before landing on an arm. Tommy’s shoulders slumped under his firm grip. “Tommy, you didn’t have a say in the clock. You did what you could. And you are now.”

Tommy’s breathing hitched. “No, I’m not, because when Evan stood there in that kitchen and said the same thing? That he wasn’t my responsibility? I froze the same way I did that night.” He lowered the glass to the mantel with a quiet clink and then collapsed on the couch. His jaw worked as he stared into the flames. His hands had stilled and his shoulders were no longer slouched. “You don’t have to fix this,” he blurted out.

“You still think about him every day, don’t you?” Eddie asked.

Tommy didn’t answer at first. His gaze remained fixed on the fire. “Some days, I think I’ve made peace with it,” he murmured. “And then there’s a silence in my headset, or a kid with that same recklessness in his eyes, and it all comes flooding back.”

Eddie’s voice dropped. “Tommy, you’re not failing Buck.”

Tommy tilted his head just enough that their temples almost touched. “But I’m scared of watching it happen again. Of being in the same cockpit with no control. Just waiting for the silence to end.”

Eddie could feel the heat radiating off him–something far more human than the fire between them. His hand found Tommy’s, resting lightly on his knee, and nudged him until he held his hand back. There’s nothing wrong with holding your buddy’s hand, right? They sat like that for a long moment, the quiet thick with history and something tender rising up from underneath it.

Almost absently, Eddie spoke. “Do you ever wonder who keeps the fire going after the war’s over?”

Tommy turned, the question catching him off guard.

Eddie’s eyes were half-lidded in thought. “Like–everyone knows the stories of the ones who fight. And honor the ones who give everything. But nobody talks about the ones who stay behind. The ones who keep things warm when the fighting stops.”

Tommy’s breath caught, and without thinking, he reached behind him and pulled a slim, dog-eared book from the stack beside the couch. “Hestia,” he said, tapping the cover. “Goddess of the hearth and the home.”

Eddie took the book, brows raised.

“Everyone learns about Prometheus,” Tommy said softly. “The titan who stole fire from Olympus and suffered eternally for it, chained to a rock where Zeus’ eagle ate his liver every morning only for it to regenerate at night and repeat the cycle the next day.”

Eddie’s nose scrunched in disgust. “I unfortunately remember."

“That fire he stole gave humanity a chance to survive. But Hestia… she is the fire. The one who kept it lit. Every fire that lit a room, every meal that warmed a belly, every place that felt like coming home… that was her.”

He leaned back into the couch cushions, voice dropping to something reverent. “She was the first of the Olympians to be born. The last to be freed after her father Cronus sensed her immense power and beauty and swallowed her and her siblings whole. The oldest and the youngest. The first and the last.”

“Charming. How do you know this?”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know. Being obsessed with Greek mythology is one of those things.”

“Ah,” Eddie replied, like that was a satisfactory answer. But he let Tommy continue. He couldn’t be the one to dull the brightness in Tommy’s eyes right now.

“She doesn’t have any flashy stories nor was she prominent in any war. But there’s a reason old homes are built around the hearth. Every fire lit in her name kept someone safe. Kept someone alive.”

Tommy opened the bottle and refreshed their drinks. “She didn’t need a temple built in her name because she was the temple. Every hearth was already hers. Every home, every city, every government building had a sacred flame and every act of sacrifice began with paying respects to Hestia. Even the other Olympians knew not to disrespect her when they sat at her hearth because they knew nothing functions without her.”

The fire popped once, loud in the quiet, almost as if it was agreeing.

Tommy glanced sideways. “You haven’t said a word,” he noted, not quite teasing.

Eddie’s eyes didn’t leave the flame. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You always want to interrupt,” Tommy teased. “But thank you for not doing so.”

“Well,” Eddie wondered, “what does this lecture have to do with anything?”

Tommy hesitated for a moment. “Be-Because Evan is my Hestia.”

Eddie blinked, eyes narrowing slightly. Not in doubt, but in curiosity. “That’s how you see him?”

Tommy nodded.

And that’s when Eddie began to feel it–not just the truth of Tommy’s words, but the reflection of them in his own chest. “I don’t think I ever learned how to see him like that. But I think I’ve been feeling it for a long time.”

Tommy’s mouth curved as if he already knew. “He’s the crackling flame when everything goes silent. He’s the sustaining warmth and light unmatched by the brightest suns. He’s the chaos in the calm. I can’t help but feel like he’s a blessing from the universe. In his walk, confidence and humbleness coexists. In his laugh, my darkness dissipates into nothingness. And in his eyes, so many stories hide that I want to stare deep into his irises and learn them all.”

Eddie shifted slightly. “You love him.” He said it plainly. It’s like his son Christopher once said. “Not like in love. Just… love. Like family. Like someone you want to keep safe.” Buck is basically family.

Tommy rubbed a hand over his mouth, then looked down at the fire again. “That boy is the best kind of impossible. When he cries, it feels like my ribs are shattering from the inside out. When he fears, I ache to be there and hold him through it. And when he hurts, he gives and gives like he doesn’t notice the parts of him burning down to do it. The thought of holding him close is more consuming than any wildfire, and still, I’d offer him every splinter of myself if it meant his flame never dimmed. I selfishly want all of him. All of his tears. All of the things that make him happy.” Tommy swallowed. The next words hesitated at the edge of his tongue, caught behind clenched teeth. “All of…”

Tommy gazed at Eddie then. Their faces were closer than he realized, closer than they’d ever been. The firelight flickered in Eddie’s brown eyes–quiet, unreadable, and still.

Eddie’s breath caught. His lips parted like he was about to say something. He didn’t know what, but his instinct was to speak. To make light. To ask, “since when do you talk like a poet?” or “what are you trying to say?” But for once, nothing came out.

Tommy’s eyes flickered to Eddie’s lips, then to the space between them, then away. “All of you,” he finished softly, like it hurt. Tommy’s breath ghosted across his cheek.

For a heartbeat, Eddie didn’t breathe.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t run.

Something clicked loose inside him. A small part of him stirred when Tommy said “He’s my Hestia,” because yeah. That tracked. Buck was the hearth. The glow. The home. But he didn’t know how to react to this. Because what was he supposed to do with that? He swallowed hard. His chest ached with guilt–not because he didn’t care, but because he did.

He felt Buck in the room. Not literally, but in the hoodie, still warm on his skin. In the firelight Tommy had just compared to a goddess. In the weight of everything left unsaid. But this pilot had offered him something sacred and all he could do was sink into the couch right there, knees still pressed together, heart thudding unevenly.

He had to say something.

You mean a lot to me too.

You didn’t have to say it.

I’m not ready.

But his voice caught behind a thousand unresolved feelings. So instead, he did the only thing he could. He stayed. Beside Tommy. Stayed quiet. Let the words settle around them like ash from the wood.

Outside, the wind shifted.

Inside, the hearth crackled.

Eddie’s breath hitched, barely audible. He didn’t lean in. But he didn’t pull back either. Thankfully, the pilot leaned away, almost unaware of his admittance, whiskey breath ghosting across Eddie’s cheek.

“You’ve both become this anchor I didn’t even know I needed,” Tommy said, barely above a whisper.

Eddie exhaled slowly, unsure if it was relief or fear that left his body. Something he was so close to naming curled tight in his chest. But he looked away because he could already feel his own truths stirring, just beneath the surface, and he wasn’t ready to face them yet.

He didn’t speak again that night. But he didn’t leave either.

Eddie just sat–caught between the fire that had already claimed him and the man now asking if he wanted to be warmed by another.

Chapter Text

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but Buck was lying flat on his back in Maddie’s guest bed and staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t meant to cry last night. Not really. Something about the clink of dishes and the way his sister made him chamomile, even when he didn’t ask, unraveled him. Now it was morning. His eyes were dry. In a way, her caretaking reminded him of two certain people that would’ve been here cuddling and gently rubbing his face—if he hadn’t screwed things up. Two people that still deserved an apology.

Buck reached for his phone, thumb hovering over the group chat labeled “Trio Trouble 🚑🚒🚁." They hadn’t spoken since the blow-up, but the longer this type of silence stretched, the more his chest twisted.

He typed, paused, deleted, and settled on something.

He hit send and tossed the phone to the foot of the bed, and swung his legs over the side, raking a hand through his hair. Across the room, the vanity mirror revealed how badly he’d slept with every tuft of hair that frizzed out into a mini afro. Where’s Tommy when you need him?

Outside the room, he could hear Maddie clinking around the kitchen again. “You’re up early,” she called without judgment in her voice. “Or did you never sleep?”

“Define sleep,” Buck called back as he walked out, already slipping into his boots. “I’ve got a peace offering to make.”

“Oh?” She handed him a steaming to-go mug. “Does this peace offering involve looking like a little troll and dangerously overcooked eggs?”

“Hey.” Buck made a face. “At least I’m a better cook.”

“I’m just kidding.” She kissed his cheek and patted it gently. “But you’re you. Which is why you’ll probably go overboard and make enough food for a whole wedding.”

He hugs her back tightly. “Better too much than not enough, right?”

“Buck?”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“They care about you. I can see that. You’re not going to lose them over one fight.”

Buck nodded once, fiercely. “Yeah,” he whispered. “But I still want to earn them back.”

The soft trill of Eddie’s phone was the first thing to stir him awake.

His eyes cracked open slowly, adjusting to the faint morning light bleeding through half-drawn blinds. The air was cold against his skin, and his body ached like it had molded to the shape of the couch overnight. He blinked blearily, the scent of whiskey clinging to the air like a faint memory.

Neck stiff, he groaned as he lifted his head from the bunched up hoodie behind him. Across the couch, Tommy laid back in a position that’s sure to hurt something too. The fireplace had gone out sometime in the night, leaving behind only faint smoke and settled ash.

Eddie reached for his phone.

Buck: I was kind of a brat yesterday. Let me make it up to you guys. Don’t eat breakfast. You’ll thank me later.

A small huff of air escaped him and loosened the tension in his chest. Just seeing the name again… it helped. Eddie smiled, soft and crooked. That was Buck—messy, loud, and always trying to patch the cracks with some butter and bravado.

Another buzz followed from someone else.

Carla: Morning! I’m grabbing Chris and taking him to school. Already packed his lunch. He’s all smiles. Go do your thing.

Eddie smiled and typed out a quick response: “You’re a lifesaver.”

He stood and stretched, joints popping in protest. Tommy’s home was still cloaked in a silence that didn’t fade even with the rising sun. He walked lightly across the hardwood floors to freshen up after shutting off the lamp in the corner that illuminated the mess of papers and military evaluations sprawled out on the coffee table.

From down the hall, the sound of a groan and a muffled, “Shit, my back…” signaled that Tommy was awake too. Moments later, the pilot emerged in a rumpled shirt and flannel pants, hair tousled and eyes half-shut. He blinked at Eddie.

“You slept here?” he rasped, voice gravelly with sleep.

Eddie shrugged, a corner of his mouth twitching. “Didn’t want to wake you. You knocked out hard.”

Tommy grimaced, palm dragging down his face before he blinked slowly. “I remember… whiskey. Firelight. Talking about Buck. And… mythology?”

“You got weirdly poetic,” Eddie said, voice light but testing.

Tommy squinted at him. “Please tell me I didn’t cry drunk.”

Eddie hesitated. “Not really.”

Tommy looked at him sidelong. “That’s just good PR.”

Eddie shrugged again, this time more thoughtful than teasing. “Maybe. But you earned it.”

Tommy sighed and leaned against the doorframe, rubbing his temples. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie stretched to wrap his hand around Tommy’s, brushing a finger over his calloused knuckles. “You needed it.”

There was a pause. A quiet moment where Eddie considered bringing it up—“All of you.” Those three words still echoed in the back of his mind. Not just what Tommy said, but how close they’d been. Tommy’s breath, warm on his cheek. His gaze. That pause. That look. Right now, the way Tommy looked anywhere except at Eddie suggested that it might not be the right moment. Or maybe Tommy didn’t even remember saying it. And for now, Eddie wasn’t ready to find out. He let go of his grip.

“You good?” Tommy asked, leaning forward slightly. Eddie’s brows furrowed so much that Tommy almost couldn’t see the way his eyes traced the chipped porcelain of the sink like it used to hold something he misplaced.

Eddie looked away with a quick smile and straightened himself. “Yeah. Just thinking about Buck’s text. I think he wants to treat us to breakfast.”

Tommy stretches into a rumbling groan. “If I eat one more of his apology pancakes…”

Eddie smirked. “He’s really trying, though.”

“And that’s why we love him.”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice softened. “Sometimes we forget how hard he actually works at being loved.”

That earned a long silence between them—one that Tommy didn’t try to fill.

Eddie glanced at the clock. “I should head home. Shower. Change. Chris is with Carla, but if Buck’s cooking, I need to show up hungry.”

Tommy’s spine straightened. “I guess I should too.” But neither of them moved at first. The morning light hit Tommy’s face in a way that made him look younger and sadder all at once.

Eddie headed for the doorway before Tommy placed his hand on his arm. “Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for staying with me last night.”

Eddie nodded, hand brushing briefly against Tommy’s before he stepped away.

Station 118’s kitchen was still and shadowed when Buck arrived—well before shift change and before the clatter of boots and idle chatter filled the walls again. It suited him this morning. The quiet hum felt like a gift. Like a chance to get ahead of something before the chaos resumed.

Two grocery bags dangled from each arm, overstuffed with ingredients he had mentally picked out between tosses and turns all night: thick-cut bacon, buttermilk,  eggs, cheddar, fresh chives, juicy peaches. He’d even sprung for the expensive butter wrapped in a golden foil of promise. If he was going to make this right, he was going to do it properly. And support local.

Buck dropped the bags onto the stainless steel counter with a clang, exhaling hard through his nose as he pulled out the items one by one. His hands were fast and sure this time, practiced from all those weekends making breakfast for Chris. He turned on the burners. Preheated the oven. Measured out flour by eye.

Within twenty minutes, the station’s atmosphere had changed. It swelled with the aroma of caramelized sugar, sizzling pork, and browned butter.  The skillet hissed with every flipped pancake and every sizzling spoonful of batter.

Buck moved quickly, apron slightly snug across his chest and cheeks pink from the rising kitchen heat. Unruly curls were pushed back only halfway. And his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on garnishing the plates. Fresh mint here, a drizzle of syrup there.

He was already halfway through stirring the peach compote when a familiar voice cut through the haze.

“You’re here early.”

Buck jumped, the wooden spoon clattering against the pot. He spun around, apron string flapping. “Oh, Bobby! Hey.” He waved one sticky hand toward the stove before tugging down his sleeve. Old habits.

“Don’t freak out, cap. I promise I’m not trying to burn the place down.”

Bobby walked into the kitchen with arms folded loosely, the corners of his mouth already curling up in a knowing half-smile. “I’m not worried about the fire. I’m worried about the level of guilt it takes for you to go this hard in the kitchen.”

Buck winced, nose scrunching. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

Bobby stepped closer, surveying the spread. Biscuits were rising in the oven. Bacons were crisping evenly in the pan. Eggs were poached with gentle care. A pot of honey butter steamed quietly beside the potatoes. The kid had gone full five-star brunch mode.

“You’re not just making the team breakfast, are you?”

Buck hesitated, spoon slowing in the pot. “I kind of… messed up yesterday.”

“I heard.” Bobby’s voice was even. Expectant. “You want to talk about it?”

Buck dropped the spoon into the sink with a soft clatter and leaned forward on the counter, arms braced like he was holding something in. “I snapped at Eddie. And at Tommy. I mean—I was frustrated, yeah, but that’s no excuse. They were trying to help, and I treated them like they were cornering me.”

Bobby shifted his weight, waiting patiently.

Buck’s voice dropped. “I think I was mad at myself, really. Because I do want the things they think I want. I just don’t know how to ask for them without feeling like I’m… failing at something..”

Bobby raised one brow, not unkind. Curious. “These things. Mind if I ask what they are?”

Buck let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair until it stood worse than before. “...love.”

The silence that followed was safe.

“You’ve always been good at giving love,” Bobby said gently. “You’ve never had trouble with that. But you’re not so great at letting yourself receive it.”

"I don't think I'm that good."

He leaned on the counter now, more casual but thoughtful. “Buck, I’ve watched you sit next to Eddie’s kid on the floor for hours, doing nothing but coloring because Chris didn’t want to talk to anyone else that day. That’s love. I’ve watched you lose sleep and risk everything to be there for your sister when she got kidnapped because you couldn’t afford to lose her. That’s love.”

Buck’s throat worked. He looked down at his shoes.

“You’ve thrown yourself into burning buildings for strangers without hesitation. You’re the guy who brought Ravi that weird sea salt chocolate on his birthday because he mentioned liking it once. You’re the guy who fixed the squeaky hinge on Hen’s locker without her even asking. Who offered to replace the oven at the station out of your own pocket because you didn’t want anyone to miss out on meals for the holidays.”

Bobby gave a little shake of his head. “You give and give and give, Buck. You don’t know how to do anything halfway.”

Buck’s voice came out rough. “But that’s the easy part, isn’t it? Giving. It’s when someone wants to give to me that I feel… weak.”

Bobby gave a hum and a head shake. “No, I don’t think that’s quite it.” He folded his arms. “You’ve always carried this idea that needing care makes you weak. But I think… you’re scared. Scared it’s temporary. That if you take too much, it’ll disappear. That the people who love you will change their minds the second you stop being ‘easy.’”

Buck stared at him. “There’s a difference?”

“That’s not weakness, Buck. That’s someone who’s been made to think love is something you earn instead of something you’re just… worthy of.”

“You really think I’m worthy of that?”

“I know you are,” Bobby affirmed, his heart wrenching.

Buck started to get glassy-eyed. “I just… I hate how much I want it sometimes. To be held. To be looked after. It feels embarrassing.”

Bobby softened. “It’s not embarrassing. It’s human. And I think you’ve found two people who get that.”

Buck glanced up, eyes rimmed pink. “You think so?”

“I’ve seen the way Eddie looks at you when you’re not paying attention. Like he’s cataloguing every breath you take in his mind in case you ever stop. And Tommy—he watches you like he’s trying to memorize your laugh. Do you know why Tommy transferred from Harbor?”

Buck shook his head.

“He might not say it, but it’s for you and Eddie. Especially you. I’ve caught them more than once just… watching, Buck. And when they fuss over you? They’re not doing that because they think you’re helpless. They’re doing it because it brings them peace.”

Buck’s eyes widened slightly as he reached for a stool in his peripheral and sat down.

“There’s something about the three of you,” Bobby continued. “Like you’ve found something familiar. You orbit each other without even realizing it. And yeah, it may feel messy at times. But it’s good. And it’s real.”

Buck sniffed. “You make this all sound so easy, Bobby.”

“It won’t be,” Bobby admitted. “Nothing real ever is. But I’ll say this. You’ve already got something rare: two men who care about you so much they’re still going to show up for you, even when you try to push them away. You’ll fix this.”

Using his sleeves, Buck dabbed at premature tears. “You, uh, you think breakfast is enough of a first step?”

Bobby smirked, stealing bacon and slapping the back of Buck’s neck. “Well, the food smells incredible. That’s a start.”

Buck laughed through his nose, then looked up again. “Thanks, Bobby. For not making me feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Bobby said, pulling Buck into a firm hug, both fatherly and familiar. “Don’t ever call my kid that.”

Buck heard the side doors before he saw them. Heavy footfalls. A grumble about traffic—definitely Tommy.

His heart tripped.

He wiped his palms on the apron out of instinct, then immediately regretted it. Butter stains weren’t exactly subtle. He yanked it off with slightly frantic fingers, folded it hastily, and placed it on the counter with a grip like it would somehow anchor him as Eddie and Tommy came into view.

Eddie stepped into the kitchen first, brows immediately furrowing. He stopped short, eyes sweeping across the spread before him. “What is all this, buddie?”

Tommy trailed in behind, jaw slackening slightly at the sheer amount of food: a neatly arranged charcuterie board with sliced meats, crackers, and cheese; cheesy eggs done both poached and scrambled; perfectly round, golden pancakes stacked with surgical precision straight out of a TV ad; buttery-soft biscuits topped with a chive honey butter glaze; crisp bacon arranged lattice-like; and roasted potatoes sprinkled with smoked paprika and parsley. There were three glasses of orange juice already lined up on the table like an offering.

Buck spread his arms. “H-Hey guys. Tada!” His voice squeaked on the last syllable.

Tommy raised one skeptical eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest like a challenge.

Eddie rubbed his eyes once just to be sure. “We knew you were planning breakfast, but this is… this is something else.”

Buck gave a strained laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, so… I know yesterday was a lot. And I wasn’t fair to either of you,” His hands fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie sleeves, knuckles white. “I got overwhelmed and I lashed out.”

“You didn’t just lash out,” Tommy said, voice low. “You made me feel like I was stepping on your nerves just by trying to help.”

Buck winced. “I know. I know I did. I didn’t mean to. I just—” He rubbed his temple, accidentally leaving behind some flour. “I’m so used to proving I can be strong and resilient. That I can bounce back from anything. I thought if I let myself be cared for, it would mean I’d failed at that.”

Eddie took a step closer, tone reassuring. “You know being strong doesn’t mean doing everything alone. Especially not with us.”

Buck swallowed, jaw clenching like he was holding back a lifetime’s worth of swallowed-down confessions. “I’m embarrassed, okay?” His voice cracked. “I hate how much I want to be cared for. I hate needing it. I hate that some days I wish someone would just wrap me in a blanket and make all the decisions for me.”

He paused, breath catching. “I know I always act like I’ve got it handled, but the truth is, I really do lo—” Buck faltered, then pushed forward. “I really like it when you guys take care of me. And I didn’t know how to say that without feeling like a burden.”

The two men exchanged a glance between their held breaths. For the first time in a while, Eddie let himself really look at Buck. At the flush on his cheeks, the twitch in his fingers, the vulnerability just trembling at the surface. It hit somewhere deeper than expected. Bobby was right.

But Tommy didn’t speak yet.

His mouth parted, then closed. His jaw flexed and his gaze lowered for a beat. When it rose again, there was a flicker of something behind it. An aching memory. Not just of Buck now, but of a young, wide-eyed kid with oil-stained sleeves and a grin too stubborn for his own good. 

Buck let out a frustrated breath, the words spilling now. “So, I cooked. Because food is the one thing I know how to do when words don’t work. I wanted to make it up to you both. I'm sorry. You didn’t deserve the way I acted, and if you still want to… whatever this thing is between us… I want to try harder.”

He looked at them—afraid, exposed, and eager for some kind of a response. His heart thudded so loudly he thought they might hear it over the oven. His chest rose and fell in the moment. Taut. A moment suspended on a wire.

Then Eddie crossed the space between them and pulled Buck into a hug—tight and anchoring like he did when Chris was feeling overstimulated. Buck stood frozen for a beat, stunned, then melted into it with a breathless sound. Arms wrapped around Eddie’s middle, hands clutching the back of his shirt like he might float away otherwise.

Tommy stepped in close almost immediately after. A breath of hesitation before pressing a steady hand to the nape of Buck’s neck. “God, you’re such a mess,” he muttered, fond and exasperated all at once. He thumbed away the flour streak on Buck’s forehead and kissed the birthmark there, slow and reverent.

Buck chuckled, voice muffled in Eddie’s chest. “But I’m your mess?”

“Damn right, mijo. You and this hair," Eddie confirmed, ruffling his curls.

Buck pulled back slightly, hands still clutching at Eddie's shirt like a lifeline and eyes shimmering. “So does this mean you forgive me?”

Tommy hesitated. Just a breath. But Buck caught it.

Then he leaned in until his forehead touched Buck’s temple. His hand slid down Buck's arms with a quiet intent, brushing against the faint ridges under the sleeves. “Always, firefly,” he whispered. “We’ll always forgive you. But when we try to hold you, we need you to let us hold you. All of you. You can’t keep pulling away. I won’t…” He trailed off. “I can’t lose another kid who doesn’t think he’s allowed to ask for help.”

Buck nodded shakily, his legs still and face still tucked against Eddie’s collarbone. Eddie’s stomach twisted at the way the words hung there. All of you. Kid. Another. An unspoken name so clearly felt. He wrapped an arm around Tommy.

Buck leaned in and let himself be held tighter. Let himself be claimed.

“I still made too much food,” he added sheepishly.

Eddie pulled back just enough with a smile that met both his eyes and Buck’s. “Then you’ll sit down and eat every bite of it. With us.”

Tommy let his hand linger at the back of Buck’s head. “No arguments.”

Buck looked between them, something raw and grateful cracking open behind his ribs. “Yes, sirs.”

Chapter Text

The week leading up to this morning had passed in a soft, lazy haze.

A few days ago, Tommy had brought over a new coffee mug wrapped loosely in paper and some tools after Buck had complained about his sad, dribbling espresso machine. He couldn’t refuse the way Buck looked up at him with those sad, wide eyes—while Hen and Chim in the background performed CPR on a barista after their espresso machine had spontaneously combusted all over them.

Tommy handed Buck the package and then unpacked a small tool kit while leaning over the counter. He dragged the machine closer, inspecting the spout with a sharp eye.

“You brought me a gift?” Buck’s eyes widened.

“Just a peace offering,” Tommy replied. “You said it sputters like a dying cat?”

“I’m grieving,” Buck replied solemnly. Thank goodness Tommy couldn’t see the blush spreading on his face right now. Bespectacled handyman was a new look he hadn’t seen before, but it was so handsome on him. Why hadn’t he seen this side of Tommy before? “I haven’t been able to have my cappuccino for a few days now. I need my cappuccino.”

Tommy grinned. “Aww, well we can’t have our boy going without his sweet treats now, can we?”

Buck tapped his foot and stared blankly. “Thomas.”

Tommy dropped his smile. “Right. Don’t worry, I’m here to perform a resurrection. Open your gift.”

The paper was ripped off within seconds, revealing a mug that caused Buck to promptly choke on his spit. It was matte black. Simple. Stylish. But printed in an elegant, white font were three small words: “Fill Me Up.”

“Tommy—”

“Hmm?” The older man was crouching to inspect the base of the espresso machine.

Buck’s ears were on fire. If the air was cold enough, steam would be seen coming out from his ears. “Did you… did you read what this says?”

“Sure did,” Tommy asserted without looking up. “Thought it was appropriate."

“In WHAT context?!”

Tommy straightened slowly, eyes glittering. “It’s a coffee mug, Evan. What are you thinking?”

Buck sputtered, gripping the handle like he might combust. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Mhm. Once I figure out what’s wrong with this machine,” Tommy leaned forward, voice low. “I’ll fill it up for you, sweetheart.”

Buck short-circuited and his jaw dropped at the audacity of this man.

Tommy turned away to begin disassembling the faulty machine, looking far too satisfied with himself. But once he was fully away, his smirk wavered just slightly—like he’d surprised even himself.

Minutes later, Buck had stood behind him, watching intently. But the longer Tommy worked, the closer Buck drifted to him. First, it was a hand braced on the counter beside him. Then his chin, just over Tommy’s shoulder. Eventually, both arms looped lazily around his middle, Buck’s weight pressing into his back like a heated, weighted blanket.

“Evan,” Tommy murmured, squinting as he adjusted the seal, “This is very distracting.”

“I’m helping,” he argued, voice muffled against the fabric of Tommy’s hoodie. It just felt so right. Tommy shouldn’t have been so comfortable or a tease if he didn’t want Buck holding onto him like this.

“You’re hovering. Is this payback?”

“I’m learning through osmosis.”

Tommy chuckled under his breath, dropping his tools onto the counter. “That’s not how that works, firefly.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty smart and good with your hands. I might absorb something.” He inhaled the scent of cedarwood on Tommy.

Tommy hummed in consideration, his hand reaching down to grab Buck’s and interlock their fingers. “Something.”

Buck stayed close even as Tommy tested the fit, tightening screws with a practiced hand. Every now and then, Buck would gently rock them side to side out of pure restlessness like a clingy cat who decided you were the warmest, most compartmentalized place in the room.

When Tommy finally clicked the carafe into place and turned the machine on, the water ran smooth and even. Not a single sputter. The drip was strong, consistent, and steaming.

Buck let out a breath like Tommy was Moses. “You did it!”

Tommy straightened and turned around, still mostly caged in by Buck’s big arms, the counter warm behind him and Buck warmer in front. “I said I would, didn’t I?” he replied, keeping his voice even.

“I didn’t think you’d make it purr.”

“It’s a coffee machine, not a cat.”

Buck leaned in a little further, playful and beautiful, close enough to share a single breath. “Well, that might’ve been the sexiest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Tommy’s lungs forgot how to work.

For a moment, he didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Buck was close—dangerously close. That mouth inches away. One deep inhale from pressing their mouths together. His skin still smelled like his citrus body wash, and there was a smudge of something sweet at the corner of his lips, like he’d licked a honey dipper clean when nobody was looking.

Tommy’s jaw flexed. He curled his fingers into fists at his sides so he wouldn’t reach—wouldn’t cup, wouldn’t pull, wouldn’t kiss him breathless against the counter like he’d imagined too many times already. He wanted to hear what Buck would sound like if he let himself be kissed like that.

Voice low and hoarse, he deflected. “You need higher standards.”

Buck grinned, oblivious and dimples devastating. “You need to stop being good at everything.”

Tommy couldn’t help it. His hand found Buck’s curls and gently scratched at his scalp—half to soothe Buck, half to anchor himself. At least until a soft, contented purr slipped from Buck’s throat.

“You need to stop looking at me like that.”

Buck stopped, caught for a second. “Like what?”

Before Tommy could answer, Buck scrambled to grab the milk jug from the fridge. “I-I wanna try the frother.”

Tommy exhaled, grateful to be saved by the milk jug. “Be my guest.”

Quickly, Buck poured the milk into the silver cup and slid it under the spout. The switch flicked on and the machine hissed. Buck turned his head to look at Tommy, not paying attention to how he was working the cup when a sudden spray of milk hit the counter and Buck’s forearm.

“Shit!”

Tommy reached for him immediately, grabbing his wrist to make sure he hadn’t been burned. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine. It's fine. Just startled me.”

Tommy tugged him closer anyway, thumb brushing Buck’s forearm where a drop of milk glistened. “You’re dangerous with hot liquids.”

“You’re dangerous with tools,” Buck said breathlessly.

Tommy’s gaze flickered to Buck’s shirt, splattered and clinging faintly to his chest, and the milk dampening his cheeks. He at least couldn’t stop himself from reaching out with his thumb and brushing it off.

“This is domestic violence,” Buck whispered.

Tommy’s gaze flickered to his mouth again. “Well, you’re dripping.”

“So wipe me.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched.

He picked up a kitchen towel and brought it up to Buck’s chest where he pressed, wiping along the damp curve of his shirt down to the hem. Tommy didn’t let himself go further.

“Go pour your stupid cappuccino.”

Buck did. But he smiled the whole time. And Tommy watched him go, hands still clenched on the kitchen towel.

Tommy had made the machine purr. But Eddie?

Eddie made Buck ache.

Two days later, Buck had stumbled into his apartment’s bathroom half-awake the morning after a long shift, curls a mess and sleep still weighing down his lashes. He blinked blearily at his reflection, frowning at the wild hair and the scruff on his jaw.

“I look like I wrestled a cactus,” he muttered, poking at the scruff on his chin. “And got dragged through gravel.”

Eddie was already by the sink, brushing his teeth in mini circles. He looked Buck up and down once, then spat and said simply, “Sit.”

Buck blinked. “Huh?”

“Counter.” Eddie pulled open the cupboard, grabbing the shaving cream and a fresh razor. Of course he knows his way around. He and Tommy have their own toothbrushes here.

“I can do it myself,” Buck protested, but there was no conviction behind it.

“I know, buddie,” Eddie replied, turning around to him, eyes dark and warm. “But let me do this for you.”

Before Buck could say another word, Eddie’s hands already found themselves at his hips, warm and commanding, hoisting him easily up onto the counter like it took no effort at all. He set Buck down, whose knees instinctively spread to accommodate him—thighs brushing Eddie’s sides.

Eddie stepped into the space made for him, close enough for the heat of his chest and the firm press of his thighs between legs to be felt. The air between them pulsed in a way that Buck didn’t know whether to wrap around or leave them open.

“That alright?” Eddie asked, already cracking the cap off the shaving cream bottle.

“Mhmm,” Buck whimpered, eyes flickering nervously between Eddie’s face and the razor. "You sure you know what you're doing with that?"

Eddie's gaze flicked up, realizing the source of Buck's discomfort. All those scars had to come from somewhere. "You trust me?"

Buck hesitated, biting his lip.

"It's okay if you're not comfortable. We don't have to do this. We can try another time."

Buck shook his head. "I—I trust you."

A smile grew on Eddie's face. "Good boy."

Eddie’s expression was all quiet intensity. Touch steady as he tilted Buck’s chin up and worked the cream into a soft lather, spreading the cool, white foam across Buck’s jaw and down his neck with focus. The only sounds were the low buzz of the overhead fan, the crisp, gentle scrape of the blade, and the gentle tap of Eddie rinsing the blade under hot running water between passes.

Buck tried not to squirm. But God, his breath was shallow. His thighs were tense where Eddie’s hips filled the space between them, every movement brushing them closer.

Buck remembered what Bobby had told him just within the past week, quiet and certain, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And when they fuss over you? They’re not doing that because they think you’re helpless. They’re doing it because it brings them peace.”

That memory landed now with full weight, settling deep in Buck’s chest as Eddie tipped his face gently to the side, thumb brushing under his chin. There was nothing hurried in the way Eddie handled him. It wasn’t about fixing him. It wasn’t even about the shave. This—Eddie’s careful hands, a warm cloth over his shoulder, the closeness—was Eddie soothing something in himself, too. Soothing them both.

“Is this like… a fireman bonding ritual?” Buck joked as Eddie pulled his skin taut.

Eddie smirked faintly. “It’s a me-taking-care-of-you ritual.”

Buck’s toes curled against the counter and his breath caught as the razor swept under his jaw. Eddie’s hands were so warm. His gaze was focused on getting the shave right, but there was something tender about the way he did it like Buck was worth getting right.

"We're almost done, buddie. Don't worry."

Eddie exhaled hard through his nose, jaw working slightly. He went back to shaving but with a slower touch, like he was memorizing every line of Buck’s face. Passing under Buck’s chin with the barest scrape, the razor got the last bit of stubble. It was done.

Eddie wiped away the foam with a warm cloth, rubbing it along Buck’s neck with slow, careful swipes. His thumb brushed the corner of Buck’s mouth to grab some that managed to get away. “All done.”

“You’re close,” Buck whispered, breath shaking.

“I know,” Eddie said, voice low and rough.

Their faces were inches apart. Buck’s thighs tightened around Eddie’s hips and Eddie’s hands planted on Buck’s bare leg, thumb brushing slow circles on the inside.

He wanted to kiss him.

More than that, he wanted to take him. To push Buck back and show him just how long he’d been holding back.

But Buck just blinked up at him, cheeks pink and lips glossy. And he looked so damn soft, so trusting, so innocent, that Eddie swallowed the urge like a bullet and stepped back instead.

“Go rinse,” he murmured. “You’re done.”

Buck sat frozen a second longer before hopping off the counter like the ground might turn into lava. He was smooth and trembling slightly.

And Eddie gripped the sink so tight, his knuckles cracked.

Chapter Text

Buck hadn’t meant to fall asleep like that—tangled between them like a puzzle piece.

The morning light seeped in, slow and golden through Buck’s living room windows, painting soft lines across the floor and casting a gentle warmth over the heap of tangled limbs on the couch.

The blanket had mostly slipped off in the night, bunched uselessly around pairs of legs.

Buck was sandwiched between them, stretched lengthwise with one arm flung over Tommy’s chest and the other trapped under Eddie’s ribs in a circulation-depriving way. One leg curled between Tommy’s thighs while the other was outstretched—held in place by Eddie’s own thigh draped possessively over his hip. A faint line of drool shimmered on Tommy’s shoulder. Eddie’s arm bore tiny blue hearts, clearly drawn in ballpoint pen.

Tommy binked awake first, groaning softly. God, I need to stop sleeping on couches. He stared down at the mess of curls plastered to his collarbone. “Unbelievable.”

Eddie stirred with a grunt, shifting to stretch—only to realize he was being suffocated by a human octopus. “Jesus. How is he everywhere?”

“I think our boy multiplied in the night.” His voice was scratchy. “Is this a new power? Huh, Amoeba Buck?”

Buck snuffled in his sleep, cheek smushed on Tommy’s chest. His brow twitched like he was trying to follow their voices through his dreamland.

Eddie gave a soft laugh. “He sleeps like Chris used to. All elbows and damp cheeks.”

Buck shifted, moving his back closer to Eddie’s chest while his thigh slipped higher between Tommy’s legs, like he was actively trying to wrap around and claim them both in his sleep.

That’s when his movement stopped.

The first thing he registered was warmth. The second thing was pressure.

His eyes snapped open.

Something thick and hard pressed against his thigh.

Something else—equally hard—was curved behind him, perfectly nestled against the curve of his butt.

He didn’t breathe.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, voice high-pitched and horrified.

Tommy, utterly unfazed, looked down without shame. “Relax, Evan. Morning wood happens.”

Eddie stretched behind him with a deep yawn. “It’s not our fault you sleep like a needy little koala.”

“I—I wasn’t—” Buck’s voice cracked. “I didn’t realize—”

He squirmed slightly, only to feel both men’s erections shift against him in tandem.

“If you keep wiggling like that, Buck,” Eddie grunted, “I’m gonna think you’re asking for it.”

With a strangled noise, Buck dove face-first into the couch cushion like a turtle retreating into its shell. “Why am I always in the middle?”

“Because you threw yourself across us like a human blanket.” Tommy folded his arms behind his head.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Sure,” Eddie said. “Just like you didn’t mean to hum in your sleep every time someone ran their fingers through your hair.”

“I do not hum—”

“You purr,” Tommy corrected.

“Like a really needy housecat,” Eddie added.

Buck’s ears were flaming. He kept his face buried, praying to any higher power that his body didn’t betray him next. “I thought I was the puppy.”

Tommy leaned down, brushing against Buck’s ear lobe. “You drooled on me, you know.”

“It’s love drool,” Buck mumbled into the cushion.

“Lucky me.”

Just as Buck began to consider whether to roll off the couch and disappear forever into the void, a voice cut through the haze.

“Are you guys like… dating now?”

All three men startled.

Christopher stood a few feet away in his oversized Star Wars pajamas. He clutched a flashlight across his chest like a night guard, hair sticking up like he’d lost a lightsaber duel in his sleep. He blinked at them with a calm, unbothered clarity only kids could obtain first thing in the morning.

“Chris,” Eddie coughed, struggling to sit upright while still entangled in the octopus. “You’re up early.”

“I heard you talking. You’re not good at whispering.” His eyes swept over the arrangement going on. Buck was still splayed between them like the jelly to their sandwich. “So?”

Eddie opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Buck croaked from the cushion. “Define dating.”

Tommy raised a hand in surrender. “We’re making breakfast soon. Does that count?”

Chris gave them all one last suspicious squint and shuffled off toward the kitchen. “Okay. I’m gonna go brush my teeth. You guys can keep cuddling or whatever.”

As he disappeared down the hall, Eddie slumped back into the cushion. “We need a game plan. Everyone thinks we’re dating.”

Buck finally sat up, curls sticking in every direction and cheek creased with cushion lines. His back cracked audibly. “I think I need a chiropractor. Or a new spine.”

“You need to learn how to sleep like a normal human being.” Tommy rubbed Buck’s thigh. “Now please get off me. I’ve lost circulation in places I didn’t know had circulation.”

“You’re just mad because I’m warm and adorable.”

“Warm and dangerous,” Eddie shot back, giving Buck a light smack on the butt. “Go shower, octopus. We’ll figure out breakfast.”

“Are you guys trying to get rid of me?”

Both men answered in unison: “Yes.”

The kitchen counter was a graveyard of egg shells, sticky measuring spoons, and flour handprints. Though not as much as the sink. Buck was half-dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and boxer briefs, dancing to a 50s throwback playlist with a single sock on while flipping peach slices.

Sinful, was the moment. Peach slices simmered in caramelized butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon. Syrup popped and hissed in the pan like it had a mind of its own. Muscular thighs painted in honey moved like they were part of the rhythm itself.

Tommy leaned against the stair rail, arms crossed. “He does know peaches don’t always have to be cooked, right?” he asked. “Or that we can help make breakfast?”

Eddie didn’t even look up from setting plates on the table. “Don’t ruin this for him. This is his love language.”

“Chaos?”

Buck turned, spatula in hand. “I heard that!”

“You were supposed to!” Tommy shouted back with a smile.

“If anyone’s allowed to sass the chef,” Buck pointed, smugly, “it’s me. I’m the peach king.”

“The best peach,” Tommy muttered, just barely loud enough to hear.

“Fresh from the pan,” Buck declared, holding up a glistening slice. It dripped golden syrup down his wrist. “Who wants the first taste?”

Tommy stepped around the island. “I do.”

His eyes dipped briefly to Buck’s mouth, then back up again. He leaned in. Lips brushed fingertips as he took the fruit into his mouth, slow and deliberate. Eye contact never broke except for a raised eyebrow followed by a sensual wink—even as sweet juice spilled from the corner of his lips and trailed down his cleft.

Buck swallowed visibly.

Tommy licked the juice away, then caught Buck’s wrist in one hand and followed a trail of syrup up the inside of his arm with his tongue.

Buck started to pull back—scars suddenly nearing—but Tommy held firm, tongue savoring even the parts that he was ashamed of showing.

“Perfect,” Tommy murmured with a swipe of his tongue and a quiet hum.

Buck made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a gasp. “It’s just fruit.”

“You’re just fruit.”

Then Eddie moved in behind him, chest pressing to Buck’s back like it did this morning as he reached for another slice from the pan. He turned Buck gently by the waist and made sure he could see him take a slow, lascivious bite of the peach with a groan before bringing it to Buck’s mouth.

Then softly: “Open.”

Buck obeyed.

Eddie fed him the slice with one finger, Buck’s lips closing around him like he belonged there. Tongue brushing. Breath catching. Fingers lingering. Thumb sweeping the bottom lip. A little moan seeped out as Eddie’s finger slipped out.

“Was that okay?”

Buck nodded. Wide-eyed. Dazed. And flushed red.

Tommy exhaled a quiet laugh, voice thick. “You two are gonna be the death of me.”

“I… I’m sticky,” Buck said faintly.

“You’re always sticky,” Eddie joked. “You leave a sugar trail everywhere you go. But it fits you.”

He pats Buck’s cheek. “Sweet boy.”

Buck was going to die. Spontaneously combust. Ascend.

Tommy didn’t help. “That’s not even the worst thing he called you.”

“I—what?”

“He called you a snack once.”

Eddie shrugged with both of his shoulders. “You were bent over the engine. I was in my feelings.”

Buck covered his face with both hands. “What is wrong with you guys?”

A voice called from the living room. “Are you guys flirting again?”

The trio froze.

Buck gave a strangled sound. “We’re feeding each other fruit!”

“Yeah,” Chris retorted. “That’s what I said.”

Tommy and Eddie reached for another slice and popped it into their mouths like nothing happened.

Buck refused to face the men, waving his hand. “I’m not talking to any of you for the rest of the day.”

Tommy leaned in with more confidence this time, tugging Buck forward by his waistband. “That’s okay, firefly. We’ll let your mouth rest for later.”

Buck dropped the spatula.

The sun was climbing high by the time they piled into Eddie’s truck, still buzzing from the sugar and suggestive fruit and their limbs loose from laughter.

Buck rode shotgun, sunglasses slightly askew, one sock still missing, and legs spread too wide for decency in shorts that tight. He was scrolling through his phone lazily with a smirk like he was reading memes about himself.

Tommy sat behind him, wedged in with Christopher. “I still smell like syrup.”

“Because you licked it off his arm,” Eddie called from the driver’s seat.

“Regret comes in layers.”

Eddie rolled his eyes behind the wheel, pulling out from the driveway. He liked this—liked them. A bare leg in the corner of his view caught his eyes though. “Buck, where is your other sock? I can’t have people thinking I make you walk around looking homeless.”

“Did you know fireflies are dying out due to habitat loss and light pollution that makes it hard for their mating signals to be recognized? They’re burning out.”

“Wait, what?” Tommy asked, concerned.

Chris, ever the normal one in a household of chaos, tapped the seat. “What are we even going to the hardware store for again?”

Buck turned dramatically, one arm slung over the seat. “We’re going because Eddie wants to protect you from my vintage deathtrap cabinet.”

“It’s not vintage,” Eddie muttered. “It’s collapsing.”

“It has character.” Buck dragged his hand down Eddie’s thigh like that would change his mind. “And if you both want to keep hanging out in my kitchen, then yes, by all means—save me, strong men.”

Chris stuck his tongue out in disgust.

Eddie’s thigh jumped under Buck’s fingers.

Tommy beamed. “Please do that. I enjoy watching him glitch.”

Eddie cleared his throat and gave Buck a warning look, though his ears were pink. “Don’t do that unless you’re prepared to be lifted again.”

“Oh no.” His eyes were wide and fluttery. “Whatever will I do?”

Chris sighed in the backseat. These adults need to calm down.

The hardware store was an industrial jungle of orange metal, wood, and overly helpful employees. Buck, naturally, gravitated toward the power tools with the excitement of a man who should absolutely never be allowed to own them given the way he handles his trusty power saw at work.

Christopher beelined toward the aisle of light switches and doorbells as fast as his legs could take him, like a tiny contractor-in-training.

“Don’t run too far, Chris,” Eddie warned.

Chris shooed him away.

“Okay,” Tommy said, pulling a folded post-it from his pants pocket. “We’re here for: cabinet hinge replacements, caulking strips, one weird light bulb for Buck’s microwave, and duct tape.”

Eddie nodded. “And maybe some washers. The ones under Buck’s sink are rusted.”

