Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eddie isn’t one to ruminate over a call gone wrong. He knows he’s good at his job, confident in that fact, but he isn’t cocky; he knows he’s only human, not so proud to think he is immune to making a mistake. A wrong turn, a brief hesitation, a split-second decision he will later reconsider, although rare for him are not outside of the realm of possibility, but he feels he responds to these things in a healthy manner; or at least, a healthier manner in comparison to Buck. Buck is no stranger to picking apart calls, even ones that went down without a hitch; over-analyzing his actions, trying to calculate how he could have done this or that faster, panicking about whether he made a disastrous social faux-pas with their patient (the answer to which is usually a resounding yes). 

Except three days from discharge after surgery and just getting into the swing of his minimum eight week absence from work, the latest episodes of his favourite telenovela already exhausted, and ruminating over the last call gone wrong is all he has to keep himself company.

And it isn’t hard to ruminate over a call that ended with a broken ankle.

The details are fuzzy; mostly he remembers pain, surging through his leg. He had managed to catch up with their AWOL patient in the end, clutching hold of the man’s arm just in time for Buck to catch up with him, but that had come after he had felt his ankle twist, after he had heard a snap, after agony had seared through every inch of his foot.

It had been obvious on scene that it was broken - that enough was evident from the quickly spreading swelling and the bruise snaking around the joint, although the extent of just how badly wasn’t revealed until later; a bimalleolar ankle fracture, requiring surgery, followed by several weeks of recovery and physical therapy. For the next four weeks, at least, he isn’t allowed to bear weight on his leg and so he finds himself for the most part either on the couch or in bed, his casted leg propped up with the special pillow Buck had ordered for him, only able to navigate between the two with help or with his crutches.

The past couple of days haven’t been so bad, what with the lasting effects of the pain meds after surgery and Buck and Chris being around for company. Buck had managed to swap around some shifts so he would be around for the first couple of days after the surgery to stabilize the bone, and with it being the weekend, Chris could join him on the couch during his movie and telenovela marathons. Between that and the crutch-sword fighting his son and boyfriend have been partaking in, he has been kept thoroughly entertained.

Except now that Buck is back at work and Christopher back to school, recovery is proving far more boring than he had anticipated. On busy days, where things are tough and calls are non-stop and it feels like the city will never give them a break, he has sometimes fantasized about this; a few weeks off, free from responsibility, an excuse to lay on the couch and do nothing, a mercy that they are typically never granted.

Such freedom sure as hell isn’t what it’s cracked up to be so far. Bored doesn’t even cover it; he can’t even get stuff done, from unloading the dishwasher or sorting out laundry or cleaning the kitchen from breakfast, not when being one leg down means his arms are out of action, in use for the simple act of moving around. 

Fuck, he thinks. A billion other equally colorful expletives come to mind when his butt hits the chair and he realizes he left his drink in the kitchen. He begrudgingly pulls himself back to his feet - or foot - and ambles his way into the kitchen, cursing every step of the way, balancing the plastic water bottle between his teeth as he navigates back to his spot on the couch. 

He is halfway there when he hears the doorbell ring, and halfway towards the door when the voice on the other side calls out not to get up, that she can let herself in. Before Eddie can even think of a response, Tía Pepa is standing in his doorway, a heaving tote bag of groceries slung over her shoulder and a sympathetic look on her face as she takes in the - presumably pathetic - sight of him.

“Oh Edmundo,” she tuts, already fussing to maneuver him to the couch. “What are you doing up? You should be resting.”

“I was on my way, Tía,” he protests, her hand on his shoulder to ease him to sit back down. 

“What, I can’t come visit my favorite nephew?”

“I know, I just know you’re busy and-”

“Never too busy to come check on you, especially when you are hurt. You just had surgery. Buck texted me to tell me how you were doing and let slip that this was the first day you’d be left to your own devices, so I thought I’d swing by to keep you company and bring some supplies I thought you boys might need.

Between the pain meds and the loneliness of the day so far, and the fact that one of his favorite people in the entire world is standing in front of him, there to do nothing more than spend time with him, a strange sort of feeling builds in his chest; something like warmth. Pepa presses a kiss to his cheek before disappearing into the kitchen to pack away the groceries, leaving Eddie on the couch, unable to hide the smile and the blushing which spreads across his cheeks.

She remerges a few moments later, fussing over the blankets and pillows and making sure Eddie is comfortable before taking a seat beside him. He switches the television to daytime reruns of old sitcoms, the volume kept to a low hum, the laugh track soundtracking the easy conversation that flows between him and his aunt.

He recounts the tale of his injury, hesitant to share the gory details despite Tía Pepa quizzing him for them, not wanting to worry her with the specifics of just how gnarly the break was, of the constellation of colors on his skin concealed by his cast, of the multiple pieces of metal which will hold his ankle together for the rest of his life. 

“What are we going to do with you?” she rests her hand on his leg. “Do you think Buck would let me wrap you in cotton wool?” 

“I think he’d encourage it,” Eddie smirks. “I’m okay, Tía.”

“I know, I know. I just worry about you kids, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to worry about me; you have grandbabies to worry about.”