Buck’s feet suddenly became really interesting. “Okay okay, guys, I get it.”

“You are the ball of chaos we all orbit,” Tommy flirted.

Eddie drifted a few feet behind them, watching the way Tommy nudged Buck with his shoulder. How easily Buck folded into the touch. The intimacy between them wasn’t loud or possessive. It just was. And Eddie knew that he was wanted. That if he wanted it, he could easily step in.

But it’s been such a long time since he was last intimate with someone. Shannon was gone. Ana. Marisol. The sex always came easy to him, but how was he supposed to give Buck the gentleness he deserves when he could barely hold himself back from consuming him a few days ago? When all he wanted was to take all of Buck’s goddamn light, his aching hope… and ruin it? Worship it?

He tried not to dwell.

Buck wandered down the screw and anchor aisle, eyes scanning upward until he spotted the one he needed on a high shelf. He stretched up on a tiptoe, but couldn’t quite reach despite his height.

Then, he turned over his shoulder.

“Eddie,” Buck said sweetly. “Could you lift me, sir?”

Tommy nearly dropped his box of cabinet fasteners. “Oh my God—”

Eddie, to his credit, didn’t flinch this time. He walked forward, wordless, and gripped Buck’s waist like he’d been waiting for this opportunity. He lifted the kid effortlessly, Buck laughing breathlessly as his arms flailed.

“Steady!” Buck warned.

“You called me ‘sir,’” Eddie reasoned.

Buck smirked down at him. That dang smile of his outshined every light the next aisle over. “Was that wrong?”

Eddie’s fingers flexed slightly. “Dangerous.”

Once Buck had the box, Eddie set him down with a little too much care, smoothing out his clothes.

By the time they returned, the sun was high and merciless, but the apartment was pleasantly air conditioned. Buck kicked the door open with his heel, juggling keys and the bag of hardware that he refused to let the men hold so he could feel like he contributed in some way.

“Home sweet hazard zone.” Tommy stepped over a laundry pile that had somehow migrated to the living room. “Show me the patient.”

Buck pouted, his lips sad and kissable. “You mean the cherished vintage cabinet?”

Christopher stumbled into the apartment. “It almost decapitated me.”

“Cherished no more!” Buck exclaimed, lifting Christopher up and hugging him.

They gathered in the kitchen. Buck hopped up onto the counter to watch them work—legs swinging, cheeks flushed. His sock situation had improved after Tommy plucked one up from the clean laundry and placed it on his foot, Cinderella style.

Tommy crouched by the hinge, squinting as he unscrewed it. “You weren’t kidding. This thing’s one firm tug away from collapse.”

Eddie stood beside him, laying out the replacement hardware and tools into a neat row. “Let’s stabilize it. Even these shelves look like they’re bowing from the weight.”

Tommy nodded.

Buck watched them from the countertop, heart tight in his chest. There was something oddly beautiful about the way the men moved together with silent understanding. The way Tommy handed Eddie the drill without needing to be asked. The way their shoulders bumped a few times without need for an apology.

Buck’s legs kept swinging as he fiddled with his thumbs. “I feel like I should be offering drinks. Or a calendar shoot.”

“You offering to model?” Eddie called without looking up.

He stuck his tongue out and flexed. “I am model material.”

Tommy chuckled. “Yes you are.”

They were almost done when Buck slid off the counter and wandered closer. “Hey… can I help?

Tommy looked up in surprise. “You wanna?”

Buck shrugged, slightly abashed. “I don’t know. You guys look like a Home Depot commercial and I’m just here being useless.”

“You are not useless,” Eddie reassured him, handing him the screwdriver. “Here. Last two screws are yours.”

Buck’s eyes widened and he dropped to his feet, his fingers clumsy at first. “Okay. Lefty loosey—no wait. Righty tighty. Right?”

“You got it,” Tommy said, him and Eddie scooting a little so Buck had room. “Just don’t strip it.”

Buck rolled his eyes. “You say that to me too often.”

Tommy bit back a smile.

Eddie crouched beside him, guiding Buck’s hand. “Keep it nice and straight. Easy pressure.”

Buck’s tongue poked out as he focused, brow furrowed in concentration. He twisted the last screw in place with a satisfying click. “Ta da!”

Tommy gave him a dramatic clap. “Our hero!”

“Why does it feel like I just earned a participation trophy?” Buck muttered, trying not to grin.

Eddie ruffled his curls. “Because you did.”

The moment was still hanging in the air—warm, stupid, and sweet—when Buck’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and smiled. “It’s Bobby.”

Tommy stood. “What’s he want?”

Buck opened the message.

Bobby: Dinner. My place. Bring Tommy. Bring Eddie. Bring Chris. Bring something baked.

- Bobby Nash

A pause.

Buck peeked up. “He knew we were together?”

“He always knows,” Eddie said, peering over Tommy’s shoulder.

Buck chewed his lip. “Is this a feelings dinner? Because I am not emotionally prepared for that.”

Eddie gave him a crooked smile. “You’ll be fine. It’s Bobby.”

Buck sighed. “I’ve got pie dough in the freezer. I can use the leftover peaches from earlier.”

“Of course you do,” Tommy said with affection.

“Okay,” Buck clapped his hands once. “Give me an hour. And then we go to the park, okay Christopher?”

A tiny thumbs up popped up in the background.

The oven preheated with a hum while Buck moved around his big kitchen like a caffeinated whirlwind. His sleeves were partially rolled up, his curls were a mess, and a thin sheen of flour clung to his forearms like a badge of honor. The leftover peaches were sliced and glistening on the cutting board, awaiting their sugary fate.

Tommy leaned against the island, arms crossed, eyes following his muse’s every move. “You want me to do anything besides admire you?”

Buck, who was elbow-deep in pie dough, huffed. “Yes. Make whipped cream. The real kind. No store-bought fakes in this house—much less Bobby’s.”

Eddie stepped around the laundry pile still occupying a corner of the living room—now more mountain-like than a mess. He nudged it with his hand and sighed like a man facing war again.

“I’m gonna fold these, by the way,” he yelled from across the apartment, crouching down. “You’re about to have an avalanche in your living room.”

Buck looked up from where he was brushing flour off the counter. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Eddie shot him a look. “Besides, I like neat corners.”

Tommy smiled warmly from where he was washing his hands in the sink. “Your love language is such a dad thing.”

“It’s efficient,” Eddie replied, already making neat stacks. “And as far as I’m concerned, we’re both dads to that troublemaker.”

Buck was flabbergasted. “Am not.”

Tommy had to hold his stomach for the laugh that took all his oxygen.

Flour sailed through the air. “Traitor.”

Eddie shook his head with a small smile and gathered Buck’s hoodie pile—with the same one he’d meant to return a while ago sneaked in between. He stood up with the armful and headed toward the bedroom. “Just gonna toss these in your dresser.”

Buck waved him off. “Thanks!” He handed Tommy a bowl full of ingredients and a whisk.

Eddie climbed the wide stairs, hoodies balanced in his arms, hearing the last bit of the argument behind him fading away:

“No blender? Are you trying to kill my arms?”

“You’re buff. You’ll survive.” Buck handed Tommy a bowl full of ingredients and a whisk. “Go crazy.”

Tommy sighed with mock tragedy.

The loft wasn’t a room so much as an alcove overlooking the living room and kitchen below—half-walled and half-open like Buck lived never fully separated from the rest of the world around him.

The bed was unmade, of course, but not in a careless way. More like Buck had left it mid-dream with the way the pillow had been kicked to the edge.

Along the low wall, Christopher’s drawings were stuck with uneven strips of blue painter’s tape: Buck with a firehose twice his size and crayon handwriting declaring him “Best Fireman in the World” (Eddie would have to have a serious talk with Chris) and Buck with a mermaid tail in the ocean.

You saved him.

A string of fairy lights hung overhead—half of them blinking like they were on their last breath. Meanwhile, a chipped bookshelf sat crooked in the corner holding a cracked mug full of pens, firehouse memorabilia, and an old photo of the 118 at a department barbecue. Hen had her tongue out. Chim was mid-bite. Bobby’s arms were folded like a dad proud of his children. And Buck—Buck looked radiant, caught mid-laugh with ketchup on his cheek.

Next to the bed, a worn hoodie hung from the headboard. Eddie recognized it as one of his. And on the nightstand was a polaroid of him, Tommy, and Buck.

Eddie set the folded clothes at the foot of the bed and sat down, reaching over to look at the polaroid.

The whole space felt like someone who’d never stopped being a kid, but had bled himself into adulthood anyway. Messy, sweet, and so painfully open-hearted.

It was so Buck.

He placed the polaroid back down, but he noticed the drawer to the nightstand stuck out slightly as if it hadn’t been closed all the way.

He didn’t mean to pry.

He really didn’t.

But his fingers brushed the corner, and the drawer opened with a soft, wooden creak. He peeked over the railing where Tommy and Buck were currently engaging in a whisk fight and ending up with whipped cream on their faces. And Chris was in the living room asking if he could have a spoonful once they were done “fighting like married people.”

Inside the drawer, nestled beneath a spare pack of gum and old receipts was a small orange prescription bottle. The label was worn and peeling, the information smudged, but the name was unmistakable: Evan Buckley.

Eddie inspected it.

His heart dropped. Just for a moment. A sharp, irrational panic squeezing his lungs.

These pills… these were blood thinners. Probably from after the crushed leg a few years ago. The firetruck. The bombing. All of it came back in a wave.

God, Buck.

He knew these pills weren’t anything recent. It couldn’t be. Buck no longer needed to be on them. But that day on the rooftop, Buck had told him and Tommy everything—his heart cracking open as he admitted things Eddie hadn’t even known he’d been carrying. About the pain. About the pills. How close he’d come.

Eddie sat back on his heels, bottle in hand, thumb rubbing the cap carefully.

It doesn’t mean Buck was hiding anything. These were… forgotten, maybe. Or maybe not.

He sat with it for a second before a scream from Buck snapped him out of thought. He returned the bottle to the drawer, closing it all the way this time, and jogged back down just in time to hear Buck shriek, “You got it in my hair, you absolute menace!”

Tommy, doubled over with laughter, brandished a whisk like a weapon of war. “You deserved it!”

Buck had cream streaked down one cheek and a dollop clinging to his nose. Tommy wasn’t faring much better. It was splattered along his shirt like he had been tagged in a frosting paintball tournament.

“Please tell me you didn’t waste all of it,” Eddie pleaded, stepping back into the kitchen.

Buck turned to him with wild eyes. “Officer, arrest him. This man has assaulted me with dairy!”

Tommy licked a smear off his finger. “I call it aggressive taste-testing.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know why the counter looks like someone made love to a mixing bowl?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There was no penetration.”

“Yet,” Buck muttered.

Eddie pressed a hand to his face. “You two need to be contained.”

“I was baking!” Buck cried, gesturing helplessly at the half-assembled pie and the warzone around them. “He got handsy with the whipped cream!”

Tommy pointed the same finger. “I was being helpful. You looked stressed.”

A scandalized Buck responded: “You smacked my butt with a spatula!”

Eddie blinked. “Wait, that’s how it started?”

Tommy shrugged, looking down with guilt. “Lightly.”

Eddie gave them both a long look, then moved toward the mess, grabbing a dish towel. “Alright… Bonnie and Clyde. Clean yourselves up and finish baking that pie, please.”

They were beyond the point of listening.

Tommy was already behind Buck, gently wiping whipped cream from his neck with the back of his hand and even gentler eyes. Buck stood completely still, the blush in his cheeks as clear as the flour on his hands. Tommy whispered something Eddie couldn’t hear, but it made Buck’s eyes flutter closed and loosened his fingers on the edge of the counter for just a second.

The same ache from earlier in the store twinged in his ribs again. Not jealousy. Not quite. It was something that pressed in around his chest. He wondered if they even noticed how intimate they were. How easily they melted into each other like it was second nature.

Then Tommy looked over and saw him there, standing with the forgotten towel in his hand. He smiled, openly, but saw the deep way Eddie’s brows furrowed in thought. Like he wanted something but wasn’t sure he could have it. He mouthed to Eddie: You good, Ed?

Eddie cleared his throat and tossed the towel on the counter. “Get it together, you two. That cream better end up on the pie.”

“Cream in the pie. Got it.”

“I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing, Eddie,” Tommy muttered.

Eddie held up a wooden spoon. “No me pruebes.”

They broke into laughter again and this time, Eddie smiled fully. He walked over and steadied the pie dish as Buck poured in the peach filling.

“We’ll need to leave soon. Sun’s dipping.”

“I can do lattice real fast,” Buck promised. “I just want it to be good.”

Tommy brushed a finger down his spine. “It’ll be perfect. Just like you.”

Buck rolled his eyes, but he knew better than to argue.

Tommy placed his other hand on Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing it.

Eddie let himself lean into the touch—just a little.

Squirrels chittered through the branches as they strolled the path around the park’s edge, ice cream cones in hand. The breeze was light, tickling hair and making everything feel lighter.

Buck was all sunshine and sugar, letting Christopher lean on him for balance as they picked a path towards a patch of shade. They eventually settled beneath a tree near the edge of the field away from the noise of other families.

Before the others could spread a blanket, Buck flopped down in the grass like a tired golden retriever and yawned dramatically, one arm over his eyes. “Wake me when the world ends.”

“You mean dinner?” Tommy asked, sitting beside him.

“Same thing.”

Christopher lowered himself, too, back pressed to the tree trunk. His ice cream was nearly finished and he had a book tucked under his arm. “I’m fine here,” he assured his dad.

Eddie lingered a moment longer just to be sure, then sat down as Buck dozed off in the grass—cheeks flushed, curls handsomely set, and the cone in his hand threatening to roll out. It was like watching a moment you didn’t realize you needed until it was already slipping past.

Tomy sidled up next to him quietly, plucking the cone from Buck’s hand. Buck would probably say it’s unhygienic if he was awake, but Tommy would tell him looking after you is worth a cold.

“You okay?” he asked, taking a lick, voice low enough not to wake Buck or distract Chris from his book.

Eddie hesitated. “Yeah. Just…”

Crickets chirped in the distance.

“I look at him like that,” Eddie said finally, gesturing towards the sleeping puppy, “and all I can think about is how bad I want to touch and hold him. But sometimes it feels like I only know how when it’s charged. When there’s something going on. When it’s heavy. Not like this. Not when it’s easy—or supposed to be.”

“You don’t need to earn softness, Eddie. Not with him. You already have it. You just haven’t given yourself… permission to use it yet.”

Eddie’s jaw twitched. He looked down at his hands. “What if I mess it up?”

“Then you try again. You show up the next day and the next. You fold laundry. You put flowers in his hair. That’s how we take care of him, right?” Tommy said. “Every little dumb, soft way.”

Eddie looked back at Buck whose hand was starting to twitch in the grass like he was dreaming.

Tommy reached down, plucked a daisy from nearby, and handed it to Eddie without another word.

Eddie took it.

He knelt quietly beside Buck and tucked it into his curls. Then another. And another. Until his head was adorned with a whole crown of flowers worthy of him.

Christopher looked up from his book. “Buck’s going to scream when he finds out what you did.”

Eddie smiled. “Let him.”

Buck didn’t remember falling asleep.

But he did remember waking up in the backseat of Eddie’s truck, the sound of windshield wipers on low. His head was pillowed against someone’s thigh and the low hum of the road vibrating beneath them. Chris was in the passenger seat, catching the last warm breeze of the day. Tommy was circling into Buck’s shoulder with a single finger.

Buck blinked up, still foggy. “You carried me.”

Eddie looked through the rearview mirror. “Technically, we carried you. You’re a heavy sleeper.”

Buck yawned so hard his jaw cracked. “You’re just weak.”

Tommy snorted. “Bold words from the boy nuzzled in my lap. Now get up. We’re here.”

The truck slowed in front of Bobby and Athena’s house. The porch light flickered on automatically, lighting the walkway and contrasting with the way the sky dipped in amber and lilac. Buck sat up, dazed. A little flower fell from his hair onto Tommy’s jeans.

“What the—?” Buck plucked another bloom from his curls. “Did you two put flowers in my hair while I was sleeping?”

Eddie shrugged, grinning. “You looked too peaceful not to.”

Tommy winked. “Chin up, flower boy.”

Buck huffed but didn’t take the rest out. “You’re both menaces.”

Chris grinned. “You look like a pretty princess, Buck.”

Buck laughed, emerging from the truck with a foil-covered pie cradled in his hands like a royal artifact. The mist from the heavens graced his face. “Thanks, bud,” he glowed. “Now, this pie has been through so much.”

Tommy held open the gate. “And yet, unlike your dignity. it remains intact.”

Buck gasped. “Rude.”

Chris climbed the steps and knocked to the tune of skunk in the barnyard. Athena opened it a moment later, her gaze flickering from the pie to the flowers in Buck’s hair. “Well, well. Did we stumble into a meadow on the way here?” Her smirk was audible.

Buck gave her a look that quickly transformed into a grin. “Apparently. I brought pie though!”

“And an appetite,” Eddie added, patting Buck’s stomach.

Bobby peeked his head from the side, looking at the glorious amount of whipped cream on said pie. “Is that a pie or a bribe?”

“Both,” Tommy replied without missing a beat.

Athena shook her head and stepped aside. “Then come on in, gentlemen.”

The kitchen smelled like garlic and lemon and butter. Bobby manned the grill out back with intense concentration, spatula in hand like it was a sacred duty while Athena plated vegetables with a knife so sharp it dared you to say the wrong thing.

Buck arranged the table with a determination to make silverware feel important, placing the silverware meticulously outside-in. Earlier, he had researched traditional etiquette (“Did you guys know there’s a separate fork just for eating oysters?”) just so he could impress Bobby and Athena with his manners and it was working.

Athena tilted her head. “Okay Buck, I see you.”

Buck grinned. He always wanted to feel seen and now here was a maternal figure simply noticing a bit of effort yet affirming him more than his own mom had before.

Tommy uncorked a bottle of wine with the precision of a man who pretends to not enjoy being domestic but has hosted many tea parties back in the day. Eddie carved the steak cleanly in the true Texas fashion, dishing out servings for everyone and cutting it up into even tinier bite-sized pieces just for Chris and Buck. Meanwhile, Chris folded napkins into curious origami shapes that faintly resembled animals.

The table was full of food, noise, and people who knew each other well. Athena asked how training had gone. Tommy shared a story about a helicopter malfunction that sounded scarier in hindsight. Hen had just been promoted to temporary captain for B-shift while their cap was on paternity leave. Chim was on a call right now and would attempt to show up later. Eddie talked about Christopher’s new IEP accommodations with Chris chiming in every second.

Somewhere in all of that, Buck stopped eating. Athena’s eyes narrowed in. His plate sat half-finished, the bread roll sitting in the corner with a small bite and the steak completely untouched.

“Wait, so I still have to go to gym class?” Chris asked.

“Yes, you do.” Eddie nudged Buck’s shoulder and whispered for him to eat. “Being healthy is important.”

Buck shook his head and stared at his plate gloomily.

Athena finished chewing a piece of food, wiping her mouth with a napkin and picking up her glass. “Tommy, I hear you transferred to the 118 permanently. I hope these boys haven’t been too much of a handful for you?”

“You have no idea,” Tommy jokes, taking a sip from Buck’s glass. He looked over the Diaz boys and Buck with love and a masked bit of concern for the food meandering around the plate like it had no purpose other than being rearranged. His hand slipped under the table not so inconspicuously to squeeze Buck’s thigh. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Athena gave a knowing look to Bobby who just speared his potato with a fork and raised his eyebrows as if he was saying I told you so.

“Domesticity grows on you,” Tommy continued, gently grabbing Buck’s chin and guiding the boy to come back from wherever he was disappearing into. “Like a plant.”

Where did you go? Tommy mouthed.

Buck smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Athena spoke up. “Buck, baby, you okay?”

He blinked. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just full. Had a big lunch.”

Eddie stretched out his arm before catching himself. He knew Buck wasn’t fine, but he didn’t know how much Bobby and Athena did or didn’t know. And Buck was retreating in a way he wouldn’t be able to explain. Not yet at least.

He clenched his jaw and hooked his arm behind Buck’s back, hand resting gently at his waist and rubbing at his side. “You know what, he had some ice cream at the park before coming here so he’s still reeling from all that sugar.”

Athena looked at Bobby once again and nodded her head at Buck subtly. “That’s okay. I’m getting a little full anyway. Why don’t we pack up dinner and then move to the living room for some of that pie?”

Later, the dishes clinked softly under the hum of the sink faucet. Everyone else drifted into the living room, murmuring conversation and the faint sound of a show echoing off the walls. Buck stood beside Bobby at the sink with a dish towel ready.

“You always help with the dishes?” Bobby asked with a crooked smile.

“Tommy and Eddie have kind of been house training me,” Buck replied. “Plus, I miss spending time with you.

Bobby passed him a dripping plate. “Dangerous offer.”

Buck rubbed the plate dry, slower than necessary. “You knew we’d all be together tonight, didn’t you?”

“I had a hunch,” he paused for a beat. “I also noticed you barely touched your food.”

Buck didn’t answer right away. “Wasn’t that hungry.”

“That why your hands are shaking?”

Buck tucked his hands into his pockets. His eyes drifted to the mist collecting outside the window above the sink. “I’m just tired.”

“You’ve been tired for a long time, son.”

“Don’t,” Buck warned. His voice cracked just slightly.

“I’m not trying to lecture,” Bobby tiptoed around eggshells. “It’s just… whatever you’re carrying, it’s too much for just one person to carry.”

“I don’t want to dump it on anyone else. I already take up enough space.”

“Buck—”

“I know.”

Buck snapped, sudden and sharper than he meant to. “I know I’m not supposed to say that. I know people love me. That’s the worst part. I know it. I have two guys who feel like they have to care about me like crazy. I’m not alone. And it just…” He exhaled, eyes darting away like he was trying to escape his own voice. “It makes me feel worse. Because if I have all that… then why do I still feel like a goddamn attention seeker?”

Bobby stilled.

Buck went on, voice unraveling. “Sometimes I’m with them and I’m laughing or falling asleep listening to their heartbeats and thinking ‘God, how lucky am I?’ And at the same time, I’ll wake up and the first thing I feel is dread. Like I’ve already ruined something and the day hasn’t even started yet. And then I spend the rest of the day trying to take it, trying to smile and be what they need—what everyone needs. But by the end I’m just—” He inhaled hard through his nose. “I’m hollow.”

Bobby’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Have you… thought about hurting yourself?”

The younger one closed his eyes. “Not exactly.” It wasn’t the full truth. “But sometimes I think about disappearing. Just… not being here. About how maybe that would make everything quieter. Easier. For me. For them. No one would have to waste time convincing me I matter.”

Even the laughter in the other room felt like it belonged to another world separate from the silence in this one.

“After the Minnesota incident, I didn’t want to keep breathing. My kids were gone. My wife. And I was the reason.”

Buck blinked, startled.

“I thought the world would be better off without me in it. I believed it.” Bobby’s eyes locked onto Buck. “But you know what hurts worse than anything I’ve ever lived through? Standing here right now, hearing you talk like that.

Buck’s lips quivered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s not you talking, Buck. That’s the pain. And it lies. It tells you that the people who love you would be better off without you. It tells you that you’re a burden. That you’re too much. And none of that is true.”

Buck wiped his face quickly with his sleeve, like it was just water that splashed from the sink.

“I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate that I can’t feel okay. How can I be standing in the middle of something good and yet all I can think is ‘When is it going to fall apart?’” Or worse, ‘When am I going to ruin it?’”

“You’re not broken. You’re hurting. And you’ve been holding it in for so long, it started convincing you that hurting is just who you are. But it’s not. And you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Buck finally looked him in the eyes. “Then why does it still feel like I’m failing? Like I’m wasting the care they keep giving me?”

“Because depression twists everything. But that doesn’t mean the love’s not real. And it doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of it.”

That label caught Buck off guard. “Whoa, Bobby, I—I'm not depressed. There’s other people out there in way worse situations than I am.”

Bobby turned to him, drying his hands on the dish towel. “Trauma is not a competition. But you do have your fair share of it. And I think you know, healthy brains do not think like that. I am here for you, Buck, but you need to talk to a counselor.”

“I know.”

“And I know Tommy and Eddie will be there for you, too.”

Buck hesitated. “You don’t think it’s selfish? To want both of them?”

There was no judgment in his eyes. “I think you’ve given so much of yourself to everyone else… you forgot you’re allowed to want anything.”

In the living room, the rest of the group settled into soft cushions. A game show rerun no one was really watching played on the TV. Christopher sat in Athena’s lap, a half eaten piece of peach pie balancing in her hand.

Tommy sat on the rug with his back against the couch, fork tapping lightly on his plate. Eddie leaned against the armrest beside him, eyes occasionally flicking toward the kitchen. He hadn’t stopped glancing that way since Buck and Bobby started washing dishes.

Athena noticed. She always did.

She gave it a minute before tilting her head. “Alright. Spill.”

"Spill what?"

Athena raised her eyebrows. “The obvious. Buck’s been floating in and out of himself all evening like a balloon that’s only half-tied to planet Earth. And both of you look like you’re trying so hard not to hover to avoid him noticing.”

Chris licked his fork. “Buck notices. He’s just pretending.”

Eddie let out a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been… up and down. Good days, really good ones. Then out of nowhere it’s like someone flipped a switch.”

“He has such high highs,” Tommy added softly. “He lights up a whole city. But then he has such low lows that he can barely keep his head up. And I don’t think he even understands why, which makes it worse.”

Athena nodded, thoughtful. “Buck burns bright. That’s the thing about people like him. They shine so hard for everyone else, they forget they need fuel themselves. And when they finally sputter, people act surprised.”

Chris furrowed his brows. “Like stars?”

“Exactly,” she smiled, ruffling his curls. “The ones that shine the prettiest are the ones that go quiet the fastest. Not because they’re weak—but because they’ve been burning too hot for far too long.”

Eddie looked over at her. “We try to take care of him without being pushy. I cook him food when he can’t for himself. Tommy’s the only one who can get him to drink water. We wrap him in blankets and tuck that boy into bed. But it still feels like he’s withering away no matter what we do!”

His voice cracks, “Athena, I can’t lose—”

My everything.

The love of my life.

“I can’t lose him, Athena.”

Tommy also looked over, jaw tight. He placed one hand on Eddie's knee in attempt to ground him back to this world. To say You're not alone. “Neither can I.”

There was so much weight in that sentence.

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” Eddie muttered. “He’s got all this love—Chris, Maddie, the firehouse. You and Bobby. Us. And it’s still not enough. He still feels like he’s broken. Like he’s not worth a meal.”

“You do what you’re doing,” Athena said simply. “You stay. You love him anyway. And when he feels like he’s too much, or not enough, or a whole juxtaposition—you stay louder.”

Eddie’s hands curled into fists. “But how do we fix him?”

“You can’t.”

Eddie stared at the TV but didn’t see it. “That’s not a good enough answer.” 

Tommy chimed in again, firm now. “It’s not about fixing him. It’s about showing up even when he can’t explain why he’s sad. When he forgets how to laugh. When he disappears even in the middle of an empty room.”

Athena leaned back. “Love doesn’t silence the ache. But it gives that ache somewhere safe to go. You’re giving him that, whether he knows or not.”

Chris nodded like it made perfect sense. “He always takes care of us. We need to keep taking care of him.”

Tommy reached over and gave the kid’s knee a gentle squeeze. “You’re wise beyond your years, buddy.”

The room settled for a moment.

Then, from the kitchen, a faint burst of laughter echoed out. Buck and Bobby. Water splashing. Something that sounded like a plate nearly breaking.

Tommy let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Eddie didn’t realize it either, but his eyes began to water.

Athena smiled knowingly. “That sound? That’s what you hold onto.”

Chapter Text

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Not from pain. From terror.

“No, no, no—” Buck muttered, half-gasped, over and over as his fingers clawed through the debris. Blood smeared across his knuckles, but he didn’t feel it. Didn’t care.

“Please,” he begged—to the body in front of him, to the universe above. “Please just—just move. Breathe.”

A cough tore through his lungs as he inhaled dust, but he didn’t stop. He gripped the collapsed beam with both hands, pulling with every ounce of strength he had left.

“Help me!” he screamed. His voice broke on the word. “Someone help!”

Blood began to pool out.

“No, no, no,” Buck whimpered, placing the beam back down gently just in time for the chest to stop rising.

He sank beside the body on the ground. “Wake up. Don’t go to sleep. You have to wake up.”

His hands cupped the man’s face too hard, smeared blood along his jaw, trying to find any sign of a breath. Anything.

“WHY WON’T HE MOVE?!”

He was sobbing now, uncontrollably, hunched over the body like he could breathe life back into it by sheer force of will.

Buck pressed his forehead down to the shoulder and choked out. “Why—Why would he—why won’t he answer me?”

And then in a softer voice:

“You always answer me.”

His eyes opened.

There was weight on his chest.

Crushing. Heavy.

Eddie couldn’t breathe—

And then Buck snorted in his sleep.

A full-body jolt rippled through the man draped over him, tightening the grip of long limbs wound around his torso. Buck’s knee flexed against Eddie’s hip, one foot half-tucked under the blanket and the other cold where it peeked out.

“Jesus,” Eddie rasped, voice still thick with sleep. “You’re like a human sandbag.”

Buck didn’t move.

His cheek was smooshed against Eddie’s sternum, puffed lips parted in a dozy little pout. Both of his legs remained tangled over Eddie’s hips, anchored like he was afraid someone might try to pry him off in the middle of the night.

Eddie shifted slightly, trying to allow some room for air to move in and out of his ribs. The warmth, the weight, the closeness—it should’ve been suffocating. Frankly, it was. But it made his heart twist in a way he didn’t mind.

“You’re gonna crush me, you know that?” he whispered, a small grin tugging at his mouth despite the complaint.

Buck made a sleepy little grunt and burrowed in further like a prairie dog settling into its home, nose pushing further into the crook beneath Eddie’s jaw. His breath came slow and warm against Eddie’s skin in a rhythm so steady it was almost hypnotic.

Eddie let his head fall back against the pillow.

Never would he have imagined being this close to Buck. There had been so many moments over the years where Eddie had watched Buck sacrifice everything to the people he loved and had ached to do the same for him: when Buck fought tooth and nail to protect his son, Christopher, during the tsunami that rocked the pier, even though he was still recovering from the firetruck bombing incident; or the way Buck faced his fears and dove under the firetruck, uncaring for his own safety, to drag Eddie out after he had been sniped in an open square and collapsed in a pool of his own blood.

Even now, Eddie will be forever grateful. Forever indebted.

But there was one memory he couldn’t shake.

One he hadn’t even necessarily been there for.

He found out about it through the news.

Something Buck never brought up. Never asked credit for.

Back when he got trapped in the well after rescuing that kid, when the situation had escalated from tense to tragic storms—Buck was the last person still clawing at the Earth to reach him. Refusing to give up. Covered in mud, soaked in rain, and crying to the heavens loud enough that even the downpour it responded with couldn’t drown him out.

This sweet boy had begged. Pleaded. For Eddie not to abandon him. Not to be another person who let Buck go. Not to die.

Eddie had always been too scared—too unfamiliar—with being gentle to someone. Not when he’d been trained domestically and in the military to be steel.

Yet here Eddie was now. One of Buck’s safe spaces. One of the people this clumsy, ridiculous man trusted and felt comfortable enough to collapse onto and be so vulnerable around.

For a moment, Eddie let himself feel it. All of it. The ache in his chest that wasn’t pain but something dangerously close to contentment. The heat of Buck’s skin. The shallow breaths fanning his collarbone.

He wasn’t sure he’d earned this.

But it was here. And it was real.

And God—he wanted to keep it.

Across the bed, the sheets rustled.

Tommy stirred with a stretch and a groan, rolling closer like gravity was pulling him toward the warmth. He squinted one eye open, still blurry with sleep, and took in the sight of the being sprawled across Eddie’s chest.

“You two are disgusting,” he chuckled, voice full of fondness.

“You’re jealous,” Eddie mumbled back.

Tommy cracked his other eye open, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What I am is freezing all alone over here.”

Eddie reached out blindly with a hand, patting along the mattress until he found Tommy’s waist. He tugged gently, coaxing him in. “Then come closer.”

Tommy slid into Eddie’s side with a low sigh, arm curling over Buck’s back. “Mmmmh, much better.”

The yawn that came out of Buck just then began from deep inside his bones. His whole body stretched like a puppy before settling again. His eyes blinked open blearily.

Eddie smiled and leaned in to peck a kiss to his cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”

Buck blinked harder like his eyes and ears were failing him. “Was that a good morning kiss?”

Tommy leaned in from behind, brushing his lips to Buck’s temple. “You’re not complaining.”

Everything in the room suddenly felt stupidly warm like sacred sunlight was beaming in. Buck’s cheeks turned red. “Can you—can you guys do it again?”

“Kiss you?” Eddie asked.

Buck hesitated, eyes darting between them. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, it’s not like we’re in a relation—”

“Of course we will,” Eddie said, soft but certain.

Buck peeked up between them, eyes glassy with disbelief.

And Eddie—

Eddie was witnessing Buck with the same reverence he held for the holy cathedral when he was a devout follower. He looked at him and thought, if I had to die, this is how I want to go. With Tommy by his side and Buck on top, right over him.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He leaned down again, this time trailing a kiss from Buck’s cheek to his jaw, then further—slow and reverent—down the strong line of his neck.

Buck’s breath caught. He went utterly still, except for the way his fingers clutched lightly at the sheets like he was still trying to anchor himself down to Earth.

“That okay?” Eddie murmured, brushing a curl aside.

Buck nodded too fast. “Mhmm.”

“Good,” Tommy said from behind him, already nosing into the back of Buck’s curls. “Because you smell too good not to kiss.”

Eddie smiled at that, then moved lower—pressing a warm kiss to the hollow just above Buck’s collarbone.

Tommy’s lips trailed up Buck’s arm to his neck, his voice breathy. “How about that, sweetheart?”

Buck’s voice trembled. “Yeah…”

Eddie took that as permission and kept going, pressing another kiss to Buck’s chest through the soft, worn fabric of his shirt.

Buck whimpered.

Both of the men stilled.

“Did you want us to stop?” Tommy asked gently, already easing off, concern laced in his voice.

Buck’s reply was breathless. “I just… didn’t think you’d want to go further. I’m not exactly—”

Eddie shook his head and gently placed a hand over Buck’s mouth. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

With his other hand, he pushed the hem of Buck’s shirt up slowly, baring skin inch by inch. Skin that was pale but kissed gold in the dawn light. Warm. A little soft at the center where muscle gave way to the faintest plushness. Muscle and tenderness all at once.

Eddie bent low and kissed the curve of Buck’s belly, just beside the navel. The skin there twitched under his mouth.

He looked up into Buck’s blues.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered into the skin.

Tommy rested his chin on Buck’s shoulder, watching with eyes so gentle it almost hurt. “We like all of you,” he murmured, stretching his hand down to give his tummy a little tickle. “Even the squishy parts.”

Buck groaned and tried to cover his face, squirming like a man being ruined gently. “You guys are gonna make me explode.”

“We’re just getting started,” Eddie teased, smiling as kissed a slow trail back up the soft line of Buck’s stomach. “So you better get used to it, guapo."

“This isn’t fair.”

“Too bad.” Tommy pressed another kiss behind Buck’s ear. “You’re stuck with the both of us.”

Then Tommy leaned in again, brushing his lips to the side of Buck’s neck, just under the curve of his jaw. It started soft. But something about the way Buck tilted his head back, offering more of himself unconsciously, made Tommy pause.

His mouth opened slightly, just enough to let the kiss deepen. A quiet hum left him with the pull of a breath.

He didn’t even think about it. Not until he felt Eddie settling his hand over Tommy’s as if it belonged there. And then he pressed his mouth to the same spot. Slow. Careful. Just a little harder.

They kissed Buck’s neck together, one after the other, taking turns like they were following their own rhythm.

A breath hitched in Buck’s chest. Fingers curled in the sheets. Eyes fluttered shut.

When they finally pulled back, the skin was flushed. A mark bloomed just beneath Buck’s jaw, unintentional but undeniably kissed red

Eddie heard once from Chimney that Tommy referred to Buck’s birthmarks as marks from falling from heaven. And he was right. But these new ones that complemented those “little kisses,” as Chim mentioned, were their very own marks. And God did it look good on him.

The trio didn’t walk into the 118 so much as they meandered in—a little too close, a little too giggly, like they’d just come from a delicious brunch and forgotten they worked here.

Buck was buzzing from the iced coffee Tommy had ordered with extra syrup just for him. His hair was a fluffy, beautiful mess of damp curls. Eddie floated in, high on something better than caffeine. And Tommy? He walked in, sipping from the same straw, smug. Infuriatingly smug for someone who had also just gotten scolded by a golden retriever for wanting a regular straw.

“You know 1,000 turtles die every year from eating plastic?”

“No.”

“Well, now you do.”

It was so endearing the way Buck researched all these little things. Buck’s little fascination for factoids was one of Eddie and Tommy’s favorite little things about him. Though Tommy was looking at Eddie as if to say He’s lucky he’s cute.

Bobby spotted them immediately from the end of the hallway, leaning half into the admin office. He stared at them for a full five seconds. “Evan Buckley.”

Buck froze at the sound of his government name. “Yes?”

“Come here. Now.”

The puppy obeyed like he was caught mid-crime. He padded over, trying to look casual.

Bobby tilted his face and squinted long and hard.

Buck blinked at him. “Is something on my face?”

“Neck,” Bobby said, voice flat.

Furrowed eyebrows and a frown formed on Buck’s face. “Neck?”

Bobby nodded toward the mirror in the hallway.

Buck turned and inexplicably rushed past the conveniently placed mirror, grabbing the shiny stainless steel toaster sitting on the corner of the counter.

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back both his disappointment and the snicker he would’ve let out. Tommy covered his eyes with both hands.

Buck angled the toaster, almost glimpsing past the red mark the first time. He gasped at the double look he took.

“Oh my God!” he shrieked, jaw dropping lower than his dignity.

“Now Buck, it—” Bobby started.

Buck dropped the toaster like it bit him and immediately covered his neck with his hands. “You guys gave me a hickey!”

Hen was walking in all cheerily at this moment when she froze at that statement. She tilted her head down and looked up at Buck and then the two culprits. “You gave him a WHAT now?”

Eddie shrugged. “We didn’t mean to.”

Tommy looked down at his feet. “It just happened.”

Bobby held up his clipboard and pointed it at a room down the hallway. “My office. All three of you. Ten minutes.”

“What? Why?” Buck asked, horrified. They’re not about to get fired, right?

“I’m not mad,” Bobby assured. “Frankly, I’m not even surprised. But you know the rules about dating and PDA.”

“We’re not dating,” the trio spoke in unison.

Hen and Bobby glared at all three of their guilty faces.

Tommy faltered. “Not technically…”

“We’re just close buddies,” Eddie muttered.

Buck whispered. “There’s nothing going on.”

Hen let out the loudest eye roll in the world. There is simply no way they are this oblivious. Buck, maybe. But Tommy and Eddie? They cannot be this dumb.

Ten minutes later, three sheepish idiots shuffled into Bobby’s office where he was already seated behind the desk, three perfectly aligned HR forms fanned out in front of him like he was hosting a game show of poor life choices. Bobby simply sipped his coffee. Unblinking and waiting.

Buck cleared his throat. “So… uh… what are these?”

“HR forms,” Bobby said flatly. “Dating and workplace relationship disclosures. Since apparently, we’re not doing subtle anymore.”

Tommy leaned against the doorframe, trying to look like he wasn’t still breaking a sweat after getting caught. “Do we really have to—?”

Bobby cuts him off. “Yes. Unless you want HR to be asking questions about neck bruises on shift.”

Buck groaned and sank into the nearest chair like he was being handed a death sentence, which frankly, would be better than all of this. “This is so embarrassing.”

Eddie hovered behind him. “We’re really not dating, Cap” he said softly, as if repeating it would somehow make the statement true.

Bobby blinked. “Eddie.”

“Yes?”

“I see you two cuddling him in the bunks.”

“Yeah, but—”

“One of you was right behind him. The other one was right in front. He was wedged in between like a baby getting kisses from both sides.”

Tommy grinned, recalling their times on the bunk. “To be fair, he can’t sleep without us there to hold him.”

“Yeah!” Buck agreed.

“Do you not hear yourselves?” Bobby asked, tone dry.

They all stared at him.

Buck raised a timid hand like a shy kid in a classroom. “Uh, cap? Can I still sleep over at their place if I sign this?”

“Yes, Buck,” Bobby sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Can they still make me breakfast?” Buck asked, full of hope.

“If you don’t sign it, you’re not getting any breakfast,” Bobby warned.

Buck snatched the pen.

Tommy looked over his shoulder at the document. “You’re not gonna read it first?”

“I don’t need to. I’ve already been legally and emotionally compromised. At this point, I will never financially recover from this.”

Eddie also leaned over his shoulder to peek at the fine print in between. “Wait, is there a section about kisses?”

“Page two,” Bobby said without looking up.

Eddie flipped. “Oh. Wow. There’s even illustrations.”

“I added those,” Bobby muttered.

They all paused.

“What?” he exclaimed. “May finally taught me how to edit a document. And you guys clearly respond better to visuals.”

Once the signatures were inked, Bobby gathered the forms and stacked them neatly. Then he took a deep breath. “Again, I’m not upset. I just want you all to be smart. Your adults. You can do whatever you want. But this job is hard enough. Don’t make your lives harder by pretending what you have is not real.”

Eddie opened his mouth.

Before he could speak, Bobby got in one last point. “If you’re going to be stupid in love, at least be honest about it.”

There was a silence that settled, warm and almost shy.

“Now,” Bobby stood up. “Out. Except you, Buck.”

The two men scrambled out, looking back at Buck with their best wishes.

Tommy and Eddie barely made it two steps outside Bobby’s doors before the ambush began.

Hen stood in their path with her arms crossed and her face already brimming with mischief. Chim flanked her like a backup cop, practically vibrating. Though the two men got the impression that these were both bad cops.

“So…” Hen drawed out. “Hickey-gate 2025.”

Tommy sighed, bracing himself.

Chim leaned in with a grin, chewing his gum enthusiastically. “So what else have you two done to Buck?”

Eddie’s eyebrows flew up. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, we’ve seen the cuddling,” Hen said, ticking things off on her fingers one by one. “The shared snacks. Drinks. The back rubs. Buck falling asleep on Tommy’s chest. Tommy falling asleep on your shoulder. The two of you spending every moment together with Buck like co-parents in domestic bliss or a tight-knit triangle.”

Chim added, “And don’t forget that one time at dinner when Buck fed Eddie a bite of tiramisu and you took the fork to try it next. I watched it happen.”

“It was good tiramisu,” Tommy said under his breath, locking eyes with Chim.

“Oh no, it was a romantic tiramisu.”

Hen pointed. “And now you’ve branded the poor boy.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, easy.”

Eddie’s neck must’ve looked broken by the amount of times he’s attempted to rub the stress out of it by now. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Chim gasped and his eyes lit up at Hen. “That means it wasn’t the only one! Does his sister know or should I tell her myself?”

“Chim,” Hen responded. “You can’t tell her.”

“BUT THIS IS TOO JUICY, HEN. HOW CAN I NOT?”

Tommy groaned. “You two need hobbies.”

Chim raised a hand. “Hey, I have hobbies. One of them right now is emotionally investing in this ridiculous slow-burn throuple of idiots who make me want to rip my hair out in frustration because they don’t seem to realize they love each other even though one of them admitted to me a few months ago that the other is basically an angel who fell from heaven.”

“Ver-ba-tim,” Hen emphasized.

“That was a private moment, Chim.”

“And now it’s public information,” Chim declared, patting both of their shoulders. “Not that you guys needed any help making it known that you two are head over heels for a man who uses a toaster as a mirror.”

Tommy exhaled sharply and stepped forward before either of them could get more carried away. His tone shifted—clear, protective, and unshakable. “Alright that’s enough.”

Hen and Chim froze mid-giggle, startled by the shift in tone.

“You know I love a joke,” Tommy continued. “But Buck’s not just some toy for you to poke at every time he’s vulnerable. He’s not a pet. He’s not a punchline. He’s—he’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

Hen’s expression slowly shifted, the humor dimming just slightly.

“He gives and he gives until there’s nothing left,” Tommy went on, more subdued now. “So yeah. We’ll defend him from your press conference.”

Eddie turned his head toward him in respect of his confidence and added to it. “We’ll always be there for him and take care of him. Because he’s worth it. Because he makes us better.”

Chim eyed them both, disbelief flickering behind the grin. “Damn. Okay.”

Bobby leaned against the desk, watching as Buck sat in front of him all shyly. He gave a small smile. “You know I’m not mad, right?”

“I know. It’s just… a little weird.”

“It was weird the way the men started gravitating around you so soon. But once I saw you three on the rooftop a few days after the whole warehouse incident… I knew what you guys had was genuine and strong.”

Buck laughed. “You saw that?”

“I didn’t mean to intrude. It seemed like you were having a moment.”

“Okay, wow.”

“But I meant what I said. I’m happy for you. They’re good men. Good people. Good for you.”

“I think so,” Buck murmured, glancing down at the form. “I just… how—how do I tell them that I love them?”

Bobby’s expression softened instantly. He moved around the desk, slow and careful, and sat down in the chair beside Buck like a father preparing for the moment his son had his first crush.

“You just did.”

Buck’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. He hadn’t expected it to feel so terrifying. So real. It was one thing to fall asleep tangled in two warm bodies. Another to admit how deeply he wanted it.

“I don’t know if they know. I mean, I think they do. But I haven’t said it. Not out loud. Not even when I’ve almost… I came close. A couple times.”

Bobby nodded, letting him talk.

“It’s just—” Buck inhaled sharply. “I’ve always had to chase love. With Abby. With Taylor. I wasn’t enough for them. But this time, I think it’s different. It’s quiet. Safe. I don’t have to put in most of the work.”