“There’s plenty worry to go around, Edmundo,” she smiles softly. “And on the topic of grandbabies, I have something to talk to you about. A proposition, if you will.”

“Oh no,” he laughs, feigning a look of terror. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to set me up again. I’m-”

“I would never, not now you’ve seen sense and finally figured things out with that man of yours.”

“Then what is it you want to talk to me about?”

“I need your help with something.” 

She reaches into the tote bag at her feet, carefully unravelling the folded fabric contained inside it. With each movement, more of the garment is revealed; a blanket, composed of a warm mix of cream, yellow and pale orange, carefully twisted together, so intricate it is difficult for Eddie to parse where one strand ends and where another begins. 

“It’s beautiful,” he says, his mouth moving before he even realizes he is speaking, his hand brushing over the fabric.

“It’s for Luis and María,” she confirms; her youngest grandchildren, the newborn twins of her youngest son Fernando. “A baby blanket.”

“You… You want me to help with this?”

“Yes, Edmundo.”

“Tía, I don’t know how to do… Whatever this is. It’s way too complicated for me.”

“Crochet,” she points to one of the stitches. “And you don’t need to know how.”

“Then how can I help?”

She turns the blanket over, revealing the many loose ends on the other side.”

“You can help me weave these ends in,” she procures a yarning needle from her back, placing it carefully in Eddie’s hand; it’s tiny between his large fingers. “They’re the worst part.”

“So you’re lumping the worst part on me?” he raises an eyebrow, smirking. “I can’t sew, Tía.”

“You can. You do stitches at work, don’t you? And when you were a medic in the army.”

“Yeah, but that’s different-”

“It’s not so different,” she gently drapes the blanket over his lap and Eddie is suddenly struck by a sense of responsibility, scared of undoing his aunt’s hard work. “You’re good with your hands, and this is much easier. You just need to weave the yarn back and forth through the stitches so you can’t see the ends and so it doesn’t come undone.”

“Like this?” he tries once, earning a nod from her before he tries again.

“See? I told you it was easy. I’m going to make us some lunch, and you can get to weaving those in for me, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that, Pepa. I can make myself a sandwich or something later-” he tries to protest, but she’s already back on her feet, a stern look on her face when he tries to join her.

“Sit,” she crosses her arms, smiling. “I want to. Besides, you’re helping me. If you get it done by the time the soup’s ready, I’ll show you the latest pictures of the grandbabies Fernando sent over last week; they’re getting so big!”

He nods, obliging as he repositions his leg on the pillow and turns up the volume on the television, carefully placing the blanket over his lap to get to work. The yarn is pillowy soft between his fingertips, and the methodical back and forth as he waves it through the delicate stitches settles him, quiets the whir of thoughts that have been running through his brain. He is in awe of the craftsmanship evident in each twist, each corner of the intricate blanket; when he looks closer, each square forms a different shape; a flower, a star, a crescent moon, each of them joined together almost seamlessly. 

He tries to figure out how the stitches are made, but his theories come up short as he follows them with his eye; magic, he thinks, must be the only explanation. He is almost halfway done by the time Tía Pepa comes to join him again on the couch, now that the soup just needs to be left to simmer.

“This is…” he runs his palm across the length of the blanket, looking up at her in amazement. “This is so cool. How did you do this?”

“Oh,” she brings her hand to her chest, flattered. “It’s a technique called crochet. Your abuela taught me.”

“It’s… Amazing.”

“You should see the things Abuela can make. Remember those lace patterns, the placemats?”

“The ones with the flowers?”

“Yes. She made those.”

“Woah. I… I didn’t know.” 

She pauses, reaching out her hand.

“Do you want to learn?” she asks. “I could teach you.”

“Yeah, uh,” he nods, an indescribable feeling warming his chest. “Okay.”

She returns to her bag, pulling out a hook and a ball of yarn, deep red. Eddie can’t quite grasp how these two things can be turned into the masterpiece currently laying on his lap, and he sure as hell doesn’t think he will be able to achieve anything close to it. She hands him the hook in his left hand first, but hesitates, realizing she has only ever done this right-handed herself. 

“I can try with my right, Tía,” he covers her hand with his, taking the hook. “So uh, what next?” 

“You need to make a slipknot with the yarn, and put it on the hook,” she explains. 

“Okay, a slipknot. I can do that.” 

He looks back at her expectantly, waiting for the next instruction. It reminds him a little of being a kid, of Tíá Pepa and his abuela on their visits to El Paso teaching him and his sisters other skills; braiding hair, folding tamales, cutting out tiny stars from paper snowflakes. Pepa’s hand guides the yarn around his left hand, first around his pinky and then his index finger, testing the tension before she mimes the action to start a chain. It takes Eddie a couple of tries, the yarn slipping out from underneath the hook before he can pull it through the loop but he gets the hang of it quickly. 

“Okay, so you have ten now?” she counts them, smiling. “One more; that’s your turning chain.”

He obliges; this is easy, he catches himself thinking but the next steps prove a little more difficult. They start with single crochet, and although Eddie is quick to get the basics down, he can’t quite figure out the tension; each of his stitches end up a different size, from tight loops he can barely get the hook back into to huge holes down the length of yarn. Tía Pepa passes no judgement, offering hints and tips, patiently demonstrating when Eddie almost throws in the towel, figuring it too complicated and delicate for his large hands. 

He gets into the rhythm as she introduces double crochet, looping the working yarn from his left hand around the hook in his right before inserting it into the stitch. 

“This is the stitch I used here,” she lays the blanket over her lap, pointing to a section. “That’s three of those - double crochet - into the same stitch. It’s called a granny stitch.”

He looks, running his finger across it; it makes sense to him now, although the blanket in its entirety still feels like it was crafted by magic. Tangible magic, yes but magic nonetheless. 

By the time they are done, he has two messy squares composed of each stitch. The corners are off centre, the yarn pilling and pulling apart in places, each row a different length but he is proud of them nonetheless; and Tía Pepa seems to be proud too.

“Good job, Edmundo,” she smiles, admiring one of the squares. “For a first try, these are not half bad.” 

“Thanks,” he grins. “I think?” 

“You’ll be a pro in no time! I’ll leave you these, so you can practice-”

“Well time is all I have right now,” he remarks, smirking. “I can’t take these Tía, they’re yours-”

“Please, I have far too many,” she waves him off. “These are yours now; you can make me something, okay?”

“I can try.”

***

Eddie is asleep when Buck and Christopher arrive home, sprawled out over the length of the couch with his leg still propped up by the pillow on the coffee table, a blanket draped lazily over his middle. The pair sneak in, careful not to wake him as Christopher whispers that he’s going to make a start on his homework in his room. Buck tiptoes towards Eddie, careful not to disrupt him as he takes in the contents of the table; the tray with the empty bowl of soup, the half empty water bottle and two unfamiliar squares of fabric he hasn’t ever seen before. He lifts one and observes it in his palm before tracing the red string back to the ball of yarn and hook-shaped instrument that resides a few inches away. 

“Buck?” Eddie mumbles, voice muffled at the edges with sleep. 

“Hey,” Buck whispers as he meets his still half-closed eyes. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You can make it up to me.”

Eddie smirks, lifting the blanket to make room for Buck to join him. Buck discards his bag unceremoniously on the floor, slotting perfectly into the space Eddie has reserved for him. 

“Where’s Chris?” Eddie asks, allowing himself to nestle against Buck. “He get home from school okay?”

“Yeah, he did,” Buck confirms. “He’s finishing off his homework, probably so he can play that game with his friends tonight as soon as he’s finished.”

“Thank you for picking him up. How was work?”

“Uneventful, actually. And weird, without you.”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could have been there.”

“Pfft, no you don’t,” Buck laughs, gesturing to the contents of the coffee table. “Looks like you had fun. Did Tía Pepa teach you how to knit?”

“Did you send Tía Pepa to babysit me?” Eddie smirks. “And no, that’s crochet.”

Eddie sits up, letting Buck hand him the square. 

“She made a blanket,” he explains. “A really beautiful blanket, for my cousin Fernando’s twins and she showed me the basics.”

“You made this?” Buck almost looks impressed, but laughs a little when he looks closer. “Well yeah, I think Tía Pepa’s would have been neater.”

“Much neater.” 

“I’m just kidding, this is awesome; so you’re going to make me something?”

“You can have this,” Eddie throws the square back in Buck’s direction. 

“Gee, thanks!” Buck takes it. “I’ll cherish it with my life.” 

A pause.

“I’ll try, if you want,” Eddie says after a moment. “Can’t promise that I’ll be able to make anything good, but it’s not like I have anything but time for the next-”

“Eight plus weeks?” Buck answers for him. “Was it really that bad without us?”

“Tía Pepa kept me company. I think if I was alone I might have gone a little stir crazy.”

“There’s still plenty of time for that.”

Buck presses a kiss against Eddie’s neck, feeling him exhale beside him, settled by the touch. 

“And plenty of time for other stuff too,” Eddie smiles. 

Chapter Text

Okay, so maybe Eddie isn’t coping with this whole stuck-at-home, stuck-on-the-couch thing as well as he had hoped. The early days had been difficult, sure, but he had still been half-doped up on painkillers and recovering from surgery, and at least he wasn’t alone. With Buck now back at work, Chris at school, and Tía Pepa out of town visiting her son Fernando and his family, he is facing the rest of the week with nothing but himself and shitty reality TV to keep him company.

He is deep into the latest series of The Bachelor - making a mental note of all the juicy details to discuss with maddie and Chimney when he gets the chance - when he starts questioning if the real lasting impact of this injury will be ongoing issues with his ankle or the rotting of his brain from all of the terrible TV and doom scrolling he has found occupying most of his days.

His energy for reality television exhausted and his scrolling efforts proving futile in his pursuit of dopamine, his eyes are drawn in the direction of the ball of yarn and the crochet hook that Tía Pepa had left for him. He had tried to pick it up again a few days later, but without her there to instruct him it had proven too difficult and he had quickly given up.

The yarn is in his hands again before he even decides he’s going to give it another try. He unfurls his last poor attempt, relaxed by the slow thwip-thwip-thwip that accompanies each movement. Another try and he only has a tangled mess to show for it, but with another six hours before Buck and Chris will be home, he has nothing but time on his hands to keep trying. 