There was a pause.

Then Buck looked at Bobby, eyes wet but resolute. “I really love them. Both of them.”

Bobby smiled, the kind that activated his crow’s feet. “I know. You don’t have to rush to say it to them if you’re not ready. I’m sure you’ll find the right moment and they’ll be ready to listen.”

“But what if I mess it up? What if they don’t love me?”

Bobby grabbed his shoulders with both hands. “You will. But you’ll fix it because you have the biggest heart in the world.”

Buck laughed wetly. “That’s not super reassuring.”

“It’s honest.” Bobby let go of his grip. “Look, I’ve known you a long time. Watched you grow from the guy who wanted to set himself on fire to prove he could keep people warm into someone who’s learning he deserves that warmth too. I wouldn’t be too sure they don’t love you back. Just don’t wait too long.”

Buck gulped.

“Have you reached out to a counselor yet?” Bobby added, voice dipping. He didn’t want to change the conversation like this but it was important Buck took care of himself. “Can you promise me you will?”

Buck nodded, eyes shining. “I will.”

“Good. In the meantime,” Bobby stood and nudged him playfully with the clipboard, “Go rejoin your boyfriends. I’m sure Hen and Chim are already sketching out wedding invitations.”

Buck groaned but smiled so wide it hurt. “They’re not—okay. Yeah. Fine.”

As he stood, Bobby pulled him into a hug without asking. Buck melted into it like it was instinct.

“I’m proud of you, son. Make sure you tell ‘em before it’s too late.”

Buck held on a little longer than necessary.

Back outside the office, Tommy cleared his throat awkwardly. “Joke all you want..."

Eddie finished the thought: “But if you mess with Buck, you’re messing with both of us.”

He didn't expect to be standing there with Tommy finishing his thoughts and sentences. They had a lot in common together from muay thai or video games with Chris, but something about Buck synced them emotionally in a way only they understood.

Hen raised her hands, smiling again. “Okay, papa bears. Noted.”

“But also,” Chim added, “Can we still tease him a little if it’s out of love?”

Tommy gave them a look.

Hen snorted. “We’ll take that as a yes.”

And that’s when Buck walked in. Just in time to hear, “If you mess with Buck, you’re messing with both of us.” He froze like a deer in a very affectionate, very chaotic set of headlights.

“...Hi,” he squeaked, visibly computing what he just walked into.

Tommy turned toward him, the edges of his ears a little pink. “Hey, darling.”

Jaws dropped like actual cartoon characters as Hen and Chim exchanged a look of pure glee.

“Oh my god,” Chim whispered. “He called him ‘darling.’”

Buck still hadn’t moved. He remained frozen, stunned, like someone had opened up his ribcage and handed him his own heart.

“Did you—were you—was that about me?” he asked, voice wobbly.

“Definitely,” Eddie confirmed, his lips twitching with quiet fondness.

Tommy scratched the back of his neck. “It might’ve come up…”

“Just admit it!” Chim cried. “Even when you’re not looking at blood thinner boy over there, you’re stealing glances at each other. When’s the last time either of you took care of someone like this?”

Buck’s eyes darted between everyone.

“But we’re not—” Tommy tried.

“Don’t you say you’re not dating,” Chim warned. “I will literally burst into flames right now if one more person in this firehouse denies the obvious.”

Eddie stepped up to the challenge. Do they care for Buck a little more than normal? Sure. But there’s nothing wrong with that. Does he and Tommy trust and depend on each other to look after Buck and each other? Yeah, but two heads are better than one. “He deserves to be taken care of.”

Hen’s expression warmed as she met Buck’s gaze. “Of course he does.”

“I, um… bathroom,” he stammered, and turned so fast he nearly tripped over a chair.

“Buck!” Tommy called after him, somewhere between amused and worried.

“He’s fine,” Chim said, arms crossed and a smirk plastered on his face. “That’s just the sound of a Buckley in love.”

The siren pulsed loudly above them as the engine roared through intersections. In the cab, Eddie sat by Buck and Tommy in the back seat, gloved hands resting on his knees, helmet and all of his gear secure. The city blurred outside the window—gray and orange, sky and smoke. But the world felt unnervingly still inside the truck. Something had snagged in the back of his mind. Chim’s earlier words still rang in his ears:

“When’s the last time you took care of someone like this?”

He hadn’t answered then. He couldn’t. But his question pulled at something inside him, something lodged deep and unresolved.

His thoughts slipped backward, uninvited:

He was lying beside Shannon.

The distance between them seemed to grow vastly with every shallow rise and fall of her breath in the dark.

“Do you ever feel like we’re just pretending again?" she asked into the void.

Eddie turned his head on the pillow. “What?”

“This,” she whispered. “Your house. Your family. The trying. Sometimes… I think we just liked the idea of it more than the reality.”

He didn’t know what to say. Mostly because he didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know how to say I’m trying so hard to give you the love and care you deserve, it hurts. Didn’t know how to say I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.

Instead, he let the silence hang in that moment until she rolled over and pretended to get some sleep.

She did leave again. Eventually.

The bump of a pothole snapped him back to the present.

He clenched his jaw.

Tommy was checking the straps on his gear beside him. Buck sat forward slightly, eyes narrowed toward the smoky building on the skyline—anxious because they didn’t know what they were walking into, but alert.

“Station 118 be advised,” the dispatcher crackled over the radio. “Working structure fire. Gas line rupture reported. Residential building. Multiple occupants unaccounted for.”

Buck’s head snapped up. His body straightened slightly at the familiar voice.

Eddie didn’t miss it. Neither did Tommy.

“Be advised,” Maddie continued. “Utilies not yet shut off. Gas company is en route. Fire reported active and spreading rapidly. Exercise extreme caution.”

Bobby reached for his mic. “Copy that, dispatch. We are 30 seconds out. We’ll take a perimeter and then begin interior search.”

Then Maddie’s voice quieted almost imperceptibly, just enough to barely be heard. “Be careful.”

Bobby turned in his seat. “Alright, listen up. Chim and Hen, you’re triage together. Buck, Tommy—perimeter and see if you can find the meter before the gas company gets here. Eddie, you’re inside with me in case we need medical backup.”

Eddie didn’t like being separated from the other two, but he nodded. “Copy that.

The truck lurched to a stop.

Bobby keyed his radio. “Dispatch, 118 on scene.”

Maddie’s voice answered immediately. “Copy, 118. Be advised: multiple callers report at least 4 people trapped. 2 of which are on the second floor.”

Before the doors even popped open, Bobby gave one more order. “Move quick. Stay in pairs. Watch each other’s six.”

The doors slammed open. Heat smacked them like a wall. Smoke billowed out from the roof. Screams echoed from somewhere beyond the building.

Chim was first to hit the pavement. “Visible fire at first and second-floor windows! Exterior’s starting to weaken!”

“Copy!” Buck called back as he hauled gear off the rig. “Tommy, let’s go!”

“Be safe,” Tommy warned Eddie, clapping his shoulder firmly.

Eddie gave a short nod as he yanked his mask down for a tighter fit. “You too. Watch him.”

“You know I will.”

They pulled apart in different directions, but they moved with purpose. They were experienced. Trained for this.

Flames licked through broken windows and curled up the siding.

Inside, it was hell.

The hallway was thick with smoke, drifting down the ceiling like an upside-down tide and shifting in ghostlike waves through narrow corridors as the sprinklers hissed uselessly. The air was a scorched furnace. Every breath through the mask tasted like a cocktail of gas fumes, scorched drywall, and melting insulation. The fire was loud, a constant growl behind the walls and above them, moving room to room with the rage and hunger of a predator.

Eddie’s shoulder bumped Bobby’s as they climbed the stairs, boots thudding heavily on water-slicked steps that creaked under pressure and heat. Somewhere overhead, sharp cracks could be heard.

“Back hallway!” Bobby barked into the mask, raising his flashlight and cutting through the gloom before them. “Flames are advancing from the south stairwell. Watch your footing!”

Eddie followed the beam of light and swept his own across the hallway, left and right.

“Got movement!” he called, lurching forward. His flashlight landed on two small figures huddled against the wall—shadows at first, then a woman shielding a smaller form beneath her arms.

“Got two victims! Still conscious!” Eddie radioed, his voice clipped and urgent. “Northwest hallway, second floor.”

Bobby knelt beside them without hesitation. “Ma’am!” he called over the roar of the blaze. “Can you walk?”

The woman lifted her face, coughing hard and gasping through tears. “My daughter’s stuck! Please—her foot—”

Eddie’s eyes flicked downward. The girl, maybe nine or ten, had her ankle pinned beneath a fallen ceiling beam. Her little arms clutched her mother’s leg in a panic.

“Dispatch, this is Captain Nash,” Bobby said into his radio. “We have confirmed two victims on the second floor. One mobile adult, one trapped child. Evacuating them now.”

“Copy, 118,” Maddie’s voice replied. “Backup is ten minutes out. Fire reported spreading toward the west wing.”

“They’re not going to get here in time,” he remarked. Then he turned back to the mother. “Ma’am, we’re getting your daughter out. But you need to go—right now. I’ll take you myself. Eddie, begin.”

“Wait—No, wait!” the woman clutched at her daughter. “Please, I can’t leave her. Is she gonna be okay?”

Bobby supported her weight as he gently helped her to her feet. “We’re not leaving her. But you need to get out of here so we can focus on her.”

Torn, the mother kissed her daughter on the head and clung to her for one last moment, whispering something neither man could hear. Then Bobby held and guided her away with firm steps toward the stairs.

“Hey, I’m Eddie,” he told the girl softly, voice muffled through the SCBA mask. “What’s your name?”

“K-Kailey,” she stammered, her voice raw from crying and smoke.

“Alright, Kailey,” Eddie said, brushing debris off her hair. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. We’re gonna get you out, okay?”

She nodded, tears streaking down her ash-smeared cheeks

He assessed the beam—part of a doorframe, maybe, now split and blacked. Pressing a gloved hand to it he braced his back and began to lever it up.

Wood groaned. The heat pressed closer. The girl sobbed harder.

“You’re okay,” Eddie told her, gritting his teeth as he shifted the weight. “Almost there. I’ve got you.”

The beam gave slightly. Almost there. He readjusted, muscles straining. “Come on… come on…”

Finally, with a low creak and some elbow grease, the debris tipped away just far enough. Kailey flinched and whimpered, grabbing at her ankle as he scooped her into his arms.

“It hurts!” she cried.

“I know, I know. I’ve got you.” He clutched her tighter. “Hang on, mija.”

He moved fast but steady, shielding her as sparks rained down from an overhead vent. The roar was louder now. Closer. He kept low and turned his shoulder to the heat. “118 to dispatch. Young female victim extracted. About 10. Possible fracture. Advancing to exit now.”

“Copy, 118,” Maddie replied immediately. “Triage is standing by.”

Orange flames chased their escape down and out of the building. By the time they burst through the front door, Bobby was re-emerging all alone.

“She okay?” he called.

“She will be,” Eddie panted.

They descended together. Halfway down, the floor beneath them groaned in anger and instability. Bobby turned back briefly, radio pressed to his shoulder. “Dispatch. Building integrity failing. I’m pulling the team after this floor is clear.”

“Copy that,” Maddie said. “Gas company still en route. I’ll notify responding units.”

“Buck? Tommy? Tell me you’re having luck with the meter,” he uttered into the radio.

“Negative, Cap…”

At the base of the stairs, Hen rushed forward as the front door flung open. “I’ve got her!” she called, taking the girl gently into her arms. “You’re safe now, baby.”

“Go!” Eddie called to Bobby. “I’ll catch up.”

Bobby was already halfway back up, disappearing into the smoke to check one last room on the floor.

Then—

BOOM.

A thunderous crack echoed through the building as the ceiling jolted.

Flames burst upward from the far hallway like a monster lashing out. Soot and burning ash fell like black snow. The structure groaned.

Eddie’s heart dropped. “CAP!” he yelled.

Hen and Chim’s eyes lit up with the reflection of the blaze beheld before them.

A Few Minutes Ago.

Buck’s boots crunched over shattered glass as he circled the far end of the building with Tommy close at his heels. The smoke seemed to cling to every surface—smeared against siding, coiling beneath the awning, and rising in curls through cracks in the windowsills. Sirens wailed in the distance, but the sound was drowned about the structural disaster in front of them.

“Gas meter should be here,” Buck grumbled, crouching low beside the wall. He scanned the brick along the edge of the property. “You see it?”

Tommy moved in step. “Nothing.” His eyes followed from the blackened base of the building to the overgrown edges of the lawn. “You sure it’s not tucked behind the crawl space or under the porch?”

Buck shook his head, frustrated. “It’s not where it should be.” He shoved aside a piece of half-burnt lattice and leaned in closer to the base of the wall. “We can’t cut it if we can’t find it. If this thing blows—”

Bobby’s voice came through the radio: “Buck? Tommy? Tell me you’re having luck with the meter.”

Buck rose slightly and grabbed his shoulder mic. “Negative, Cap. Exterior’s clear on the northeast side. No sign of the meter. It could be buried or located inside.”

Tommy squinted at the flickering orange reflecting off the walls. “It’s already blowing,” he said grimly, gesturing to the flames that now danced along the eaves and overhang. “We wait on utilities and we lose people.”

Buck’s jaw tightened. He swept his flashlight across the building’s lower level again, this time more methodically. “It’s older construction,” he said, half-thinking aloud.

“They might’ve retrofitted and buried the meter inside. Basement, maybe?” Tommy asked. Even though his voice was calm, Buck could hear the underlying weight in it. The risk of going down there. The reality of getting buried should something go wrong.

Before Buck could respond, a scream cut through the air—muffled by distance, but undeniably human. It sounded like Eddie. His stomach dropped.

Tommy turned sharply toward the noise.

Buck had already moved. “We’re going in.”

Tommy reached for his arm. “Wait. Cap said perimeter first—”

Buck paused only a heartbeat long. “There’s no perimeter if the whole damn place goes up.” He tugged his mask tighter and took off for the side entrance, gear clanking at his sides.

Eddie’s voice came over the radio: “Buck, Tommy. Cap ran back into the building and I can’t find him.”

“Eddie, I’m already on my way!”

Tommy hissed and chased after him. “You pull this crap again and I swear, Reye—”

But this wasn't that kid he lost years ago. This was Buck. And Buck was already breaching the doorway. The heat punched them square in the chest immediately. Smoke curled low under the ceiling and orange light flickered up and down hallways in shapes like a funhouse mirror.

“No,” Tommy said firmly, catching his breath. He'd be damned if he let another kid throw away his life. “We’ll help him. But we do this smart.”

“It’s okay, Buck,” Eddie chimed in on the radio as if he heard their conversation. “I need you to stay with Tommy.”

Buck’s eyes widened. “Tommy, please.”

Tommy’s eyes scanned the fireline. Protocol screamed at him to stop, but the team was already crossing lines to save people tonight. He decided on a compromise. “We shut this thing off and then we go after Eddie. But you stay behind me.”

He nodded solemnly.

Eddie trudged deeper into the haze, flashlight beaming across collapsed doorframes and peeling wallpaper. The flames hissed behind the walls and the entire building groaned with a structural fatigue that made each and every step feel like borrowed time.

“Cap!” Eddie shouted. “Can you hear me?”

A faint, metallic clatter answered. He turned toward it, heart thudding hard against his chest. Just beyond the threshold, half-shielded by hanging debris, a familiar figure lay slumped against the wall.

“Bobby!” Eddie rushed forward and dropped beside him. The older man’s gear was scorched and torn in places, helmet slightly askew, and blood streaked down one temple. He was still breathing though.

“Dispatch,” Eddie called into his mic, already checking vitals. “Captain Nash located. Second floor. He’s alive but unconscious. No obvious spinal trauma. Likely hit his head. Evacuating now.”

“Copy, 118,” Maddie replied quickly, her voice now tight. “You have one more victim reported above you. Window call-in from an upper bedroom. Civilian is waving cloth, possibly trapped.

“Understood,” Eddie said, shifting his weight as he pulled Bobby’s arm over his shoulder. “I’ll return upstairs once Cap’s out.”

It was a slow process. Bobby wasn’t a small man. Add on about 70 pounds of gear and the wrecked hallway and it took a minute. Eddie braced, hoisted, and half-dragged him, one foot in front of the other, smoke thickening with every breath.

He emerged from the building’s front entrance just as Chim spotted him.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, rushing to help. “You found him.”

“He’s alive,” Eddie panted. “Took a knock to the head.”

Hen rushed over to help lower Bobby into a stretcher and check his pulse and pupils. Eddie turned without waiting and clicked his radio: “Cap is secure. I’m going back in. Dispatch said there’s someone still on the third floor.”

Hen tried to grab his arm. “Eddie, you heard cap earlier. The structural integrity—”

“I’m good,” he assured her. “You’ve got him. I’ve got the last one.”

The door creaked open with resistance. Tommy took the lead down the stairs, flashlight beam lighting up the shadows. Buck followed just behind, one hand trailing the slick, crumbling wall for balance.

They descended carefully into the dark, wet crawlspace beneath the building. It was claustrophobic—condensation dripped from pipes overhead, water pooled beneath their boots, and the smell of mildew permeated the air. An angry rattle of the structure groaned with every gust of heat above.

“I hate basements,” Buck muttered under his breath.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You? Scared of dark basements?”

“Not the dark,” Buck said, pausing at the bottom step. He took a breath, then turned slowly toward the wall where the gas lines ran. “It’s just… everything feels further down here. Further away. Like if something goes wrong, nobody hears you. Is that it?”

Tommy also paused, the words landing. “You really think we’d let that happen, Evan?”

Buck didn’t answer. He pointed toward the same wall. “Gas lines.”

Tommy’s flashlight followed the direction of Buck’s hand and locked onto the edge of a rusted gas meter tucked behind a panel. He crouched beside a cluster of aging pipes and valves, brushing cobwebs off the wheel. “The line looks corroded and old as hell. Valve’s sticky. We’ve got a problem.”

“You sure we should be down here?” Buck asked, shifting his weight anxiously. “Everything above us sounds like it’s cracking open.”

Tommy didn’t look up and reached for his belt. “Which is why we’re gonna move fast.”

He locked the wrench onto the valve and gave it a slow, firm twist. Nothing. Something else in this room felt like it needed a twist to open up as well.

"Hey," Tommy stuck out his chin, glancing back as his hands tugged. "You've been quiet. You okay?"

Buck’s nerves chewed at him. His words caught in his throat before he could stop them. “You think Bobby’s really okay?”

Tommy didn’t stop working, but his voice gentled like a dad reassuring his kid about that they’re safe from monsters in the night. “I think… Eddie doesn’t lie when someone’s life is on the line.”

“I mean, when I heard that explosion—” Buck swallowed. “All I could think was, if he’s gone…”

The wrench locked onto the valve once again and just barely began to twist in Tommy’s hands. The valve groaned, stiff from rust.

“He’s the first one—aside from Maddie, aside from you guys—who made me feel like I could be… worth something,” Buck said, lowly. “Who accepted me for the mess I am.”

Tommy stilled his hand.

“I thought we were going to lose him,” Buck added. “And if we did, I just—I don’t know what I have left.”

Now Tommy looked up. Really looked.

“I imagined it was him when I heard that boom, too,” he said, strong and calm all at once. “But Evan, you’ve got all of us. Hell, you even have Ravi. You know, you’re part of what holds this team up. Holds it together. Bobby would never not fight for you. And neither would Eddie. Or me.”

Something in Buck’s shoulders relaxed.

Tommy wished he could do more than that at this moment. To just hold and comfort this sweet boy. “I promise we’re going to get out of this alive. Worst case, I’ll carry you both out like damsels in distress. Now… you wanna help me so we can go find Eddie?”

Buck gave a small smile. Together, they twisted together, wrench and hand both fighting through rust and resistance. With a screech and a hard click, the valve gave and the hissing in the pipes quieted.

“Gas line shut,” Tommy confirmed into his radio. “Basement meter might be partially compromised though. The line was in bad shape. Advise a double check by the gas company.”

“Noted, 118,” Maddie’s voice came through. “Interior team is still active. One more victim reported third floor.”

Tommy stood, groaning slightly at the creak in his knees. “You okay?”

Buck looked up from where he was checking the line. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go help Eddie.”

They both rose and pounded back up the steps that somehow hadn’t burned up yet. Turns out the sprinklers were useful for something. When they rounded the corner of the second floor, there he was.

“Eddie!” Buck called out, his voice excited. One of his two favorite men in the whole world. Well, other than Bobby.

Eddie turned toward them. Even through his helmet and the soot streaking his cheek and brow, his face lit up in pure, visible relief. “Gracias a Dios,” he said under hid breath. “Buck, Tommy… you’re okay.”

“You two—” He crossed the space in three quick steps and threw an arm around both of them, just for a second, just long enough to confirm they were in fact real, physical beings. His grip tightened. “I thought—I thought something happened.”

“We’re fine,” Tommy said. “We cut the line. I’m glad to see you’re alive.”

Eddie nodded. “Good. I was just about to—” he glanced toward the nearby stairwell. What was left of it, charred and trembling.

Buck stepped forward. “We’ll find another way!”

He didn’t even get a full step.

There was a crack—sharp, deafening, and wrong.

The world erupted.

Tommy’s hand closed on Buck’s collar—

And his other shoved Eddie ahead with all he had left.

“Told you I’d keep you guys safe,” Tommy said, almost smiling.

The floor vanished.

And everything went black.

Buck never got to say thank you.

Chapter Text

The world was sideways.

Buck wasn't sure at first if the ground or the sky had shifted. All he could hear was static. A high-pitched sound rang so sharply in his ears he could almost feel the electric sensation in his teeth.

There was a fire? No, an explosion. Someone pushed me. Wait, where's Eddie? Tommy?

His body felt like stone the way his heavy gear pinned him down on the fractured floor. He stretched one arm and the muscles responded with tiny pins and needles scattering down the length of it. What a horrible feeling. Still intact, at least. Not crushed either. That thought barely registered.

Ash settled and formed an outline around him like a white Christmas with Buck as the angel. Though this snow was hazy and impossible to breathe in.

He tried to roll and his helmet knocked sideways. Something sharp dug into his ribs, too. Wood? Rebar? He couldn’t tell. It didn't matter.

“Eddie,” Buck croaked, coughing so hard he tasted blood. “Tommy!”

No answer.

His heart stuttered. “EDDIE!” he shouted this time. “TOMMY, where—”

He choked again. It didn't seem to matter anyway. He couldn't hear anything over the ringing and his own thundering heartbeat.

Please. Please be okay. Please have made it out.

He shoved himself forward with his good arm, crawling across the floor strewn with debris like every inch was a mile to overcome. One glove had come loose in the blast and his exposed hand stung as it scraped against splintered drywall.

Rays of sun through the newly formed skylight shone down and illuminated something. A body. Half-buried. Turnout coat scorched. Helmet falling off. One boot visible beneath a jagged slab of ceiling tile.

Buck's vision tunneled. “No…” he whispered, breath catching. He pulled himself forward on instinct, breath hitching with every movement.

He didn't know who it was. He couldn't tell.

His stomach turned. For one awful second, he swore it was Eddie. Then Tommy. Then back again. His brain refused to settle on either name. It didn't matter. Either way, it was—

“Hey,” Buck rasped, pulling a board off the figure's chest. The body didn’t move or respond. Tremors began to spread through his hands. “Hey, hey—c'mon, come on, you're okay.”

He got onto his knees and pried debris and gear off piece by piece. A scorched breathing mask. Soot-blackened gloves. A sliver of dark hair matted with blood and ash appeared beneath the cracked helmet. He tore the helmet off and stared down at the face.

His chest seized.

“Tommy.”

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Not from pain. From terror.

“No, no, no—” Buck muttered, half-gasped, over and over as his fingers clawed through the debris. Blood smeared across his knuckles, but he didn’t feel it. Didn’t care.

“Please,” he begged—to the body in front of him, to the universe above. “Please just—just move. Breathe.”

A cough tore through his lungs as he inhaled dust, but he didn’t stop. He gripped the collapsed beam with both hands, pulling with every ounce of strength he had left.

“Eddie, where are you!?” he screamed, looking around frantically. His voice broke on the word. “EDDIE!”

Blood began to pool out.

“No, no, no,” Buck whimpered, placing the beam back down gently just in time for the chest to stop rising.

He sank beside the body on the ground, checking his airway. Unobstructed except for maybe light dust. “Wake up. Don’t go to sleep. You have to wake up.”

His hands cupped the man’s face too hard, smeared blood along his jaw, trying to find any sign of a breath. Anything.

“WHY WON’T HE MOVE?!”

He looked down at his own hands. What was the third thing in the ABCs?

Everything hurt.

The world smelled like fire and tasted like dust. Eddie's chest ached like he'd taken a direct hit to the sternum. Maybe he had. His ears rang with the same dull pitch that followed him out his time in the army. It made everything else feel far away.

His face was pressed into the cold concrete, his cheek damp with either blood or sweat—or both. He blinked hard and it hurt.

Somewhere far off, someone was screaming.

At first, it barely registered. It was just another sound melded in the wreckage.

But then—

“EDDIE!”

A voice he'd know anywhere.

Buck.

Eddie's eyes snapped open. That was Buck. Screaming. Choking. Begging.

His blood ran cold with worry. Is he hurt? Trapped? Bleeding out?

That thought alone was enough to pull Eddie up—faster than he should've moved. Adrenaline hit him like a flood, clearing the fog from his mind and the pain from his bones. His leg nearly buckled, but he pushed through it.

Where's Tommy?

“Buck!” he tried to call, but his voice came out hoarse and hollow.

He scrambled over bits of glass among the torn up wood and shattered concrete, ignoring the deep ache his body nearly succumbed to. Nothing mattered—nothing—except finding him and Tommy's boy.

Buck's voice came again, closer now. “Why—why would he—Why won't he answer me?”

Eddie's heart slammed against his ribs. That desperate tone. He hadn't heard it since… no. He didn't even want to compare it.

He rounded a broken beam and froze.

Buck was crouched over a body.

Blood on his hands. Face streaked with ash and panic. His helmet was gone, turnout coat half unzipped, and his whole body shaking.

“Please,” Buck pleaded. “You always answer me.”

Eddie dropped to his knees beside them, heart in his throat.

“Buck—hey—” he reached out to pull Buck off. “Who is it?”

Buck's eyes were unfocused, wide, and wet. He didn't even look up. “He—he saved me—he pushed me out of the way. I swear we cut the gas. But he's not—he's not breathing, Eddie.”

Eddie leaned in, his own pulse roaring in his airs louder than the fire surrounding them. And then he saw the face.

Tommy.

No helmet. Blood spilling from his temple. Eyes closed. Face ghost-pale.

Eddie's stomach turned. His brain screamed at him to freeze, to panic, to process. This… this was Tommy Kinard. Pilot. Best friend. His co-parent to Buck. His partner.

But Buck was still falling apart beside him. If Eddie knew one thing that he and Tommy could always agree on, it was this: Buck came first. Always. But saving Tommy would be helping Buck. And him.

He reached forward. “Buck. Let me in. I need to—”

“No,” Buck said quickly, clinging tighter. “I have to keep him with me. I—I can't—”

“Buck,” Eddie asserted, voice grounding now. “I'm a paramedic. Let me work.”

The fire crackled in the background with each hesitating breath, threatening to close in and suffocate them.

“Please,” Eddie said more gently. “This is how we save him.”

Buck's fingers let go, slow and reluctant.

Eddie pressed two fingers to Tommy's neck, praying there was circulation. It was faint. But it was there.

“He's alive,” Eddie breathed.

Buck choked out a sob beside him.

Eddie's mind clicked back into gear. “We need a collar. Backboard to keep his spine aligned.”

No sirens yet. No help. Not even through the piece of melted junk that used to be their radios.

He looked at Buck, who was still hunched and trembling beside him. “We have to do this ourselves.”

Buck nodded, glassy-eyed. “Tell me what to do.”

Eddie swallowed hard.

He scanned the surrounding mess. “Buck, where's the med kit?”

“I—I don't know. It was clipped to my belt.

Eddie spotted it just a few feet away, half-buried under scorched insulation. A miracle it was still in one piece.

“Buck. There,” he pointed, already shifting his weight to Tommy's head. “Grab the kit.”

Buck scrambled without hesitation, crawling across the floor on hands and knees. He didn't even flinch when a piece of metal nicked his forearm. All he cared about was grabbing the case with his shaking hands and flinging it toward Eddie.

Eddie's gloves fumbled on the latches. Everything felt slow. His brain was racing ahead in ways he couldn't keep up: airway, breathing, circulation. Stabilize his spine. Get him oxygen. Get him back.

He braced Tommy's neck with his hands, careful and steady, even as the heat pushed closer through the broken walls. “I need you to keep his head still,” Eddie said. “Both sides. Like this.”

Buck was back on his knees beside them, hands still shaking. “I don't—I don't want to hurt him.”

“You won't, cariño,” he promised. “Just do exactly as I say.”

And Buck listened. He slipped his hands beneath the base of Tommy's skull, just like Eddie showed him, his thumbs pressing gently against the older man's ears.

Eddie pulled the collar from the med kit and slid it right under and over, strapping it in place. He then ripped gauze open with his teeth and pressed it hard into the wound at Tommy's temple. Blood soaked through instantly. “You’re doing great, Buck. I need you to hold pressure on this gauze.”

“Mhm,” Buck sniffled, taking over. Tommy needs me. I have to do this. His hand steadied just enough.

The paramedic's heart squeezed tight in his own chest. He could hear Buck's breathing—fast, shallow, spiraling again. He could feel his own hands trembling as he started to bag Tommy.

He wanted to cry. God, he wanted to cry.

For Buck, kneeling there trying to keep it together, trying to hold Tommy steady with hands that shouldn't be this calm. Buck, who'd never stopped loving too hard. Whose tears were falling and slowly rolling down Tommy's face.

For Tommy, laying there motionless, buried under more debris than they could remove, unaware of all the love around him. Even if they could remove it, Tommy would bleed out without extra help. The same Tommy, who'd once admitted he wanted all of Buck and all of Eddie. Tommy, who risked his life to push them to safety.

Eddie blinked hard, forcing the tears back. This wasn't the time. He could fall apart later. He moved back to check Tommy's pupils. Uneven. Concussion. Maybe more.

“Talk to him,” Eddie said suddenly, eyes darting back to Buck. “He'll want to hear your voice.”

Buck blinked. “What—what do I say?”

“Anything. Just let him know we're here.”

Buck swallowed and leaned closer. “Tommy? It's me. It's Buck. You—you saved me, you idiot. I swear to god if you die from it, I'm never going to forgive you.”

Tommy's eyes just barely opened. His mouth never felt this dry or hoarse. “...Firefly?”

He gasped with a smile that Eddie was so grateful to see. His voice cracked. “Tommy, you're gonna be okay. Eddie's here, too. He's gonna save you.”

“Hang in there, tinkerbell,” Eddie managed to squeeze out. We can't lose you, he thought, eyes locked on Tommy's face. I can't lose you.

Tommy nodded and drifted back out of consciousness. 

“No, no. Buck! Keep him awake.”

The moment of peace didn't last.

A rumble echoed through the shattered walls, subtle at first—like shifting tension in the bones of the building. Eddie's head snapped up just in time for a secondary explosion to rock the far end of the structure. A wall in the distance gave way with a thundering crack. Fire leapt higher, crawling along exposed insulation like it had just caught its second breath and found new life.

Buck flinched, instinctively ducking his head and pressing closer over Tommy, shielding his upper body with his own. Eddie followed, shielding the both of them. “Shit,” he muttered. There's no way they could stay here long before they all got buried.

He grabbed for the charred remnants of his radio, still clipped to his jacket. He thumbed the button, static blaring through the speaker.

“Dispatch, this is Diaz! Station 118 down, partial collapse. Multiple injuries. Firefighter down. Requesting immediate medical backup!”

Only crackling answered him.

He tried again. Still nothing. Just more dead static and the angry snap of fire in the background. Buck's radio was gone entirely. Probably melted in the blast or crushed under debris. They were all alone. And he was useless.

“We need to move him,” Buck said suddenly, voice rising. “We can't wait here! The fire's gonna—”

“I know,” Eddie said quickly. “But we can't just drag him. Not with his spine—”

“Then what?” Buck shouted, desperate. “What do we do?”

“Hey,” Eddie snapped as lovingly as he could, reaching out and grabbing Buck's shoulder. “Look at me.”

Buck's wide, wet eyes met his. He looked like a kid again—terrified, barely holding it together. It was one thing for Buck to risk his own life but for his own loved ones to be in danger…

“We're gonna get out,” Eddie said. “We're not leaving Tommy. But we have to be smart, okay?”

That sounded oddly familiar. Tommy had told him the same thing down in the basement. Buck nodded, jerky. “Okay. Yeah, yeah.”

Eddie thought for a second. “Buck, can you try to pull off some of this debris?”

“I—I tried lifting one of the beams earlier and he started bleeding out.”

“That’s fine. I need you to try to get everything else off of him. The beam is acting as one giant band-aid by keeping pressure on his wounds, but everything else needs to clear off so that when help comes, we can extricate quickly.”

“Yes sir,” Buck said, immediately putting his paws to use and digging out the debris from atop Tommy.

“Good boy.”

Eddie turned and kept checking Tommy's vitals. Hopefully, help arrives soon because at this point, there's nowhere for any of them to go. The heat is blistering. How much longer can he go on like this?

As energetic as Buck is, even he is feeling like he might pass out from all the flames and smoke in the air. His coughs were getting worse and worse. Eddie couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed the boy must've been feeling. Maybe just as much as he himself felt hopeless right now.

The boy began to fall backwards, too tired to go on. He looked up at Eddie with the last of his strength and tired eyes.

Eddie's eyes widened. “No, no, Buck. Come here. Come here.”

Buck crawled back to Eddie, exhausted and panting, collapsing in his lap. The back of his head lay flat in Eddie's lap and his blue eyes shimmered up. “I'm sorry.”

Eddie was stuck between the two, trying to keep bagging one while holding the other. He wished he had more hands, more time. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You did such a good job, Buck. Such a good boy. Stay awake for me, okay? Promise me, Buck.”

Buck panted after every word. “I… promise…” But that promise went unfulfilled. His eyes began to flutter, struggling to stay open. Soon enough, Buck's body succumbed to exhaustion and those baby blues disappeared.

"Buck!" Eddie cried out. "Mi vida..."

He gathered Buck close, cradling the back of his head, clutching him like he could hold him here by force alone. "Stay with me, Buck, please."

The world roared around them. Heat, smoke, splintered rays of light through ash. And all Eddie could dl was kneel there between the two halves of his heart, regretting he couldn’t stop time.

He was about to lose both of them.

He could feel it in the way Tommy's pulse was growing fainter under his touch. He saw it in the way Buck's body gave out so completely in his lap, like the only thing holding him together had finally broken. He heard it in the silence that followed his own chilling scream.

All he could do was prolong their suffering.

He thought about Christopher. About the first time Buck held him in his arms and made him laugh. About Tommy holding the both of them. The little gardens they all planted together. 

He thought about all the mornings he'd spent waking up with them pretending he didn't want this. About every time he'd almost said the wirds. Every time he didn't.

And now, he'd waited too long. Said nothing. Done nothing. And he was going to lose them both.

The smoke crawled closer.

He bowed his head.

Please. Please don't take them. Take me instead.

Just then, something faint. So faint it could've been in his imagination.

Sirens.

Distant. Warped by smoke and the ringing in his ears. But real.

They were coming.

Eddie exhaled, the sound catching in his throat like it didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He looked down at the boy curled against his leg and the man bleeding beneath his hands and felt an ache crack straight through his chest.

His boys were going to be alright.

He didn't have the strength to move. All he could do was sit there, hunched between them, still pumping air for Tommy's lungs with one hand and carding the other through Buck's soot-streaked curls.

He let the moment settle. Let the world go quiet around them again. And then, because there was nothing left to do but wait, he finally whispered the truth.

“I love you,” he said, voice small and honest. “Both of you.”

The words felt foreign in his mouth. Perhaps rusty, like the pipes under Buck's kitchen sink, from being unsaid for so long.

His eyes flicked down to Tommy's face. Unconscious. Still breathing, barely. “You saved us, cabròn.” He shifted and leaned over him slightly, pressing a kiss to Tommy's bloodied forehead. “I should’ve said this sooner.”

Then he turned to Buck. Beautiful, broken Buck, neck still covered in he and Tommy's marks, already snoring softly in his lap, pale beneath the soot that covered him. Eddie brushed the back of his fingers along Buck's cheek, heart squeezing tight at the way he unconsciously leaned into the touch.

“But I don't know what I'd do if I lost you,” Eddie whispered. “Either of you.”

Another kiss. This time to Buck's forehead. Ash smeared on his lips.

The sirens grew louder now. Closer. Voices shouted in the distance. Names called out into the chaos.

“Buckley! Diaz! Kinard!”

“Here!” he shouted, twisting toward the sound. “We're here!”

Eddie nearly collapsed with relief. But he held on a little longer, curled protectively around two of the three people in the world he couldn't live without. Help would come. But for just a few more seconds, they were his.

Chapter Text

Eddie Diaz hadn't left the room once.

Not for a check-up. Not for food. Not to scrub away the streaks of dried blood. Not even to change out of the turnout pants still coated in soot and ash.

One of the nurses had left a blanket folded near his chair hours ago, and someone else had dropped off water bottles and a granola bar no one touched. His gloves were gone, discarded somewhere back at the scene or lying somewhere in the ambulance, but the black smudges on his hands remained—ghostlike imprints of the men he refused to let go.

Even now, he sat with the hardness of a boulder. His hand was interlocked with Buck's own. Despite the numerous times Hen and Chim came to check on him or when Bobby crouched down and said softly, “You're going to crash if you don't get looked at,” he wouldn't budge.

He couldn't. He couldn't leave Buck. Not after coming so close.

There was no force on this Earth more immovable than Eddie Diaz in love.

Buck remained unconscious. That beautiful boy's condition was much better off than Tommy's, no doubt. However, there was no telling how many nightmares were playing behind those pretty lashes that fluttered against his soot-smudged skin. When the hospital staff had wheeled him in, they'd told Eddie he was suffering from acute smoke inhalation, dehydration (hence, the saline drip), and sheer, brutal exhaustion.

Tommy Kinard…

His name stirred a fresh wave of dread in Eddie's chest that washed all over him. He hadn’t been allowed to see him yet. Not that he could. All he knew was that his third piece had been whisked away behind OR doors, unconscious. And there was no telling how much longer he would be under.

Tommy was the one who always knew what to do. Calm under pressure. Steady in a storm. He'd talk circles around them both if it meant keeping the peace but he never needed to.

Eddie was quick to react. Without thinking. He'd blow up first and then talk later. He didn’t know how to be gentle. He confessed this to Tommy that one evening in the park under the tree—after they got the boys icecream. That he didn’t know what to do if it wasn't a charged situation. But even now, this was a very charged situation and he still felt useless.

“You don’t need to earn softness, Eddie. Not with him. You already have it,” Tommy had said that day. “You just haven’t given yourself permission to use it yet.”

Eddie's hand tightened around Buck's. But in his mind, he saw Tommy's hand too—bandaged, motionless, slipping away from him down the hallway without even a proper goodbye. He told him he'd be right behind him. And yet… he let him go.

What kind of person does that?

God, what if Tommy didn’t wake up? What if that stupid smirk that Eddie used to roll his eyes at was gone forever? What if the last thing Eddie ever said to him was “I'll be right there,” and then he wasn’t?

He wished he could wake up Buck. Just to know that he at least protected one of them. That he'd kept one of them safe.

Maybe it was a bit selfish, but he needed to know. He lost track of time. Lost track of his sanity. The sympathetic look that every nurse and doctor gave him when he asked if his partner would be okay drove him deeper down that hole. He knew how much Tommy hated rewriting stories. So why was he here fidgeting with his hands and doing that like Tommy was already gone?

Thankfully, a sound came quietly from Buck's lips. A cough followed by a gasp.

Eddie was upright in an instant, leaning over him, heart lurching as Buck's body jerked beneath the blankets.

“Hey. Hey—Buck. You're okay.”

Buck's eyes shot open in full panic. His breathing fast and shallow. The monitor beeped loudly, reflecting the sharp spike in heart rate. He blinked rapidly, scanning the room, disoriented. “Eddie—you're—” he rasped. “Where is he? Where's Tommy? The fire—did I—did it—”

“You're safe, mi amor,” Eddie said, brushing a hand through Buck's curls that still clung with ash. “You're both okay,” he lied, hoping he was right. “We're at the hospital. Tommy's under surgery. You passed out, but you're here. You're okay.”

But Buck wasn’t okay. And he was certainly not okay enough to register what he'd been called.

He sat up too fast, shaking as his hands fumbled for the blanket. He looked down at himself, then over at the empty bed on the other side of the curtain, then at Eddie—and horror twisted across his face.

“You're still in your gear,” he choked. “You didn’t get checked? Are you—Eddie, are you hurt?”

Eddie shook his head, gently coaxing him to lie back down. “I'm alright. Just banged up. Maybe a cracked rib but nothing serious. Doesn't matter.”

He might've had more than two broken ribs for all he knew, but Buck didn’t need to worry about that. He needed to get better. He needed peace. 

“It does matter. You should've—”

“I wasn't leaving you or Tommy,” Eddie said simply.

Buck collapsed against the bed. “It's all my fault,” he whispered. “All of it.”

Eddie sat down on the edge of the hospital bed. “Buck…”

“I—I didn’t double check. I thought I did after Tommy did it. But it still exploded, Eddie. It went boom. And he risked his life for us. Because of my mistake.”

“It wasn't your mistake—”

“You weren’t there!” Buck shouted, then winced, like the sound hurt him more than Eddie. “I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I'm sorry.”

“I know,” Eddie said softly, reaching for him.

“I didn't save him. I just watched it happen.”

“You saved him,” Eddie insisted. “You did everything right.”

“But I didn't. And now he's in surgery all because of me. Because I'm too reckless. Too careless—”

Buck's right hand drifted to his left forearm, fingers trembling as they absentmindedly scratched below the place where the IV line fed into his vein.

“Buck, stop.”

“Too impatient. Too ignorant—”

Just below the IV line, faint scars—long-healed and nearly invisible unless you were looking—were beginning to flush pink. Eddie had recognized them before. And it wasn't on purpose. Not necessarily. But Buck kept clawing at the scars like he wanted to scrape his skin clean of sin.

“Buck, you’re going too far.”

“Too stupid. Too much—”

Eddie couldn’t let it go on. Not the self-blame, not the scratching, not the way Buck was spiraling towards the edge.

Instincts took over. Eddie caught his wrist mid-scratch. Still in turnouts and bruised all over, he climbed, sliding into the narrow hospital bed right behind Buck so he could pull him into his arms. One arm curled over Buck's tummy and the other across his chest.

“What—Eddie—”

“Shhhhh,” Eddie hushed in Buck's ear, stretching out his legs on both sides so Buck could be right in the center.

Buck fought back weakly. “Eddie.”

Arms held on even tighter, even as a whisper of Tommy's voice echoed in the back of his mind, telling him to be strong—for the both of them. “I've got you. You don't have to do this alone.”

Red anger swelled in the younger man's face. “Let go of me, Eddie!”

“No,” Eddie whispered. “Not this time. Not until you realize this isn't your fault.”

For the first time since the explosion, maybe the first time in years, Buck let himself fall apart.

The scream that tore out of him sounded like it had been building up in his lungs and clawing at his throat since childhood. Raw. Unrelenting. The anguish echoed off the sterile walls, loud enough to make hearts seize down the hallway.

Eddie held him through it, his own heart splitting wider with every sound, doing everything he could to keep Buck's heart from shattering completely.

“You're okay,” Eddie whispered, over and over. “You're here. You're mine. I've got you.”

Buck's fists beat at Eddie's arms—not in violence, but desperation. He didn't want to be soothed. He wanted to feel. To hurt. To pay with his own life.

Diaz didn't flinch or loosen his grip once. He was more than willing to be his punching bag. Getting hurt was worth it if it meant protecting Buck from himself. He kissed Buck's temple. Then his forehead. Again. And again. Each kiss firm, grounding, like he was trying to love the self-loathing right out of Buck's skin.

“This isn’t your fault,” Eddie murmured into his hair. “It never was. You saved him, Buck. You didn't fail anyone. You were brave. You were brilliant. You're safe.”

“But what if he doesn't wake up?” Buck sobbed between words. “What if I get both of you hurt again? I—I always mess things up. I don't deserve to be her—”

“No. Don't do that,” Eddie said sharply. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “You love hard. That's not a flaw. That's why Tommy and I love you. That's why Christopher loves you. We would never be the same without you.”

That stilled Buck. Not because he didn’t feel it, but because no one had ever told him that. Not when he was at his worst. Especially not when he hated himself this much.

“Mi amor,” Eddie whispered again, brushing curls from Buck's damp forehead and wiping away his tears. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

It was choked and ragged, but he tried.

“One more,” Eddie coaxed. “Can you keep breathing with me?”

Buck shook his head, tears rolling sideways off his cheeks.

“I know it's hard. But I need you to try.” Eddie inhaled deep, letting Buck feel the rise and fall of his chest against his back. “With me, okay?”

Buck nodded faintly.

“Good. That's it. I don’t need you to say anything. Just be here with me. Breathe with me. Tommy's still fighting to come back to you—to us.”

He looked over at the empty bed where he should've been. “Okay, okay.”

Outside the glass door, Bobby, Chim, Hen, and Maddie stood frozen.

Maddie's hand flew to her mouth, eyes welling. Hen wiped her cheeks. Bobby put a hand on Chim's shoulder and gently ushered them away. Bobby so badly wanted to be there for Buck at this moment. But he was in good hands. And he needed privacy more than anything.

Eddie didn't speak again for a long time. Not until Buck's breathing steadied and the monitor beeped a calm, rhythmic lullaby.

Not until the trembling dulled and the guilt with it.