And try he does; he turns to a video tutorial on YouTube this time, opting for the same process he uses when he’s stuck trying to fix the wi-fi or repair an appliance or unblock a shower drain. He picks the first one that comes up - Crochet Beanie Tutorial! Complete Beginner Friendly! - and gets to work. With step-by-step instructions and a visual on the screen, he recalls what Tía Pepa had taught him relatively quickly, and with the taste of working towards having a concrete tangible thing at the end as motivation, he starts to find his rhythm. 

An hour - and lots of trial and error - later and he has almost fifty rows of half double crochet in a vaguely rectangular shape that sort of fits around his head that he figures is ready to stitch together. He follows the next instruction, slip-stitching the two sides together before realizing he needs a needle for the next step. 

He stubbornly grabs his crutches, too determined to finish his hard work to give up now, making his way into the kitchen and rifling through the junk drawer in pursuit of something he can use. Beneath the mish-mash of old batteries and obsolete charging cables and screws, he sources the tiny dollar-store sewing kit; most of the needles are tiny, made for the tiny thread that comes with the kit, for sewing up tiny holes in clothes or taking up pant legs an inch, but he carefully selects the largest one he can find, hoping it will work. 

And work it does, after a bit of trouble feeding the chunkier yarn into the eye of the needle. He follows the instructions to a tee, and et-voila; the first project he has ever crocheted is complete. He doesn’t care that it’s too tight around his head but also somehow far too long, and that the stitches are loose and full of holes, strands of his hair peeking through. He made this, he can’t help but think, smiling.

He has always been practical, good with his hands, the first person you’d call to change a tire or fix a fuse or for help building flat pack furniture, but crafty isn’t a word he would ever have described himself as; whatever the equivalent of two-left-feet is for artistic endeavors like painting or drawing, that’s him, he had thought. Christopher had said as such, critiquing his efforts during any arts and crafts based activities from as early as Eddie can remember. 

Except, he made this; he made a hat. He turned the small ball of yarn into something tangible, something that can be worn; he chooses to ignore the fact that nobody would be seen dead wearing it. And best of all, he knows that next, he could make something better; something that he could wear without being the laughing stock of Los Angeles. 

If only he had more supplies. Online shopping isn’t exactly a step up from brain-rot TV and doom-scrolling sessions, but he’s trying. Several hours - and dollars - later and the order is made; a box of yarn, some new crochet hooks in different sizes, and a few extras like stitch markers and proper yarning needles will be on his doorstep by tomorrow evening, ready for his next attempt. 

***

A week, several skeins of yarn and many long hours in front of the TV or listening to a podcast in the background later, Eddie feels he is starting to perfect his beanie making skills. He starts by making another for himself, a simple grey one he could actually wear outside of the house this time, before turning his attention to making hats for the rest of his family. Buck gets a blue one, and Eddie can't help but tease him, telling him he chose the color because it matches his eyes; he’s only half-joking. He tries his hand at switching colours throughout the pattern for Christopher’s; stripes of two shades of green, one of the many Chris deems to be his favorite color. 

By the end of the week, he has a healthy pile of hats stacked up on the coffee table. He is working on completing the dozen when Buck returns home after a long forty-eight hour shift, a few days off thankfully ahead of them. The other man collapses onto the couch beside him, clawing in Eddie’s direction to bury his face into his lap, humming contentedly as Eddie readjusts his current project to accommodate his presence without saying a word, passing the ball of yarn - pale lilac, a hat for Jee-Yun - into Buck’s hands and picking back up where he left off.

Buck watches Eddie’s hands moving back and forth, awestruck by their methodical rhythm; his muscle memory is slowly becoming more attuned to the motion, and he’s able to do the stitch without much thought now.

“How was your day?” Eddie asks, shifting his glance to Buck, who is mesmerized by how he continues with the stitch he was working on, only needing to glance at his project for a brief second to complete it.

“Ugh,” Buck protests the thought of work.

“That bad, huh?” 

“Just long. And Busy. And I missed you.”

Buck settles into his lap, hands working their way underneath Eddie’s thighs, soothed by their weight, the warmth. From his horizontal position, he spots the pile of hats on the table in his eyeline.

“Woah,” Buck points lazily, reaching for one. “You’ve been busy.”

“Hey, that one is for Chim,” he laughs, switching the one in Buck’s hands for the one he had made for him. “Here’s yours.”

He accepts it, pressing his face to the soft fabric like a child with their comfort blanket or stuffed toy. Eddie made this for him, he thinks. He had shown it off at work earlier in the week; the rest of the team had heard all about it. Eddie made this for me. Weary and achy from a long two days, he can feel the pull of sleep tugging at his eyelids but he does his best to keep himself awake, to focus his eyes on Eddie’s hands and watch in amazement as he turns the string of thread into a tangible, wearable thing. 

“I love you,” he mumbles, the beginnings of sleep already sneaking into his voice. 

“I love you too,” Eddie grins as he places his project to the side to find Buck’s curls instead, endeared as Buck melts beneath his palm, not having to see the smile on the other man’s face to know it is there. 