Only then did Eddie shift slightly, reaching for a nearby water bottle. He twisted it open with one hand before bringing it to Buck's lips. “Drink, Buck, please.”

Buck shook his head, barely audible. “No.”

“Buck…” Eddie tried again, nudging the bottle a little closer. “It'll help.”

But Buck just pressed his lips together tight like the act of refusing hydration was protecting him from something deeper. Eddie paused, watching him carefully—the way Buck's eyes kept flitting to the empty bed. Then back to the plastic in Eddie's hand.

That's when Eddie realized.

It wasn't about the water.

It was the ritual.

Kinard always drank first. That was their thing. Their silly little routine after hard shifts or hot days. Frankly, whenever. One drink passed between them. Sometimes Buck teased that Tommy's lips made everything taste better.

And even now, Buck didn't want it if Tommy couldn't have it first.

Eddie's throat tightened. He didn’t say a word as he raised the bottle to his own lips and drank a slow, deliberate sip. Not to quench his own thirst (though he was parched), but to say I'm still here. He's still here. You're not alone.

“There. Now it's okay,” Eddie said softly, tilting it towards Buck's mouth.

Buck looked up at him with the saddest eyes he's ever seen and parted his trembling lips, just enough to let water in.

Eddie held the bottle for him, supporting his head while he drank like every drop mattered until his thirst was satiated. He put the bottle down and leaned in close again, cupping his neck. He could feel the faint, fluttering beat of Buck's pulse under his palm and the warmth of his breath on his shoulder.

“You’re not too much,” he whispered. “You're everything.”

And he meant it with his whole bruised, battered body.

He held Buck through the silence that followed, through the hitch of every breath, until Buck finally began to relax against him. Until the trembling stopped. Until the only sounds were the low hum of the air conditioner, the slowed monitor, his fragile breathing, and the soft rustle of sheets as Eddie adjusted the blanket over himself and Buck. He needed to wrap Buck up in warmth and strength and love.

Buck curled closer instinctively, grabbing onto Eddie's turnout jacket like it was a lifeline.

And Eddie kissed his forehead one last time like he was trying to cure his mind of the darkness plaguing it. He knew what Athena told him when they last spoke at dinner, but he would be damned if he didn’t at least try to fix Buck.

Buck had finally fallen asleep.

It hadn't come easy. It never did for someone carrying that much wait on their chest. But Eddie had held him through every tremble, every gasping breath, every hit, and every muttered apology that barely strung together into legible sentences.

Now, his breathing was even. Slow and steady. His fingers, once clawed into Eddie's jacket, had softened their death grip.

He didn't even hear the knock at first. There was a gentle tap at the door. Then it opened halfway.

“Mr. Diaz?”

Eddie turned slowly. His body ached, but not nearly as much as his impending heart. “Yeah?”

A woman in scrubs stepped inside flanked by a white coat who looked too young to carry that much gravity in her eyes.

“Sorry to intrude,” the doctor said carefully. “I wanted to give you an update. About Thomas Kinard.”

Eddie stood automatically, heart leaping to his throat. “Tommy. Is he okay?”

“Tommy,” the doctor confirmed with a slow, careful nod. “Would you like to wait until everyone's together to hear the prognosis? It might help to have some support.”

“No, I… I need to know”

“Tommy's… okay. He's currently in the ICU. But he's in a medically-induced coma, and the next 24 to 48 hours will be critical.”

That word landed like a punch. Coma. The walls felt like they were closing in.

“We've managed the swelling around his brain, and there's no sign of internal bleeding. And his spinal nerves as well as his leg now appear to be in good condition. That's the good news. But he suffered significant pulmonary trauma. His lungs… took in a lot of heat and dust. He experienced Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. I'm sure you're familiar with that, but just in case, it's when fluid leaks into the alveoli or tiny sacs in the lungs, preventing oxygen from flowing. We started him on meds and ventilation for that.”

Eddie's stomach twisted.

The doctor continued, “Along with oxygen support, he's also on sedatives to keep his brain rested. We don't expect him to wake up today or tomorrow, but if he responds to our treatment, he may come out of it on his own.”

Eddie’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“He's strong,” the doctor added. “Honestly? Based on the structural collapse and heat exposure, it's remarkable he made it this far. If you hadn't done what you did…”

But Eddie didn't want credit. It's not like he did match. All he did was stabilize him in a collar, slap on a bandaid, and bag him.

He wanted Tommy back. His co-parent to Buck. His partner. Awake. Smirking. Bossy. Alive in the loud, annoying way only he could be.

“Can I see him?” Eddie asked, voice hollow.

“He'll need some time to stabilize first,” the nurse cut in gently. “ICU protocol. But once he's in a better condition and you get washed up, just to avoid risking others, we'll let you in.”

Right. I'm still dirty. Eddie nodded faintly, his gaze drifting back to the bed where Buck lay asleep—exhausted and still trembling faintly beneath the blankets.

The doctor lowered her voice, sensing the weight in the room. “You're welcome to sit with Mr. Buckley as long as you need until Tommy's out of the woods.”

He looked into her eyes. “Thank you.”

As the doctor left, Eddie sat back down on the edge of Buck's bed and let the words he just heard echo around between his ears.

God. It shouldn't be this way. It should've been him. It should've been.

He eased out slowly, carefully, like slipping away from Christopher in the night after finally rocking him to sleep. Every inch away felt wrong. Unnatural. But Eddie still moved, if only to give Buck peace and give himself space to think. Anger was starting to simmer inside him. But he didn’t know at whom it would boil over.

You can hold it in, he told himself.

Adjusting the blanket up to Buck's chin, he tucked him in gently all around like giving him a suit of armor that would hopefully keep him safe. After a beat, he leaned down and whispered into the curls at Buck's temple: “I'll be back soon, mi amor. Rest easy.”

In his mind, his other piece was there in the empty bed on the other side of the room. Breathing steady. The swelling in his face had gone down. Dried blood from his temple was cleaned off. But even now, that vision of Tommy looked too still. Too far away from them.

“You'd know what to say,” he whispered. “You always do.”

Outside the room, the hallway hit Eddie like a slap. Too bright. Too cold. Too clean.

Steps faltered for a second as he blinked and raised a hand to shield himself against the harsh lights. A nurse sitting at the desk jumped up from her chair and seized the moment. “There you are,” she said, not unkindly but with the same urgency they all moved with in crisis. “You've waited long enough. You're coming with me.”

He followed without argument. He moved like someone who'd been pulled out of his body hours ago and hadn't quite made it back in.

She led him to a curtained exam area. The paper crinkled and tore under him a little as he sat on the edge of the bed. Every movement he made was stiff and mechanical. He kept his arms folded across his chest like a barrier and spine straight. His face gave away nothing. Not the pain in his ribs. Not the cuts on his body.

“You're not very talkative,” the nurse observed as she rolled up the blood-streaked fabric on his side. “Thinking about them?”

Eddie didn't respond. His dark eyes stared down at the floor as arms dropped so that his fists curled on his thighs.

The same fists holding onto Buck and Tommy for dear life. That pumped air to Tommy's lungs. That hopelessly rubbed at Buck's sternum looking for some kind of reaction proving consciousness.

He clenched his fists harder.

The nurse cleaned the cut along his ribs. The antiseptic stung, but Eddie was too caught up in his thoughts to react.

Will Buck and Tommy be okay? Am I going to be okay? Shit… is Christopher okay?

The left side of his torso bore nasty patches of color from where he had no doubt suffered impact. The right side, a deeper laceration but not deep enough for stitches. Still, the nurse wrapped the wounds gently, talking the whole time in a soft tone like she would to a wounded animal. “Mr. Diaz, it seems like you were lucky.”

That didn’t make him feel any better.

The only words he gave—over and over—came like a drumbeat: “When can I go back?”

When she finally cleared him, wrapped but stable, he thanked her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes and walked back to the waiting room like he was retracing footsteps rather than making his own.

When he stepped back into the waiting area, Bobby was already on his feet.

Eddie stood there for a second too long, staring at everyone as if his body had made it into the room before his mind had caught up.

“Eddie? You okay?” Bobby asked, pulling him into a strong hug before he could even fully cross the threshold.

Arms remained at his side, unmoving. His cheek pressed into Bobby's shoulder for just a breath longer than necessary before stepping back.

Although he held himself upright with the same stubborn strength he always had, he looked so tired—haunted and raw. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, still streaked faintly with soot. “Buck seems okay. Tommy's in the ICU.”

Maddie let out a sharp breath like he'd been holding it since he left. She nodded, biting her lip, and sat back down like her knees gave out beneath her.

Chim sat down with her and rubbed circles into her back. “See? I told you.”

The fire captain crossed his arms, wearing a look of concern. “Did they say what's going on with Kinard? We've been trying to find out but they won't really tell us anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Significant pulmonary trauma. ARDS. Brain swelling. Medically induced coma. Spine and legs intact,” he rattled off. “Doctor said the next 48 hours will be critical for his recovery.”

Hen perked up from the corner. “That’s not… terrible, Eddie. He—He'll be okay.”

Bobby ran a hand over his face that then found its way to his neck. “That's right, Wilson. If there's one thing I know about Tommy, he's a fighter. He'll come back to us. This isn't the end for him.”

Hen slid both of her hands in her pockets. “It’s funny. I never imagined Tommy getting hurt like that. He always seemed like the type to be sharp and strong enough to get out.”

Chim half rose. “Well, there was that one time I saved him from a gas explosion.”

Hen stared at him.

He continued. “It was before you joined the 118. When we were still under Gerrard. I ran in after Tommy and had to carry him ou—”

Hen elbowed him as if to say read the room.

“Right. T—Tommy's strong. I'm sure he'll be fine. This time.”

Hen walked up to Eddie. “How are you? Did you want something to eat?”

“I think I saw a vending machine somewhere…” Chimney trailed off.

“Not hungry,” Eddie muttered.

“You should still have something to drink,” Hen said from the chair beside him. Her voice was quieter than usual. Less teasing. She gave him a once-over, eyes lingering on the bandaged side of his shirt and the dried blood crusting his collar.

It came back without a warning.

Smoke infiltrated the air as she, Chimney, Bobby, and some other firefighters stumbled through the collapse zone under their boots. Someone had said, “We found movement!”

“Buckley! Diaz! Kinard!” Bobby called.

A distant voice called back. Eddie's?

They followed the voice, crawling through shattered drywall and splintered beams and what she found… she would never forget.

Eddie was hunched protectively over Buck and Tommy. Buck's body dangled limply atop of Eddie's lap. His mouth hung open slightly. Unconscious.

Tommy was pinned under the caved-in flooring, possibly ceiling, from above. One leg twisted unnaturally. His shirt was soaked dark red. The way Eddie was bagging him suggested possible hypoxia.

“Eddie!” Hen shouted, but he didn’t react at first.

Eyes glassy. Face slack. He wasn't seeing her. He was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere past pain. Past sleep.

“N—Neither of them are breathing,” he rasped.

Hen and Chimney dropped to their knees while the rest of the firefighters around them followed orders and began hosing down the flames. Hot steam billowed up and made Eddie flinch.

Hen spoke calmly. “Eddie. You need to get out. You're hurt—”

“No, no, no. I can't. I can't leave them.”

His arms refused to unlock. Even when Chim tried to pry them loose. Even as Hen begged him to let someone else take over.

His face was so pale. A deep gash through his uniform could be seen where the surrounding area was soaked with blood. And yet he kept one hand on Tommy and the other on Buck with no regard for his own life. He was dying on his knees with no intention of saving himself.

That was what haunted her the most.

Hen blinked hard. “Also… you never said if you were fine.”

Eddie looked around the room. “What about Chris? Is he okay?”

“Carla's got him,” Bobby cut in. “We brought him to the station until Carla was able to pick him up. He was scared, but he's okay now. She told me to tell you ‘Don't forget to come home.’”

That cracked something in Eddie's chest. “Thanks. Tell her I said thanks.”

An innocent voice cut through the air. “Eddie?”

Maddie looked up and gestured to the one spot beside her. He sat heavily, running a hand through his hair.

“Is it—is it okay if I ask what happened?” she stuttered, like she was afraid of the answer.

Eddie exhaled. “There was a gas leak. Buck and Tommy shut off the main line, or thought they did. Something… something went wrong. The whole place lit up and sent us tumbling.”

Maddie's lips parted, horrified.

“Tommy pushed us both out the way,” Eddie continued. “He saved us from most of it. But he took most of the impact.”

Hands flew to her mouth, eyes wet again.

“Tommy was already unconscious. Buck kept trying to wake him up and pull him out from under the collapse. Buck was… screaming. Begging. He wouldn't leave him.” Eddie paused, his voice thickening. “I stayed too. I couldn't… couldn't leave them.”

She touched his wrist. “And just a while ago in the room?”

Eddie swallowed. They saw what happened. He didn’t want to relive all of this. But Maddie is Buck's sister. And he loves Buck. “Buck woke up confused. Scared. Convinced he killed Tommy. Said it was all his fault.”

“Oh, Buck…” she whispered, eyebrows arching upward as she visualized the incident. The tears came harder.

Chimney handed her a tissue.

“I tried to calm him down, but he…” Eddie trailed off, staring at his hands like they still had Buck's pain. “He lost it. Like the weight of everything finally cracked him. I climbed in the bed with him. Held him through the panic… the screaming.”

Maddie took a deep breath and squeezed Eddie's hands firmly with both of her hands this time. “Thank you, Eddie. For everything. I'm not surprised he let you hold him,” she said with tears still rolling down. “I think… deep down, Buck always trusted you more than he trusts himself.”

Looking down, Eddie swallowed the ache in his throat. “He didn't let me at first. It should've been the both of us there for him. Tommy and I. He needed us both. If only Tommy could see how brave Buck was trying to be…”

Hen didn't mean to eavesdrop but Buck was like her little brother and Eddie and Tommy were family. “You think you failed him?”

Eddie dropped his head. “I think I couldn't be what he needed.”

“It sounds like you saved Tommy and Buck,” Maddie said

“And yet it doesn't feel like enough,” he muttered under his breath.

Bobby gently rested a hand on his shoulder. “Can we talk for a second?”

After a small hesitation, Eddie agreed.

Just past the doorway, where the hum of the vending machine and the overhead light sheltered their conversation enough, they stood for a moment.

“Eddie, you've always carried more than your share. For Chris. For Buck. For Tommy. But not even you can hold all of it alone. I don’t want you to ever think you’re not enough. Lord knows Buck is going through enough of that.”

“Does He?” Eddie asked, looking him in the eye.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“You ever wonder,” Eddie said, staring straight at the wall now, jaw tight, “how a God that's supposed to love us can let us feel like this?”

The fire captain turned his head slightly.

“I mean… if there's a plan. If He's watching. Then why—why let Buck go through that? Why let any of us carry that kind of pain?"

Bobby's reply came slowly. “I used to ask the same questions. After the fire… after losing my family.”

He nodded faintly. The questions were still swimming there in his eyes.

“I don't think God causes the pain,” Bobby said. “But I do think He shows up in the people who help us through it.”

Eddie rubbed his jaw.

“You showed up,” he added. “Didn't you? You held him. You didn't run."

“Of course I couldn’t. Not that I would. Bobby, he was breaking apart in my arms. I could feel it. If I let go, he might have never come back. Tommy might never come back.”

He reached out, resting a hand on Eddie's shoulder. “That kind of grief… it doesn't come unless there's love behind it.” He paused. “And it's not just Buck, is it?”

Eddie finally looked up. No protest this time or fear of being caught. Just exhausted truth. “I don't know what I'm doing,” he admitted. “Or how to tell them.”

Bobby simply smiled at the man growing up in front of his own very eyes. The way he did with Buck. “I think they might know more than you think. And I think you do, too. Choosing to stay when it's hard? You should be proud of yourself.”

Shoulders sagged on Eddie's otherwise strong frame. “I don't feel proud.”

“That's okay,” Bobby said. “You're alive. They're alive. You can breathe now, Eddie.”

Eddie brushed Bobby's hand off his shoulder. “I—I need to go.”

Bobby hesitated then added gently. "Hey. Just... when the dust settles. When Buck's awake and you're both through the worst of this, I want you to think about getting him help—real help. Someone trained."

Eddie's jaw tensed.

"I'm not saying you haven't been enough," the older man clarified. "But Buck's been through a lot. You both have. And neither of us want to lose him. Not in any way."

"Yes, Cap."

Turning around, Eddie walked out of the waiting room, and let the weight of the hallway press in around him. Footsteps echoed against the floors as he passed closed doors and faded posters.

He didn't know where he was going until he was already there and out of breath.

The chapel door was cracked open, like it had been waiting for visitors. No signs. No one inside either. Just a heavy silence that existed in places built for people to fall apart in.

Stepping across a threshold, to a space he wasn’t sure he believed in, Eddie held his breath in anticipation.

The chapel was empty.

Dim lighting pooled across the wooden pews like moonlight. Candles flickered weakly in their holders, flames too small to warm the space. Everything smelled faintly of wax and old wood polish. Peaceful, maybe. But Eddie didn't feel peace.

He stepped forward slowly. He didn't belong on holy ground—not like this. Still in his crinkling turnouts with dried blood all over him.

Hands hovered near the backs of the pews, unsure whether to sit, to kneel, or just turn around and leave. But his feet wouldn't pick themselves up. So, he dragged in a breath and let it rattle back out.

“I don't know why I'm here,” he muttered.

Silence answered.

Still, he stayed. It wasn’t a silence that soothed him. It watched. Judged. Like it was too good for someone who had already been in the process of abandoning his Catholic upbringing.

He managed a step forward and stopped. The cross loomed high above the altar, untouchable and distant from anyone who wished to get closer to what it represented.

“You said you were supposed to be good,” he started, softly—barely more than a whisper. “Supposed to protect the people we love.”

Another deep breath.

“So where the hell were you?”

His grip tightened on the wood beside him. “Where were you when that kid was sobbing in my arms? When he begged me to let him die because he thought he failed? When he screamed like something inside him was breaking in real time?”

Still nothing.

“What about all those times he cut his flesh because he didn't know how else to get rid of the pain in his mind? Or when he tried to take a bunch of pills to kill himself because he believed his loved ones were better off without him? Where were you?”

The candle flames wavered.

He laughed, short and bitter, almost a bark. “You let that boy suffer his whole life. Abandonment. Death. Guilt. He keeps getting up, and you keep knocking him back down. WHY?”

Strong fists slammed against the back of the pew.

“What's the plan, huh? Torture him until there's nothing left to break? Build him into some kind of a martyr?”

The anger in his voice trembled with despair underneath.

“Lo amo.” The words came suddenly. “I love him more than I've ever loved anything. I would do anything to take his pain away. So why won't you?”

A breath.

“Why won’t you let me?”

The candles flickered again, mocking his plea.

Eddie ran a trembling hand over his face. “I'm… I'm losing it. I don't know how much more I can carry. But I would've traded myself for him. For Tommy. You know that, don't you?”

His lip quivered. “So why do I feel like I did—and it still wasn't enough?”

Tears rolled down his cheek.

“You gave me this love for both of them. Let me feel it. Need it. I've found my heaven down here on this Earth. And now you're tearing it apart.”

He took a shaky sigh.

“I think I came here looking for answers. That maybe you'd give me a sign. But maybe…” His voice lowered. “Maybe I just needed to hear myself admit that you're not out there. And if you are out there… you’re not listening.”

He bowed his head.

“Pero if you are listening…”

Looking back at the cross, eyes burning, he uttered, “I hope you’re ready to answer me when the time comes.”

He shook now, not from fear, but from rage held too long in his chest.

“Because I will never forgive you for what you've done to him. Not for the fires. Not for the pain. But for watching him suffer his whole life and doing nothing to stop it. And for letting him believe he deserves it.”

Fingers clenched around the edge of the pew again as he finished his promise.

“As long as Tommy and I are still breathing, we'll be there to pick him up.”

A beat.

“And I swear, if you’re up there at all, I won't let you near that boy again.”

The hospital hall felt colder when Eddie stepped out. Boots echoed in the sterile hallway, the chapel door swinging behind him.

Back inside the hospital room, the lights were dimmed. Machines clicked and beeped in mechanical rhythm. Curled in the bed, Buck stayed fast asleep, with a soft furrow still between his brows. In the soft glow of the monitors, Buck seemed untouched by the world outside.

On the side of the room was a bunch of “get well soon” cards, balloons, and a few stuffed animals from the hospital's shop, all addressed to Tommy and Buck. 

Maddie looked up first from her chair beside Buck. Her tear-streaked face lit with relief when she saw Eddie. “Welcome back.”

Chimney was still adjusting a vase full of yellow roses when he looked up and saw Eddie. “Hey Eddie, you think Buck will like these flowers? They’re supposed to be good for hospital patients but I don’t know, they're kinda meh. Not colorful enough.”

Eddie smiled weakly at the gesture. “He'll love them.”

His eyes scanned the rest of the room as he stepped in, slow and deliberate.

Hen was seated quietly on the other side of Buck, legs crossed, and gaze focused on the monitor as if trying to diagnose when Buck will wake up.

Bobby stood by the window, hands in his pockets, staring out into the dark like he was trying to make sense of it all. He turned around and gave Eddie a nod and a warm smile.

The team was all here. His people. His family. The only ones missing were Chris and Carla.

Carla… who had been with him through some of his scariest nights. Not just Christopher's aide, but also sometimes the heartbeat of their home. Fierce, funny, graceful. Always knowing when to hold a hand or crack a joke. She'd taken care of Buck first, called Eddie out when he needed humbling, and protected Chris like he was her own. She was the kind of human who showed up without being asked and stayed long after everyone else went home.

“You okay?” Hen asked gently, standing now. She didn't want to be a bother but it was hard not to pity. Her eyes flicked across his expression, reading every crease on his face.

He responded with a shoulder shrug and shook his head. Not really, but I'm here.

Maddie crossed the room and came face-to-face with him. “You haven't really gotten a chance to rest.”

“I couldn't,” Eddie said, voice worn thin.

Maddie offered a small, understanding smile. “I know. But maybe now you should.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Just for a bit,” she assured him. “Go home. Shower. Say hi to Christopher. Get a good night's sleep. We'll be here for a while and I already plan on sleeping over.”

Eddie looked from her to Buck—still snoozing—then back to Maddie. “I don't know if I can.”

“You can,” Bobby said, stepping forward now. “And you should. Chris needs to see you. You need to see him, too.”

Chim gave him a small nudge towards the door. “We've got them, Eddie. Go already.”

“It feels like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

Chimney put his hands on his hips and gave him a look. “Of course I am. Come on. I'll drop you off.”

Eddie hesitated one more second. Then he stepped up to Buck's bedside, leaned down, and kissed his birthmark. “I'll be back soon,” he whispered.

He looked back once more. “You guys will let me know if—”

“I'll let you know if anything changes,” Maddie promised. “I'm not leaving their side.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Eddie trailed off. He nodded at Chim that he was ready to go, and walked out.

Chimney didn't say much on the drive. He knew better to shut his mouth rather than to try to fill the silence when someone needed it. The city lights that passed by illuminated the side of Eddie's face that pressed against the window on the way home. It was almost scary how quiet he was.

“Get some sleep,” Chim begged as Eddie stepped out onto his lawn.

“Thanks for the ride,” he bluntly responded.

Feet dragged themselves up the walkway once more, past the little garden gnomes that hid between the flowers. The flowers were Buck's idea. The gnomes, Chris’. But Tommy was the relentless one who made sure to organize it. He'd shown up one Saturday morning with gardening gloves for them all, a few bags of mulch, gnomes that he consulted Chris on first, and a small but powerful speaker with a playlist of 90s pop hits he insisted they listen to while they worked.

Eddie could picture it. Tommy kneeling in the dirt with Chris and Buck on either side, planting marigolds and lavenders in crooked little rows. Buck was sneeze-laughing the entire time from the pollen.

Tommy smirked up at him that day with dirt on him. “We're building something that lasts, Diaz. Watch it bloom.”

Eddie swallowed hard. The flowers had bloomed. Just like Tommy said they would.

Now he wasn’t sure if any of them ever would again.

He dragged himself up the rest of the path.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered under his breath. Somehow, it didn't feel very homey. It felt two-thirds empty.

“There you are!”

Carla, jumped to her feet from where they were resting on the ottoman and ran up to embrace the brooding man with a hug. The lamp from over her shoulder cast the room in soft amber light. The house and Carla smelled faintly of lavender—probably from Christopher's diffuser. And the familiar sound of the dishwasher cycling filled the quiet. Her hug felt like home.

“How are the boys?” Carla asked.

“They're okay. Tommy's in a medical coma. They're… keeping an eye on his swelling, but the doctors aren't giving much more to go on.

Her smile faded with concern. “That bad, huh?”

“How's Chris?”

The aide stood and playfully crossed her arms. “He's asleep. Asked for you three times.”

Guilt flickered in Eddie's chest, but Carla touched his arm gently. “Hey,” she said, reading the storm in his mind. “You were where you needed to be. He knows that.”

He nodded faintly and started down the hallway. “Just gonna check on him.”

The woman looked him up and down. The dried blood, the soot laying every bit of exhaustion etched into his every line. “You need a shower first,” she said bluntly, but not without affection. “Like, a deep soul-cleansing kind of shower.”

Eddie let out a faint exhale that might've been a laugh if he had more energy. “Yeah. No argument here.”

She tilted her head towards the bathroom. “Go. I'll find the first aid kit so we can redress those… perfect abs of yours.”

That managed a chuckle out of him that lasted until the bathroom door clicked shut behind him and he saw his reflection in the mirror. He looked so tired like he'd been through Hell. In a way, he had.

Steam soon clouded the mirror. Water hit him like absolution—hot, intense, and unrelenting. He scrubbed hard at all the dried blood, the bruises blooming across his torso. The shampoo stung when it touched healing scrapes on his scalp. But he let the heat burn his skin red as all the ash washed off.

He wanted to feel clean.

But more than that—he wanted to feel new. Like maybe if he'd washed hard enough, he could shed the explosion. The chapel. The hospital.

The sound of water hitting tile blurred into something else.

Flashing red lights. Screaming. Shouting. The blinding fluorescent lights of the ER.

“Move, move! Let's go!”

“Intubate him, he's crashing!”

“BP's dropping! Starting a drip!”

“We need a thoracotomy tray, now!”

Tommy on the stretcher, his chest rising too fast. Or too slow. Eddie couldn't tell. They were yelling too many things. Too many numbers. Too many acronyms. And all of it felt like static. This must be what Buck feels like.

He didn’t even remember letting go of the gurney as they wheeled it away and into the OR.

Someone had tried to stop him at.the doors. “Sir, you're injured. Let's get you looked at—”

“Wait.” He didn't bother looking at them. His eyes were fixed down the hallway. “No, I'm not leaving them.”

“Sir, you're bleeding.”

“They're worse.”

Buck was rushed past next, only semi-conscious. His face twisted in pain as he begged for answers. “Where's Tommy? Where's Eddie? Did we save the other people—?”

“Buck, I'm here. Stop moving. You’re making it worse.”

Buck was gone just as fast as he arrived, swallowed into a second hallway of chaos. Just like that, Eddie was left in the center of it all. With no one left to hold.

Eventually, the water ran clear.

Wrapped in a towel and newfound energy, he opened the door to find Carla waiting just outside, holding disinfectant, gauze, and a fresh set t-shirt.

“I said I'd help. Unless you’re not into middle-aged women who aren't afraid of a wound.”

Eddie managed the ghost of a smile. “Honestly, right now I'm into anyone who knows how to wrap a rib.”

“Lucky me,” Carla smirked.

He sat on the edge of the bed and Carla got to work. The antiseptic stung—again—but he didn’t flinch. Her hands were practiced, gentle, and surprisingly firm. She started with the cut along his ribs and then checked the bruising on his arm.

“You're worse than you let on,” she observed.

“I'm fine,” he mumbled.

“You're full of shit,” she replied casually as if she was talking about the weather.

He knew better than to argue with Carla.

There was a long silence while she applied the gauze. Then, as she was smoothing down the tape across his side, he spoke.

“I love them.”

Carla paused. The words came so quietly, she almost missed them. “You mean Buck and Tommy?”

He nodded, looking down at his hands. “Both of them. I'm so scared for them both but I—I can't let Buck see. He needs me right now. And Tommy…”

Carla sat adjacent to him now. She rested her hands in her lap and waited patiently, leaving space for Eddie to keep going if he needed.

He rubbed his jaw. “I could see it in their faces, you know. The nurses, the surgeons. They're worried. And I—I'm just supposed to leave them there? Pretend I'm okay?”

Her eyes softened. “You don’t have to pretend for me.”

Eddie shook his head. “I'm not. But I am pretending for him. And I can't stop. Because if Buck sees me fall apart, he'll think it's his fault and that he has to hold everything together again. And he can't, Carla. Not right now. He barely made it through this.”

“You're scared,” she said gently.

“Of course I'm scared!” he snapped, then immediately lowered his voice. “I'm terrified. Buck's already on the edge himself. And Tommy… I can't even see him yet. If he doesn't wake up… I keep thinking if I just say the right things and show up enough, maybe I can fix it. I have to fix it.”

Carla was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and rested her palm over his wrist. “You can't fix—”

“I know. I know. I've heard that before,” Eddie whispered.

“Doesn’t sound like you believe it.”

His throat tried to work its way around a lump that formed. “It’s Buck…”

“You love him. That doesn't mean you get to just erase the things that hurt him. That's not what love is.”

“I just don't want him to think he's alone.”

“He won't,” she promised. “Because he knows you'll always be there to carry him when he can't carry himself. When Tommy can't.”

Eddie looked down. Just barely audible. “I just wish it didn't feel like I was failing both of them.”

“You're not failing,” Carla reassured. “You're loving. And that's the only reason it hurts this much right now. Love is... is being there for them at their highest highs and their lowest lows. And it’s the lows that will test just how deep your love runs."

A tired nod.

Carla tapped his leg and stood. “C'mon. You need sleep before you start trying to ‘fix’ the whole damn world. I'll be out here watching the property brothers.”

He managed a weary chuckle. “I'm not trying to fix the world. Just… my little corner of it.”

“Well, your corner has a bed that way, along with a son who misses you a lot.”

Eddie headed down the hallway and gently knocked before pushing Chris’ bedroom door open.

“Dad?”

“Hey, buddy. I'm home.”

Chris rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses. “You okay?”

“Just tired.”

He patted the big space on his bed. “Then sleep here.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate. He slipped under the covers where Chris snuggled into his side almost immediately. Eddie kissed the top of his head and ruffled his curls.

They lay in silence for a while. But Eddie's mind is still loud. He shifts and rotates in the bed like a rotisserie, struggling to find a comfy spot. Every position he finds himself in reminds him of something.

On his side. I hope Buck doesn’t have a nightmare.

On his back. I hope Tommy wakes up soon.

On his stomach. This isn't very comfy.

“You're not actually sleeping, are you?” Chris whispered.

Eddie closed his eyes. “Trying.”

Chris rolled over to face him. “You wanna go back to the hospital.”

“I wanna be everywhere at once,” Eddie said honestly. “But yeah… I kinda do…”

Chris was quiet, then said simply, “It’s okay. You can go.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Chris hummed. “You’re taking care of your other family. Plus, you’re stopping me from sleeping.”

That broke something in Eddie's chest all over again. He pressed another kiss into Chris’ hair. “I love you, mijo. More than anything.”

“I know,” Chris said sleepily. “They need you too. It's okay.”

Eddie stayed just long enough to feel his son drift back to sleep. Then he slipped out of bed, tucked the blankets higher around Chris’ small frame, and whispered, “I'll be home soon.”

Chapter Text

“Stop pretending you’re asleep,” Maddie said with dry amusement beneath the fatigue. From the corner chair, she set her phone down after hitting send, the faint click of the plastic case against the armrest breaking the soft hum of the machines.

The room was dim, washed in a bluish hue from overhead lights dimmed for the night. That glow reflected off the pale walls and the silver rails of the bed. Somewhere beyond the window, the city flickered on in uneven patches, streetlamps

Buck kept his eyes shut, lashes fluttering only slightly. He shifted deeper into the pillow. “I’m not pretending. I’m… resting.”

Resting from the endless tabs on his phone, the medical journals he barely understood, and the late-night messages to Chimney asking him to explain every risk of ARDS and brain swelling in words a normal person could digest. Resting before the numbers on Tommy’s charts decided to rearrange themselves into worst-case scenarios again.

Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang and a voice paged “Dr. Bailey to the ER.” That kind of background noise never seemed to stop here. The smell of the oxygen tube under his nose, which he insisted he didn’t need, was stale and the dryness caused an itch in his throat.

“Uh-huh. And I’m a world-renowned opera singer.” She stood up, stretching her arms overhead with a yawn before dropping her hands down to her belly. “Oof.”

One eye cracked open. “Is the baby kicking? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, one hand absently smoothing the curve of her belly while pointing a mean index at him. “You’re the one who’s been twitching your fingers every time a nurse walks in. You’re about as subtle as a fire alarm. You haven't even looked at any of your gifts or smelled the flowers Chim got for you."

The other eye followed. “I'm just tired.”

“That’s okay,” she said, walking over to him and easing down onto the edge of his bed. “But I still needed to see you. Not post-collapse, unconscious you. You you.”

He dragged his gaze toward her, eyes bloodshot and purple-ringed. “Do I look like me?”

“You look like a man who got caught in a building explosion and hasn’t eaten since,” Maddie said lightly. “So… no. But your face is working again. That’s progress.”

The lines between his brows emphasized the scowl that set in.

“Ew, maybe it’s working a little too much.”

That earned the barest ghost of a laugh from the grump in the bed.

Maddie smiled and took his hand, her thumb rubbing lightly along the edge of his knuckles. “You scared me, you know,” she whispered. “Over the radio… I didn’t know if I was ever going to hear your voice again. For one awful minute, I thought I was going to have to tell Jee why her Uncle Buck wasn’t coming home.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to apologize.” She leaned closer. “But you do have to be honest with me. So, tell me—are you okay?”

Landing somewhere near the corner of the ceiling tile, his eyes avoided hers. The monitor beeped like a second heartbeat to his frozen one as he bit the inside of his cheek, debating.

Maddie allowed the silence to stretch out, not wanting to fill it.

Finally, he admitted, “I don’t know.”

Her throat tightened. She let go of his hand only to cup it between both of hers. “Buck, you’ve been through a trauma. Several, actually. Your body’s healing, but your mind… that kind of weight doesn’t just vanish with it.”

Lips parted with an exhale as if to speak before closing again. His gaze dropped to the hospital blanket curled at his waist. “I thought I could handle it.”

“I know you did,” she paused. “But handling it alone isn’t the same thing as healing.” She leaned forward, brushing a thumb along his temple. “Buck, I think you need to talk to someone. Not just me or Eddie or Tommy. A professional. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I know, I know,” he grumbled. “Bobby told me the same thing.”

“He did?”

Without elaboration, Buck nodded. The movement was more like a shrug the way his shoulders half-lifted but still weighed down.

Maddie narrowed her eyes. If Bobby’s saying that, how long has it been going on? How much have I missed? Here was this grown man tall enough to tower over most people and strong enough to knock them down, too. Yet he was so tired and small on the inside.

After a beat, Maddie continued with precaution, “I saw the way you spiraled when you thought Tommy wasn’t going to make it. And the things you were saying… about blaming yourself…”

Buck winced. “It was my fault—”

“No,” she interrupted, sharp steel in her tone. “It wasn’t. You can’t rewrite the truth just because guilt hurts less than grief.”

Buck’s gaze snapped back to hers, sharper than she expected. “And you would know?” His voice wasn’t exactly angry, but it carried an edge that made her pause.

Maddie’s mouth opened. Suddenly, she went back in time. Handing baby Jee over at the firehouse. Running away. Blaming and claiming herself unsafe. Her mouth closed before opening again. “I just don’t want to lose my little brother,” she pressed on, voice breaking a little. “And I know Tommy, who’s fighting so hard to get back to you, and Eddie, who’s been worried sick, don’t want to lose you either. Not like this.”

Buck bit at his lower lip, chapped from all the thinking it’s had to endure. “Okay.”

“Okay, you’ll get help?”

“Okay I’ll… try.”

Maddie exhaled deeply, squeezing her relief through his hand. “That’s all I ask. Now that I’ve done my big sister duties…” She rose from the bed and leaned back against the side rail. “Can I go back to teasing you mercilessly?”

“You’re going to anyway,” he guessed, side-eyeing her with anticipation.

She folded her arms with a smirk. “So… Eddie .”

Buck turned his face into the pillow with a groan. “What about him?”

“Oh, come on.” Her grin widened. “Do you have any idea how soft you look when he’s in the room?”

Scarlet red flushed through his ears when he looked back up at her. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” she said, delighted.. “It’s like watching a baby deer imprint on a firefighter.”

He buried his face again, this time into his hands, with a muffled, “I hate you.”

Maddie just laughed. “You’ve imprinted on them both, actually. Does Tommy know he’s in a throuple?”

“It’s not a throuple,” Buck grumbled.

“ Yet .”

“Maddie—”

“Based on our last conversation, all I’m saying is… if you do fall in love with both of them, I will be the most supportive sister in the world. I’ll help plan out the firehouse wedding, make the invitations, everything.”

Buck’s blush spread adorably from his ears to his cheeks, but Maddie’s teasing faded as she watched him sink into the blanket like he wanted to crawl under the bed and never come out from hiding. She sat back down beside him and gently nudged his arm. “But seriously, Buck… you don’t have to figure it all out right now. I mean, I know I tease you, but it’s oka—”

“I’m in love with them,” Buck blurted.

Her face dropped.

“They don’t know,” he added quickly. “Bobby kind of figured it out. I think Hen and Chim too.”

Maddie blinked. “Wow.”

“Wow?”

“No, no, I mean… just—wow,” she said again, utterly thrown. Her heart twisted at the sight of him already shrinking under the hospital blanket. Do something, Maddie. Anything.

She leaned in with maternal instinct and wrapped her arms around him tightly. “Come here, baby brother.”

“Okay, ow.” This love would be a little nicer if it didn’t spread aches throughout his body.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, holding on anyway.

The monitors beeped steadily in the background.

“You can let go now,” Buck said eventually.

“I could,” she smirked into his curls. “But I won’t. Not until your favorite paramedic gets here.”

“Huh?”

Footsteps approached the room and the door creaked open slowly after a gentle knock, letting in bright hallway light. Buck’s head turned toward the doorway instinctively—and lit up.

“Eddie…”

Eddie smiled back. “Hey, Buckley.”

Walking up to the glass doors felt wrong somehow. Throughout his time at station 118, Eddie and the rest of the firefighters had learned the harsh lesson that their job did not go any further. All they could do was already done. It was their duty to go back out there and rescue others while the hospital staff did their duty of saving who they brought in. 

Eddie’s duty remained unfinished. There were two people in there who still needed him.

The paramedic let go of the breath he was holding and stepped past the sliding doors into the hospital lobby. It was softer at night, but it still hummed with an eerie quiet that crawled up his skin. And the scent of antiseptic hit him harder than the cold air outside.

“Name?” the woman behind the security desk asked, eyes already flicking to the clipboard.

“Eddie Diaz,” he replied. “I’m here for Evan Buckley and Thomas Kinard. They’re both—”

She nodded like she’d heard this for a hundred times. “Relation?”

He bit his tongue for the barest second. Best friends didn’t feel like enough. Lover was a word they hadn’t even touched. “Family,” Eddie settled on, hoping it covered enough.

She didn’t question it. Just handed him a pass. “Room’s the same. ICU won’t open for another couple hours.”

He stuck the visitor’s pass onto his shirt like it weighed a thousand pounds and manually lifted his feet. It didn’t help that the overwaxed floors seemed to stick to his shoes’ every step. As he approached the elevator, his reflection in the brushed metal stared back at him. Fresh henley, comfortable jeans that would probably start biting at his legs in several hours, a clean face. And yet his eyes were hollower than an empty well.

Nurses passed him without a glance. Someone else waited for an elevator on the other side. No one looked twice.

Just hours ago, he had been in the ER as a patient. Now he was background noise. Just another body in a place where bodies went to wait.

Shouldering the duffel bag, he stepped inside the elevator.

It was so easy to feel disposable here.

The elevator hummed around him as it climbed. It was a slow, steady lift that did nothing to ease the heaviness in his chest. When the soft ding announced his floor, the doors slid open to the familiar hallway. No matter how many hospitals Eddie had been in—whether it was for himself, others of the 118, or Christopher—stepping onto a patient floor was different. The air felt thicker here. Quieter. Like it had soaked up too many muffled sobs and unanswered prayers.

He adjusted the strap of the duffel on his shoulder and started down the corridor, his boots sounding against the tile. Every door he passed could’ve held someone else’s whole world behind it. His happened to be a few rooms down, with Maddie keeping watch.

Maddie surely received Eddie’s text earlier. He saw the read receipt. He thinks. Christopher was still teaching him about technology. Although it was late enough now that she and Buck could both be asleep. That was fine. Just seeing Buck would be enough to take some of the edge off tonight until they could see Tommy.

When he reached the right door, he lifted his hand, the thought crossing through his mind before he could stop it: I’m here, Buck.

With a muted click, the handle gave under his palm and shut behind his strong frame, marking his arrival. He was so, so tired. But then his eyes landed on Buck.

“Hey, Buckley.”

Buck was awake, propped against the bed’s raised mattress with the blanket draped over his lap and his body in some kind of death grip by Maddie. His curls were still damp, probably from washing up earlier, and they curled in lazy spirals that glimmered gold in the light. Pretty lashes, too long for anyone who ran into burning buildings, adorned his baby blues. Even pale, the little red birthmarks above his eye stood out in such a way he wanted to kiss them. Eddie had never seen anything more precious—aside from Chris.

Maddie caught the way Buck’s posture straightened when Eddie stepped through the door like weight had just been lifted off his chest. She caught her brother’s eye and mouthed, I see you, little brother.

He mouthed back shut up , mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.

Big sister leaned forward, unintentionally but not complaining her belly knocked the recovering man’s head aside, with all false sweetness. “Welcome back! So, how long have you been hovering outside the door, Eddie?”

Eddie glanced up. “Not long.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maddie,” Buck groaned, but there was no real heat in it this time.

Letting go of Buck from her clutches, she sat back in her chair with her hands on her belly. “What? I’m just trying to establish a timeline. I’m pregnant. I’m getting dizzy from all this back and forth.”

Nervously, Eddie cleared his throat. She wasn’t wrong—he did wait outside just for a moment.

“How’s Chris?” she inquired, changing the subject.

“He’s—He’s good. He’s probably asleep by now. And Carla, that saint of a woman, is thirsting over some twins in my living room. How’s Chim and Jee?”

“I’m glad to hear that, I think?” Maddie questioned, not sure if she wanted to know more. “Chim’s trying to put her down to sleep but you know babies. Still no visitation for Tommy, unfortunately. But we should be able to once the ICU opens. Meanwhile, this one’s…” she said, pointing to the hospital patient, “been catching up on a lot of sleep. Or at least getting some rest. Barely eating though. Says he’s fine, but…”

Eddie nodded once. Tommy’s name lodged in his chest. And Buck seemed like he wasn’t getting much better.

“I’m fine,” Buck croaked, like he could feel Eddie’s look of disapprovement for using that word. “I mean, not fine -fine, but, you know… okay enough to be annoying again.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, stepping closer.

“Mhm. I’ve been resting because Maddie told me to. And I should probably eat more, but I’m not hungry, and I didn’t want you thinking I’m—” he waved a hand vaguely, “—slacking when we’ve got Tommy to worry about. We should be there with him, and here I am taking up a bed. Not helping. Can’t do anything right now, so you don’t need to—”

“You being here matters,” Eddie said, another step closer, the duffel bag thunking softly to the floor.

Buck barely took a breath before the words tumbled on. “—and I probably scared Maddie earlier because I wasn’t talking much. And I made her stay here when she could’ve gone home.”

“Evan,” Maddie interjected gently, but he kept going, voice speeding up like he’d fall apart if he stopped.

“I didn’t mean to. I just feel… foggy. Like my head’s full of static. And I should be pulling it together, but I keep thinking about the collapse and how Tommy got—”

“That wasn’t on you,” Eddie murmured, shaking his head at Maddie as if to say It’s okay, I got him , closing the space until he could rest a hand on the bed’s rail.

“—and if I’d done anything different, maybe he wouldn’t be in the ICU. Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt either. And I’m sorry for that. And for being like this. For not—”

Sitting down now, slow enough to keep from spooking him, Eddie could see the faint shadow of stubble along Buck’s jaw. And the way the pulse in his throat jumped when he talked too fast. Buck’s hands seemed to shake a little more the further he went on.

“—for taking up so much space when you’ve already got enough to deal with. I’m not trying to make it about me, but—”

“Buck,” Eddie said softly, pulling his hands into his lap.

It stopped him mid-breath, lips parted.

Maddie observed the way Eddie’s other hand came up, caressing the curve of Buck’s jaw until it rested in the hollow just beneath his cheekbone. Up close, as if counting the gold threads hidden in Buck’s lashes. He could trace, if he wanted to, the birthmark running through his eyebrow.

Buck drew in a shaky breath without meaning to, catching the faint scent of warm cedar and sunlight orange peels that clung to Eddie. A calming breath of fresh air against the sterile tang of the oxygen under his nose. For a moment, it cut through the static in his head.

“You don’t apologize for existing,” Eddie murmured. “Not to me. Not ever.”

Buck’s lips parted like he wanted to protest. Those blues skittered around the room like mice looking for an escape, but Eddie was the cat—patiently waiting until he realized there was nowhere left to run.

“Hey, buddie, look at me.”

Warm, brown eyes locked on and threatened to swallow him whole. Caught them.

“I wish you could see what I see,” Eddie went on, quieter now, “because you’d never waste another second thinking you weren’t worth the space you take up.”

“W-What do you see?” Buck stammered, caught off guard.

Eddie’s thumb kept stroking along his jawline, like he was memorizing it. “The most stubborn, infuriating, prettiest boy I’ve ever known. Tommy and I wouldn’t trade one second of you for anything.”

Buck didn’t have a response.

Eddie let the moment linger before crouching to unzip the duffel at his feet. “I brought something for you.” He pulled out a dark hoodie, soft and worn at the cuffs, and set it in Buck’s lap.

His fingers kneaded the fabric instantly. “Eddie, I’m wearing—”

“Hospital gowns don’t count,” Eddie smiled, standing up to help him sit forward. He ignored Maddie’s smirk from the corner as he carefully threaded Buck’s arms into the sleeves, adjusting the hood at the back of his neck. “Besides, this is Tommy’s. Figured you could use something that smells like him until we can get in to see him.”

The hoodie was comically big on him, swallowing him up until he disappeared into the folds. Eddie smoothed the fabric down over his chest. “Better?”

Buck looked at him with his big, old eyes. “Much better.”

“You love it,” Maddie teased.

The flush in his cheeks was enough of an answer.

Eddie sat again, nodding toward the tray on the table. “Now, you gonna make me beg you to eat?”

Buck made a face. “Not hungry.”

“I figured you'd say that,” Eddie said, reaching into the duffle bag and pulling out a thermos, unscrewing and pouring something into the lid. A sweet tomato aura blended with fresh herbs, garlic, and filled with savory, peppery noodles wafted out into the room. “So, I brought you some homemade food. And if I have to feed you myself, I will.”

"You made me soup?" Buck exclaimed, eyes sparkling. It was almost—no, it was unfair the way Eddie took care of him and didn't get much care in return. I need to take care of myself so they don't have to all the time.

"Sopa de fideo, to be exact," Eddie grinned.

Maddie, still in the room, shook her head fondly. “You’re both impossible.”

Her little brother stuck out his tongue at her before slurping a bit off the spoon Eddie held in front of him. The cold metal left a bitter aftertaste that only made him want to stop again. But he couldn’t do that to Eddie.

Eddie watched Maddie from the bedside. She’d tucked herself into the vinyl curves of the visitor’s chair, eyes fond but bleary from the long day. Her sweatshirt was rumpled, hair a little frizzy from hours without a break. She’d been here when Buck first opened his eyes. She’d been here when Eddie texted he was on his way. She’d been here for everything in between, including Eddie’s promise in the chapel.

“You want some? You’ve been here all day.”

Maddie’s head lifted like it weighed a little too much. “I’m fine.”

There were those same two words again. I’m fine. Was this common in the Buckley family?

“You’ve been here all day,” he repeated, and this time there was no room for negotiation in his voice. “At least go home. Say hi to Jee-Yun for me. Sleep. I’ll text you in the morning.’

She searched the insistence in his face for a crack, found none, and sighed. Standing, she pressed a kiss to Buck’s temple which was preoccupied with chewing, and brushed her fingers over his hair. Whatever she whispered into his ear made Buck look at Eddie and giggle. Are they talking about me?

Then she stepped over to Eddie and gave him a big hug. “Thank you, Eddie. Please take good care of him.”

“I promise.”

The night stretched in uneven increments.

Eddie sat slouched in the chair with one ankle propped over his knee, arms crossed but never entirely at rest. Buck dozed off in fits, waking only to mumble something half-coherent, and then fall back asleep under the thin blanket. Thank goodness he brought Tommy’s hoodie for him because it was cold. Even he was shivering a little.

Somewhere between 2 and 3 a.m., Eddie accepted a bitter cup of coffee from a nurse and left it mostly untouched on the side table. The smell alone was enough to keep him upright at least.

By the time the early morning light began to ghost the window, Eddie was snuggled in the hospital bed right next to Buck.

A knock preceded the nurse’s head poking in. “ICU’s open for visitors now. Once you guys are ready, you can head up to see Thomas Kinard.”

Eddie glanced at Buck. “You up for it?”

“Yes!” Buck exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.

It was short lived. Eddie’s arm came right across Buck’s path, preventing him from getting up. He arched a brow at the wheelchair the nurse parked just inside the door. “Hold on, buddie. Let’s freshen you up and then I’ll wheel you.”

“But I want to go now! I can walk.”

“You can argue ,” Eddie continued, “but you’re still gonna do what I say. Coma or not, Tommy would appreciate you not having morning breath when you go say hi to him.”

Buck frowned at him with a little pout that was very effective in making Eddie feel certain things. But his legs still looked unsteady and they both knew Eddie was right. WIth a muttered, “Fine,” he let Eddie help him up.

The process was slower than either of them liked—shifting IV lines, steadying Buck with one arm around his back, walking him to the restroom.

“Eddie, can you leave so I can pee in peace?”

Eddie crossed his arms tightly. “No.”

“Can you at least turn around?” he pleaded with his hand dragging down his face.

“Oh. Right, right,” Eddie turned around, standing guard at the door like he was his personal bodyguard waiting for the wrong person to try anything on what’s his. “Sorry.” He checked his phone in the meanwhile, sending a quick text to Chris, for when he wakes up, letting him know that things are okay so far and not to give Carla a hard time.

When the toilet flushed, he pocketed his phone and looked up just as Buck shuffled to the sink, his grippy socks dragging a little on the tile. One hand caught the counter, knuckles pale. Buck was still rubbing his eyes when Eddie plucked the toothbrush out of his reach.

“Oh, come on,” Buck complained. “I’m not allowed to brush my own teeth now?”

Eddie’s mouth curved in a half-smile that wasn’t teasing so much as fond. “I want to take care of you.”

The faint flush in Buck’s cheeks as Eddie turned on the tap—letting the water run over the bristles—then squeezed out toothpaste with deliberate care, was worth it. The most mundane thing in the world suddenly became sacred.

“C’mere.”

The boy was a little wary, a little shy, but stepped forward anyway. Eddie guided his hip so it bumped into the counter, then settled one broad hand at the small of his back to keep him there. The fingers on his other hand came up and curled along his jaw.

“Open,” Eddie murmured.

Slowly parting his lips, he stood there as Eddie angled his head just the way he wanted it, tilting his chin so the light caught the curve of his cheek. The bristles touched down onto his teeth with the softest scrape, the minty scent blooming between them almost immediately. 

And just like that, the constant hum of stress in Eddie’s mind and chest quieted. All the uncertainty about Tommy’s condition, all the helplessness he’s felt the past twenty-four hours quieted. This was something small he could control. Something he could give.

Eddie set a slow, thorough rhythm—small circles, a gentle sweep down the sides, and steady pressure along the molars.

Buck’s lashes lowered, a little sigh slipping out as Eddie worked the toothbrush into his mouth. Foam started to gather, bubbling in the corners of his mouth. Eddie shifted closer, chest brushing his shoulder, his thumb stroking absentmindedly at the corners and hinge of the stubbled jaw.

“Spit,” Eddie instructed suddenly.

Buck pulled back with wide eyes, cheeks full, and leaned over to spit into the basin with a little shake of his head. He rose back up with his little tongue sticking out.

“You read my mind. Open up again, I’m getting your tongue.” Eddie came closer and brushed lightly against the muscle, thorough but careful lest he venture too deep.

“You’re such a good boy,” Eddie murmured when Buck tried to swallow around the thick and white froth after standing patient under his hands and holding his breath for what seemed like forever. He tilted Buck’s head the other way, his knuckles brushing the soft cotton of Tommy’s hoodie, barely feeling the racing heartbeat under it. Each careful stroke of the brush soothed Eddie’s own pulse, grounding him in the moment.

By the time Eddie was done, the foam filled Buck’s mouth thick and white, pearled at the edge of his lips. Eddie eased the brush away with a little pop, thumb catching a bead at the corner before it could dribble down his chin.

“Rinse for me,” he said softly, handing over a plastic water-filled cup.

Buck obeyed, spitting and swishing before straightening again, cheeks flushed, lips damp, and his curls falling messily over his forehead. Eddie kept one hand on him the whole time, guiding him toward the wheelchair.

“There’s my boy,” Eddie said under his breath, settling him down gently. “All clean. Now we can go see Tommy.”

The halfway outside Buck’s room was pale with early morning light, diffused through narrow windows along the far wall. A soft gray washed over the floor tiles and the muted blue of the doors. Eddie’s hands rested on the wheelchair handles, steady and sure, while Buck sat in front of him with Tommy’s hoodie pulled close at the neck.

The rubber wheels rolled softly against the floor, their rhythm broken only by the faint squeak when Eddie turned a corner. He felt the subtle weight of Buck leaning just slightly back into the seat, as if trying to keep them tethered together should anything try to separate them again.

Past the nurses’ station, where voices murmured low and papers shuffled, someone laughed loudly. It quieted just as soon as it started, as if the person had caught themselves and realized the environment they were in. The smell of antiseptic seemed to get stronger here, though it was threaded with a faint, metallic tang.

Buck tugged the sleeves of the hoodie down past his wrists and over his hands. The fabric bunched where knuckles were pale. Eddie glanced down, catching the way his curls brushed the collar when he lowered his head. The sight warmed the heaviness in Eddie’s chest.

When the hallway narrowed down to a set of closed, double glass doors, the duo slowed down to read the words on the small plaque: Intensive Care Unit — Authorized Visitors Only . At the desk, an annoyed nurse looked up, then buzzed them through with a click that sounded too loud in the hush.

"Guess we'll find him ourself, right buddie?" Eddie mumbled low enough to avoid the nurse hearing.

"Mhm."

Inside, the air penetrated the hoodie Buck wore and chapped both of their lips. Machines beeped in uneven rhythms, each one belonging to a different, critical patient, casting pale green glows across the walls. Eddie pushed Buck forward slowly, scanning room numbers until Buck pointed out Kinard, Thomas . 

He almost didn’t want to turn into the doorway.

Tommy lay still in the bed, swallowed by white sheets and a clear mask covering his nose and mouth, fogging slightly with each slow breath. The tangles of tubes and wires beside him connected to monitors tracing out his heartbeat in calculated peaks. His right leg was elevated in a cast, and a wide bandage wrapped his chest beneath the gown.

Buck’s hands tightened around the armrests of his wheelchair. He didn’t make a sound.

Eddie moved closer, stopping at the side of the bed where the faint hiss of air with every assisted breath could be heard. The scent of antiseptic was stronger here. For a moment, he thought about reaching for Tommy’s hand, but it was hidden beneath a blanket judging by the IV lines trailing under.

He stayed there for a long moment, his shadow stretching across the crisp hospital sheets. “Hey, tinkerbell,” he tried, the words feeling strange and dry in his mouth. His voice came quieter than he intended, almost cautious, as if speaking too loud might hurt him. “We’re here.”

The steady beep of the monitor along with the subtle rise and fall of Tommy’s chest answered for him. Eddie’s gaze lingered on the pale skin visible above the mask, the purpling bruises along his temple. How many more bruises were hidden?

Eddie opened his mouth with an inhale. He wanted to tell Tommy about everything he’d missed since the collapse, to promise him things would be okay. But the words lodged somewhere deep, caught in the tightening pressure within his chest.

Noticing, Buck leaned forward slightly in his chair, hands still wrapped around the armrests. “Hey, Tommy,” he said, softer than expected. “Don’t know if you can hear me, but… we made it. We’re all still here.”

Eddie looked down at him, his chest simultaneously tightening and easing.

Buck kept going, voice low and careful. “You’d probably be making some dumb joke right now if you were awake. Probably about me ending up in a wheelchair,” he said with a faint huff and a smile that didn’t stick. “So I’m just gonna pretend you did so I can tell you it’s not funny.”

Eddie’s lips twitched despite the weight pressing on him.

“And uh…” Buck tugged at the sleeve for Tommy to see, even if his eyes were closed. “I’ve been wearing your hoodie. Hope you don’t mind. It’s warm. Smells like you. Not in a weird way,” he added quickly glancing at Eddie like he’d said too much. “Just—reminds me you’re still here.”

The warm Eddie had felt earlier swelled again, but with an ache that spread through his ribs and up the throat to his head. He almost didn’t notice the ache that came from squeezing the bed rails this hard.

Buck shifted a little in the chair, searching Tommy’s face for any flicker of recognition. “So you just gotta come back, okay? Eddie’s here. I’m here. We’re not going anywhere.”

Eddie tried to focus on Buck’s words, hoping it’d be enough for both of them. But the bruises on Tommy’s face were all he could see now. The hiss of the ventilator was getting sharper and louder until it filled every corner of his head. His chest was moving too fast—air pulling in shallow, unsteady bursts that wouldn't quite reach deep enough.

Buck’s voice wavered slightly. “We’ll even let you pick the first movie when you’re better. And I promise I won’t complain. Much.” He smiled faintly, looking up at Eddie for backup, but Eddie was staring at the body like it was the only thing in the room.

The edges of Eddie’s vision began to blur, darkness creeping in from the sides. He forced one slow breath, then another, but each one felt smaller.

“I—I can't do this,” he managed, barely loud enough for Buck to hear.

The paramedic turned sharply before Buck could respond, moving fast down the hall. The cool air of the ICU corridor rushed past him, but it wasn’t enough. Not until he slipped into a supply closet, closed the door, and pressed his back hard against it did he finally suck in a deep, ragged breath.

Metal shelves stacked with boxes of gloves, IV bags, and other medical supplies lined the narrow closet space surrounding Eddie. Irony struck him in some dark, bitter way as a man who’d never said out loud who he really was. Figures .

It was almost laughable, if it didn’t make his stomach twist. Hiding was something he was good at doing. Hide the bruises. Hide the bad days. Hide the way his heart grew when Buck smiled at him like he was the only person in the room. Hide everything until it curdled inside.

He braced his hands on the nearest shelf, head hanging forward as he dragged air—which smelled like bleach and latex—into his lungs. It came in shallow bursts, his ribs working double time to keep up, but the oxygen wasn’t doing a damn thing to clear the weight pressing down on his chest.

“Fuck,” he hissed, the word barely more than a growl.

The next breath broke on a sob he didn’t see coming, and his hand shot out, knocking a box to the floor. With a muted thud, saline bags scattered in all directions. He didn’t care. He grabbed another box, this one full of gauze, and slammed it against the shelf until the cardboard crumpled in his fist.

The anger burned hotter than the sadness. That was easier. That was safe.

Wheels squealed as a metal cart sitting against the wall banged into opposite shelves. Trays rattled as a few packs of syringes spilled over the edge. Eddie pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until stars sparked within the eigengrau behind his lids.

It wasn’t enough.

He needed to hit something. To break something. To do anything that could match the violence of what he’d seen in that hospital bed. The memory of Tommy’s chest rising only because a machine told it to. Bruises that riddled his body. A stillness that wasn’t sleep.

His fist slammed into the shelf—once, twice—until his knuckles screamed. Again. Again. Again. Until the sting tore skin and the rattle of the shelf against the wall shot shocks up his arm, drowning out the sound of the ventilator that wouldn’t stop echoing in his head.

“Why—” He hit it again. “—wasn’t—” Again. “—it me?”

Blood welled in a scrape across his middle knuckles, smearing against the cold steel on the next punch.

Finally, his forehead came to rest against the shelf. The fight bled out of him in shudders, his chest aching from more than exertion and the sweat cooling along his spine.

Eddie stayed there a long time, letting the hum of the light, the scent of the air, and the pain in his body press in from all sides. In a way, this stimulation of his core senses was penance. 1, 2, 3, 4, he counted each breath, trying to remember how to stand still without feeling like he was caged.

Rolling his shoulders back into something resembling composure, he grabbed onto the door handle.

He had to get back before Buck came looking for him.

Back in Tommy’s room, the quiet that followed the door clicking shut felt heavier than the sound of any machine.

Buck let out a slow breath, eyes drifting back to Tommy. For a moment, he just stared—taking in every still line of his body, the pale slope of his cheek, the cleft of his chin, and the mess of wires and tubes tracing back to blinking monitors.

“I don’t think Eddie told you,” he began, voice rough, “but you scared the hell out of us.” He swallowed, leaning forward in the chair until his elbows rested on his knees. “I’ve been trying not to say it too much because I don’t want him to think I’m… falling apart again. But, god, Tommy—” his voice faltered, “—you look worse than most things I’ve ever seen.”

Come on, now, I’m not that ugly, Tommy would probably say if he was awake.

Biting the inside of his cheek hard, Buck attempted to push back the sting in his eyes. He wasn’t going to lose it. Not right now. Not when Eddie needed him to be the one who kept it together.

After a minute, his voice found its footing again. “I’ve been reading about ARDS. They called it something longer. All that smoke you inhaled… it damaged your lungs pretty bad. Makes it harder for oxygen to get to the rest of your body. And with the broken leg, and the swelling in your brain. It’s a lot. It’s way too much.”

Slow and steady, the ventilator hissed again as if trying to remind him that Tommy was still here.

“I keep wanting to blame myself,” Buck admitted, clenching his hands. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you jumping in front of me. I see you going down. I think ‘If I’d moved faster, if I’d been stronger, if I’d just been in a different spot…” His head shook slowly, curls falling forward. “But I know you’d hate that. And Eddie—” a weak smile flickered across his lips. “—Eddie would probably tackle me to the ground before letting me talk like that for more than five seconds.”

He rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes, wiping away tears but also grounding himself. “So I’m trying, Tommy. I’m trying to be brave. I’m trying to be the guy you and Eddie don’t have to worry about right now because you’ve got enough to deal with.”

The bandage across Tommy’s ribs rose with each breath.

After a long pause, Buck leaned closer, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but this might be the only chance I have to say this.” He hesitated, thumb rubbing over the seam of his sweatpants. “I… I love you. Both of you. And it’s so scary, the idea of losing either of you.”

For a few seconds, he just sat there in the ICU, letting the words fill up the room. Then he reached out, fingertips brushing lightly against the edge of the blanket until they found the shape of Tommy’s hand and reached under to hold it. “So you fight, okay? You fight your way back. And I’ll sit here as long as I can until you do come back. But I think there’s someone I need to make sure is okay first.”

Shoulders sunk into the support as he leaned back in the chair, but eyes not wanting to leave Tommy’s face. Those furrowed brows… who knows what thoughts they held?

Nothing.

Floating. Falling. Suspended.

No horizon to be seen. No ground to be felt. No air to breathe. Just an unending dark that closes in on all sides, making his chest feel tight even though he knows he’s breathing—or something is breathing for him? Somewhere far away, there’s a rhythmic beep.

Tommy doesn’t know where he is, but he knows the sound: hospital monitors.

Who am I?

The dark doesn’t answer. At least not in words. It offers a door instead, cracked open just enough for light to leak out. Slowly, he pulls it open and steps through, crossing the threshold into a moment long forgotten.

He’s twelve. Kneeling on the carpet of a living room with sun-faded curtains, the loops of the rough weave bore red marks into the lower half of his knees which weren’t covered by the athletic shorts he wore. Baseball cards are spread out in careful, uneven rows as he sorts through a shoebox while in a worn but bright yellow, slightly oversized, little league t-shirt. Older Tommy kneels down near him and catches a glance at the male magazine clip outs cleverly hidden at the bottom of said shoebox. Late-summer air flows through the crack in the window, picking up the musty paper smell. Somewhere downstairs his dad is shouting at the TV.

Sports pennants and posters of cheerleaders—all gifts from his father—plastered all around the room on an innocent blue wallpaper. A boy-shaped mold for him to fill.

“Thomas!” the voice calls up from the couch.

Older Tommy and younger Thomas simultaneously glance at the doorway, eyes wide and hands shaking. Thomas tries to pitch his voice lower before it leaves his mouth. A handy trick he’s been practicing. “Yes, sir!”

Mr. Kinard appears in the doorway, swaying just slightly in grease-stained jeans from the garage earlier. “You goin’ to tryouts or not?”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas answers, lidding the shoebox and opening the duffle bag to shove a baseball glove into.

His father nods, satisfied and walks off—like he’s checking off a box on a list titled Manhood 101 .

Older Tommy studies the boy still on his knees, frozen for a moment before moving again. A brief flash of pride at pleasing his father, so bright it drowns out the shame, crosses Thomas’ face. Pride, because he doesn’t know better yet.

The sounds of a bottle clinking down the hallway fade away as the scene drains of color and folds in on itself.

Who am I?

The air changes.

Older Tommy stands in the hallway of a cramped apartment, watching as a sixteen-year-old version of himself fumbles at the front door. His shirt’s rumpled from being grabbed, collar half-torn. His father’s voice is a weapon, second to none:

“WHAT ARE YOU, A FUCKING FAGGOT?”

Thomas lifts both of his arms to cover his face as the shoebox launches straight at him, bouncing off and sending all the clip outs flying. And yet it was the words that hit like live rounds, inflicting fear into Thomas’ face and forcing his mom into cowering behind his father. Tommy tries reaching out. He just wants to hold him. Tell him everything’s going to be alright. But it’s too late.

His father lifts the half-empty bottle in his hand and points a finger. “You’re not my son anymore. Get out. NOW.”

The younger boy trembles but jams his sneakers on, heart in his throat and face hot with humiliation and fear. The door slams behind him. Sixteen-year-old Thomas stands there with no coat in the pouring rain. No plan. Just the echo of his father’s voice reverberating in his chest, settling somewhere deep enough that he’ll still hear it years later.

Who am I?

Desert sun slams into him mercilessly. He’s nineteen, wearing fatigues that cling to him after months of training. Eyes squint, stinging from dust. His nose scrunches from the stink of diesel. The whup-whup of helicopter blades chop overhead and sweat rolls down his back beneath the gear.

“Good soldier, Kinard,” his commanding officer says, clapping his shoulder. The pride is heavier now, the weight of the hand feels like a medal and a shackle all at once.

Tommy notes the compliment: Good soldier. Good for who?

That night, Tommy sits on the side of the bunk watching as his younger self writes by flashlight: Dad, I hope I’m making you proud . The pen hovers after that line. What’s the point? Even in the memory, Tommy can see the hurried way the page gets folded and tucked away in a drawer like Thomas isn’t sure he wants the words to exist at all. 

Who am I?

Early-mid 20s Thomas stands on a scorched airfield, headset crooked around his neck, scanning the sickly, orange sky. Rotor blades cut through the static-filled radio chatter.

And there he is—Reyes. Nineteen, cheeks flushed with head and adrenaline, goggles shoved up into his hair and oil smudges decorating him. That grin again. Always that grin, like the world can’t touch him. 

“You worried about me again, Sarge?” Reyes calls, tossing a lazy salute. “I told you. I’ve got this.” 

Tommy hears his younger self’s reply—low and weary, already knowing it won’t sink in: “That’s what worries me.”

The memory shifts ahead. The light changes. It’s nighttime now, a copper moon bleeding through smoke. Radios crackle with panicked voices. The smell of diesel and sounds of gunshots hit like a punch even from above where Tommy sits with his younger self.

“Reyes, stand by for orders,” Thomas says into the mic, voice tight. “Do not load up. That’s an order.”

A pause.

Reyes hovered across him in the air, looking right at him for a second before grabbing the radio. “I’m not your responsibility.”

The voice is almost drowned out by the sudden, roaring silence that follows Reyes’ descent into the gunfire. The headset buzzes with dead air. Older Tommy feels it—the clawing dread, the frantic staccato of his own heartbeat. The tightness of his throat. He watches himself grip the receiver so hard his knuckles pale, begging into the void: “Reyes, come in. Reyes, do you copy? Reyes… please…”

Eight minutes of nothing.

Maybe he saved the others. Maybe he’s just taking cover. Maybe he just forgot to take his radio with him or he lost it. What if they have him? What if they’re torturing him? What if they kil—

Until.

“Reyes didn’t make it.”

The memory freezes. Older Tommy sits closer, looking at his younger self in that moment—the blank stare, stiff shoulders, clenched jaw, and a breath caught somewhere between inhaling and never letting it out again.

Tommy wants to grab him by the collar and shake him, tell him the thing that will keep him from hardening into stone after this. But he can’t change it. All he can do is feel the truth settle into his bones:  This isn’t the last of my losses.

Peeling away, the scene flickers with glimpses of a fire from some other life—his living room, a half-empty glass in one hand, and Eddie beside him. And some mention of Hestia? Who’s Hestia?

Who Am I?

The dark opens again and the air smells like overcooked coffee and stale sweat. Somewhere in his late 20s, he’s in the locker room at Station 118, and the man barking orders from across the room wears the rank with a sneer: Captain Gerrard.

“You wanna be respected here, Tommy? You don’t let ‘em see you sweat. Don’t get too chummy with the probies—you never know if they can be trusted to last. And for Christ’s sake, don’t let ‘em think you’ve got… tendencies .” The last word drips like poison.

Older Tommy watches himself nod stiffly, jaw tight, absorbing the lesson like it’s survival. This is where he learns the smirk. The throwaway jabs. The armor. The cold reception and cruel jokes—that spill out of younger Tommy’s mouth before thinking—that makes him wince just from watching it happen. The regret from becoming comfortable with doing anything he could to distance and keep himself safe may never leave him.

Never again .

Who Am I?

Now he’s walking the pier at Harbour, the salt in the air cutting through the familiar tang of diesel. Station 118 has a new captain, Bobby Nash, but younger Tommy needed a fresh start. 217 is quieter, friendlier, less interested in sniffing out weakness. Here, the armor cracks a little. Here, he can breathe without constantly checking his corners.

Suddenly, a flash of lightning above the roaring waters. The thundering of rotor blades under control of his hands—just barely. The emergency call that puts him in the sky over a capsizing cruise ship. Approaching the belly of the ship, riddled with wind and salt spray, the 118 crew yell out something: Who Cares!

Older Tommy gives the crew a look. Is that their motto? Man, they really went downhill after I left. There’s something about the way younger Tommy is staring at the two men though. One with his arms locked on tight like this helicopter’s about to get blown apart. Eddie… Diaz? The other grinning through the salt spray like an idiot, shouting something he can’t hear over the rotors. Buck? No. Evan!

Something shifts in his chest the way those two work together and risk danger to save the capsized victims. Even later in quiet moments, he realizes he’s looking for them in a room without meaning to. How their stubbornness and their kindness sand down the already softening edges.

He doesn’t have to ask “Who am I?” this time.

The answer is here in the way Evan’s laugh gets under his skin and the way Eddie sits there with him appreciating it. It’s here in the way a sweet voice appears, whispery, but just loud enough. “I… I love you. Both of you.”

That’s… not my voice.

The whisper dies.

A blinding white flash swallows the scene.

Rain slams his face. Asphalt grinds into skin. Blood pours from someone’s wrists, dark and vivid. Eddie shouts. Sirens beep—no, wail. Somewhere, far away. Tommy shakes, clamping over the wounds, pressing hard.

Time fractures. His own heartbeat hammers in his ears. Older memories claw up. His father’s screams. Reyes’ last words. Gerrard’s sneer. None of it matters. Only this. Only Evan.

“Why, Evan? Why?”

A Few Minutes Ago.

The door to the supply closet gave a soft click as it swung open. Half in the shadow stood Eddie, standing stiff as if caught doing something he shouldn’t. His right hand was curled loosely at his side, knuckles raw. Buck’s gaze snagged there instantly, his breath catching. Without thinking, he reached for Eddie’s fist. “Let me see.”

Looking down at the bloodied fists then back up at him, Buck's wide, wet eyes regarded him almost with pity. Slowly, he guided Eddie back into the closet. Not that he could go anywhere with his huge wheels blocking the way. 

The paramedic didn’t flinch when Buck poured the sting of antiseptic over his knuckles, but the muscle in his jaw betrayed him. “You didn’t have to—”

“You know,” Buck began, now pulling the gauze out of its crinkling wrapper,  “You and Tommy… you give so much to take care of me. Always holding me together, always telling me I’ll be okay. But no one ever makes sure you’re okay.”

Holding a piece of the gauze, Eddie looked at him with so much love his heart could break. “It’s not your job to worry about us. That’s our job, cariño.”

Buck shook his head as he wound it carefully around Eddie’s hand, his fingertips brushing skin more than they needed to. “If it were me in your place, you wouldn’t think twice.”

Eddie could almost hear Tommy's voice laughing in his head: Let him help, idiot.

He tucked the end of the wrap in neatly, still holding Eddie’s hand when the sharp wail of alarms tore through the quiet.

Both their heads snapped toward the hallway. Then at each other.

Moving instantly, they pushed the wheelchair aside and rushed down the hallway, Eddie’s bandaged hand holding up Buck’s waist. The duo rushed through the door just in time to see Tommy’s eyes flicker open. For a breath, the relief was almost overwhelming. But then his gaze darted wildly, breath coming fast and shallow, and Buck knew before he even looked at the monitors—Tommy wasn’t just awake. He was afraid.

“Firefly,” Tommy choked out. “Y—You’re okay.”

Buck looked at Eddie then back at Tommy. “Thanks to you. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Tommy’s eyes rolled back into his head.

“Tommy!”

Chapter Text

Slivers of brightness threaded through the darkness behind his eyelids in a persistent manner, like someone whispering his name over and over.

Sounds followed.

Steady beeps. Hushed voices and rhythmic swishing of a machine cycling air. He’d been in enough hospitals, military and civilian-alike, to realize the not-so-subtle music of life support when he heard it. That was… concerning.

Every inch of his body buzzed with a dull, sluggish ache, as if someone had taken a jackhammer to his ribs and then politely put them back together with duct tape. And his throat hurt like he had something jammed down it.

Slowly, he blinked the ceiling, and the rectangular, fluorescent lights embedded in them, into focus. The haze started to burn away as shapes sharpened and voices got names. Bobby. Chimney. Hen. Eddie. And—

“Tommy?”

Even doped out of his mind, Tommy would’ve recognized that deep yet surprisingly squeaky voice anywhere.

Turning towards the sound—slowly and painfully because his neck was staging a rebellion—he saw them. Hen and Chim hovering off to one side next to some white coat, Bobby at the foot of the bed, and right beside him, Evan in a wheelchair? And Eddie with fresh gauze wrapped around his hand? All of them gathered around nervously like their loved one was in a hospital. Well…

The members of the 118 held their tongues, not wanting to bombard Tommy with so much stimulus when he’s no doubt coming out of something deafening.

The last thing he remembered was the roar of something coming down around them and the sickening feeling of falling without being able to catch himself—or Evan. 

Tommy’s throat worked through the dryness until he croaked. “W—What’s going on?”

Bobby took the lead on this one. “You’ve been under a medical coma for a few days. Suffered brain swelling, broken ribs, lung trauma… broken leg. Eddie and Buck called after they said you’d woken up, but you passed out again.”

Almost simultaneously, Eddie and Buck both swallowed.

“That’s one way to get a few days off,” Tommy rasped, voice dry as dust.

Chim barked a short laugh, clapping a fist into the other hand. “Still a smartass. He’s fine.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” the white coat said, stepping up to him with a flashlight. Holding his weak eyelids open with her fingers, she flashed the light in both of his eyes. “Welcome back, Tommy. I’m Dr. Chopra. How are you doing?”

He shrugged. “I have itches in places I can’t scratch.”

Dr. Chopra chuckled. “In case of anything, it seems like he at least maintained some sense of humor. Unless he didn’t have that before.”

“No, no,” Eddie cleared his throat, lips twitching into a grin. “Chim’s right. That’s our Tommy.”

Throwing an attempt at a devilish wink at him first, Tommy turned his head toward Buck. Pale and bruised, probably in places he didn’t know about. A little skinnier than usual. But breathing and wrapped in his hoodie like a half-unwrapped Christmas present.

Narrowing his eyes, Tommy asked, “Why are you in a chair? Is that… mine?”

Buck looked down. “What, the chair?”

“No, Hot Wheels , the hoodie.”

The doctor continued to do some checks. Meanwhile, Hen coughed to cover her laugh and Eddie turned his head away, but Tommy caught the curve of his mouth.

“Eddie brought it for me. He thought it’d help having something that… smelled like you.”

“I didn’t know he was sentimental,” Hen teased, raising her eyebrows.

Eddie rubbed the back of his seemingly stiff neck. “Shut up, Hen.”

“If it helps you sleep at night.”

“I—I think it’s adorable,” Tommy assured them.

From the foot of the bed, Bobby unfolded his arms and stared at them with the softest eyes and proudest smile a dad could ever have. Even through all their trials, his boys were back and getting to care for each other again. Naturally, they probably still had a half dozen more tribulations to go through, but for now, they can breathe. Hopefully.

“Can we get back to the chair?” Tommy asked.

“I’m fi—okay,” Buck said quickly, lifting his hand in the true scout’s fashion. “Sort of. Someone was a bit dumb though and put himself in harm’s way.”

Tommy’s voice went soft for a second as he mustered whatever strength he had to hold Buck’s hand and rub a rough thumb over his knuckles. “And I’d do it again, darling.”

Bobby stepped in with a little smirk and nodded to the others. “Okay, that’s enough flirting for now. Eddie, Tommy, is it alright if we take Buck for a minute?”

A bright red tomato named Buck nodded sheepishly.

“I will be on my way out as well,” Dr. Chopra added. “Due to the extent of your injuries, Tommy, we would like to keep you here for another week or so just to run some tests. Make sure you no longer need ventilation, make sure you’re no longer experiencing swelling, set you up for physical therapy, etc.”

Tommy nodded, soaking in the information. “Thank you. That first part explains why my throat feels so hoarse.”

Taking the moment of silence, Hen ushered out a resistant Chim (“Wait, I have to show them my gifts!”), murmuring something about coming back later with some coffee. Bobby paused on his way out with Buck, gave Tommy a nod that said We’re glad you’re back , and then the door clicked shut behind him and the doctor.

And just like that, the room was quiet. Except for the audible thumb-fiddling happening in the corner of the room.

Noticing, Tommy asked, “You got something on your mind, Ed?”

“No, no, not really,” Eddie replied, shifting on his feet with his hands in his pocket now.

That couldn’t be right. Tommy might be on the brink of passing out again, but he could tell when his boys were going through something. And clearly, something did happen judging by the freshness of that gauze and the blood seeping through. “You sure?”

Taking a breath, Eddie began. “How are you so calm despite everything that happened? We almost died. You almost died.”

Tommy winced. “But I didn’t. And I would never dream about leaving you or Buck all alone.”

He swallowed as soon as he said that, images of Buck bleeding out on bare asphalt all alone flashing through his mind. Looking anywhere else for a distraction, his eyes flicked to the wrapped hand. “You planning to tell me who you punched or do I have to guess?”

Eddie’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“Please tell me it wasn’t a nurse.”

“No,” he said with disbelief that Tommy could assume that. Then again, there were his days in the fighting ring. “Of course not. It was a metal rack. And medical supplies. Maybe a wall.”

For a man who wasn’t too expressive, Tommy’s eyebrow worked its way up, waiting for an explanation. Was this man squaring up with saline bags? And he still lost? “That poor rack.”

“It’s complicated,” Eddie sighed.

“You’ve met me, right? My whole life is complicated.” Painful images flashed through Tommy’s mind again—memories stretching across a long moment. Put it away, Tommy. Not now. “Eddie, look at me.”

It took a second. But Eddie did. Slowly.

Tommy didn’t push. Holding his gaze, he nodded toward the gauze-wrapped hand, subtle as a breeze. “Tell me what happened, Ed.”

“I—I… I couldn’t breathe.”

He stared ahead, somewhere beyond the bed, chest cinched tight like someone had dropped a weight on it and he was reliving the moment. “Buck was breaking down in front of me and I was so tired. I mean the kind of tiredness that gets in your bones .”

Eddie’s voice cracked at the edge. “He needed me. And you weren’t awake yet. And I just kept thinking— if I lose both of you, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Tommy’s eyes watched as Eddie’s feet paced back and forth across the room with serious concern. When’s the last time Eddie’s been this stressed? His muay thai partner, his confidante—he’s always seemed as cool as a cucumber. Except for his angry outbursts now and then. But this was deeper.

“I climbed into that bed with him. Pulled him into my arms hoping it would fix him. And maybe it did. A little. He let go and screamed so loud I think it might’ve ripped something out of me.”

The sound still echoed in Eddie’s chest, raw and jagged.

Eddie dragged his non-bandaged fingers through his hair, eyes burning. “I tried to ask myself: What would Tommy do? So I told him he wasn’t at fault. That he was brave and brilliant and loved. That you’re fighting to get back to us—to him. I kissed his forehead and told him to take a breath when I was holding my own. What kind of hypocrite am I?”

Tommy’s ears perked. “You’re the kind who still dragged him out of hell when no one else could, Ed.” He let out a soft, raspy chuckle that tugged at his bruised ribs. “Trust me, Ed, I’ve known real hypocrites. You don’t even come close. You did what you had to do and what he needed. That doesn’t make you a liar.”

Eddie slowed down his words. “I meant every single word, but I felt like I was lying. Because you were still up here all alone, possibly never waking up.”

Moved by Eddie’s struggles, Tommy gently nodded his head as best as he could. “I’m so sorry you had to carry this all alone, Eddie. You shouldn’t have. I should’ve been there.”

“You should have,” he confirmed. “But it’s not your fault. You’re not the one who’s to blame.”

“...Then who?” Tommy wondered.

Eddie responded with absolution. “Him.”

Aside from the monitors, the world itself froze—holy ghost included.

“Capital H-i-m, Him?” Tommy asked, raising a weak finger toward the ceiling.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Not that I’m religious, but… can I ask why?”

Eddie pointed at the door. “That boy out there keeps getting hurt over and over. If it’s not from something burning or shocking him, it’s himself doing it. If it’s not physical pain, it’s emotional. Over and over. He doesn’t know how to live a life without pain, Tommy. Why should someone so gentle have to keep fighting so hard to live?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean the big guy caused all that pain.”

“You know, I went to the chapel.” Eddie laughed once, short and bitter. “I hadn’t set foot in a church in years, but something pulled me there. I think I wanted to be mad at something. Anything that wasn’t myself. So I screamed at God.”

Tommy blinked slowly. “You what?”

Eddie’s hands came down like they slammed down that day against the wooden pew. “I told him he wasn’t real. Or worse—he was, and he just didn’t care . Maybe he didn’t cause that pain. But he sure as hell is responsible for allowing it to happen.”

Tommy’s fingers perked up, coaxing Eddie forward. He laced their hands together without hesitation.

“I get it,” Tommy said softly. “Sometimes you just need someone to blame. Even if it’s the sky. Did it help?”

“No,” he admitted. “It just made me feel… small. I thought I could be strong for the both of you. But I walked out of that chapel and when I later saw Buck still not eating and then saw you still comatose, I just... I’m so goddamn tired of pretending I’m fine. 

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Tommy said softly. “You’re allowed to feel scared, Ed. You’re allowed to grieve the things you’re afraid of losing. Even if they’re still here. You’re allowed to fall apart. It doesn’t make you lesser. It just makes you human.”

"I think I'm more than just scared... I love you both too much to risk a life without. I have to be strong." Suddenly, he was young Edmundo again flinching while his dad yelled at him to be the man of the house.

For Tommy, the air in the room thickened under the potential weight of those words. Surely, he was saying he loved them in the sense of them all being family? Unless?

“...You don’t have to be the strong one all the time,” Tommy added, squeezing his hand. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Eddie’s jaw flexed.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

There was another beat before Eddie managed a breathy, “I missed you. And your words of wisdom.”

Using up whatever strength he had left, Tommy smiled, a little crooked, tugging Eddie’s hand gently to his chest. “Yeah. I’m annoyingly good at those. But I know. I missed you, too.”

Since Tommy woke up from his coma, Eddie’s mornings started with dropping Chris off at school and then zooming out of drop-off to beat all the parents and gym-goers in traffic to the corner shop for some freshly squeezed orange juice. Followed by another quick drive to Buck’s favorite café where he stumbled over his words while ordering.

Hands braced on the ledge as Eddie’s gaze narrowed at the chalkboard menu like he was trying to decipher hieroglyphs. 

“What can I get you?” the septum-pierced barista smiled encouragingly.

“Can I get a, uh…” He squinted at Buck’s text. “A vanilla… mocha espresso latte with… two pumps of hazelnut, three pumps of caramel, milk, light whip, one shot of blonde espresso on top… and—Jesus—extra foam?”

Barely phased, they asked. “Hot or iced? And what kind of milk?”

Eddie panicked, looking at the line forming behind him and then back at his phone, scrolling to see if there was any mention of that. “Uh… hot? Regular milk?”

“Iced and oatmilk it is.”

“Thanks,” Eddie muttered when he received the cup, picking it up with his non-bruised hand.

Back at home, Buck—who was no longer wheelchair-bound—was beaming. “YOU GOT MY ORDER RIGHT!”

“Why are you like this?” Eddie asked as he dropped the drink in front of him.

Buck took a long, satisfied sip through the straw. “Because life is short. And it’s cheaper than therapy.”

“Buck.”

“I know, I know. I’m doing my research first,” Buck promised, showing Eddie the numerous tabs on his phone screen. “Be honest, does this make me seem unwell?”

Depression.

Do I have depression??

Symptoms of depression

Symptoms of depression reddit

Does crying burn calories

How much therapy is too much therapy

Therapists/doctors near me that won’t judge me if i cry immediately

Does the LAFD’s insurance cover therapists

Do you tip your therapist?

Eddie’s right eye twitched. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

“Now let’s go see our favorite pilot.”

Tommy’s mornings started with physical therapy—after downing a bunch of differently-colored meds. At first, he was a torment of trembling limbs and breathless winces just from trying to sit up without help. Eddie was mostly there in half-coffee and half-guardian mode, ready with jokes that landed badly enough to still get a laugh out of his patient. Steady hands rubbed soothing circles on Tommy’s back when the pain meds wore off just a bit too soon.

Because Eddie was in better shape than the other two, he went back to work. Bobby wasn’t too eager about having him back so soon, but there’s no way Eddie could leave A-shift down three whole bodies. This just gave Buck more opportunities to spend one-on-one time with Tommy and also keep himself moving around. Plus, he just wanted to learn as much as possible so he could help take care of Tommy once he gets home.

“You know,” Tommy grumbled once, halfway through a grimace as he flexed his knee, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy bossing me around.”

“I do,” Buck replied without missing a beat. He hovered just close enough in case he was needed. “But only because it’s payback for every time you and Eddie have bossed me around.”

He smiled cheekily. “Come on, now. It’s a hard job being your full-time dads”

Pink warmed Buck’s ears.

And somehow, the easiest.

Hospitals had a strange rhythm unique to the outside world. One moment you were tethered to a bed hooked up to a bunch of machines like an electric potato experiment in the elementary school science fair, and the next, someone handed you a clipboard and a pair of pants and expected you to remember how to be a person in the real world.

Tommy stared at his discharge supply bag with the same look he’d given live grenades during military training.

“You sure they didn’t forget anything?” he asked the nurse suspiciously. “Like, I don’t know… another six months of monitoring?”

She smiled with practiced patience. “Vitals are steady. Swelling’s down. Scars are closing up. You’re cleared for outpatient rehab and safe to recover at home. Congratulations, Mr. Kinard. You’re going home.”

“Home,” he repeated softly.

Outside the window, the sun was shining through late-morning fog. It didn’t quite feel real. Somewhere downstairs, Eddie texted him updates about Buck fighting with a vending machine and losing. Twenty minutes later, Eddie arrived out of breath with a wheelchair like he was ready to smuggle someone out of a heist.

“Sorry for the wait. Butler at your service.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re a chauffeur.”

Buck joined them with two drinks in his hand, practically vibrating with excitement, just in time to catch a fed-up Eddie scoffing and rolling his eyes. “Sorry Tommy, the stupid machine wouldn’t give me my drink, but the staff gave me a second one for my troubles. Would you do me the honor?”

The two men just smiled at each other as their boy held out one of the drinks.

Tommy took the drink from him and began twisting the cap. “Of course I can, Evan.”

“So, is this it? Are you officially discharged?”

“I think so,” Tommy said, taking a long gulp and allowing the refreshing juice to cool his throat before continuing. “Unless this is an elaborate prank.”

“Mmmmh,” Buck gasped for air like he’d been drinking from the nectar of the gods breathlessly, “I’m sorry to say this is not a prank.”

“Me too.”

The nurse came by with final instructions and paperwork. Buck leaned over and started reading it upside down, which made Tommy swat at him with his good arm. 

“Alright, alright. Let’s get you out of here before you swing at someone with your IV stand next,” Eddie decided.

“Tommy, can I sit in your lap?” Buck asked innocently.

Tommy blinked. “You want to what?”

“In the chair,” Buck clarified, grinning like a child angling for a piggyback ride. “Just for a second.”

Eddie turned slowly, rubbing his jaw. “Buck, you weigh like two of him right now.”

“That’s not true,” Buck pouted. “Tommy’s got those pilot thighs. He can handle it.”

Tommy, looking both flattered and extremely aware of the pins in his leg, stared up at him. “Medically speaking, I absolutely should not say yes.”

“But..?” Buck wiggled his brows.

Sighing long and theatrically, Tommy gave in. “Emotionally speaking, I’m a weak man. Get in here, kid.”

With all the caution of two people who knew this was a terrible idea, Buck eased down across Tommy’s lap, careful to avoid the injured leg. Tommy grunted in pain and delight, and held on anyway, arms looping loosely around Buck’s waist.

“You’re heavier than you look,” he groaned.

“I thought you were strong,” Buck replied, already resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder with a dopey smile.

"Just don't wiggle your butt too much. Some parts are still working," Tommy winked devilishly.

Buck gasped.

Watching the unfolding disaster with a deep sigh and hands on his hips, Eddie shook his head with a smile.

These two idiots.

The three of them were scattered across the living room like the aftermath of a strangely cozy hurricane.

Along the chaise, Tommy stretched out with a heating pad on his thigh and one crutch leaning against the coffee table. On his phone, he looked at some old pictures from his childhood. The sports teams he's been on. The trophies he'd won. Him with his parents, smiling and happy like the perfect nuclear family with their white pickets fencing them in. Buck was curled up on the floor, laptop open, multiple tabs and windows blooming all over the screen in some manic assortment of avoidance. Eddie had just returned from work and dropped into the armchair with a groan that came from the depths of his soul.