***

“Another one?” Christopher tears his eyes away from the latest of Eddie’s many creations in his hand with an expression on his face that can only be described as amusement.

It’s a hat. Another hat. Exactly the same as the other twenty or so beanie hats he has made in the space of the past two weeks, although this one is a different colour; still green, but a darker shade this time. 

“You don’t like it?” Eddie turns to look at him, doing his best to conceal his disappointment. 

“No, I love it,” Chris is quick to interject. “I love it just as much as the other um, three you’ve already made me. It’s just… Never mind.”

“Come on, kid. Hit me with it, I can handle a little constructive criticism.”

Chris hesitates, trying to decide his next words very carefully. 

“It’s just…” he fidgets with the hat in his hands, the thick wooly fabric warm against his fingertips. “We live in LA. I barely need one of these-”

“Let alone four,” Eddie finishes the sentence for him; the sigh that his father releases makes Chris sort of wish the ground would swallow him whole. 

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“D’you think this whole thing is weird?” he breaks the silence. “Me making these, the whole crochet thing?”

“No, I think it’s cool,” Chris says immediately. “And you’re good at it. I just think… I just… I think you-”

“I think what Chris is trying to say,” Buck chooses the perfect moment to join the conversation, entering from the kitchen with a tray of drinks and plates of pizza. “Is that maybe it’s time to try something else.”

A smirk passes across his face.

“Whilst my head is perfectly wonderfully warm with the hats you have made me,” he teases, passing Eddie his drink. “You said it yourself; once you get the basics down, there are so many things you can make with crochet.”

“And you’ve definitely got the basics down now,” Chris remarks, earning a playful nudge from his dad. “Maybe you could try something a little more complicated? And a little less… um… Woolly?” 

“I could try,” Eddie shrugs. 

“Cass from B-shift crochets!” Buck grins. “I was telling them about you when I was covering that shift the other night.”

“Of course you were.”

“They crochet these really cool plushies of like dogs and cows and dragons and stuff, they’re really cool!”

“And probably really complicated.”

“I think you could do it, dad,” Chris protests. “I’ve seen videos on TikTok, it’s called something… Amigurumi I think? Someone was trying to make all 151 of the original Pokemon.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods. “Challenge accepted. I’ll do some research and I’ll give it a try this week. No more hats, I promise. Which one of those Pokemons are your favorite again?”

“Dad. Ouch. That is very important information that you should know.”

“Yeah, Eddie,” Buck shakes his head in feigned disgust. 

“I’m just kidding,” Eddie smirks. “And like you could even name a Pokemon - other than Pikachu - Buck.”

“Yeah, I can. Christopher’s favorite is that electric bird guy… Uh… Zippy.”

“Zapdos,” Eddie and Chris correct him in unison, the trio breaking out into laughter. 

***

The art of amigurumi proves more difficult than Eddie had first expected. Sick of the couch, he sets up shop at the dining table for a change of pace, his injured leg propped up on the chair across from him as he positions his iPad in the prime spot to follow the tutorial as Buck prepares dinner and Chris is content playing a game in his room 

Buck takes a break from stirring his sauce - Bobby’s bolognese, the one that takes hours - and appears behind Eddie, making him jolt and disrupting him from his efforts; although Buck hasn’t disrupted anything important, as Eddie continues to frog the last round with a curse underneath his breath. He is coming to regret this relocation from the couch, the position becoming increasingly awkward and kind of uncomfortable. He stretches out the ache in his back that is beginning to develop, straining to wrap his arms around Buck’s middle. 

“How are you getting on?” Buck leans into the embrace, gently resting his head into the dip of Eddie’s shoulder, so that their ears press together, so that Eddie can feel the other man’s warmth from leaning over a hot stove against his cheek.

“I made a ball?” Eddie gestures to his efforts; a lumpy ball of yellow yarn, the stitches mostly uniform and containing the stuffing inside but the shape leaving much to be desired.

“I love it. Looks like Zippy already.”

“Zap-”

“Zapdos, I know,” Buck holds the ball in his hand. “But this right here? This is Zippy.”

“I know, it’s terrible,” Eddie feigns a sigh, laughing beneath his breath. “I think I should have maybe started with a Pokemon that wasn’t so… Not round.”

“Yeah, because you’ve really mastered making round things.” 

“Ouch.”

“Hey, for a first try I think it’s pretty good,” he grins. “Maybe once I’ve perfected this sauce, you’ll have cracked it.”

“Can I sneak a taste of your masterpiece?” Eddie smirks, tilting his head.

“No. It’s not ready.”

“It’s been on for ages.”

“That’s the point.”

“But it smells so good…” 

Buck shakes his head, returning to his spot in front of the stove with his hands on his hips, pointing the wooden spoon in Eddie’s direction. 

“Soon,” he smiles. “You should know, you can’t rush perfection.” 

*** 

Okay, so maybe diving in head first wasn’t the move. After the bowls of Buck’s bolognese are consumed - and seconds - the pair join Christopher on the couch for a Friday movie night before it’s time to start winding down for bed. Chris retreats to his bedroom, head buried in his phone when Buck and Eddie peer in to check on him and say goodnight before they too decide to let themselves be drawn in by the sweet sweet comfort of lazing beneath the covers. 