Just as the tension in the room reached that familiar, bracing silence, a soft shuffled echoed down the hallway.

Christopher stood at the edge of the living room in his pajamas, curls slightly mussed and one sock halfway off his foot.

“Dad?” he called sleepily.

Tommy shut off his phone.

Eddie looked up, brows lifting. “Hey, bud. I thought you were already in bed.”

“I forgot to say goodnight,” Chris mumbled, dragging his feet over to the couch and hugging his dad tightly. A hug that soothed the ache within.

“And here I was thinking I was your favorite,” Tommy teased.

“You are,” Chris said as matter-of-fact as a kid could be, giving him a side hug before adding, “But Buck is also my favorite. Don’t tell him though.”

Eddie puffed out a tired but fond laugh as Buck’s eyes misted a little.

Chris padded over and wrapped his arms around Buck’s shoulders from behind. “Are you okay now?”

Buck tilted his head up and offered a crooked smile “Getting there.”

“Good. ‘Cause I want you to be here when I get my new science kit.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Buck promised.

Chris giggled sleepily, then looked towards his dad. “Can I go to bed now?”

Eddie ruffled his hair. “Yeah, buddy. Brush your teeth this time.”

“I already did,” his son replied with a practiced eye roll.

“My nose disagrees.”

Christopher gave everyone one last hug before toddling back down the hallway.

Once he was gone, the silence returned. Buck was still staring at his laptop. The golden hour light slanted through the blinds in neat stripes. It should’ve felt peaceful.

But Buck’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then clicked on something. Then clicked back. Then minimized the window altogether.

Tommy shifted, eyes narrowed. “That the therapist search still?”

“Nope,” Buck responded too quickly, slamming the laptop shut like he’d just been caught watching something truly, unspeakably private. “Just… a game. Solitaire. Very intense game of solitaire.”

Eddie didn’t even open his eyes from where he closed them again on the couch. “You don’t even play solitaire. Do you even know how?”

“I learned when I bartended down in Peru…” Buck muttered.

Tommy snorted. “And when exactly are you planning on scheduling an appointment instead of just stalking psychologists like a jilted ex?”

“I’m not stalking anyone,” Buck argued, offended. “I’m just… doing my research.”

Now, Eddie had to sit up. “You’ve been doing your research for two weeks. I’m pretty sure you’ve memorized the DSM-5 by now.”

“I have not!” A pause. “Well. Not all of it.”

Tommy exchanged a look with Eddie. They mentioned it to each other before—the way Buck was treading in this weird but normal in-between of wanting to heal but being scared to start.

Taking the first step this time, Eddie leaned forward with elbows on his knees. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. “I know it’s scary.”

Buck said nothing, which meant he knew it was true.

Tommy swung his legs over the edge of the couch. “You’re not weak for needing help, Buck. And you’re not broken. You’re just hurt. And hurt people deserve care.”

“I am getting care. I’m here with you guys, aren’t I?”

“You’re also still having nightmares,” Eddie added gently. “And skipping meals when you’re stressed. And deflecting with jokes every time someone asks how you’re doing.”

Buck’s throat bobbed. “I’m trying.”

“We know,” Tommy said, quieter now. “That’s why we’re telling you it’s time. You’ve done the research. You’ve read the symptoms and seen the signs. But reading about healing and actually starting it are two different things.”

“Baby steps,” Eddie affirmed, holding back his feelings. “We’ll be with you the whole way. Always. Pero you deserve proper help.”

Buck’s lips parted, ready to argue, but he couldn’t find the right words. He glanced down  at the laptop again, the glow of the screen still faint against the corner of the table.

“I don’t even know what to say when they pick up,” he admitted out loud.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “That’s okay. You say, ‘Hi, I’d like to make an appointment because I’ve been through hell and back and I’m finally ready to not do it alone.’ Or you say, ‘My name is Evan Buckley and I’m a hot mess.’”

Eddie cackled at that, clapping his hands.

Tommy continued. “Or you can say nothing and let one of us do it for you.”

“No,” Buck decided. “No. I want to do it. I… I need to.”

Leaning back against the cushions, Tommy praised. “Attaboy! I’m so proud of you.”

With a nervous nod and an exhale, Buck opened the laptop again. The search tab blinked. Closing soon . He reached for his phone, already dialing the number on the screen.

Eddie slid off the chair and sat beside him on the floor, resting a steadying hand on his back. Tommy grinned across the room and gave a shaky thumbs-up. 

The phone rang once. Twice. The phone began to slip through his sweaty grip. His thumb trembled against the glass.

A voice on the other end answered: “Hello, this is Dr. Copeland’s office. How can I help you?”

Buck bit his bottom lip. He swore the person across the line could hear his heartbeat drowning everything out.

“Hi,” he said. “I—I’d like to make an appointment.

Later that evening, after Buck made the call and got through the worst of the adrenaline crash, he excused himself to Eddie’s bedroom for a shower. The house quieted in his absence, just the soft clatter of ice as Tommy tended to his knee and Eddie scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

But when Buck didn’t come back for a while, Tommy gestured toward the dark hallway. “Hey Eddie, mind checking on him?”

Eddie didn’t argue.

He found Buck in the dimly-lit bedroom, half-dressed and seated on the edge of the bed, clutching Eddie’s fire jacket in both hands.

Eddie leaned in the doorway quietly, hands in his pockets.

Buck didn’t look up, but his voice carried anyway. “It still smells like smoke.”

Nodding, Eddie said, “Yeah.”

“I thought maybe I’d put it on,” Buck said, a weak laugh in his throat. “Just for a second. So I can feel like myself again.”

Rubbing his thumb over the soot-stained collar, he admitted, “But it felt wrong. Like I didn’t earn it back yet. That, and it’s not my jacket, of course. I’m sorry. I’ll put this back.”

Eddie crossed the room, crouching slowly in front of him, holding Buck’s hands still before he got a chance to put it back on the hanger. “You never lost it.”

Buck’s eyes flicked to him, a little watery and tired. “I know I didn’t. But it feels like I did.”

“Even if you’re not back on the rig yet—and I promise you will be soon—you’re still Buck. You’re still a firefighter. That doesn’t take it away from you.”

Eddie let out a quiet breath, then reached up and gently took the coat from Buck’s lap. “I’m gonna give this to you for a second. Because you need it more than I do right now.”

Without waiting, he draped the heavy material around Buck’s shoulders.

The moment the weight of the worn fabric settled around him, Buck closed his eyes and inhaled the faint, embedded smell of smoke and adrenaline.

Eddie stayed kneeling in front of him, watching with that soft gaze he reserved only for the people he loved. Especially the one here who seemed like he might’ve, even if it was just the tiniest bit.

“You remember what I told you in the hospital?” he asked.

Buck’s lips twitched faintly. “Which part?”

“That you’re not too much,” Eddie recalled. “That you’re everything.”

The jacket sleeves hung a little past Buck’s wrists, but that didn’t stop Eddie from sliding his hands right under and holding onto them. 

“I’m just tired of feeling like a shell. I used to be this fearless kid, or so I thought. And I don’t want to go back to feeling like I’m nothing without a job.”

“That was a tough era,” Eddie laughed. “You’re not a shell though. You’re the guy who runs into burning buildings. The guy who took care of my son and me after a panic attack—twice now. The guy who brought Tommy back to life in more ways than one.”

He paused, softer now. “The boy who held me together when I couldn’t even admit I was falling apart.”

Buck stared down at the floor, overwhelmed.

“Ven aquí (Come here).” Eddie reached up, thumb and index finger tugging his head upwards so Buck could see the sincerity in his gaze.

“That bravery? That fire?” he said, now pushing a finger against Buck’s chest. “That was always yours. I know you’ll find it again.”

Buck exhaled shakily, a tiny, grateful smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. “You’re getting weirdly good at this whole ‘talking about feelings’ thing.”

Eddie chuckled. “Don’t tell Tommy. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Reaching up with both hands, Eddie adjusted the collar of the jacket, his warm fingers brushing against Buck’s neck in a way that’s sure to send sparks flying. Once it was set, Eddie leaned in and rested his forehead lightly against Buck’s.

“You’re still you,” he whispered. “With or without a helmet. Te quiero (I love you), okay?”

Buck’s heart fluttered at the words. It wasn’t as serious as Te amo , but it was close enough. Gentle enough. He closed his eyes, breathing through the knot formed in his chest. “Okay. Thanks for putting me back together… again.”

“You did the same for me. You do . All the time.”

They stayed like that for a moment, forehead to forehead, lips inches away from each other. Eddie almost couldn’t help himself. He dragged a hand up the back of Buck’s nape until he had a handful of curls. Those pillowy lips pouted and leaned in almost instinctively. They were sharing the same breath of air. Just a few more centimeters and—

“Are you two making out in there or emotionally brooding? We have a movie to watch!”

The two opened their eyes and pulled apart. The laughter that erupted out of Buck was music to Eddie’s ears.

Grinning, Eddie rose to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go pick a movie before Tommy makes us watch some vintage old-timey one.”

Buck stood slowly, still wrapped in Eddie’s coat. It was big but somehow just right.

He walked into the light of the living room. Eddie watched as the emblazoned DIAZ on the back of the jacket followed Buck, his name like a shield draped over him. For a fleeting, foolish second, he thought about how good it would look with a KINARD beside it. How right it would feel.

Chapter Text

Buck’s breath hitched against a warm mouth at his neck. Another pair of lips brushed the tender underside of his jaw, barely there yet electric. Vascular hands lightly ghosted over his waist, slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt and tugging until skin met skin. Heat bloomed low in Buck’s stomach, thick and pulsing, as lips painted slow kisses over him.

He arched into it instinctively.

“Easy,” someone whispered, breath warm against his ribs.

“We’ve got you,” came the other voice like a drop of molasses in his ear.

While cupping the back of his neck, a thumb stroked through sweat-damp curls, anchoring him to this reality. Hands traced down the ridge of his ribcage, slow and exploratory. Featherlight fingertips lightly tickled the soft of his stomach in a way that left his muscles trembling.

Buck’s hips shifted—aching. He was suspended in heavenly warmth, limbs tangled, held close between two radiating bodies. Tommy’s hand skimmed across his chest, fingertips brushing against and squeezing a nipple before he leaned in to nibble at Buck’s ear. He expertly slid his tongue out teasingly.

Buck gasped. Moaned.

Eddie’s hands slid past the waistband of his boxers, dangerously teasing the sensitive trail of hair just above where he ached. It was maddening the way he circled around before retreating again.

“Please,” Buck breathed, hips shifting with want.

“Patience,” Tommy murmured against his throat, voice thick with desire.

Winking at the boy falling apart under his touch, Eddie slowly pulled the boxers off with one hand and spit on his other before sliding a finger up to Buck’s mouth. “Get it wet for me, baby.”

Without thinking, Buck opened, lips closing around the offered finger. A shaky and breathless moan hummed out from him as he hollowed his cheeks and wrapped his lips around the digit.

He whined when the same finger pulled back, but Tommy just as soon replaced it with his own, gently sliding his rough finger all over the soft, pink tongue. “You didn’t think we’d let you go hungry, did you boy?”

Eddie’s hand dipped lower than before. Just far enough. Just the lightest pressure where he needed it most. A finger teased the spot, then pushed like it was aiming for a button, slow and careful. Slipping in just barely—

“Buck.”

The voice echoed, distant and unreal.

“Hey. Buck.”

This time, a more insistent nudge.

He jolted awake.

Eyelids fluttered as he caught his breath and the world snapped back into focus. His cheek was still pressed to Tommy’s chest, his favorite pillow in the known universe. No doubt for listening to his favorite sound in the world—his heartbeat. The older man’s arms stayed looped around his shoulders securely. Behind him, Eddie’s thigh was flush against his ass and a hand rested almost awkwardly at the curve of his hip, unmoving but very present.

Damp boxers clung uncomfortably to his skin. And all the warmth in his body ignited into pure mortification.

“Oh my god.”

“You good?” Tommy asked, voice far too casual to be innocent. “Because you were… moving.”

“Squirming,” Eddie clarified, amusement bubbling in his voice.

“And moaning,” Tommy added. “Quite a bit, actually”

Buck groaned and tried to dissolve into the mattress. “I’m dead. I’m officially dead. Please bury me in the backyard and tell no one I’ve died of shame.”

Eddie chuckled, his hand already trailing soothing lines down his spine. “Buck. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I think I… I was—”

“Having a dream?” Eddie offered.

“A very wet dream,” Tommy said with too much delight.

“Oh my god,” Buck repeated, hiding his face back in Tommy’s chest. “Please. Stop talking.”

Tommy laughed, patting the back of his head and smirking at Eddie in the process. “It's alright, Evan. You just got sandwiched between two attractive men. You’re only human.”

“That doesn't make it better. I'm sorry.”

“Hey,” Tommy tugged gently at his curls, coaxing Buck to look up. “We're not mad. Maybe a little flattered if anything.”

“I mean, look at that,” Eddie gestured.

“EDDIE,” Buck yelped, trying to shield the painfully evident hard-on and the beginnings of wetness in his boxers. His face was full-on crimson. “You’re not allowed to look!”

“You woke me up with your moaning,” Eddie teased, laughing as Buck smacked him half-heartedly. “You don't need to be embarrassed, cariño. Honestly, that was kind of… adorable.”

Buck exhaled as the heat prickled beneath his skin. “I still can't believe this is happening.”

“Well,” Tommy murmured, brushing his fingers through Buck's hair with a little grin. “Now we're definitely not letting you sleep in your own bed again.”

Buck huffed. “As if you were letting me before.”

The golden sun had fully crested through the window above the sink by the time they made it into Eddie’s kitchen, warming the edges of the wooden cabinets. The house still smelled faintly of jasmine and lavender from last night’s candles, mixed now with the sharp smell of coffee and a hint of browning toast.

Buck stood barefoot at the stove, wearing a purple crewneck and a new pair of boxers, Eddie was beside him in a dark red henley and jeans with a pan in hand, hands rotating with muscle memory as he flipped chorizo in a pan and then ruffled the freshly-washed curls near him. There was music playing low from the phone on the counter behind them.

Leaning against the counter, Tommy wore a dark blue sweater and braced himself on a crutch with one arm while struggling to slice a tomato with the other. His eyebrows were furrowed in a determined manner, like he was trying to win a medal for Most Stubborn Man Alive.

Buck turned halfway to glance over his shoulder. “You sure you don’t wanna just sit?”

“I’ve been sitting for weeks,” Tommy muttered. “I can't work. I can't help around the house. I’m going crazy. I want to help. I want to fly again."

"You sound like me," Buck grinned.

“You are helping,” Eddie assured, reaching over to swap the knife in his hand with a mug of coffee. “You’re helping by not slicing your own fingers off.”

Tommy gave him a flat look before taking a burning sip.

Buck came over, stealing a tomato slice from the cutting board and popping it into his mouth. “Let us fuss over you,” he said, muffled, juice spilling from the corner of his lip. “You’ll heal faster.”

“I don’t want to be babied. That’s what you’re here for,” Tommy joked, taking a finger to the juice dripping down.

“No one’s babying you,” Eddie said, tugging and guiding him gently by the shoulders toward the barstool at the kitchen island. “We just… I don’t know. We like taking care of you. Let us do that for once.”

Buck nodded his head vigorously, smiling cheekily.

“You guys are manipulative,” he grumbled, licking his own finger.

“Correct,” Buck confirmed with a cheek kiss before turning back around to reach for the fridge handle. Up on the fridge door was a calendar. And on that calendar was today’s date circled in a black sharpie. His feet stuck to the floor.

Still heart-eyeing him in post-kiss love, Tommy noticed and his smile dropped. “Evan?”

The faint clink of plates—topped with eggs, smoky chorizo, and roasted vegetables—echoed on the table and came to a muffled stop as Eddie realized and looked at Tommy. What happened? he mouthed.

Tommy nodded his head towards the frozen Buck.

He blinked. “I—I forgot. My appointment. With Dr. Copeland. It’s today.”

A beat of silence passed.

“C’mere. Sit next to me.”

Buck turned around, a hand fisting into his palm as if cracking his knuckles, and walked over to the adjacent stool where he plopped down. 

“Are you nervous?” Tommy asked softly, closing a hand over the clenched fists.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze drifted to the edge of the counter before pulling down to stare at their joined hands, his own fingers twitching against Tommy’s knuckles. “I’m not… scared. I just…”

Eddie came around from behind the island and pushed Tommy’s mug towards Buck, encouraging him to take a sip. Buck didn’t even blink at the gesture.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say when I get there,” Buck admitted. “It was hard enough pressing the buttons on the phone. What if I freeze? What if I forget what to say?”

“You don’t have to remember all of it,” Eddie murmured, dropping a napkin by the mug and then stroking Buck’s face. “That’s not your job anymore.”

When will this poor boy learn he doesn’t have to do everything alone? 

Buck’s strong jaw flexed against Eddie’s hand like he was digesting his thoughts. He stared down at the cup between his hands, the bit of coffee still on the rim from where Tommy’s lips touched it. The steam curled up and caressed his face. “I should though. I want to be able to stand up for myself.”

“Okay,” Tommy said, getting up from the stool and crutching himself over to the counter. Shortly after, he returned and placed a notepad and a pen in front of Buck. “So we’ll write it down.”

“Together,” Eddie agreed, already pulling out the chair beside him.

The boy looked up at both of them, eyes shining like he still couldn’t believe he’d found two people who cared about him this much.

“We’ll be there,” Tommy echoed, reaching to touch his shoulder. “If the words still get stuck and you get overwhelmed, we’ll talk for you.”

Buck launched himself forward into Tommy’s arms, almost tipping him over. Then turned around and practically lifted Eddie off his stool. “Thank you both SO much. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” Eddie choked out.

“Seriously,” Tommy said, gripping onto the counter like his life just flashed before his eyes. Because it did.

Pulling back from them both, Buck clasped his hands in front of him and blushed heavily. “Still. Thank you.”

The waiting room was uncomfortably quiet. There were the usual sounds of a soft, bubbling fish tank in the corner mingled with the occasional flip of a magazine page and the faint scratch of a receptionist’s pen against a clipboard. Add on the clicks and clacks of the keyboard and Buck’s stomach was ready to somersault.

He sat in the center of a chair that felt far too wide with his fingers drumming against the notepad in his lap. His leg bounced. Then stopped. Then bounced again.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” Tommy whispered beside him, his voice low and teasing as he squinted through his spectacles and penned at the clipboard. Evan Buckley. DoB: June 27. Allergies: Naproxen.

He knew Buck’s stats by heart. And yet he reread each line anyway, double-checking against a sound memory. It was the same tight, mechanical focus he’d leaned on during service, when silence was safer than letting his head slip into old memories.

The sounds of the waiting room were overstimulating. If he didn’t keep moving, keep checking these boxes, his thoughts threatened to circle back—to the slam of a door at sixteen, to words that ingrained themselves deeply no matter how many medals he’d earn after. He pressed harder, almost ripping through the page. Yes, patient has experienced symptoms of depression. Yes, patient has experienced suicidal thoughts. Yes, patient has… attempted.

“I’ll patch it,” Buck mumbled, rehearsing the script on the notepad in his mind. Thank goodness Eddie and Tommy wrote for him because sometimes he couldn’t even interpret his own chicken scratch.

On the other side, Eddie flipped through a few pamphlets on the table with an eyebrow pulled up and his mouth twisted in a way that furrowed his growing stache. What to Expect at Your First Therapy Session, Therapy for Couples, Navigating Intimacy and Consent, How to Affirm Your Partner. He read a few lines from each, then angled it toward Buck with a mocking smile. “Maybe I can learn a few things, huh?”

Although the green tint in his face was more than enough, Buck gave him a look that was equal parts amused and equal parts on the verge of vomiting.

Shoving some of the pamphlets onto the table, Eddie placed the back of his hand flush against his forehead. “Buddie, you need anything? I can grab some ginger ale.”

“N—No,” he stuttered, squeezing on the cardboard back of his notepad until it bent.

Tommy pulled his silver-rimmed glasses off, taking a break from filling out Buck’s allergies on the paperwork. He let his knee bump lightly against Buck’s. “Hey. You’re more prepared than most people ever are. You got this. Breathe.”

Buck nodded slowly, swallowing. “Okay.” Once more with extra certainty. “Yeah. Okay.”

The door beside the receptionist’s desk clicked and creaked open, making way for a petite woman with gentle brown eyes and an oversized knit cardigan to step out of the hallway and into view. “Evan Buckley?”

“That’s me,” he called out, springing to his feet. His long legs bumped the coffee table. Tommy reached out just in time to steady his crutches while Eddie’s hands shot out and grabbed Buck’s elbow.

Unaware of the chaos he just created, Buck raised his hand like a kid answering roll call. “Here!”

The woman smiled, cardigan sleeves slipping down her arms as she gestured him inside. “Come on in.”

He glanced at Tommy and Eddie. “Um. Can—Is it okay if they come with me?”

“Of course,” she said with a smile, ushering all three of them down the hall. “Welcome to my clinic. I’m Dr. Copeland.”

The office was decorated cozily enough to fool someone into thinking it was warmer than the waiting room. Buttery lighting pooled across the cushioned chair and a couch arranged around a small table. Scattered atop the table was a box of tissues, water, and a few fidget toys.

Buck lowered himself gingerly in the middle of the couch, shoulders tucked in and notebook across his lap. Tommy crutched over to his left and Eddie to his right, respectively. He looked at the colorful fidget toys and then at both men. Can I?

Go ahead, Tommy mouthed. Eddie gave a nod of approval.

Dr. Copeland sat across from Buck as he picked up a rainbow pop-it and immediately started poking them one by one. She observed the way his tongue stuck out in focus. “So, Evan. Before we start, I want to thank you for coming in. This is a big step.”

“Yeah, uh…” Buck dropped the pop-it onto the table with a flop and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Thanks for seeing me.”

She offered a small, patient smile and tapped something into her tablet.

“No need to apologize. We’ll take things slowly today. Get a rough idea of where we are and go from there in the future.” She glanced up at all three of them. “Before we dive into anything, I’d like to start with a few grounding questions. Just to get a sense of the dynamic.”

“The… dynamic?” Buck echoed.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed. “Let’s start with the others’ names. Please introduce yourselves briefly.”

The men introduced themselves individually.

Eddie looked to the other man who shifted in his seat, sitting up. “My name is Tommy Kinard, pilot. I met these two several months ago during a rescue mission. Capsized cruise ship. Think Titanic.”

Dr. Copeland’s smile quickly dropped and replaced itself with a look of concern. Before she could even ask, her ears directed her towards the other man.

“And I’m Eddie Diaz, paramedic. Buck and I have known each other for a few years and survived earthquakes, lightning strikes, and sniper shootings together. But we all get along like we’ve known each other our whole lives.”

Across the wall are degrees and certifications legitimizing her decades of experience as a psychologist. She’s heard her fair share of patients who’ve experienced trauma unimaginable to the general public. But even that couldn’t prepare her for the casual bombs just dropped on her. She tilted her head down and blinked slowly.

Tommy turned to Eddie. I think we broke her.

You’re telling me.

Dr. Copeland pushed her hair out of her face before taking a breath. “It sounds like you’ve all been through a lot. And you’ve also known each other for a while. That’s—That’s good. Familiarity helps build trust. Do you all spend a lot of time together?”

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. “Of course we do.”

“We don’t know who we’d be without him,” Tommy contributed.

“Uh huh.”

Buck hesitated, fidgeting with his fingers. “They’ve kind of been… taking care of me.”

She tilted her head so he could recognize her full attention. In her experience, patients who don’t speak much haven’t felt like they’ve been given the time of day in the past. It was important to show interest in what they have to say. “Why is that?”

“He’s been through a lot,” Kinard offered.

Buck picked at the spiral binding of his notepad and bit at his bottom lip. “So have they.”

Dr. Copeland crossed one leg over the other and started scribbling onto her tablet. “We can revisit this in a bit. I just want to learn a bit more. Do you all live together?”

“At my place, currently, yeah,” Eddie confirmed. “And I guess before that we’ve always hung out with each other. But I mean, Buck and Tommy have been recovering since I couldn’—since the last accident.”

“Of course. It’s great that you’re all so close with and take care of each other. But when do you have time apart from each other?” she wondered.

Let Buck be all alone? Yeah right, Eddie thought. “All due respect, if you’re suggesting I—”

Tommy’s hand caught Eddie’s shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry. Sometimes I just… get ahead of myself.”

Dr. Copeland hummed again, tapping a few things into her tablet. “That’s what you’re all here for. How would you all describe your current… relationship configuration?”

”Our what?” Buck questioned.

Dr. Copeland paused mid-tap and looked up again. “Relationship configuration? Platonic, romantic, sexual… roommates, cohabiting partners, polyamorous—whatever term resonates with you.”

The water fountain in the corner clicked on and started humming.

Tommy raised a brow. “I thought this was a therapy appointment.”

“It is,” she said warmly.

“For him, right?” Eddie clarified, jerking his thumb toward the nervous boy in the middle, who had gone very still.

Dr. Copeland tilted her head, scanning her notes. “...This was booked under ‘couples therapy.’ But I’m no stranger to polyamorous relationships.”

Buck’s face paled as white as paper. “Oh no.”

Eddie glanced at him. “What do you mean, ‘oh no?’”

“I—I think I clicked the wrong thing. When I scheduled the appointment. I must’ve hit the wrong button on the phone.”

Tommy held back a laugh with a hand over his stomach. “So that explains the couch setup.”

“I am so sorry,” Buck blurted. “That was my bad.”

Unbothered as ever, the psychologist smiled again. “That’s alright, Evan. I can adjust. We can talk about anything that’s on your mind today. This can be your session—just with two extra voices.”

“She’s being very generous considering you accidentally brought your two dads to couples therapy,” Tommy said under his breath, grabbing his thigh with his hand.

Buck made a small squeak that could only be described as a whimper.

Eddie threw an arm around his shoulders and muffled his ear. “Don’t listen to him, cariño. You’re doing great.”

Tommy leaned in and planted a tender kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Dr. Copeland squinted.

Buck’s head dropped forward as he hid his burning face behind the notepad and groaned. “C—Can we start over?”

Dr. Copeland looked at the clock and estimated how much time was left in their session. “Hmm… sure. You mentioned they’ve been taking care of you. Can you tell me what happened?”

Buck lowered the notepad. “Uh, yeah. A few weeks ago we were involved in a rescue involving a gas leak. I—I thought I had made sure everything was safe, but I was wrong. I put us in more danger. Because of my recklessness, Tommy almost lost his life. Eddie almost lost his mind. And it’s all my fault.”

Eddie threw out his hands. “It wasn’t your fault!”

Buck shook his head.

Eddie sighed.

She scribbled more notes on her screen and then placed the tip of the stylus in her mouth. “Is this accident why you came in today?”

“No, that’s just part of it,” Buck whispered. “I… I think something’s wrong with me. Has been. For a while now.”

Tommy’s hand stilled mid-circle on his thigh. His jaw twitched, like he’d painfully bit his tongue. With a tiny, practiced glance, Dr. Copeland looked him up and down, but he ducked his head and reached for his crutch as though adjusting it had been his intention all along.

Eddie peeked at him from the corner of his eye. It was like Tommy to be more quiet than the both of them. He wasn’t a man of many words, at least until it came to giving advice. But this awkwardness was different.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Evan.” Dr. Copeland pulled at her cardigan. “May I ask what makes you say that?”

“I, uh, have some things written down.” Buck opened the notepad and started flipping furiously. He managed a weak smile at Tommy before clearing his throat, voice soft but trying. “I feel like something’s broken inside. Like a switch. Some days I feel… fine. Even happy. And then it flips, and I can’t get out of bed. Don’t want to.”

Tommy’s hand rubbed circles into his back encouragingly.

“I’m so tired all the time. Of the voices in my head that tell me I’m too much. Or not enough. That I ruin everything. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t get them to stop.”

Buck looked to Eddie beside him who gave him an affirming nod. “Tommy and Eddie… they’re… they’re my everything. Even when I don’t want to take care of myself—" he forced a half-laugh, “—they sit down and hold me until I do. I don’t… I don’t think I’d be here if it weren’t for them. But I need help.”

Eddie slid his hand across his knee and squeezed it reassuringly.

Dr. Copeland watched him for a moment, then let her pen rest on the tablet and folded her hands in her lap. The room quieted around the soft, steady hum of the HVAC. “Thank you for sharing that, Evan. That’s beautiful.” Her voice was small and very matter-of-fact, but not cold. “Before we go on, a couple of direct questions that I ask everyone who mentions hurting themselves on their chart or during conversations: Have you hurt yourself recently? Have you ever tried to end your life?”

His mouth went dry. The pop-it on the table lay forgotten, the little bubbles splayed like tiny islands he wished he could escape to. He exhaled sharply, voice wavering. “I—I have hurt myself before. I have a lot of, um, scars from trying to quiet the voices. But there was one time I—that I—Tommy, I can’t.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. That’s what I’m here for,” Tommy assured, pulling him into a hug and resting his chin on the brown curls. He looked at the doctor. “Evan’s been through so much. There was a warehouse incident where he risked his life. Ran right into the fire. But that same night he went back home and… almost took a bunch of pills.”

Dr. Copeland’s face softened, but her eyes stayed clear and unflinching. “I appreciate you telling me that, Evan. That took a lot of courage.”

Buck peeked out from under Tommy and sniffled.

“Because you said the words ‘almost’ and because you’ve hurt yourself in the past, I want to make sure we put safety first. Do you have an active plan to hurt yourself? When you feel the voices getting loud, do you have someone you can call immediately? A place you can go? I’m assuming Tommy and Eddie?”

Buck rubbed at his eyes and sat on both of his hands to tame the shaking. “N—No, I don’t have a plan. But yes, Tommy and Eddie. Bobby sometimes. Hen. Maddie.” Each listed name came out steadier than the last.

“That’s a very good start,” Dr. Copeland acknowledged. “We’ll make a safety plan together today—numbers, place, steps you agree to take if the urges escalate. If there’s ever a moment you feel you might act on a plan, you call emergency services or a crisis line. You don’t have to face that alone.”

The words landed on Buck’s chest with a pressure he could release only through a shaky laugh.

The psychologist leaned forward slightly, clasping her hands. “I want to ask about how care happens here. You’ve described a loving household that moves together when one of you is drowning. What does that feel like for each of you? Who steps in? Who pulls back?”

Tommy’s thumb rubbed small, methodic circles over Buck’s thigh. He looked up, face open. “We become loud or quiet if we need to be. We distract him, feed him, make sure he stays hydrated. We don’t like leaving him alone.”

Eddie’s jaw tightened. “If someone’s falling, we fall with them. It’s reflex. Sometimes I get so focused on keeping him alive, I can’t imagine pulling back. If anything, I forget to keep track of myself.”

Dr. Copeland typed slowly, but her gaze lingered on the jaw clenches shared by both men. Tommy’s posture was impeccably composed, but even his hands clenched so tight on the couch cushion that his knuckles stood out bone-white. “I see. There’s a strength and a risk there. It’s protective, but it can also make it harder for Evan to practice managing smaller moments of distress because the system is built to rescue him before he has a chance to do it himself. We’re not blaming anyone… but this is a pattern we can evolve with so that Evan has safety without losing opportunities to grow.”

Buck’s grip tightened until his knuckles were white. He breathed out a sound that could have been anger or relief. “I mean, I rely on them. They get me through life. I like that they are here. But at the same time, I hate that I need them all the time. I hate that I can’t do it without them.”

Eddie’s fingers tightened around Buck’s knuckles. “You still do?”

Buck nodded delicately.

Tommy’s mouth creased with the memory of a past conversation. “I told Chim once that it felt like you’d been living without an instruction manual. We only ever wanted to give you the stability you deserve… I’m so sorry, Buck. We don’t want you to ever hate yourself.”

Dr. Copeland smiled in a way that made the edges of the room softer. “And you both still can. Therapy is, in part, building that instruction manual: small, repeatable steps you can use when the voices rise. We’ll make the first page today. What’s one small, doable goal you can try—something concrete that would feel possible and meaningful?”

The men’s faces were patient. There was no rush nor rescue reflex pushing him to say the “right” thing. Interestingly, their presence felt more like a cushion than a net waiting just to catch.

“I’d like to eat without them needing to practically feed me,” he admitted, the sentence soft and surprising even to him. “And get back into the gym again.”

Silence settled between them like a held breath. Eddie’s shoulders and Tommy’s chest loosened as if they’d been holding a weight he hadn’t noticed.

Dr. Copeland nodded, pleased. “That’s an excellent, concrete goal.” She picked up her tablet. “We’ll work backward from that: sensory anchors, grounding techniques to use when the static blares. We’ll pick small tools you can practice this week. But we’ll also set boundaries for Eddie and Tommy—moments they’ll step back enough for you to try on your own and moments where they step in fully. Again, you’re not doing this alone. We’re helping you practice independence within safety.”

Buck’s eyes filled with tears before he could stop them. He let the tears fall, hot and sudden, and the men’s thumbs wiped the corner of his eyes as if it had always been part of the plan. “What if I mess it up?” Buck asked, the question raw.

“Then we change the plan,” Eddie said without hesitation. His voice was steady with the kind of promise that had pulled them out of fires and worse. “Then we try again. We’re not going anywhere.”

Tommy pressed his forehead to Buck’s temple. “We will be boringly persistent,” he muttered. “We will annoy you with check-ins. We will be the most irritating, loving naggers on the planet.”

Dr. Copeland penciled a few notes. “Let’s put everything together. If we find that your urges are frequent or intense despite these measures, we’ll discuss different levels of care such as intensive outpatient care. Options for when someone needs a little more structure.”

“Okay,” Buck breathed. He hiccuped out a laugh that turned into a sob, then a smile. “I’ll try.”

“You’re very brave, Mr. Buckley,” Dr. Copeland said low and even. “You’re all doing something extraordinary. Holding each other like this takes courage. But sometimes, when we get practiced at carrying someone else’s pain, it’s because we’ve adapted too well with burying our own. But the things we bury don’t vanish.”

Buck nodded, mistaking it as meant for him. Eddie hummed.

Tommy ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat.

The drive back was quieter than the drive there. Buck kept his eyes on the road, a hand steady at the wheel. Eddie angled in the passenger seat, unable to stop admiring the boy whose lips moved silently like he was still rehearing all the words he hadn’t needed after all. In the reflection of the rearview mirror sat Tommy in the backseat, lost in his own world.

By the time they tumbled inside Eddie’s home, the air felt looser. Shoes kicked off at the door and jackets draped lazily over the couch arm. Padding down the hall, Buck mumbled something about a shower, leaving Eddie and Tommy standing in the living room with the faint hum of the television still running.

“C’mere,” Tommy said, sinking carefully onto the couch and patting the space against his chest. “Lie down with me.”

Eddie raised a brow but obeyed, lowering himself until his head rested on Tommy’s shoulder, one arm flung across his ribs. The steady thump of Tommy’s heart anchored them both.

After a long moment, Tommy broke the quiet. “Why’d you almost blow up back there? When Buck said it was his fault. Was it because of what happened at the hospital?”

Eddie exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. “Because he always thinks it’s his fault. No matter what happens, no matter how many times I tell him otherwise, it’s like nothing sticks. I watch him carry that weight and… I don’t know how to fight it without yelling. And that’s the last thing he needs from me.”

Tommy’s hand rubbed a slow line down Eddie’s arm. ‘You don’t have to fight him. You just have to keep reminding him that his guilt doesn’t change how you see him. That it’s never going to make you leave.”

“I know,” Eddie admitted, voice raw. “But it feels like shouting into a void sometimes. He never pushes back. Never argues. He just… accepts that he’s broken. And I can’t stand watching that.”

Tommy pressed a tender kiss to his temple.

He lifted his head, staring his big, confused brown eyes into the blues.

“You seemed like you needed it.”

It was Eddie’s turn to question. “Okay, then what about you? You barely said two words in there. Every time Buck opened up, you looked like you were chewing on glass.”

Tommy’s lips pressed together before he turned his head. “I had things on my mind.”

“Like?”

Tommy shifted his arms around Eddie. “Like… stuff I’m not ready to unload in a stranger’s office. Don’t worry. I’ll get there. Just maybe not yet.”

Eddie studied him further, but didn’t push. Burrowing closer into the warmth radiating off of him, he let the silence stretch comfortably this time. At least until the soft shuffle of feet on hardwood broke it.

Buck emerged from the hall, damp curls sticking to his forehead, wearing a t-shirt that stretched snug across his chest like he was finally filling it out again—moreso with pride. Pride in himself for making it through the day. It made both of the men’s throats tighten how strong he was.

“Get in here,” Tommy beckoned.

Without hesitation, Buck crawled onto the couch and immediately curled against Eddie’s chest. There was such little space but he trusted Eddie to grab and hold him in close.

Eddie wanted to complain about the damp curls that pressed against him, but the content, little sigh that Buck let out when Tommy reached his hand over to squeeze his butt was too good to spoil. 

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you,” Chim insisted, jabbing his spoon at Hen like a judge’s mighty gavel, “Baby Jee is a menace. Those tantrums couldn’t possibly get worse.”

Hen threw her head back and cackled. It was almost cathartic seeing her long time friend blooming as a father right before her very eyes and sharing in these parenthood struggles. “Maybe not tantrums, per se, but the attitude definitely picks up.”

“That’s not right, Hen. She’s gotta be lying, right Cap? What kind of design flaw is that?”

Bobby, standing at the counter with his coffee pot, chuckled so hard he nearly spilled as he poured himself a cup. “Sorry to break it to you, Chim, but it does indeed get worse.”

“Is it too late to abor—”

“Chimney!” Hen exclaimed, slapping him on the shoulder.

“OUCH!”

In the middle of all the chaos, Buck slipped into the doors. Tugging at his jacket and shouldering his bag, his shoulders angled toward the sunlight-spilled bay like he could make a break for it. If I cling to the shadows just enough, maybe no one’s gonna notice.

He placed one foot in front of the other. Just gotta wait for Bobby to turn around. And—

“Buck!” Bobby’s voice cut through the clatter of mugs and chair scrapes, grounding the room in an instant. The chatter quieted just enough for Hen and Chim to drop their mugs and turn their heads.

Buck froze like a baby deer in headlights. Then he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to smooth away the guilt and shuffled a step closer. His voice came sheepish. “Sorry I’m late, Bobby. I, uh… had an appointment.”

The apology was automatic but Bobby waved it off with a hand before Buck could spiral into one his rambles. “You keep making those appointments. Everything else can wait.”

In his firehouse, Bobby prioritized mental health. Everyone knew this. With all the struggles that come with the job, having a sound mind was important not just for a person’s wellbeing but for the team as a whole and for the people they rescue—even if it meant taking time off of work.

His tone was gentle and steady like an anchor. “And you know if you ever need to talk—about anything—I’m here. Always.”

Buck’s throat bobbed. He gave a tiny nod, eyes shiny in that way he hate people noticing unless they were Tommy or Eddie.

Bobby clapped his hands together, shifting gears. “That said… you and Tommy are on light duty. Which means no heavy lifting, no climbing ladders, and especially no running calls until I approve.”

Buck groaned, shoulders sagging so far that even his tall stature was affected. “Come on, Cap. I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” Bobby turned away just long enough to pluck something off the counter and held it out like an offering. “Lucky for you, we do have a job that is very light duty yet big on responsibility.”

His chest lifted, pulse quickening the moment he spotted the offering: a clipboard. A grin spread across his face like a kid on Christmas morning as he grabbed the sacred object with both hands. “Oh, this is perfect.”

The rest of the crew groaned in unison. “God help us.”

Chim threw his spoon into his bowl with a dramatic clatter. “Can someone abort me?”

Even Bobby chuckled, shaking his head as Buck flipped the papers and started muttering about the inventory checklist with a zeal for power that made everyone else want to hide.

That is until Eddie and Tommy walked into the room, shoulder-to-shoulder, laughter still reverberating between them. Eddie was shaking his head, grin carved deep, while Tommy joked about something under his breath that made Eddie (lightly) shove an elbow into him.

“I didn’t know we were abusing the elderly,” Tommy pouted, rubbing his arm with fake exasperation. “Evan!”

Running over as fast his still-recovering legs could physically limp him over, he reached Buck and slid an arm low around his waist until their bodies fit together smoothly His fingers curled through a belt loop like they’d done a thousand times before, tugging him closer with an ease that left no room for protest. He bent in, lips brushing against the birthmark adorning his eye. His voice was private, almost purring. “Missed you this morning, firefly. How was your appointment?”

Buck’s breath caught, chest tightening under the weight of Tommy’s warmth pressed into his side. Nobody else could make that word feel so romantic. So… right. “I—It was alright.” He had to hold himself back from leaning into the lips, ducking his head and biting back a smile that only made him look guiltier.

Eddie closed the distance on Buck’s other side, hand firm on his shoulder as he dipped down close enough that the scratch of his stubble could be felt when he pressed lips warm against his cheek. “You’re late, buddie,” Eddie murmured. The reprimand quickly dissolved into something more treasuring: thumb brushing the back of Buck’s neck, leaving traces of lingering heat there as he pulled back just enough to meet his sight with a finger. “Glad you’re here.”

Buck giggled as if he’d been tickled from all sides. He never knew how, but somehow this one managed to balance scolding with a warm touch. “You guys are gonna get me in trouble.”

“Mmmmh,” Eddie hummed. “You both are gonna be in a lot of trouble if you don’t help Christopher with his science project tomorrow. His kit finally arrived.”

Tommy slid an arm around him. “Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

From across the loft, Chim raised his brows at the tinted flush appearing in their faces. “Hen. They literally make each other turn pink.”

She clasped both of her hands together and almost fluttered her eyelashes. “It’s actually kind of adorable the way they get around each other.”

Bobby beamed with the light of a thousand suns.

“Who are you guys right now? I thought we were supposed to be a team!” Chimney snapped them to attention with his fingers. “Hey!”

Hen rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay.”

Buck puffed up like a general preparing his troops for a mission, clipboard clutched against his chest. “Alright, people, we’ve got a schedule to maintain and an inventory to keep. No slacking.”

“Inventory?” Chimney’s voice cracked. “Come on, man. Hen and I already checked everything this morning.”

“Correction,” he stated, pacing down the line. “I am Clipboard Captain Buck. Please address me with the respect this role deserves.”

Tommy barked out a laugh, the sound low and warm as he hooked two fingers through the same belt loop he’d claimed earlier and tugged. “So you’re in charge now? You look way too cute with that clipboard.”

“No, Tommy,” Eddie muttered out the corner of his mouth, his feet together and eyes straight forward. This man doesn’t know what he’s getting into. He hasn’t had the pleasure of experiencing Clipboard Captain Buck before.

Buck lifted the clipboard and smacked Tommy’s hand away with it. “Nope. Not happening. I shall not be seduced. NEITHER of you are derailing me today.”

For a fraction of a second, Tommy felt that old knot of shame and fear. Not for fear of being hurt. No, not really. But being scolded for drawing attention to himself. He shook it off, forcing a breath, and fell into step behind Buck. Meanwhile, Eddie’s breath came out through his nose, sharp, as if to say I told you so.

Planting his feet, Buck’s sharp and sudden voice carried its way across the loft. “Diaz, you’re checking the engine equipment. Kinard, you’re with me on inventory. Wilson and Han, you’re double-checking the medic units. Nash—”

The actual captain crossed his arms and raised both of his brows.

“Nevermind. Get to it everyone! I don’t care how many calls we get. I want every piece of equipment logged, correctly, before the end of the shift.”

For a moment, there was silence. Filled by the low whistle out of several disgruntled employees.

“Looks like someone’s been promoted,” Hen muttered under her breath.

Chim snorted. “Better watch it, Cap. He’s coming for your job.”

Bobby only smiled into his coffee proudly. On one hand, that wouldn’t be a bad idea for the future—once he’s gained a lot of experience. On the other hand, he might’ve created a monster that he wouldn’t be able to tame.

Meanwhile, Eddie and Tommy exchanged a glance over Buck’s head because the unfamiliar sight of Buck all squared shoulders and blue eyes sparkling with control… it did things to them.

Blissfully oblivious to the tender, loving gazes, Buck marched toward the supply closet with the clipboard under his arms and clapped loudly. “Chop chop!”

Everyone grumbled on the way to their respective areas, leaving Tommy lingering behind just a bit longer than he should have. Buck spun around fast, eyes narrowed like a hawk, and pointed the clipboard right at him.

“Kinard. Move.”

Tommy’s mouth opened, ready with a quip. But the words died in his throat when Buck turned away before he even had the chance to quip. Instead, he fell into step behind Buck, trailing him to the supply closet like a measly probie.

“Alright,” Buck declared, yanking the door open and flicking the light on. “Oxygen tanks first. Log the serials while I check the pressure gauges.”

“You mean I log while you play Captan.”

“Yes,” Buck said flatly, flipping the clipboard around and handing it over without a shred of apology. He crouched by the first row of tanks, muscles pulling tight through his shirt as he worked the valve.

The pen scratched the paper as Buck rattled off the numbers with sharp precision. This wasn't that bad. Tommy couldn’t argue if he wanted to. He found himself staring a little too long at the way the boy’s brow furrowed in concentration and how his tongue peeked out when he leaned in. Cute and commanding. It was a feisty side of him Tommy didn’t get to see often.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to get willingly scolded and smacked again by someone so adorable.

Eddie had his own front-row seat when Buck stalked into the bay half an hour later. “Diaz!”

Rag in hand, he turned halfway through polishing the engine panel. “What now, Captain?”

“Did you check all the couplings?”

“Yes, Buck, I checked the couplings.”

“To spec?”

He bristled. “Do you not trust me to—”

“Answer the question, Diaz.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared. But then Buck smirked. Just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. And Eddie’s stomach swooped. Oh, he knew what this was. Buck was playing with fire, daring Eddie to push back.

“To spec,” he stated simply.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Buck remarked. “Carry on.”

As he walked away, the paramedic dragged a hand down his face. “This is going to be a long day.”

But the truth? His pulse was pounding in places it shouldn’t, not from annoyance but from how damn good Buck looked calling the shots.

By the time their takeout for dinner rolled around, the loft buzzed with weary amusement about the new dictatorship that’s taken over the firestation. Any attempts to fake equipment logs were caught immediately and reprimanded. This job was too important to allow any discrepancies.

Clipboard Captain had too much momentum, too much pride in finally being the one in charge. He waved the stack of finished logs in front of Bobby like a trophy. “See? We got through half the list already. No mistakes. This is what happens when you take things seriously.”

Tommy clapped him on the back, the sound hollow. “Yeah, firefly. Real impressive.” His smile pulled itself thinly, more muscle than involuntary feeling.

Hen squinted from across the table, chopsticks held in mid-air. Tommy’s laugh hadn’t landed right and now he was just pushing his food around instead of eating.

Even Buck had glanced up, expecting the laughter to be bright and hearty as usual, only to find it dulled. A ripple of unease went through him, but he pushed it down. It was easier to think Tommy was just tired than to consider he might be upset.

“You good, Kinard?” she asked lightly, but there was an edge to it.

His head jerked up as though he’d been caught adrift. “Yeah. Fine. Just—thinking.” He shot her a smile that faded almost as quickly as it arrived.

Chimney leaned in, wagging his own chopsticks. “You? Thinking?” His face dropped. “Actually, that kind of tracks.”

“Chim,” Hen warned as she studied how Tommy shifted uncomfortably. This was starting to become more concerning. What could be weighing down on his mind?

Later, Buck spotted a set of equipment crates stacked crooked near the back wall. His chest puffed with that same commanding pride from earlier. “Perfect. Let’s get these shifted and remove some of the cobwebs. Won’t take long.”

Eddie frowned immediately. He leaned over from atop the firetruck with a rag in hand. “Buck. Leave it. Those aren’t light.”

He was already crouching down and sliding his fingers under a box. “I’ve got it.”

Tommy, slow like he wasn’t fully present, moved in beside him. “Here, Evan. I’ll give you a hand.” He bent awkwardly, one shaky knee catching against the edge of the crate. His grip wasn’t exactly steady.

Down on the bay floor in seconds, Eddie’s voice was more insistent. “Are you kidding me? Buck—drop it.”

The crate hit the floor with a dull thud, Buck’s head snapping up at the bite in Eddie’s tone. “What? I’m just trying to clean. I have it under control.”

“No, you don’t,” Eddie snapped. “Neither of you do. You just got cleared for duty. Light duty. And you—” he turned on Tommy, frustration bleeding through his clenched jaw, “what were you thinking?”

Tommy gestured for him to calm down with both of his hands. “It’s fine, Eddie.”

“You shouldn’t be encouraging this! What if either of you got hurt?” 

The look of confusion on Buck and Tommy’s face as they switched between each other and then Eddie gave way to a tight flicker of hurt.

“Diaz.” Bobby’s stern voice cut in from the loft. “Office. Now.”

Eddie hesitated, chest heaving, then scrubbed a hand over his face and followed the captain into his office. The bay went quiet. Buck crouched, fussing with the edge of the clipboard to give his hands something to do. Beside him, Tommy let out a slow breath, still staring at nothing.

Bobby shut the office door behind them with a quiet click and leaned against the desk, arms folded. He didn’t yell, didn’t even look angry or disappointed. A steady curiosity took place instead.

“You want to tell me what that was about?”

Eddie tightened his jaw, pacing once before dropping into the chair like the fight had drained out of him. “I—he just doesn’t think. He never thinks. Always charging in, acting like nothing can touch him.”

“Buck’s fine,” Bobby said evenly. “He’s cleared. And Tommy’s a grown man, not a probie. Neither of them are gonna break anything lifting a crate.”

The bouncing in his knees seemed to say otherwise. “That’s not the point. I don’t care about the crates.”

“Then what is the point?” Bobby pressed, voice soft but insistent.

For a long moment, Eddie just sat there staring at his hands while the clock on the wall ticked for each second. Finally, the words pushed themselves out—roughly. “The point is.. I can’t—I can’t keep watching him put himself in danger, Bobby. Not after everything. Not after we just got him back on his feet. And Tommy—he should know better than to let Buck run himself into the ground.”

HIs breath came tight like the words had been choked up for too long. “I try to let things go. I try to keep calm, but sometimes… I can’t. They’re—” He cut himself off, shaking his head hard and pursing his lips like saying too much would make him unravel. “They matter too much.”

Silence stretched for a beat, broken only by the kicking on of the HVAC system.

Bobby straightened from the desk and came around to rest a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “You get frustrated because you care. That’s normal. You know how you’ve been working on letting Chris do more on his own? Even when it makes you nervous?”

Eddie blinked, caught off guard. “That’s different. And Chris—he needs me.”

“He does,” Bobby agreed. “But he also needs space to grow. You said yourself, sometimes you’ve got to fight the urge to do everything for him. Buck's not Chris. But it’s the same lesson. He needs room to prove to himself that he can stand on his own—even while you’re still there for him.”

Eddie sucked his teeth. He turned his head away, but the comparison landed.

“Let’s say that’s it. Buck’s finally getting the help he needs. That’s a journey he has to make on his own. Even his doctor said he needs the independence. And Tommy’s getting better through his physical therapy…”

Bobby took a step back. “What are you implying, Eddie?”

“I’m saying… I don’t know what else to give,” Eddie admitted. “I can’t fix Buck. I don’t know if Tommy even knows how much he himself means to me. Maybe I should just give up.”

The quiet between them was all-consuming like a black hole, forbidding any other sound. A pin could drop, unheard. This was not at all how it was supposed to go. 

“Let’s not be hasty,” Bobby said as casually as he could. “You love them. That comes with good days and bad. Sometimes it means you snap. What matters is what you do after.”

Eddie huffed out a fake laugh. “Tommy said something similar about Buck. Basically said there’s nothing else I can do other than watch.”

“I think you might be misinterpreting what others are saying, Eddie.”

He looked up and threw a hand out. “Am I?”

The Captain folded his arms. “Yes.”

“Then please. Go ahead, Bobby. Tell me what I’m supposed to be hearing.”

Bobby sighed and sat down on the edge of the wooden desk where he worked behind for years. He longed to share his wisdom, but never would he have imagined he’d be trying to help sort out a relationship between three of his firefighters—something which he had no previous experience to pull advice from.

“You’re not going to be able to fix everything and that’s okay. Buck learning to be independent is for those situations whenever you are not around to do things for him.” 

Eddie finally met Bobby’s steady gaze. There was no judgement there. “I just don’t want to lose them. And I don’t have to lose them if I’m not with them.”

“You’re never going to lose them,” Bobby promised. “Not if you keep showing up. However, you’ve got to let them breathe. You can’t bubble wrap them. Just reconsider, alright? You don’t have to decide now.”

Eddie gripped the arm rests of his chair as he pondered before coming to a conclusion. “Alright.”

Outside the office, the bay was too quiet without Eddie’s voice bouncing around and Bobby’s balanced presence to fill the gaps. Buck risked a glance at Tommy.

“Do you…” Buck’s voice came out rough like it’d been caught in sandpaper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you know why Eddie’s acting like that?”

Tommy blinked slowly and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Buck waved the clipboard uselessly then hugged it to his chest. “He looked at me like I was doing something wrong. And you’re…” he put a hand in his pocket, unsure, “You’ve been quiet all day. I don’t know if you’re ignoring me.”

Buck’s voice was softer this time, eyes wide and uncertain. “Did I..? Did I do something wrong?”

The words hit Tommy like a sucker punch. Buck’s first instinct to blame himself—always himself—stung worse than anything anyone could ever throw at him. He opened his mouth but nothing came out because what could he say? That Eddie’s short fuse wasn’t really about Buck? That his own head had been somewhere else all damn day?

It wasn’t his fault. It never was. Tommy wanted to say that out loud, but the words couldn’t find their way out like they used to. Instead, Tommy only managed a faint shake of his head.

“It’s okay if it is. I mean, I know not everything’s about me and I’m trying to unlearn that in my appointments but if I did something to upset you guys—”

Tommy cut him off before his rambling could spiral. “I just… I’ve got stuff in my head. Haven’t figured out how to talk about it yet.”

Buck nodded quickly, using a finger to wipe his eye. “Right. Okay… promise?”

Taking a few steps forward, Tommy pulled his hand aside and slipped his pinky around his until they interlocked and held it between their chests. But in one last move he pulled it towards his own heart. “Promise.”

“Hey, Kinard. You free tonight?” Hen’s voice was loud but deceptively light. Her eyes had that calculating glint that usually meant she was hatching something.

Tommy’s eyes scanned his surroundings until they locked onto her standing above Buck’s head from the loft. When they did, he hummed in confusion.

“I was thinking about a little crew night out. Like old times. You, me, Chim. Maybe tomorrow if not tonight. What do you say?”

Tommy gave a thumbs up. “Tomorrow works.”

Hen’s smile deepened in an almost creepy manner. Something was running through that bald head of hers and Tommy didn’t know if he wanted to find out.

The office door creaked open and Eddie slipped out. His face was too composed like he’d taken whatever Bobby said and compressed it down somewhere unreachable.

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice was tentative, softer than usual. He walked away from Tommy and towards the other man.

Eddie paused mid-step, his back to the boy.

Behind him, Buck’s hand had drifted to his wrist, thumb rubbing slow circles against the skin there like he was now trying to smooth the tension out of himself. It helped a bit that Tommy assured him but something still felt off with their dynamic. “You okay?”

For a beat, Eddie didn’t answer. Then he sighed through his nose and turned around to offer a small smile. “Yeah. Just tired. Don’t worry about it.”

Eddie noticed the shift instantly—the subtle scrape of Buck’s thumb over skin. That old habit. Those scars. “Hey,” he murmured, a warning and a plea rolled into one. Calloused fingers reached out just enough to brush across Buck’s knuckles. “Don’t.” His thumb lingered for a half a second over the same spot before he pulled away.

“I’m fine,” Buck said automatically.

Those two words.

“Yeah, bud. You are.” His hand gave Buck’s shoulder one small squeeze and then he was gone—headed for the lockers.

Two different men, both with the same hollow responses.

And when the shift ended, none of them left together.

Eddie gripped the steering wheel too tight on the way home to Christopher.

Tommy fumbled with the keys to his lonely home.

And Buck climbed the ladder to the rooftop, rubbing his wrist and chasing fresh air that didn’t feel as heavy.

Chapter Text

The ceiling fan made a sound like a tired sigh every time one of the blades caught the air wrong. In a dull way, it was almost hypnotic to the human who lay under it. Flat on his back, Tommy’s face glowed a pale color from the phone balanced on his chest as he embraced the sensation of wind under his lashes. On the nightstand sat a mug of coffee that had skinned over with a thin, tan film he’d meant to stir back in.

Picking up his phone, he scrolled through “Trio Trouble 🚑🚒🚁” again. That adorably stupid group chat name Buck chose with all those little emojis for the three of them glared at him. Down below, memes and half-baked plans spread across the chat in a chaotic but warm mess.

He thumbed lazily past the off-guard photos of him and Eddie, ranging from moments like Eddie with a look of disgust so profound even his mustache expressed it, to suspicious photos of both men in sleeveless tanks and backwards caps. It’s alright, though. Pictures of Buck filling out his work pants could be found within the galleries of either man’s phone to anyone who swiped far enough.

Between the off-guard photos, and incredibly serious running commentaries of whatever documentary Buck was obsessed with for that week, were adorable selfies of that boy with hand-picked flowers that paled in comparison to his radiance. Ever since that evening at the park, flowers were his new favorite thing. And according to Dr. Copeland, a good grounding technique.

His chest squeezed as he got to the most recent message from last night.

Buck: Hope you guys have a good night!

Unread. Unanswered.

Tommy exhaled hard through his nose and put the phone back down. Neither of them had responded. Rubbing a hand down his face, the roughness of his stubble rasped loudly against his palm. “Real nice, Kinard.”

He knew what he was doing—this silence, this retreat. He could name it like any of his old injuries. The same pattern that had carried him out of houses, out of towns, out of relationships before they could end on their own. It was safer to go quiet first. Safer to disappear before someone saw too much.

He could still see the moment clear as day. Watery, blue puppy eyes. A slight tremor in hands returned unparalleled—except maybe by the one in his little voice. Vulnerability in a way one wouldn’t expect from a guy that big. “Did I… did I do something wrong?” God, Buck’s eyebrows squeezed together just enough to make Tommy hate himself for the rest of the night.

Tommy hadn’t meant to flinch. But the past didn’t ask permission. The sound of his father’s voice had come uninvited, sharp and hot. None of you are normal. Your whole existence is sick.

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes until dark colors bloomed behind the lids. “Christ,” he whispered, not sure who he was even talking to. Tommy’s skin has hardened throughout his life. Any hate thrown at him he was sure he could tolerate. But to imagine Buck at the hands of it made his jaw clench. That’s where he’d draw the line.

Buzzing suddenly against his chest, the phone beeped with a new message.

Eddie: Chris refuses to work on his science project unless both of you come over. And I just found out this morning that Tía Pepa’s visiting. Please don’t make me beg 🙃

Bubbles appeared almost instantly.

Buck: On my way!

Tommy’s lips twitched despite himself. He could picture Buck typing, probably still in bed and probably smiling that same goofy grin that somehow melted the tension out of everyone else in the room—except Tommy, apparently. He stared at the blinking cursor in the box. His thumb hovered.

Tommy: I’m getting ready now.

Tossing the phone aside, he scrubbed both hands through his hair before dragging himself upright. His body felt immovable like his home’s gravity had suddenly increased overnight as a way of keeping him tethered to the world.

The floor was cold when his feet touched it. Sunlight cut through the space between his olive green curtains and warmed him in the way his old coffee was supposed to. Staring at the framed photo on his dresser of the three of them, plus Christopher, having a barbecue in the garden, he muttered to the empty room, “I’ll be there.”

The Diaz house smelled faintly of freshly roasted coffee beans, fabric softener, and air fresheners when Tommy arrived at the doorstep. There was something about this place that always felt so lived-in and familiar. Cozy.

“Door’s open!” Eddie called from the kitchen.

Tommy wiped his palms against his jeans and smoothed out his beige jacket before stepping into a disaster-stricken living room. The half-finished successor to Pompeii sat on a flattened cardboard box surrounded by newspapers that didn’t quite catch all the glue and paper-mâché. There were measuring spoons, unopened paint bottles, and a bag of baking soda.

“Uncle Tommy!” Chris barreled in from the living room and launched himself straight into Tommy’s torso. The kid’s enthusiasm nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

“Careful, buddy,” Tommy gushed, picking him up and ruffling his hair. “Any faster and you would’ve tackled me. Also, I thought this was a science project. Not an art installation?”

“Science and art,” Chris proudly corrected. “Buck’s idea.”

Tommy turned. And there he was.

Buck stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up. Dirty blonde curls bounced as he stirred a goopy mixture in a mixing bowl with far more focus than the task required. When he looked up, the sunlight hit his face just right. All soft lines and gentle warmth that Tommy didn’t deserve but got anyway.

“Morning,” Buck said simply, without coldness.

Tommy swallowed. “Morning.”

Eddie emerged from the kitchen with a dish towel slung over his shoulder, pretending not to notice the tension humming like a live wire between them. “Thank you for coming over, gentlemen.”

Buck and Tommy smiled at him lightly. Just outside the window, birds chirped.

“I, uh, I know we have things to—” Eddie cleared his throat, lifting a hand to his scratch at his temple, “—talk about.”

Chris chimed in. “Yes, you do.”

Eddie continued. “But I’m hoping for now you guys can just help Chris finish his volcano and make sure the house doesn’t burn down while I go run some errands.”

“We’re firefighters,” Buck reminded. “Nothing’s gonna burn.”

Eddie pointed a finger at him. “I mean it, Buckley. I want to come home to three people. Not two and a smoking crater where one once was.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chris frowned from Tommy’s hold. “Wait. You’re not staying?”

“Not this time, kiddo. Tía Pepa’s gonna be visiting, but I have to go pick her up. I promise I’ll be back before supper, alright?” Eddie leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to his son’s head and grabbing his keys from the counter. “You and Buck behave. Please stay inland. Tommy’s in charge.”

Tommy wanted to reach out and give his shoulder a squeeze but decided against it. “I’ll take care of our boys,” he resigned.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a silence that felt too large

It was messy and lumpy, but the volcano was beginning to take shape. Chris was elbow-deep in glue, humming a song under his breath. Buck leaned over the table, carefully smoothing down paper strips while Tommy tore new ones from a newspaper and pretended not to watch him too closely.

Every so often, Buck would wobble since he insisted on holding the mixing bowl in one hand in case he needed to double dip the strips in the other. Tommy couldn’t count the amount of times his hands shot out, along with his pulsing heart, ready to grab his waist in case he did topple over. But this was a harmless volcano. Buck’s fine. He doesn’t need the help.

“Careful, bud,” Buck said to Chris as glue dripped off the side. “You’re gonna flood the village before it even erupts.”

Chris giggled and pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand. “Hey! Don’t make fun of my work!”

Buck raised his hands in mock surrender, accidentally brushing arms with Tommy. “Well who am I to argue with the expert?”

“It’s okay, Buck,” Chris beamed. “I have some good teachers to thank for that.”

Buck grinned at that response, eyes flicking towards the other man. “You hear that? He means you too, Tommy.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I heard.”

Buck’s smile faltered just a fraction. Great. Mentally, Tommy was slapping himself in the face for being the prickly cactus to Buck’s balloon. But he didn’t know how to stop being such a downer. As Buck turned back around to brush a layer into place, even Chris could feel the awkwardness linger between them all soft and heavy.

When the final layer was set, Buck stepped back and admired their work. “Not bad, huh? Give it an hour to dry and we can paint.”

Christopher sighed. “Can we eat while we wait?”

“Good idea!” Buck agreed, wiping his hands on a towel. “I’ll make something scrumptious.”

Tommy started to stand. “I can throw something together. You’ve been working—”

“I got it.” Buck smiled. Not in a defensive way, but sure of himself and his capability to make a sandwich. “Remember? I need to learn how to do things on my own.”

Tommy froze mid-motion, caught between admiration for his boy and guilt. Well, not his boy. But as Buck winked lightheartedly and pranced towards the kitchen, he couldn’t help but wish otherwise. He sat back down beside Christopher with a groan like an old man with a bum back.

Leaning towards his ear with both hands cupped around his mouth, Chris whispered, “He’s being weird.”

Tommy almost smiled. Weird is certainly one way to describe Buck. He’d have gone for other adjectives. Cute. Adorable. Hilarious. Cheeky. One of the loves of his life. Sunshine incarnate. He supposed “weird” wasn’t too far off. But he wouldn’t want it any other way. “That’s Evan’s natural state.”

Chris lowered his voice like he was speaking classified information. “No, not that kind of weird. He’s trying too hard to act normal. And dad. And you.”

Tommy stilled for a moment, processing the cognitive ability of this kid in front of him. He was how young and yet this observant? He had to force a laugh to counter the awkwardness.. “You sure you’re not just hungry?”

“Nope.” Chris leaned against the table, watching him with that same knowing look he got from his dad. “You’re all being weird in the same way.”

Tommy sighed and pursed his lips together. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

“Nope,” Chris repeated, this time popping his lips on the third letter.

Tommy rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t mean to make things more awkward. Buck… he’s one of the good ones. The goodest. I just—” He stopped, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Got scared?” Chris offered, voice small but certain.

Tommy blinked. “What makes you say that?”

“My dad does the same thing. When he gets scared about losing someone, he gets quiet. Well, he gets angry first. But I think he misses how close you all were. Buck too.”

Sitting back in the chair, Tommy let out a low breath. “I do, too.”

Chris shrugged and traced a line down the side of the volcano with his finger. The paper-mâché still goopy and lopsided. “Did your dad help you with projects like this?”

“N-No… not really.”

Chris tilted his head, waiting for an answer like he genuinely couldn’t imagine not having one. His curiosity was wide open.

Tommy looked down at the tacky glue between his fingers. The sour smell of wet newspaper clung to the air. “My dad and I didn’t really do this kind of thing together,” he said finally, voice rougher and quieter than he intended. “He, uh… thought that I should be outside doing ‘real’ things. Building fences. Catching fish. Stuff like that.”

Chris squinted. “That sounds boring.”

A startled laugh escaped. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Sometimes it can be.”

“What’d you wanna do instead?”

Tommy glanced toward the jagged edges and crooked symmetry of the volcano. “I did like some of the stuff he liked. For example, baseball. But maybe for other reasons than I should’ve…” he cleared his throat. “I, uh, also liked making and fixing things. Like this. Model cars, spaceships, planes. I used to keep magazines under my bed. Science, photography, uh… stuff my dad didn’t like.”

“Like glue and paper-mâché?” Chris teased.

Tommy’s chuckle carried through the house, but with a weight. “Something like that, yeah.” His gaze drifted, unfocused. “He caught me once. I think that was the first time I realized that some people don’t love you the same after they find out who you are. Or maybe I knew before.”

Chris went quiet, toying with a dried strip of paper until it tore. “That’s stupid,” he said bluntly with the confidence of a child who hasn’t learned to sugarcoat the truth yet.

“What is?”

“Not loving someone. My dad says love’s supposed to be conditional.”

Something twisted itself behind Tommy’s ribs: part-laugh, part relief. On one hand, maybe that means Eddie won’t hate him when he finds out the truth about him. On the other hand, he might want to correct Chris so he uses the right word. “I think you mean ‘unconditional,’ buddy.”

“Yeah. That!”

From the kitchen came the faint clatter of dishes and Buck’s voice humming along to some song on the Hildy pod. The scent of toasted bread, sliced turkey, and melted cheese drifted into the living room with a grounding warmth that Tommy’s childhood house never had.

Chris’ nose also smelled the delicious lunch and his tummy rumbled. “Have you told them yet?”

“Well… no, I haven’t.”

“You should.”

Playfully rolling his eyes, Tommy huffed. “You’re just full of advice today.”

The boy shrugged, completely unbothered. “Buck did say I’m an expert.”

“Yeah, you are,” Tommy affirmed, ruffling his hair gently.

Chris batted his hand away and giggled. “Hey! Don’t mess it up—dad just fixed it this morning!”

Tommy apologized and stood up as Buck called out from behind the kitchen door, “Lunch is ready!” He then burst through the door with two plates in his hands and one slightly balancing on his arm, that he then quickly placed down on the table. “And there were NO fires and NO casualties!"

Walking up to him, Tommy grabbed Buck by the belt loop and pulled him in close where he planted a kiss on his cheek before meeting his wide blues again.

“W-What was that for?” Buck stammered.

“Nothing,” he remarked, reaching up to frame Buck’s face with his big hands like it was a work of art and then kissing his birthmark tenderly. “I’m just so proud of you.”

Then and there, Buck turned red and melted within his hold.

And Chris couldn’t stop himself from snickering in the background.

Eddie had finished his errands early. Groceries packed, dry cleaning folded neatly on the passenger seat, car thoroughly vacuumed, washed, and idling in the afternoon heat. Tia Pepa still wouldn’t have to be picked up for another hour or so. He could have gone straight home, but his chest still buzzed with a kind of restlessness that this checklist he followed didn’t fix.

Parking near the corner juice shop, the one Christopher always begged for (and Eddie always gave in and got him what he wanted since he couldn’t deny those puppy eyes), he stepped out of the car and stood there for a second. The bright green and orange awning fluttered above the door, the smell of fruit and sugar floating into the road. Maybe a juice wouldn’t hurt.

Inside, the blender whirred. A woman behind the counter greeted him, but Eddie hesitated in front of the menu. Every option was so… just so. Mango Madness, Sunburst Citrus, Strawberry Kiwi Explosion, etc. He’d come here enough times to know the names, but there were just too many options. Maybe something simpler. Predictable. Safe.

His hand stretched for the chilled, clear bottle.

“Eddie Diaz,” a familiar voice said behind him.

His hand froze and he turned around to see who at this shop knew his name. There was Father Brian, leaning casually against a high table in a light pink button up. His smile hadn’t changed—warm enough to make you want to confess things even when you were sure you hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Still choosing water over juice?”

“Still keeping tabs on my beverage habits?”

“Only when they’re as tragic as this.” Father Brian walked up to the lady at the counter and ordered for them both. “Can I get a mango madness and a… strawberry kiwi explosion for my friend?”

“Father,” Eddie began, “I appreciate the gesture, but you don’t have to.”

“Nonsense.” Father Brian waved his hand at Eddie then handed a folded twenty across the counter with the same ease he might’ve used in passing communion. “Keep the change. Consider it divine intervention.”

Eddie let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. “Of course you say that.”

“Old habits,” he claimed with a tilt of his head. “C’mon—let’s step aside before I start a sermon in the juice line.”

They moved toward the far end of the counter where the wall was plastered with bright, pastel fruit murals. Outside, a street musician strummed a guitar under the awning which almost bended with the sounds of the smoothie machines churning along.

“So,” Father Brian continued, resting his forearms on the table between them. “How are you, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugged, eyes tracking a drip of condensation sliding down the coolers. “I’m fine.”

“Fine,” Brian echoed softly, as though he tasted something and found it lacking salt. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone make ‘fine’ sound so sad.”

He whispered under his breath. “You haven’t met Buck.”

For a moment, they stood in silence. Sharp knives clattered against the boards in the background.

“When’s the last time you spoke to Him?”

Eddie remembered vividly. That day in the chapel of the hospital where Buck and Tommy had been taken after that explosion. He remembered the smell of the candles. Pounding on the wooden pews and demanding—asking—with tears in his eyes for something gone unanswered. Turning his boots… and his back.

He gritted his teeth. “It’s been a while.”

“Maybe you should. I’m sure He’d like to hear from you.”

Eddie’s head turned sharply. “Yeah, well… I’m not sure the feeling’s mutual.”

That earned a slow, thoughtful nod. “You’re angry with Him.”

“I’m done with Him,” Eddie corrected, tone clipped but not raised. Not in a juice shop of all places. Hands tightened around the edge of the table. “You ever watch someone who deserves nothing but love get knocked down again and again with pain? And you’re supposed to believe there’s some grand plan behind it? Because I don’t. Not anymore.”

Brian’s gaze softened.

“Not just that. Every damn person I love. They keep getting tested, punished, or—hell, I don’t even know what to call it. All I can do is stand there and watch. Whatever.

The blender’s roar from behind them filled the moment. Eddie stared down at his shoes, their edges dusty with time, like everything else in his life that carried some sort of baggage.

Brian said quietly, “Faith isn’t only about believing in God. I’ve learned it’s about believing in something. Even when you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

Eddie huffed. “Yeah? What if the thing I believe in isn’t Him?”

“Then believe in love.”

He said it like it was that simple. That easy.

The barista slid two cups across the counter, sweating with cold condensation. The mango one glowed in the golden sunlight and the pink one smelled irresistibly sweet.

Brian handed Eddie the strawberry kiwi. “Drink up. Hydration for the soul.”

Hesitating, Eddie turned the drink around in his hands then took a long sip. It was bright, sharp, and definitely too sweet for him. But he found himself wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smiling.

“Maybe stop punishing yourself first?” Brian tapped the counter lightly. “You can still choose sweetness, Eddie. Doesn’t mean you forget the bitterness.”

Father Brian gave a small wave and headed for the door, the bell chiming after him. Eddie lingered, staring down at the softening colors in the cup. He stepped out into the light, took another sip, and thought of the two men and his kid waiting for him back home. But first, Tía Pepa at the airport.

By the time Eddie pulled into the driveway with Tía Pepa, the sun had already dipped low enough to spill orange across the roofline. The car smelled faintly of airport café pastries and the floral lotion she always kept in her bag.

“Dios mío, Edmundo, you drive like an old man,” she teased, fanning herself with the corner of a pamphlet as soon as he came around and opened the car door. “We were passed by a bicycle on the freeway.”

Eddie chuckled as he helped her out, taking her small carry-on. “I don’t normally do the driving. Also, safety first, Tía. You didn’t come all this way to end up in the ER.”

“Ah, I raised you too well,” she sighed, patting his cheek affectionately. “Such a gentleman. Too much sense and not enough adventure.”

He placed a hand over the one she used to pat him. “Yeah, you did.”

When they stepped inside, laughter greeted them—real, belly laughter. The kind of sound that made a home a home. Chris was doubled over on the couch, holding his sides that were about to give out. Buck stood nearby in an apron that read Kiss The Chef, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword while Tommy tried to wrestle it away from him.

“Chicos!” Eddie called out, tossing his keys on the table with a jingle and kicking off his shoes.

His aunt gasped in delight beside him. “Evancito!” she exclaimed, brushing past and spinning Eddie like a hurricane in heels. “Ay, look at you! Even cuter than I remember. It looks like you’ve been eating well, sí?”

Buck blinked, mid-spoon duel. “Uh—Pepa? Yes, yes, ma’am!"

She reached up and pinched his cheek before he could dodge. “So handsome. Second only to my Christopher, of course.” To whom she pressed down with a wet kiss that left a lipstick mark.

Chris puffed up proudly from the couch. “I told you, Buck!”

“Guess I’m okay with silver then,” Buck laughed, rubbing at the faint red squeeze mark on his cheek.

“And you,” she turned on Tommy next, eyes twinkling. “This square-jawed man must be Thomacito. Mi sobrino tells me about you constantly.”

Tommy froze like a deer in headlights. “He—he does?”

Eddie groaned quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “Tía…”

But she was undeterred, touching and squeezing Tommy’s arm like she’d known him for years, fascinated by the size of them. “Oh, yes. The brave, strong one with the cleft chin and the kind eyes. I see what he means now.”

If Tommy blushed any harder, he wouldn’t look any different from a tomato. “That’s, uh… very kind of you. Of him. Of everyone involved.”

Buck was grinning like a fool beside him. “You’re adorable when you short-circuit, you know that?”

“Quiet, Evancito,” Tía Pepa scolded, wagging a finger. “Let the man breathe. He’s blushing enough to light up the whole room.”

Chris giggled so hard he nearly fell sideways. Eddie finally gave up and leaned against the counter, shaking his head with a helpless smile. He needed to change the subject before she revealed anything else he told her in confidence. “Dinner smells good!”

“It should!” Buck replied, eyes lighting up as he gestured toward the table filled with a myriad of dishes and one half-painted volcano. “Chef Kinard here supervised while I made the dangerous stuff involving hot butter. We were just waiting on the groceries to top a few things off.”

“Everyone wash up!” Tía Pepa commanded, clapping her hands once. “We will finish making dinner together. Then I will hear all about what’s been happening with my favorite boys.”

As Buck and Tommy moved towards the sink, still laughing, Eddie caught his aunt’s knowing glance. She squeezed his hand before joining the others. “You look happier than the last time I saw you,” she murmured

He just looked in the direction of Buck and Tommy’s easy grin with Chris wedged safely between them and took another sip of the juice he never planned on getting.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he finally was.

The dinner table radiated with the incandescent glow of the lights above as everyone settled around. Dishes of garlic butter shrimp, roasted vegetables and golden potatoes, rice and fettuccine alfredo pasta (Buck insisted on having both), and a plate of soft rolls that Buck baked himself crowded the space. Meanwhile, the half-painted volcano had been relocated to the corner counter like a guest of honor.

Chris sat between Buck and Tommy, who spooned rice and other food onto his plate with surgical precision so that it looked as impeccable as could be. “Uncle Buck, you should open a restaurant.”

“Oh yeah?” Buck asked, eyes bright as he sat down and picked up the silverware. “What would I call it?”

“I can’t figure out everything for you guys,” Chris deadpanned.

Tía Pepa put a hand on her hip and glared at Christopher. “I didn’t realize we were becoming so sassy. Eddie, explain.”

Eddie looked up from the glasses of seltzer he was pouring. “I, uh—”

“My apologies, ma’am,” Tommy interrupted. “He might’ve gotten that dry humor from spending too much time with me.”

“Oh?” Tía exclaimed. “Why don’t you tell me more? Where’s your family from?”

Tommy paused mid-forkful, the question catching him just slightly off-guard. “Uh, well… I grew up in a small southern town, ma’am."

Tía Pepa lit up. “Ah! That explains the manners. And the ‘ma’am.’”

Buck slurped up a noodle and swallowed. “We don’t get that much in L.A. Or Pennsylvania. Wait, I thought you were Italian, Tommy?”

Tommy chuckled. “Both can be true. You wouldn’t last five minutes at a southern dinner table, Buckley. You forget to say ‘yes sir’ and ‘yes ma’am’ and someone’s grandma is throwing a shoe at you.”

That earned a round of laughter. Even Eddie smiled over his glass, eyes softer than before.

“What about your parents?” Tía Pepa asked. “Do they live in L.A. too? I’m assuming they’re back home?”

The table quieted with a respectable stillness. Buck and Eddie were no strangers to family drama. If someone didn’t talk about their family, chances are there’s a reason. And Tommy was never one to bring up Mr. and Mrs. Kinard so they never bothered. Sensing the discomfort, Buck and Eddie glanced at him with their expression open. A silent you don’t have to if you don’t want to.

Wincing, he took a breath and powered along anyway. “Yeah. I’m not too close with them. Father worked on just about anything mechanical. Long hours, rougher hands. Mother kept the house standing. They taught me a lot about surviving… on my own. But I guess I just didn’t grow into the version of a man they expected.”

The other two were so solemn. Buck couldn't help but think this was what's been on Tommy's mind. Hopefully soon he'll get to ask and learn more.

Meanwhile, Pepa’s hand, soft and warm, reached across the table and covered his. “Then you turned out to be better, Thomas.”

Those simple words hit deeper than she probably realized. Tommy smiled tightly at first, then genuine as he fought to blink back tears. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“None of that ma’am business. Pepa,” she corrected, wagging a finger in his face. “You’re family now. And I can already tell you make a mean volcano.”

She poured a little more seltzer into Tommy’s glass with a wink. “Now, you tell me—do you know how to dance?”

Buck nearly spit out his drink, eager to spill this one. “Oh, he can dance. You should see him at karaoke night.”

Tommy groaned. “Don’t you dare—”

Too late. Chris was already chanting, “Dance! Dance! Dance!” and even Eddie couldn’t hold in his grin.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “My leg is still healing, you know.”

“Oh, come on now!” Pepa clapped once and stood, her bangles jingling. “A southern boy who can’t dance? I don’t believe it.”

Tommy held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. You win.”

He rose, pushing back his chair, and took her hand with his own. Pepa was small but commanding. She positioned his palms with practiced ease: one at her waist, the other in her hand. “Good posture,” she teased. “Now, you lead. I follow.”

WIthin seconds, a soft Latin jazz track floated through the bluetooth Hildy speaker and bass notes curled all around them. Tommy moved cautiously at first, testing the rhythm. But within a few bars he found it. HIs steps were smooth and somehow graceful for a man his size. Pepa let out a delighted laugh when he spun her under his arm. “Mira eso! I knew it!”

He smirked. “Guess I still got it.”

“You have more than that, mijo,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Buck leaned in close and murmured to Eddie. “Look at him go!”

He laughed softly, eyes bright. “I didn’t even know he could move like that!”

Tommy dipped Pepa gently, earning a delighted squeal and a glint off her jewelry. “You’re too kind, ma’am—uh, Pepa,” he corrected himself, straightening.

Pepa fanned herself with her hand. “If I were thirty years younger—”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” Eddie warned.

She ignored him and winked. “—I’d steal him from you both. Your turn, Edmundo. Let’s see if you remember how to dance!”

Eddie shook his head and both of his hands. “Tía, I—”

But Tommy extended a hand, that grin on his face softening. “C’mon, Diaz. Humor her.”

Something shifted when Eddie reached out and took the offer. The air in the room seemed to tighten and become more… charged. Buck’s laughter had faded without meaning to. All that could be heard was the pulsing bass as Eddie’s instincts took over and he instantly found Tommy’s shoulder and waist. Remembering its old language, his body leaded sharply and elegantly.

“Ballroom?” Tommy asked under his breath.

“Once upon a time. You move well.”

Tommy used the arm wrapped around Eddie’s incomparable waist to pull them closer until their chests pressed against each other. While he was a bit shorter, Eddie’s body certainly wasn’t small. His muscles rippled under his button-up with every motion.

Buck’s lips parted. He’d never seen them so close before. On calls, sure. When they were both taking care of him, definitely. But like this? Never. Never with laughter echoing just between them like it was a secret. His pulse thudded in his ears as he watched Eddie’s hand slide down around Tommy’s hip, his button up shirt pulling taut with the motion.

The lights above flickered slightly, softly while the two men under it pulled each other, in and out. Their footsteps, while opposite, paralleled each other’s.

Chris leaned forward on the couch, whispering, “Whoa.”

Buck swallowed, smiling faintly with stars in his eyes. “Whoa.”

Eddie’s palm eventually found the curve of Tommy’s back, fingers splaying wider than they meant. The force behind it felt as if he was tugging both of their hips together. The mischievous grin and the way his eyes drank him down like a tall glass of juice should’ve been an indicator that he was.

Tommy’s breath caught. What game was he trying to play? But he figured he could be a bit of a tease back. Just had to wait for the right moment. One turn. Slide. Another step… and one leg successfully eased between until knee brushed against thighs.

Sweat glinted near Eddie’s temple. Get a grip, Diaz. Needing to look away, anywhere, his focus flicked to Buck for half a heartbeat—long enough for their eyes to meet until they turned around and it was Tommy’s turn. Buck’s breath stuttered. This felt like the kind of raw connection that existed only in stories. A connection he wanted to be between.

Tommy caught that look. Buck didn’t say anything but his eyes gave him away. The ache to belong. The wonder behind them. It was the kind of look Tommy himself had worn once many years ago. Maybe even still did.

He swallowed hard and tilted his head down, stubble lightly scraping against Eddie’s, and murmured low enough for only him to hear. “You think he wants to join?”

WIthout even glancing back, his hand pressed slightly harder against Tommy’s back—a quiet but resounding yes.

Slowing their steps until they both faced Buck, Tommy spoke softly. “Hey kid. C’mere.”

Buck blinked and pointed a finger towards himself. “Me?”

Reaching out with an open palm, Eddie confirmed, “Yeah, you.”

For a second, Buck looked like he might refuse. Then he stepped forward. One step. The space closed with the second and third. Before his cold feet could even turn him around, Eddie caught his wrist and guided him in.

As the song wound down to its final minute, the trio swayed together. It wasn’t necessarily a dance. But it was warm. And it felt like home. Caught in the quiet between them, Buck couldn’t hear anything except for Eddie’s warm breath ghosting along his neck and Tommy’s solid chest beating against his. The smell of their colognes mixed into a combination of cedarwood and citrus-y spice.

Buck’s throat went dry. Every inhale and exhale felt shared. Every movement was something intimate. His back brushed Eddie’s ribs, whose hands tightened around his hips. Meanwhile, Tommy’s hands skimmed and caressed the sides of his face.

Buck didn’t want to ruin their friendship. The two men meant so much to him. And they probably wouldn’t forgive him. Much less look at him the same way. Or want to keep working with him. But he couldn’t hold this in anymore. The more the world around them dissolved the more he felt like he would along with it.

Looking up at the man in front and then the man behind, he opened his mouth. “Tommy, Eddie…”

Both men responded in their honey-thick voices.

“Yes cariño?”

“Yes firefly?”

Buck swallowed and began his phrasing carefully. Unfortunately, it didn’t last past the first word. “I, uh…” It felt like a million things were running through his mind. Their bodies continued swaying together in a slow rhythm that did nothing to slow his thoughts.

Eddie’s hands slid higher, one resting flat over Buck’s chest. He could feel the heart hammering beneath it. “You okay?” he asked quietly, as if he didn’t already know the answer to that question.

Their boy nodded, slow and uncertain, then dropped his head back down and to the side. “I just—” his throat worked, dry and tight, “—I’ve been trying to find the right word for weeks. Maybe months.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed, his thumb brushing Buck’s cheek. “Words for what?”

“For this,” he whispered. “For you two. For…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “God, it’s stupid. Forget it.”

Pressing his forehead against Buck’s, Tommy leaned in until their breaths mingled. “Nothing you say is stupid. What did you want to tell us?”

Fluttering his eyes shut, he could sense it all. Eddie’s heartbeat at his back. Tommy’s warmth at his front. The weight of their hands. The quiet ache of being seen. The terror of ruining it.

He drew in a trembling breath. “I lov—”

Before the words could leave his lips, a sharp buzz cut through the quiet. Forgotten on the table, Tommy’s phone rattled against the wood. The persistent vibration filled the room.

Eddie pulled back first, snapping back to reality. Tommy’s hand fell from Buck’s face, slow and reluctant.

“Someone’s being called by a Howie?” Tía Pepa asked, squinting at the screen.

Turning toward the counter, Tommy exhaled through his nose as he grabbed the phone and stared at it for a moment. It kept buzzing within his grasp. He glanced over his shoulder where Buck and Eddie were still framed in the warm incandescent light and forced a smile. “Guess I should take this before Hen and Chim think I’ve abandoned them.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “Don’t worry about the volcano or the dishes. Have a good time.”

Tommy hesitated, then answered the phone. “Hold on, Chim, let me say goodbye to everyone.” Leaning down, he hugged Christopher and his two favorite people goodbye and then lifted Pepa’s hand to his mouth for a kiss accompanied by a wink.

“Tell me next time?” Tommy asked from the doorway.

“Yeah.”

Standing there with an uneven breath, Buck could feel his heart still thumping against his ribs as the door clicked shut.

So close.

He was so close.

The dull crack of billiard balls breaking apart from each other filled the venue. Slouched in the corner booth, Tommy’s thumb traced slow, absent circles in the condensation forming on his bourbon whiskey glass. He didn’t care for whatever tune the jukebox in the corner crooned.

Hen watched him for a beat before smirking. “You know, if you stare any harder at that drink, it might start talking.”

“Nah, he’s not drunk enough for that,” Chimney grinned from on his elbows. “Give him some time though and he’ll loosen right up.”

“Sorry,” Tommy realized, rubbing at his eyes with thumb and index finger. “Zoned out.”

“Zoned out?” Chim repeated like he had to be sure he heard right. Reaching across the table, he tapped on the presumably thick skull. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Hen tipped her chin toward him. “You came straight from Eddie’s, right? How did it go?”

Tommy nodded, a small smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Evan and I helped Christopher build his volcano. Not fully. They might finish it tonight. And we had dinner with Eddie and his aunt.”

“That sounds so sweet,” Hen beamed. “Why do you look like someone stole your puppy?”

He chuckled under his breath. “You ever have one of those nights that’s just… too good? Like it makes your chest hurt.”

“Every time my kid sleeps through the night,” Chim replied.

Hen shot him a look. “Ignore him. Go on.”

The light fractured through the glass as he rolled it within his palm. After a moment, he said “We danced. First with Pepa. Then Eddie. And Evan joined in.” His voice softened. “For a second, it felt like the whole world just stopped moving. Like it was just us.”

Hen’s gaze warmed. “That sounds nice.”

“It was,” Tommy admitted. Even thinking about the moment now warmed his whole chest. “You two ever get that? The kind of moment that’s so perfect you’re just waiting for something to ruin it?”

“All the time,” Hen replied, taking a sip of her beer. “Especially when I’m at home with my beautiful wife and our kids. It feels like everything I’ve endured, everything I worked for, was to get to this moment with them.”

Tommy smiled faintly. His eyes had gone far away again, focused on the ripples in his drink from his leg shaking the table. “I wish I didn’t have to endure so much to find this.”

Hen’s bottle clinked softly as she set it back down. The low amber lights painted more of her face as she leaned in and crossed both arms on the table. “You’ve had to fight for a lot, huh?”

Tommy’s thumb stilled against his glass. “Yep.”

Chimney leaned in as well, voice in a hush. “Is this about your family?” they’d never learned that much about his family from the time they worked together, but he wasn't close, that was for sure.

He let out a short, breathy laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. My old man was southern. Through and through. Christian values. Work harder, talk less, don’t feel, don’t cry.”

Hen folded her arms on the table. “Let me guess—didn’t like it when his son didn’t fit the pre-planned vision in his head.”

“Didn’t like it when his son didn’t hide it well enough,” Tommy corrected.

She gave a quiet nod that said go ahead, if you can.

Tommy rubbed his thumb around the rim of the glass, slow and methodical, watching the ring of moisture spread on the table like a pool of water he wanted to dive into and hide away. He already opened up a bit early. Might as well. “He had this idea of what a man was supposed to be. Beer in one hand, belt in the other. If I cried, that meant I was soft. If I was inside reading instead of outside in the yard, that meant I was lazy. And… if I ever so much as looked at another boy the way I wasn’t supposed to—” He huffed a bitter laugh. “Well, that was one thing he didn’t tolerate.”

Chim’s usual humor dimmed as he realized the confession that was taking place. Come to think of it, he’d never really seen any relationship that Tommy had with a girl last. Not that there were many of them. But what did he mean when he said his father didn’t tolerate it? “Did… did he hurt you? If you want to tell, of course.”

Still, Tommy couldn’t pull his gaze away from the drink. It felt like the only thing anchoring him to this bar right now. “Mostly with words. But sometimes he had to make sure I understood them… fully.” His voice was almost silent now. He could envision that boy reassuring himself: it’ll be over soon, it’s just an episode, he’ll go back to normal after this. “When he got mad, you could hear the whole house go still. Even my mom. She’d just… disappear into herself until it was over. I learned to do the same.”

Hen’s jaw tightened with anger. “You learned to make yourself small.”

“Sometimes the house wasn’t safe,” Tommy’s voice trembled as he ran a hand through his hair as if trying to smooth out the memory. When he was drunk, I’d look for after school clubs, practice, anything. Take the long way home just to give him time to pass out.”

The soft clatter of a glass breaking somewhere near the bar made them all look up for a second. Laughter followed—too loud, too bright. Tommy looked away again, thumb resuming those nervous circles.