Buck helps Eddie get situated in bed first, carefully arranging the covers around the other man’s leg; he gets the cast off tomorrow, all things going well, and it will be replaced with a boot. He likely won’t be cleared for full weight bearing just yet, his crutches destined to be his companion for another week or two at least, but he’s excited nonetheless; he will finally be able to scratch the two-week itch above his big toe, and showering to avoid getting his cast wet is something he cannot wait to leave in the past. 

At his request, Buck fetches his crochet supplies from the dinner along with a book for himself - a cheesy romance he had picked up as a joke, with a ripped firefighter on the cover by the looks of it peeking out from underneath his hand - and they sit together with the lights dimmed low. Occasionally there is an exclamation of frustration from Eddie when a stitch goes wrong, or a ‘oh’ or a ‘hm’ or a laugh from Buck as he turns the page, but for the most part there is silence; warm, contented silence that fills the room, envelopes the pair. 

“Looking good,” Buck places his book face down on his lap, the piercing brown eyes of the photoshopped firefighter on the cover staring deep into Eddie’s soul. 

He’s not exactly sure if he’s referencing the crafted object in Eddie’s hand, or the man that hand belongs too. Eddie is trying to concentrate, half-a-stitch-count balancing between his lips as Buck’s eyes can’t help but be drawn to them. And he’s wearing his readers; truly Buck’s greatest weakness.

“You think so?” Eddie turns to look at him, holding up his progress so far; he has attached a head shape to the ball from earlier, meaning he has something at least vaguely representing a bird now. 

“I meant-” Buck starts, flustered at the sight of him; the fictional firefighter on his lap watches from below. “Yeah. Yeah I do.” 

“How’s the book?”

Buck stops and starts, fits of giggles taking over when he tries to speak before Eddie’s lips are suddenly silencing him once more, the book and Eddie’s crochet project abandoned for now at the foot of the bed.

“It’s awesome,” he manages to squeeze in when Eddie relents for the briefest of seconds, kissing Buck’s jaw as he speaks. “There’s this hot firefighter-”

“About this tall?” Eddie smirks, gesturing above Buck’s head before his hands shift to caress his temple. “Cute birthmark, curly hair, never shuts up?”

“No, brown eyes, big hands, thinks he’s cool but he’s actually kind of-”

“Kind of what?”

“Dorky.”

“Dorky?”

“Yeah, very.”

“And what happens in this book? Do they just fight fires? Is that it?”

“Well… They do other stuff too.”

“What other stuff?” Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“You want me to show you?” a grin spreads across Buck’s face. 

Eddie kisses the smile from his lips, although neither man can contain their laughter as Eddie’s weight shifts on top of Buck, the book landing on the floor with a not-so-graceful thud, as his fingertips trace their way along Buck’s body, the other man’s hot breath drifting from the dip of his neck to the peaks and valleys of his abs. 

Eddie’s hands move lower, deeper, further down as Buck is grasping at his wrists, bracing himself against him, a shiver of want running along the length of his spine, face-to-face with the lower half of Eddie’s body. Buck feels like Eddie is touching every single inch of his body at once, like each of his nerve endings are so excited that he feels like he is about to spontaneously combust, like Eddie’s presence above him is a lit match and he is kindling ready to be set aflame. 

Buck gasps, pleads for more more more, whilst Eddie holds his pleasure in the palm of his hand, tempting and teasing until the very last moment, until Buck is practically begging for it. Eddie sinks against him, rolling back over to allow for Buck to rest his head against his bare chest, still panting, still catching his breath. He flashes a satisfied yet sleepy smile, his own hand searching for warmth between Eddie’s thighs; sleep for both men comes quick. 

They wake up slowly the next morning, allowing sunlight to trickle into the bedroom and raise them from their slumber.  Buck’s hand is still buried in the waistband of Eddie’s pyjama pants, imprints beginning to develop across his knuckles from the elastic. 

“You up?” Eddie’s hand mixes with a fistful of Buck’s curls. 

“Mmm’no,” Buck says, barely shifting except to nestle closer into Eddie’s chest. 

“So I’m stuck here?”

“Yeah. Forever and ever.”

“What if I need-”

“Nope, still not allowed.”

“So you don’t want pancakes for breakfast?”

“Are you making them?” Buck flashes a mischievous smile, and Eddie nods. “Then no, I don’t.”

“Ouch,” Eddie feigns hurt, pouting.

“I’m just kidding. Yeah, pancakes sound good. Oh, or french toast. Yeah, french toast. Pretty please. And stat.”

“Well then, you need to let me up first.”

“I see your ways. Sneaky.” 

Buck obliges, reluctantly undraping his arm from Eddie’s chest but his touch still lingering until Eddie is pulling himself to stand and searching by his bedside for his crutches. 

“Need a hand?” Buck rubbing his eye, sleep still tinging his voice and evidencing that he has no intention in getting up just yet.

“I’ve got it,” Eddie waves him off, hanging in the door frame as he watches Buck shove his head back into the pillow in lieu of his presence beside him. 