“The night he found out… I was sixteen. It was raining so hard it sounded like the roof was cracking open. Found him in my room rummaging through my room. He found some things I stashed, including a note from a boy at school. Dragged me downstairs and threw my secrets in my face. Asked if it was true. I didn’t say anything. But that was all he needed.”

Hen’s hand flexed against her bottle. “Tommy…”

“He started yelling. Then throwing things. Books. Plates. Whatever he could reach. My mom was crying, begging him to stop. I don’t blame her for what happened, but I still remember the sound of the rain hitting the gravel, the door shutting behind me, and her still on the other side of it.”

Chimney exhaled slowly. “Jesus, Tommy.”

Reaching across the table, Hen covered his hand with hers. “You didn’t deserve that. Not then, not ever.”

He gave a small shrug, weary from reliving the story. “I’ve been running ever since. From home to any couch I could find to the military up until here."

Hen cleared her throat. “Are you saying you don’t feel like running anymore?”

“Those two make it hard to keep running.”

“Do they know?”

Tommy looked up. “Know what?”

“Any of this,” she said quietly, gesturing at the story laying between them on the table. “About your dad. About you.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” Chim asked.

Tommy’s mouth opened, then shut again. He pulled his hands back and took a sip of his bourbon, the melted ice clinking faintly. “Because… it’s complicated.

Hen raised a brow. “Complicated how?”

He took a second before answering. “They’ve both been through so much already. Evan’s still finding his footing after everything he’s survived. Eddie’s holding it all together for his son. They don’t need more weight on their shoulders.”

Chim leaned back and crossed his arms. “You’re not weight, Tommy. You’re the reason those guys haven’t blown themselves up already—literally and emotionally.”

“I know,” Tommy murmured. “That’s exactly why I can’t tell them. They depend on me to be steady. The guy who doesn’t crack under pressure. If they knew everything—from what I’ve been through to how I feel now—” His voice caught. “They’d start worrying about me instead.”

“And that would be such a terrible thing?” Hen imposed, tilting her head.

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. They need me to be strong. I can’t be another person they have to take care of.”

“Or,” Chim said carefully, “you’re scared of letting yourself be taken care of.”

“Maybe.”

“What are you really afraid of, Tommy?”

He hesitated. The jukebox hummed low in the background and the smell of fried food hung heavy in the air. “I…”

“Come on, Tommy,” Chim encouraged.

“I love them.” Tommy went on, voice shaking now but certain. “I love them both. The way they laugh and make me feel like there’s still good left in this world. But I can’t tell them that. Because if I do, and it ruins what we have, it’ll destroy me.”

Hen’s gaze subsided. “You’re not gonna ruin anything, Tommy. You’re not some stranger. You really think Buck or Eddie could—would—love you any less for being honest?”

“Maybe not. But I’d still settle for loving them even if they never knew.”

For a long moment, the three of them just sat there as the hum of the bar faded to a distant murmur. Hen waved her hand at the bartender and motioned for one last round before turning back with a devious grin.

“Yeah, no. Here’s the plan.”

The Diaz household had gone still after a long day. The air was scented faintly with lemon cleaner and drying paint from the volcano that sat finished in all its glory on the table. The corner lamp threw a soft glow across the room that caught on the rim of the 3 wine glasses. One of which still sat on the coffee table, full.

Christopher was sound asleep in bed, but Buck was a heavy sleeper. The dreamworld was one of the few places he surrendered completely, second to Eddie’s lap where he lay sprawled out with so much trust. His palm, warm and a little sweaty, had slipped beneath Eddie’s sweatshirt and fingers curled lightly against his ribs. Every few minutes, he shifted just enough to nuzzle closer, his breath warm through the fabric.

Eddie sat there, one hand last in those soft, unruly curls, the other cupping the stem of his glass which he couldn’t bother to let distract him from his little angel.

“Dios mío,” Pepa murmured from the recliner, voice soft but amused. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were a statue. You’re so patient.”

Eddie looked up, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “I haven’t always been. But he’ll wake up if I move.”

“Then don’t move.” Pepa took another sip of her wine, watching from over the rim. “You always were the caretaker. Since you were small, with your sisters.”

“Guess I never grew out of it,” he murmured, brushing a thumb against Buck’s temple.

Pepa’s gaze warmed. “I saw you tonight, Edmundo. Dancing. Laughing. You looked… lighter. You really did look happier.”

He chuckled under his breath. “That was all Buck and Tommy. You know how they are.”

“I do,” she said knowingly. “But I also know what it looks like when someone’s falling in love.”

Eddie’s hand stilled in Buck’s hair.

Pepa smiled, gentle. “You dance like you already are.”

Eddie’s eyes dropped to Buck again. His curls had fallen across his forehead. His lips parted slightly as he breathed, soft and unguarded. He looked so peaceful that Eddie’s chest hurt to look at him.

“They’ve both been through so much,” he whispered. “They both have bigger things to worry about than me. They depend on me to be steady. I can’t—” He swallowed. “I can’t.”

Pepa tilted her head. “And what about you? When do you let yourself lean on someone?”

“I don’t,” he admitted quietly. “If I fall apart, who’ll hold them together?”

Her answer was very matter-of-fact. “They would.”

Eddie laughed, small and hoarse. “You make this sound so easy.”

“Love isn’t easy, mijo,” she agreed. “But it’s easier than you’re making it out to be. You just have to stop running from what’s right in front of you.”

“Is he asleep?” she asked after a moment.

Eddie leaned forward, setting down the now warm glass on the table and then watching Buck’s face for any twitch. “Yeah, he is.”

“Why don’t you try saying it?” Pepa encouraged him. “Give yourself permission.”

His pulse thudded in his ears as his eyes flicked up at her and down at the sleeping beauty. The last (and first) time he’d done this, he was sure they were all about to die. Smoke was closing in around them. It felt like he was about to lose his last chance to let them know how he felt.

Then, he angled closer, close enough that his breath stirred a little twitch. Coconut-scented products filled his nostrils.

“Te amo,” he whispered, the words coming out roughly. “Los amo a los dos.”

Buck shifted in his sleep, a low noise forming in his throat. His arm tightened slightly around Eddie’s waist and that was it—Eddie’s restraint unraveled itself. He bent down and pressed his lips softly to Buck’s birthmark. 

Pepa stood, gathering the soft fabric of her shawl around her shoulders. She also bent down to kiss Eddie’s forehead. Her hand lingered at his cheek. “You’re a good man, mi sobrino. Better than you think.”

Eddie’s eyes glistened. “Gracias, Tía.”

“Hold onto this, cariño. Stop punishing yourself.”

Eddie nodded with a sigh. “I will.”

She pressed another kiss to the top of his head and padded softly down the hall. The light from the lamp flickered against her silhouette that disappeared behind Christopher’s door.

He looked over at the kitchen where a half-full plate sat almost untouched.

Outside, a car passed, headlights sweeping across the wall like a slow-moving wave. Eddie brushed his thumb along the edge of Buck’s jaw, taking in the faint crease between his brows and the way his long lashes cast shadows across his cheek.

“We'll all talk soon. And I’ll tell you both how much I love you. Promise."

Chapter Text

“Walk me through this again?”

Buck threw his head back against the couch arm and groaned at the ceiling with the pure dramatic flair of a renaissance poet. His limbs draped himself all over, curls falling across his forehead and head burying itself in the hoodie. The faint smell of laundry detergent still clinging to the sweatshirt that he most definitely stole from either Tommy or Eddie. It’s a shame their scent was gone but it’s alright. He’ll return it soon and take it back after it’s been worn.

Jee-Yun’s tiny feet padded as she jumped off the couch and moved behind where Maddie sat cross-legged on the floor, holding up a bright pink comb for her to take. “You said something felt… off?”

“Off. Strange. Suspicious. Sinister even.”

“Sinister.”

“You’re not listening, Maddie,” Buck insisted. “They’re acting WEIRD.”

Maddie winced as if she’d just been stabbed when the comb got stuck in a knot and Jee-Yun yanked at it with determination. Why do kids have to be so aggressive sometimes? “Weird how?”

Buck sat up, flinging his arms dramatically. “Eddie gave me flowers.”

“Do you not… like flowers? I thought all those flowers in Eddie’s garden were your doing.”

“No, no, no,” he said with an urgent finger. “You’re not understanding. I mean, yes, I like flowers. But this was different. This time he gave them to me on purpose. On his own. He showed up at the firehouse with an individual, singular red rose—singular as in ONE. Just walked up to me, held it out, said ‘Here,’ and then RAN AWAY.”

She echoed him. “Ran.”

“RAN, Maddie. Like he was fleeing the scene of a crime.”

Jee-Yun cooed with disappointment. Maddie rubbed her scalp where the comb had roughly dragged. “Alright. And Tommy?”

“Oh my god.” Buck flopped backward again, throwing an arm across his eyes this time like a damsel in distress. “Tommy is even worse. He keeps doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The touchy thing.”

“Buck,” she warned with raised eyebrows, “I need you to use actual words.”

He shot up yet again, gesturing to his own face with both hands. “He keeps doing these slow touches. Acting like we’re in a romance movie where he holds my face with both hands and brushes my birthmark and stares into my eyes like he sees into my very soul and existence like—like—”

“Like he’s in love with you?” Maddie supplied casually.

Buck grabbed the nearest throw pillow and buried his face into it, resonating with the whales in the near Pacific. “Sometimes they both even touch me—cover her ears—”

Maddie immediately slapped both hands over Jee-Yun’s ears.

Continuing, he whispered dramatically, “—sometimes they even touch me down there.”

Maddie froze.

Her hands remained cupped firmly over Jee-Yun’s ears—which meant Jee just stared up at her uncle with deeply entertained eyes and rested her chubby little hands on Maddie’s forearms like this was the best show she’d ever seen in her tiny human life.

“...Define ‘down there,’” Maddie said, voice strained and bracing for impact.

Buck stared at the ceiling, wishing he had never even mentioned this because now he’d have to explain it. Unfortunately, divine intervention did not intervene. “My butt, Maddie.”

Someone on the Bachelor declined a rose and walked away in tears. Combined with the tea that was just spilled, the universe must’ve been watching this moment with a popcorn bucket.

Sensing her sudden horror, he let the words tumble out of his mouth. “Not like a grab—okay, sometimes a grab—but it’s usually more like a supportive, protective ‘I’ve got you’ hand on the hip that just… slides down. A little low. And then stays there.”

Jee-Yun kicked her legs in delight.

Maddie did not release her ears. She needed to play this cool before her brother got too embarrassed and never told her anything again. “BUCK.” That was subtle, right?

“Come on, Maddie, it’s not like they’re flirting with me. It happens no matter if we’re hugging or cuddling or even just standing. But that’s normal, right?”

Unsure if she even wants to get into their homoerotic dynamics, Maddie pivoted topics. “It’s not… abnormal. You mentioned they’ve been sneaking around too?”

“They disappear. Together. All the time. It’s like they have scheduled times of the day for them to huddle and whisper. I’ll come into the firehouse kitchen and they’ll just—” He froze with eyes widened into perfect deer-in-headlights panic.

“I see.”

Balloon Buck deflated back onto the couch in defeat. “They’re planning something without me. I just—I don’t know what. And they won’t tell me. Much less acknowledge it’s even happening. And every time I look at them, it’s like there’s a conversation already happening between them that I’m not in.”

His voice cracked a little at the end. “I feel left out.”

There it was.

Maddie softened and removed her hands from Jee’s ears before lifting her into her lap. “That sounds lonely. Doesn’t it?”

A grunt of agreeance came out from the toddler.

Shuffling his shoes against the cold floor, Buck whispered. “You’re right, Jee. It is.”

The air in the room settled as if it was full of feelings.

“Have you talked to Dr. Copeland about this?”

“Yeah, actually…”

“What are you afraid of happening to your friendship?”

Twisting his fingers in the hem of his sweatshirt, he gulped and took a minute to process. “That they’re… pulling away from me. That they’re realizing they don’t actually need me.” His throat tightened. “I’m scared they’re building something together like they were at the start, and I’m the third-wheel no one knows what to do with.”

Letting the truth come out slowly, Dr. Copeland took a sip of her coffee and clasped her hands together. “You know, Buck, I’m really proud of you for admitting to your fears. Most people have trouble confronting them.”

“I don’t think that’s ever been my problem. I think my problem is that I’m too aware of these fears and I never know what to do beyond that.”

“And that’s okay. That’s what we’re here for, right?”

“I suppose,” Buck sighed.

There was a long pause filled with the sound of the diffuser in the corner misting out what must’ve been a lavender and chamomile-scented essential oil. The doctor took a deep breath in the way one mentally prepares themself to open a can of Buck. “Why do you think they’re pulling away from you?”

“Because I almost told them ‘I love you.’ And if they figured out that’s what I was trying to say, then maybe they’re avoiding me because I made things awkward…”

“Let’s slow down there for a moment. What was happening when you almost said it?”

Buck breath stuttered like he was pausing and stepping back into the memory.

Warm lamplight. Faint music. Chris’ laughter and echoing through the house. Tommy’s hand taking Buck’s and pulling him into until his head rested right on his chest, where his favorite sound in the world thumped. Eddie closing in the romantic sandwich from behind and contributing to the sway.

“I felt… safe,” Buck remembered. “I felt held. Not like they were doing so because I need help but because they wanted me.”

His hands mimicked the sway in the air, one hand above shoulder height and the other down below and to the side. “Three words. I had them right there. And I was trying to say it. But then Tommy’s phone rang.”

“And that stopped everything?”

“More like it snapped me out of the moment. They both pulled back. I pulled back. It ended.”

Dr. Copeland nodded slowly. “And since then, you’ve been worried that the moment changed something.”

“Yeah.” He stared at his hands like they were responsible. “Maybe they knew what I was trying to say. And they think I overstepped. I always do. I’m always too much. Just because I feel wanted doesn’t mean I’m needed here. Not really.”

“Buck,” she murmured, gentle and honest, “You are needed. You are not an extra piece. You’re one of the three—all that a triangle needs to function.”

Buck blinked.

Dr. Copeland re-evaluated her approach. “You’re afraid they’re pulling away. I hear that. But let me ask—has either of them done anything in the last few days to suggest they specifically don’t want you close?”

He had to think for a moment, replaying the past week in his head while rubbing his eyes with one hand. “I suppose not. In fact, there was one thing… I don’t know, maybe I’m just hallucinating.”

“What is it?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.

“I—I think Eddie whispered that he loved me.”

Buck clenched his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to bore Maddie with the details of Dr. Copeland asking if he’d be comfortable enough to try medication or how much he still wishes he didn’t exist. Instead, he covered his ears in anticipation of what was to come next out of his sister’s mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Maddie blinked rapidly. Screw trying to contain her excitement. “I’m sorry, back up—REWIND that right now. Eddie Diaz said ‘I love you’ in his HOME while you were in his LAP and you didn’t tell me IMMEDIATELY?”

Jee-Yun, who had absolutely no idea what was happening, clapped like someone just announced the winner of the Bachelor.

“Technically, he might’ve said ‘Te amo.’”

“SHUT. UP.”

“Shut up,” Jee babbled after her mom.

“Explain. Now.”

Buck flailed helplessly. “I don’t know! I don’t know if he meant it like that. He might have been half-asleep! Or he was just saying that because he was tired or relaxed or something!” Buck’s hands flew through the air like exclamation points. “You know how people say weird, soft things when they’re half-asleep.”

“Mom and dad were half-asleep our whole childhood.”

He opened his mouth for a second. And then closed it. Touché.

Maddie pouted her lips. “Buck, why can’t you see that these two men are in love with you? They are constantly, always showing up for you and doing everything that a boyfriend—scratch that—husbands would do.”

She sat there on the floor with Jee-Yun still in her lap, her thumb rubbing slow circles against her daughter’s back, eyes fixed on her little brother like she was trying to study the fragility within him.

Buck felt the scrutiny—like heat blooming across his neck and the tops of his ears. His fingers curled inside his sleeves tightly. “I know what you think is happening,” he muttered, “But I don’t think I’m… someone… who people should—you know.” His shoulders shrugged small and helpless as if that might soften the confession.

Maddie’s face crumpled as little as she possibly could. This wasn’t about her, but it ached so much how broken her little brother felt. Maybe always did feel. Jee-Yun patted her cheek, sensing it.

He kept his gaze low, shoulders folding inward as his body closed in on itself. “I mean, it’s me, Maddie. I’ve always been the guy who tries to fix things, but that’s because I break everything in the first place. Eddie and Tommy already have so much on their plates…”

His breath trembled. “And the idea that the two of them—my favorite people—might actually want me back? It feels impossible.”

She lifted Jee-Yun and set her down before sitting on the couch next to him and pulling him into a hug and sharing a steadying breath with him. “Oh, Buck.”

Pulling away, she wiped her tears with one hand and used the same to wipe away his. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“If you can find a way to help me tell them I love them, that’d be great. I already screwed it up the first time.”

Maddie stuttered in real time like she was rearranging pieces in her mind. She furrowed her brows. “Wait. ‘The first time?’ What do you mean?”

Being dragged to his doom might be better than living through this moment.

Crossing her arms, she stared him down. “Adult words.”

 “I almost told them I love them.”

Jee-Yun gasped. Either that or she hiccuped. It was hard to tell. Maddie took it as the former.

“Buck!” she squeaked, grabbing a couch pillow and smacking him in the arm. “You absolute—why didn’t you lead with THAT?”

“I’m sorry!” he whined. “But it was when they were holding me. Together. And I could feel Eddie breathing behind my ear. And Tommy’s heartbeat right in front of me. It just started tumbling out.”

Maddie’s mouth dropped open.

“I had the words,” Buck whispered. “Right there. Right on the edge of my tongue. Tommy was encouraging me to say whatever I had to say. And then his phone had to go buzz and the whole moment shattered.”

Maddie pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes going huge, sparkling. “Oh my god.”

Buck nodded miserably. “Yeah. I hope they didn’t hear what I was saying at all.”

“And Tommy… he encouraged you?” she asked, voice quieter now.

A deep shade of red began to overtake his face as he twiddled his thumbs. “He pressed his forehead to mine and told me nothing I say is stupid.”

Maddie reached for his hands and pulled them into her lap. “Evan—”

“Nope,” Buck said, pulling away his hands. “Don’t Evan me. You’re driving me crazy over nothing.”

“You’re already crazy.”

“I don’t think that kind of language is allowed to be used against the mentally ill.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No excuses. Evan Buckley—those men are in love with you.”

“Stop being ridiculous. They are not in love with me.”

“Those men are in love with you!” Chimney declared.

Buck jolted so hard the plastic scoop slipped from his fingers and clattered against the inside of the shaker. A puff of protein powder shot up into his face. He coughed, eyes watering.

“W—What?” Buck stammered. “Did they say anything?”

At the top of the stairs, Hen took in Buck’s wide-eyed panic, the smirk on Chim’s face right next to her, and the exact words that Madie had hissed at her over the phone last night. She lifted her boots and stomped down on Chim’s toes as hard as she possibly could through the durable material.

He yelped embarrassingly high. “Ow—what the hell, woman?”

“Eddie said something, didn’t he? Or Tommy? Oh my god, did I make it weird? Did I—”

“Nothing,” Hen cut in quickly, plastering on her medic voice. She spoke as soothing and calm as she would to any patient despite her deceiving words. “Chim’s having… an episode.”

Hopping on one foot like a flamingo, Chim glared and pointed accusingly at her. “An episode of being correct.”

Another stomp.

“OW—okay! Fine! I’m having an episode of shutting my mouth.”

Buck’s brain buzzed. He set the shaker down a little too hard. “Why would you even say that? Have you spoken to my sister?”

“Uh, no?” Chim questioned. Should he have spoken to Maddie? Does she know something I don’t?

Hen exhaled sharply through her nose, hoping he’d get the message that she’s going to kill him later and Karen’s going to be picking out his coffin. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just dramatic. And has a death wish.”

Buck looked between them, suspicion creeping up his spine like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. “You guys are being weird. Everyone is being weird. Edmundo. Thomas. Now you too, Henrietta?”

Hen’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Okay. First of all, stop with the government names. Second of all, you need to relax.”

Buck stared at her like she’d just suggested he “calm down.” Which she totally did. That was the same thing. Same meaning. And he had a little thesaurus ready to prove any objections otherwise. “How,” he asked blankly, “exactly does one ‘relax’ when one’s friends are being so quiet?”

Hen opened her mouth—

“STATION 118, RESPOND TO REPORTS OF A PERSON STUCK IN AN ARCADE MACHINE.”

Everyone blinked.

“Uh, that was not me,” Hen declared.

Everyone groaned.

The arcade was a riot of sound and color: 8-bit music beeping from speakers, thunking of skee-balls, shrieks of laughter, and the relentless jingling of ticket counters spitting out long paper chains. Neon lights painted everything in radioactive washes of primary colors. The air smelled like fryer grease, stale popcorn, and the faint syrupy sweetness of fountain soda soaked into the sticky carpet that probably saw multiple generations if not civilizations.

The machine stood against a wall near the rest of the claw games, with flickering LED borders doing their best to look inviting. Up close, the machines just looked smug—rows and rows of rubber ducks, stuffed animals, candy bars, and various trinkets taunting the teenager whose arm was currently lodged past the metal of the prize chute.

“Get me out of here!” he begged, cheeks flushed and shiny with sweat. His breath fogged the glass every time he panted.

Buck knelt in front of the machine, his knee pressing into the questionable carpet. He braced one hand on the glass in solidarity and angled himself so he could see the kid’s face reflected faintly in the panel.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Buck soothed, voice sliding into that softer register he always used with panicked people and kids. “You’re gonna feel a little pressure when Tommy pulls your wrist. Or a lot of pressure. Potentially a bone-grinding sensation like your skin is being scraped off. But definitely nothing serious—”

“BUCK,” Eddie snapped.

Tommy, standing behind him, pinched the bridge of his very strong nose. “Maybe don’t lead with the bone talk, kid.”

“Now you guys wanna talk to me?” Buck grumbled, ignoring Eddie and Tommy’s correction as he leaned in closer to the kid.

“We’re literally surrounded by clowns and animatronics,” the teenager whimpered, gesturing vaguely toward the mascots and cardboard cutouts with his free hand. His trapped arm jostled the machine, making the trinkets rattle off the shelves. “This is how I’m gonna die. I’m too young to die. Please don’t let me die.”

Buck’s breath warmed the cold glass. “Relax. You’re not dying in this metal coffin. Not on my watch.”

He could feel eyes on them. Clusters of kids with oversized (and probably overpriced) prize buckets that Bobby tried to zone away from the crime scene. The LED lights stuttered over the gear they hauled in just in case their initial attempts didn’t work.

“Buck!” Bobby called out. “Come on, let’s get going.”

“Okay,” he responded before turning back to the kid. “What’d we learn?”

Sniffling and blinking through his panic, he whispered. “Stealing is wrong…”

“And?” Buck prompted gently.

“That I’ll never do it again.”

“And?” Buck repeated, tilting his head, eyes kind but unrelenting.

Long pause.

The kid shifted, face crumpling with shame. “And to always check if there’s a camera.”

Buck smiled, bright and satisfied. “Correct! See? Growth.”

Eddie’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. There’s no reason that encouraging crimes should be this cute. “Buck, why are you like this?”

He shrugged, the motion making his turnout jacket creak. “Positive reinforcement. If you’re gonna do something, do it properly.”

“You’re teaching him how to commit theft more effectively,” Tommy deadpanned, putting a hand on his hip. It was impossible to get upset at his adorable enthusiasm.

Buck twisted just enough to glance up at him. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Pilot.”

“No, I, uh, don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“He literally steals helicopters,” Buck told the kid conspiratorially, like he was sharing deep government secrets. The boy’s eyes went round. “Big ones. With the swirly blades.”

Tommy made a strangled noise. “I do not steal helicopters, I just—”

“Semantics,” Buck said bluntly, nodding his head toward the other two men. “He would steal them and take this one on dates. They probably are again for all I know.”

“Alright.” Tommy exhaled, stepping closer. The arcade lights flashed across his face—blue, red, and even shades of pink—softening the worry in his eyes. He came down into a crouch beside Buck, the fabric of his uniform tightening over his thighs. Their shoulders brushed, warm through layers. “Evan, what are you talking about?”

The question landed square in his chest. Not because it was aggressive—because it wasn’t. Honestly, Buck wasn’t even completely sure why he felt so angry.

Eddie hesitated for only a second before mirroring Tommy on Buck’s other side, boots crinkling faintly on the sticky floor as he knelt. His knee bumped Buck’s close enough that their legs lined up three pairs in a row, a solid line.

His hand settled lightly at the back of Buck’s neck, thumb pressing into the tense muscles there. “Yeah, Buckaroo,” he murmured, just for him. “What’s going on? You need something?”

Buck’s ears burned. Hopefully, the neon lights hid it.

“In case you guys forgot,” the teenager reminded them, arm gone slack and numb from all the blood not flowing through it, “I’m still stuck in here.”

Buck swallowed, forcing his focus back to the kid. “Right. Sorry.”

He began making a mental checklist. Trapped limb. Small space. They needed something slippery to keep the kid from yanking and hurting something important.

“Okay,” Buck decided, more confident now with them around him. “We need lube. Hen, Chim?”

“On it!” Chimney called from somewhere behind Bobby. Moments later, Chim rushed towards them with a bottle and his voice echoing across the beeping machines. “Lube coming through!”

Half the arcade turned.

“Lube?!” the teenager squeaked, hiding his face from his friends.

“It’s a medical term,” Buck lied smoothly. “We’re just gonna make your arm nice and slippery so we can slide you out of the machine, okay? Nothing weird.”

Chim coughed into his fist to hide a laugh. Hen was definitely biting the inside of her cheek as she crouched down to check his condition. As she straightened, she gave Buck a look that said I will be laughing about this forever and retreated to give them space.

Buck applied the substance liberally, even around the prize chute just in case. The kid shuddered at the cold, sucking air through his teeth.

“There you go,” Tommy murmured, one big hand bracing the back of Buck’s shoulder so he didn’t lean too far into the machine. The weight of it was nice.

On the other side, Eddie’s palm settled low at his back, thumb absently tracing half-circles through his jacket. “You’re doing good, babe.”

Buck’s heart thudded under his ribs, out of sync with the arcade music. Or maybe in sync. He couldn’t tell the rhythms apart. He swallowed again, throat suddenly dry. “Okay, on three, you’re gonna exhale and pull back slowly. No flailing. Just smooth and steady. I know your brain is screaming at you to panic—ignore it. Listen to my voice instead.”

The kid nodded rapidly.

“Ready?” Buck asked.

“Ready,” the teen whispered.

The other men confirmed resoundingly.

Buck drew in a breath and squeezed the kid’s arm once in reassurance.

“One…two… three.”

The rest of the shift was proof that karma heard everything and could not, would not let go of a grudge. By the time the sun started dipping low enough to paint the sides of the high-rises a golden orange, the 118 had to check on someone who drank their boba too fast and had the heimlich maneuver administered on them by a good samaritan. Followed by a scary but small office building electrical fire that was quickly dampened by a fire extinguisher. And an influencer’s failed attempt at deep-frying foods that unfortunately did not have any safety solutions nearby and did burn down the shed it took place in.

Of course, they responded to a woman whose boyfriend was quite literally stuck in a wall after trying to re-enact the kool-aid man. Hen took solace in knowing her wife would never be dumb enough to do anything like that. Their son Denny, on the other hand…

Buck was tired in a happy, but buzzing sort of way—slowly coming off of an adrenaline high with his skin humming and hands still smelling faintly of nitrile gloves and hand sanitizer. Though every time he turned, he caught a glimpse of the others. Hen and Chim were no doubt tired from all the first aid they’ve been performing. Meanwhile, Eddie and Tommy in the corner of his eye with their heads bent together and voices hushed. And Bobby just couldn’t wait to go home after this.

However, there was still one last call:

“STATION 118, RESPOND TO REPORTS OF STRUCTURAL COLLAPSE AT A ROOFTOP NIGHTCLUB. MULTIPLE CIVILIANS INJURED OR ENTRAPPED.”

In the engine, Buck buckled into his seat as the sirens wound up, city lights already streaking by as they pulled into and rushed through the traffic.

“Rooftop bar downtown,” Bobby called over the roar. “Temporary stage. Looks like the lighting truss collapsed and there’s reports of a compromised railing on the North side. Watch your footing and keep away from the edge unless absolutely necessary, understood?”

“Copy,” everyone answered.

Tommy’s hand reached across and held Buck’s thigh on the seat as the truck hit a pothole. He left it there just long enough that Buck felt its warmth through his turnouts before the man pulled away like nothing happened.

Staring straight ahead, Buck could feel his earlier conversation with Maddie coming back to him. Don’t be stupid, he told himself. Focus.

The engine pulled up parallel to the building and adjacent to the police cars. From the street, Buck could hear over the sirens and flashing lights the distant thump of muted bass as people clustered around in club outfits and streaked mascara.

“Welcome to the scene, fire captain,” Athena smirked.

“Thank you very much, sergeant,” Bobby winked as he led the way inside. “LAFD, coming through!”

Their pulses pounded and lungs burned as they climbed all twenty flights of stairs in full gear. When they finally burst through the roof access door into a wall of chaos, they took a moment to catch their breaths and take in the scene.

The rooftop bar looked like an influencer’s dream venue. String lights zig-zagged overhead and a DJ booth still pumped out music and colors in one corner. Theming could be seen all over from the golden chairs, purple drinks that shimmered with gold specks, and a dancefloor lit up with the outlines of constellations.

Except for the lighting rig that now lay collapsed like a drunken, metal spider with one leg hanging partly over the glass edge, groaning ominously.

Under the twisted frame, a cluster of people were trapped in a tangle of cables and metal. Someone kept trying to climb out, only to make it shift even more.

“Kill the music!” Bobby shouted. “Turn it off!”

Fumbling for a moment, the DJ eventually shut off the music until silence crashed down over all of them, broken only by sobs and groans.

“Buck, Tommy, you’re with me on the truss,” Bobby ordered immediately. “Hen, Eddie, Chim, assess and triage the injured and keep people away from the edge. Nobody goes near that railing unless they’re tied off.”

Everyone sprung into action. The first three carefully mapped out the scene and stepped carefully to the fallen structure where Bobby could see up close where the base of the structure had buckled under the weight of everything. The whole thing had slid toward the edge, gouging grooves into the floor and pulling it along with it.

“Alright,” Bobby murmured, dropping into his calm, commanding tone. “We’re going to stabilize this in place before we even think about cutting someone out. Buck, I want you to secure it across the middle there.”

Buck nodded, stepping forward, but a hand clamped around his forearm.

“I’ll go.”

Buck turned. Tommy’s grip was firm enough to feel through the jacket, eyes sharp and a little wild.

“Tommy, I—”

“You can work from here. I’m closer to the edge anyway, I’ll—”

“It doesn’t matter who does it,” Bobby blurted. “We need to strap someone in and get working now.”

Buck’s eyes flicked between Tommy and then their captain. “I got this. Strap me in.”

Within minutes, Buck had a harness clipped over him and rope anchored to a secure spot far away from the glass. 

“You good?” Tommy asked quietly, fingers skimming the strap at Buck’s hip one more time. The touch lingered just a bit too long for coincidence.

“Yeah,” Buck said, throat dry. “I’m good.”

The moment Buck stepped toward the slanted truss, the wind shifted. Up this high, the breeze whipped across the rooftop and tugged at loose curls of his hair. The smell of alcohol and hot metal blended together in a thick haze over the fear.

He crouched low, boots gripping against the fractured flooring as he moved with slow, deliberate precision. The harness tugged against his hips and ribs with each inch he advanced.

Down below, Athena could be heard barking orders through her cruiser’s speakerphone at stubborn civilians who refused to listen to her initial kind and gentle warnings to move back and out of danger.

Meanwhile, Hen, Eddie, and Chimney spread out like a triage machine. The three snapped on gloves with practiced speed and herded everyone into different categories based on the kind of medical attention they’d need. 

Eddie was sharp and efficient. “Ma’am, please hold pressure here.” “Sir, stay awake for me.” “Here’s a dressing, Hen.” “Chim, help me lift this person.” But his gaze kept cutting back to Buck and Tommy like a compass locked for North. Each look held notes of barely concealed panic: Buck is near the edge. Buck is in danger. Something could give. Please don’t fall.

“Diaz,” Hen muttered under her breath as she worked. “He’s tied off. He’es fine.”

Eddie didn’t take his eyes off Buck. “He shouldn’t be the one that close to the drop.”

“He's the quickest and strongest,” she reminded him. “And Bobby asked him specifically.”

“That doesn’t mean—” He stopped, jaw flexing once. “I just don’t like it.”

Hen didn’t need to say the rest: You hate not being able to protect him. And you hate even more that he doesn’t need you the same way anymore.

Back at the truss, Buck reached the center span and worked with Bobby and Tommy to stabilize the structure. Their palms were sweating inside his gloves, breath fogging in the cool air. His shoulder blades burned—though that could just be the weight of two sets of eyes staring at him.

“Easy,” Tommy murmured, voice tight. “Slow breaths. There you go.”

Buck paused and glanced back where Tommy stood a few feet behind him. Despite all the flashing lights, Buck could clearly see the panic hiding under his calm. But Tommy wasn’t afraid of the height. He’d flown higher and dangled from even worse. Tommy was afraid of losing him. Of not doing everything he could to protect him—protect his story from ending prematurely.

“Buck!” Bobby’s voice snapped him back. “Talk to me. Status.”

He cleared his throat. “Appears secure. I think we’re alright to go ahead and get these people out.”

The truss groaned loud enough for the whole rooftop to hear. Shooting up to his feet on instinct, nearly dropping the bandages, Eddie screamed out, “Buck!”

“I’m okay!” Buck called back without looking, sticking a thumbs up in the air. “Just shifting weight.”

“Easy now,” Tommy’s voice came steady over his shoulder, tracking each and every moment. “Rope’s got you. I’ve got you.”

Eddie’s hand brushed his calf as he ran up and stepped over a cable. “I’m right here.”

If you guys get any closer, you’re going to merge into one person, Buck thought, but he surged forward anyway under the strange wave of warmth flowing through his muscles and limbs now.

“Ma’am?” he called to the woman under the metal. She clutched a friend’s hand, eyes wide in terror. “We’re going to move this off of you, okay? Don’t move unless I tell you.”

“I can’t feel my leg,” she cried.

“That’s okay. Not feeling okay is okay right now. We’ll get you out of here safely.”

Wedging the struts into a good angle, he gave a signal. Behind him, Eddie and Tommy worked together like they were sharing a brain and passed along more material to pile under and create an opening.

It felt like old times. Almost—if you ignored he way Eddie’s breaths came slightly too fast or the protective way Tommy was harnessing and positioning himself like a human barrier between Buck and the railing.

When enough space had opened up, Buck prepared c-spines around their necks before they even dreamed of pulling out the woman and her friends. “Chim, will you be ready for her legs once I get her?”

“Ready!”

Bobby watched his crew hard at work as he and the others lifted the structure. This was the kind of teamwork he loved to see and the kind of leadership that made him so proud of Buck.

Quickly, Chimney and Hen pulled out the civilians to safety and began checking their vitals and looking for any impalements and circulation errors.

But as the structure rose a few inches, the weight redistributed and the metal shrieked. The entire mass tipped a bit sideways, sending a shower of screws and spotlights tumbling across the floor and over the edge.

“Look out!” someone yelled.

Before Buck could even react, Eddie’s arm locked around Buck’s torso, yanking him away from the edge. At the same time, the rope at his hips went taut as Tommy hauled hard on the line.

For a weightless second, Buck’s boots left the rooftop. With the harness biting into him as he was pulled back, he collided chest-first with something unyielding and then momentum carried all of them in a downward tangle like dominoes.

Buck landed sprawled across Eddie and Tommy on the non-collapsing part of the roof, all three of them a messy pile of turnout coats and harness straps. Eddie’s back and Tommy’s shoulder thumped the deck with a grunt and their helmets knocked into each other.

Behind them, the spotlights where his boots had just been, tumbled across the rooftop and crashed in the clearing, splitting open with a spark and a puff. If he hadn’t moved… well. No need to think about that.

For a heartbeat, everything shrank down to just the three of them in that moment. It wasn’t hard with all the dust swirling around and blocking their view of others. And no one else could see the way Buck’s knees wedged between Tommy’s thighs and hooked over Eddie’s hip. Or how Eddie’s arm locked around his waist like a seatbelt with his hand fisted in the back of Buck’s jacket. And especially not the way Tommy’s palm rubbed absently where it had found the side of his ribcage—he couldn’t not touch.

Buck lifted his head a bit. His brain had clearly left the premises because all he could muster was a weak “Hi.”

Tommy huffed out a laugh that would’ve been a sob if this situation went any other way. He pulled off Buck’s helmet with one hand. “You okay, sweetheart?”

The pet name slid out of Tommy’s mouth unplanned, but the effect it had on Buck’s heartbeat was so big that Eddie could feel it from beneath.

“Deep breaths, baby,” Eddie cooed.

“Y—Yeah,” Buck managed, small and breathy.

Pulling Buck’s helmet off with one hand, Tommy stroked at his curls and pulled him down so their foreheads could touch for a moment before letting Eddie have his turn. “You did such a good job.”

Eddie tightened his grip with a grin. “Such a good boy.”

If Buck’s ears weren’t already red, they were nuclear the moment Hen called out in a bone-dry voice: “That’s one way to clear a scene. You three planning on getting a room or..?”

Buck jerked back on reflex, scrambling up onto his elbows. 

“Language, Wilson,” Bobby warned, but there was a warmth under the stern tone. He stood a few feet away, hands on his hips and helmet tilted slightly back. A proud smile graced his face upon the sight before him.

“The public has a right to know that the 118 now offers full-service rescue and aftercare snuggles,” Chimney argued.

“Chim,” Bobby warned.

“Shutting up,” Chim said. “For now.”

Buck finally managed to get his hands under him and push, knees sliding on the gritty rooftop as he untangled himself from the other two. Their fingers trailed down his sides as he withdrew, not wanting to lose contact just yet.

“Are you hurt at all?” Eddie asked, sitting up with him, eyes scanning him head to toe.”

“No,” Buck said. “Just, uh, squished.”

Tommy snorted. Squished was the least of their worries. “Yeah, well, some of us broke your fall with our very delicate bodies.”

Hen angled herself closer, giving them a once-over. “Any actual injuries I need to know about?”

“Hen,” Buck strangled out with a head shake.

“What?” she asked, perfectly innocent. “I’m a medic. I’m obligated to assess.”

Bobby shook his head as well. “If the three of you are done practicing your stunts, we still have a roof to clear and a report to make.”

“Yes, Cap,” all three of them echoed automatically, exchanging grins.

The locker room was still humid from the other showers, a thick warmth clinging to the tiles and hanging in the air like a warm blanket. Everyone else had already showered and were probably on their way home now. Puddles scattered across the floor reflected the fluorescent lights that buzzed above, low and steady, and someone’s exhausted frame under it. 

Buck felt every bit of exhaustion in his bones as he peeled off the last of his turnouts, fingers shaking and head full of cotton. It wasn’t the good kind of tired. This one weighed on him in a way he didn’t argue or fight back when Eddie’s warm, steady hand slipped around his elbow, thumb brushing his wrist. “He’s wiped,” Eddie murmured, voice pitched quiet enough that it almost blended into the background hum.

Buck blinked once, then again, the shutter of his eyes weighing themselves down.  “‘M fine,” he tried, even though he sounded like a drunk, mumbling mess.

Tommy snorted as he pulled back the shower curtain, letting another wave of warmth roll out into the room. “Sure. And I’m Tinkerbell,” he joked, the little smile in his voice fondly nudging at something tender.

The water hit tile before anything else with a sharp hiss before growing into a deeper rush. Buck swayed on his feet toward it without thinking. Or maybe Eddie guided him closer. He couldn’t tell anymore. Heat soaked straight through his cotton shirt in an instant, growing heavy and molding to the shape of him. When the spray hit his face, his breath stuttered and he inhaled without meaning to, the damp air filling his lungs.

A palm settled between his shoulder blades, flat and grounding. Eddie. “Nope. Don't fall asleep yet, baby,” he murmured, voice brushing Buck’s damp curls as softly as the steam. “Let us take care of you first.”

A solid wall of heat suddenly appeared in front of him, too. Tommy. His hands came up with a gentleness that contradicted every calloused inch of him, thumbs brushing along the bone like he was feeling for fractures Buck didn’t have. The world narrowed to the points where they touched him.

“Still with us?” Tommy’s voice was hardly louder than the water.

Buck nodded, though his head still felt like it was floating. His curls, dripping and heavy, brushed Tommy’s cheekbones. Tommy smiled soft and small, leaning their foreheads together for a breath as if to say I’ve got you.

“Arms,” Eddie murmured against his ear.

Drowsy Buck lifted them obediently. His shirt tugged off, sticking in places before Eddie worked it free. Soft gasps filled the shower as the air hit his skin. Tommy’s palms smoothed over his shoulders, coaxing him gently forward. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Let the steam do the work.”

Buck breathed in and out. And then his head dropped as heavy as a stone onto Tommy’s shoulder where he hummed with satisfaction.

Behind him, Eddie chuckled softly, “He’s such a sleepy boy. Aren’t you, cariño?”

“He’s allowed,” Tommy murmured, nuzzling his cheek along Buck’s curls for the briefest moment. Just enough to make Buck feel butterflies.

They stayed like that longer than they should have, letting the water beat down around them and the rising steam wrap the three of them in a haze. Buck felt like he could stay there for hours, suspended between their warm bodies and the soft sounds of their breathing. It made the pressure in his chest ease, drip by drip.

“You scared the hell out of us.”

The words hit Buck a bit low, beneath his ribs. His breath faltered. The steam blurred the edges of everything around them. It was a dream state he didn’t want to come out of. “Didn’t mean to,” he whispered.

Sliding one wet thumb along the curve of his cheekbone, Tommy let out the fondest exhale. “I know. But you still did.”

“Mmmmh, not… mad?” Buck asked, his words unsure.

That made Eddie still behind him. Just for a heartbeat. Then his big arms tightened around Buck’s waist, anchoring him closer. “Mad? Dios mío, Buck. No. God, no.”

“But you’ve both been…” Buck swallowed hard, tasting the hesitation as he searched for the right words in the fog. “Distant. Is this about the q-word? Because I’m open to feedback and I think that would be better in a group setting. Or maybe it was me. It’s usually me.” A breath. “I don’t know.”

Eddie scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, it’s not—this isn’t about the q-word.”

Tommy’s strong chest rose in a deep inhale, like he was bracing for the impact of a deep dive. “We, uh. We wanted to talk to you.”

Buck’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.

“It’s partly to do with what you said that night. We heard you. When you almost said it.”

Moist heat pooled in Buck’s chest in a way that wasn’t entirely from the shower. His hands dropped and curled into fists at his sides.

“You… heard,” he breathed, barely audible through the water.

“Every word,” Tommy confirmed, thumb now brushing the back of Buck’s neck. “I pulled back because old memories got stirred up in my head—things I thought I was done with. Things I want to tell you both when we have free time. But none of it was because of you.”

Eddie let his hands slide forward, circling Buck’s waist, pulling him back against his chest and stretching his neck up so that his lips reached his ears. “And I thought you didn’t need me,” Eddie admitted, voice raw. “Not the way you used to. Not when you’ve grown so much as a person. I didn’t want to get in your way.”

Buck felt something crack in him. It was like the feeling of a window being opened in a stuffy room and letting out the warmth. This room. “I’ll always need you,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

Eddie’s forehead dipped down to Buck’s shoulder where he exhaled a shaky breath. “I know that now.”

Silence settled, filled with nothing but swirling steam that suspended the moment almost completely out of time.

“So you’re not… upset with me?” Buck asked softly.

Tommy shook his head once, brushing his nose against Buck’s temple with the softest touches. His grip tightened where his hand had found its way to the back of Buck’s head, thumb brushing the soft hair there. “Evan, do you honestly think we would be mad at you for almost telling us you love us?”

“Yes?” Buck said before he could stop himself.

Eddie let out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Oh, Buck. That’s on us for not treating you the way you deserve to be. We’ll fix it. We promise.”

Somewhere deep in Buck’s chest, he felt that earlier feeling physically unclench. Like a knot pulling loose. The steam relaxed him in a way he hadn’t been in days.

Tommy nudged his forehead against Buck’s, gentle and sure. “We’ve been idiots. But we want to make this right.”

Eddie hummed in agreement. “Starting with asking you something.”

Buck lifted his gaze, eyelashes dripping. His pillowy lips flushed pink from the heat. He looked half-asleep and somehow still brighter for it. “Ask me what?”

Tommy and Eddie glanced at each other, then spoke at the same time.

“Do you wanna—”

“—we should—”

“You go first.”

“No, you—”

Buck interrupted weakly. “Someone say words before I pass out.”

Tommy took a breath, shoulders lifting and then dropping. He met Buck’s eyes and held them with his own.

“Evan Buckley… will you go on a date with us?”

Everything stopped.

“What?” Buck croaked.

“A date,” Eddie confirmed, and now he was smiling at him like it hurt a little to hold back how badly he meant it. “A real one.”

“We already cleared it with Bobby,” Tommy added softly. “Hen helped. There is… was a whole plan. Flowers were phase one.”

Eddie’s head fell forward in shame. “Which I know I messed up, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Eddie, I know you always do your best."

In a last-ditch effort to protect itself, Buck’s brain tried very hard to convince him he was mishearing everything. That they meant something else. That this was all some elaborate prank. That he must be dreaming given how sleepy he was moments ago.

But Tommy’s thumb was still drawing slow, soothing circles at the base of his skull. And Eddie’s hands were wrapped around his waist. He could feel their bodies, smell their soap, hear the tiny hitches in their breathing as they waited for a response.

Oh.

Oh.

His head felt very light.

Knees collapsed in on themselves.

Buck buckled.