He manages his way into the kitchen, propping his knee on a dining chair at the stove in an effort to be more comfortable without placing weight on his bad ankle. The bread is soaking in the egg and milk mixture and the pan is heating up when he hears Chris joining him in the kitchen. Eddie slides him a glass of orange juice and takes any further requests for breakfast.

“Good morning,” Eddie manages a smile out of the still half-asleep teenager. “Did you sleep well?”

“S’too early,” Chris grumbles, gulping his juice like it’s going to disappear if he doesn’t.

“It’s Saturday. We don’t have any plans. You could have slept in.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Eddie laughs as Chris shrugs; the teenage brain, ever the enigma.

“Buck woke me up with his snoring,” Chris smirks, turning to watch Buck trailing into the kitchen behind him, slumping into a chair at the dinner table and enthusiastically grasping for the coffee Eddie hands him. “I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

There is a bantering back and forth between the pair, Buck insisting he doesn’t snore, and Chris insisting that the house was practically shaking with it; and Eddie only adding fuel to the fire by bolstering Christopher’s claims. Buck is placated when he has french toast, accompanied by maple syrup and freshly cut strawberries, on his plate, nodding in approval as he takes his first bite.

“Not too bad,” Christopher adds as he has a taste of his own plate.

“Better than mine?” Buck pouts. 

“No comment.” 

They have a slow morning, satisfied just to co-exist together. Buck takes over cleaning duties as Eddie parks himself on the couch again to get to work on his crochet project, accompanied by Chris who busies himself by half-watching an old episode of Stranger Things and scrolling on his phone. Buck joins them once he’s done, parking himself cross-legged on the floor between them and leaning his head back against the couch cushion, humming contentedly when Eddie brushes his curls out of his forehead. 

“Woah, you’re making progress,” he comments, reaching up to grab for the ball of yellow yarn by the side of Eddie’s thigh; he likes to be helpful in any way he can, even if it is just by playing the part of a human yarn bowl. 

Time passes in the blink of an eye. Buck half dozes in his spot on the floor, lazily fidgeting with the yarn in his hands, jolted awake periodically by the rumble of demogorgons on screen. Eddie finishes his project, closing over his iPad which hosts the pattern he is using, sliding it and the half-bird looking thing onto the coffee table, not wanting to disturb Chris from his show. 

He keeps the television in his periphery, but he is paying little attention to the screen, his eyes instead trained on the two people he has the privilege to call his family. Chris is enraptured by whatever is unfolding on the show, the shadowy mix of blues and reds and greys reflected in his glasses, so much so that he doesn’t seem to notice Buck’s snoring from inches away, the man’s head lolled back over the couch, a stream of drool collecting in the corner of his mouth. 

This is his life, he thinks. This is his life, and it just feels… Right. Chris is back home and finally, it feels like he has settled. It feels like everything is back to the way it was; no. It’s better. Life is better now than he could have ever dreamed; he gets to wake up to Buck beside him, gets to wake up to his son being back under the same roof, gets to enjoy his days with them both. They made this life, he thinks; and now they get to live in it.

There’s a crash of action on the screen, the thunder through the speakers scaring Buck awake once more. Eddie and Chris lock eyes, concealing their laughter despite Buck frowning between the pair, aware that they are making fun of him. Stroking his ego and returning to the land of consciousness, he mindlessly reaches for the yellow bird-shaped object on the coffee table, carefully cradling it in his hands as he passes it back to Eddie.

“You’re finished?” he asks sleepily.

“Wait, what?” Chris turns to them both, pausing the television; his gaze focuses on the thing in Eddie’s hands. “You finished it? Awesome.”

Eddie passes it into Christopher’s hands, as careful as he would be if he were handing his son a real live chick instead of the lumpy thing vaguely resembling Christopher’s favorite Pokemon. It looks like Zapdos, definitely, Chris thinks; a sphere - the body - connected to a smaller sphere for the head, both yellow, zig-zag shaped things in yellow and black for the wings, an orange beak, and two orange blobs for the feet. He tries placing it down on the level surface of the couch, but it’s lopsided, right-heavy and immediately falls over. It doesn’t even have eyes; well, unless the attempt at embroidery with some scrap black yarn counts. 

“It’s terrible,” Eddie sighs,  as if admitting defeat. “Sorry, but I think I failed your challenge, bud.”

“No,” Christopher says simply; he can’t take his eyes away from it, his thumb stroking the soft yarn. “I love it.”

A pause. Christopher’s lips turn up into a smile. 

“Thank you,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “Thank you, dad.”

They collectively declare his name as ‘Zippy’, and Eddie promises to make another attempt although Chris doesn’t mind. Zippy earns pride of place in his room, propped up by a book and positioned on the shelf above his desk. On hard days, long days, days where he and his dad butt heads - an unfortunate but inevitable part of teenagehood, they are both coming to learn - he looks to it, thinks of the hours it had taken his father, the reminder that he made it for him, the love and dedication wrapped up in each and every stitch.

Chapter Text

Buck opens the door, and Eddie has no time to even think about containing his delight as Jee races in his direction, expertly dodging the open arms of her real blood-relative uncle to squeal ‘Uncle Eddie’ and almost slam against him. Chim scrambles, barely able to grab her just in time before Eddie can lose his footing, clutching at the wall to catch himself. 

“Hey, slow down there,” Chimney only lets go once reassured that she is not about to knock out his friend like a bowling pin. “Uncle Eddie hurt his leg, remember? So you need to be extra careful.”

“What’s that?” she kneels down in front of Eddie, pointing to his ankle boot.

“It’s a boot that keeps his ankle safe so he doesn’t break it being silly again,” Buck chimes in. 

“Silly uncle Eddie,” she nods, patting his knee, just above the brace very carefully for good measure before looking up at him, wide eyed. “Ouch?”

“Yeah, ouch. Just a little bit, though. Nothing a big hug can’t fix.”

Prepared this time, he carefully maneuvers to kneel with his good leg on the ground, bracing himself as she throws her tiny arms around his shoulders, squeezing with all her might as if by hugging even tighter, the embrace’s apparently magic powers will work even faster. Buck welcomes Maddie and Chimney inside, accepting Jee’s backpack. They have babysat Jee countless times before, so there isn’t much in the way of a handover outside of many more hugs before they rush off in an attempt not to be late for Maddie’s appointment. 

“Mommy’s going to see the baby doctor,” Jee announces as Buck takes her hand and leads her in the direction of the dinner table for lunch. “To see my baby brother and-”

Her train of thought is lost as soon as she catches sight of Christopher at the table, sprinting over to the curly haired teenager and climbing up onto the seat beside him, a huge grin spreading across her face as he slides his phone away, matching her expression. Knowing the kid is in good hands, Eddie unpacks her coloring supplies and fetches drinks as Buck is on mac and cheese duty. 

Eddie notices the pair out of the corner of his eye as he collects a juice box from the fridge; Jee has scooched her chair over as close as she can to Christopher’s, her tiny head peeking out from underneath Christopher’s arm as he draws her next request. 

“A bear!” Jee looks at Chris in awe, like she thinks he is the coolest person in the whole world; Eddie concurs. “A teddy bear.”

She hangs on his every word whilst he demonstrates each step, tongue sticking out in concentration whilst she copies his instructions, crayon held tightly in her hand; a circle for the head, a smaller circle for the snout, eyes, mouth, nose and ears. 

“Oh wow,” Christopher exclaims. “That’s so awesome Jee, you did a great job!”

“It’s for my baby brother,” she nods, holding it up to show him, clearly proud. “Mommy calls him baby bear. He doesn’t have a name yet, because he’s still in her tummy.”

“That’s so cute. I think baby bear will love it. Do you think we should color him in?”

“Yeah!”

She pauses, clearly in deep consideration of something very important. 

“But we need to draw the whole family!” she announces. “Me, and mommy bear and daddy bear… And Uncle Buck bear and Uncle Eddie bear… And Chris bear. And Mara bear and Denny bear and Hen bear and Karen bear!”

Jee reaches for another piece of paper squeaking with the tiniest thank you when Chris hands it to her from just out of her reach. She dedicates herself to the craft, drawing each bear with precision - or at least as much precision a four year old with a short attention span can manage before instructing Chris to write the names. He obliges, holding each up for approval which is granted by Jee flashing two thumbs up in his direction, 

Mac and cheese is served, and Jee keeps her spot next to Chris throughout the entire meal, following his every lead; taking a sip of her juice when he does, taking a bite of her food when he does, and chatting away with him with such intensity that neither Buck or Eddie can get a word in edgeways.

“Mommy and daddy should call baby bear Chris,” she announces. “But he has a name already. His name is-”

“Hey Jee!” Christopher catches her before she can spill the beans. “It’s a secret, and you can’t trust Uncle Buck; he’ll tell everyone.”

“Yeah, he can’t be trusted with that kind of intel,” Eddie playfully nudges Buck’s side. 

“Okay,” Jee nods, copying Chris as he mimes zipping his mouth shut. “I keep it a secret.”

“Are you excited to be a big sister?” Chris asks her, trying to steer the conversation away from revealing the baby name.

“Yeah My baby brother is going to be my new best friend!”

“That sounds awesome.”

“Do you have a baby brother? Or a baby sister? Or a baby bear?” 

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?” 

“Yeah, why not?” Chris smirks, turning to share a glance with his dad and Buck. 

“Uncle Buck should have a baby,” Jee states decisively, leaning across the table to poke Buck in the side. “I want a baby cousin.”

She pauses again, the cogs clearly turning in her head from the contemplative expression on her face.

“But you’re my cousin, right?” she says, pointing at Chris before using her hands to count. “So I’d have… two cousins.” 

“Two whole cousins,” Buck fakes a dramatic gasp. “And a baby brother? And an Uncle Buck to boot? Woah. Did you know you’re the luckiest girl in the whole wide world?”

“Yes. Yes I did.”

Buck can feel his heart melting in real time, having to bury his head in Eddie’s shoulder trying to conceal his fits of laughter. Eddie is equally as enamored beside him, spinning the thought in his mind; a baby sibling for Chris. 

After everything - after Shannon - a second kid was never something he had thought much about. Fatherhood has been his single greatest joy in life, the most special beautiful scary thing he has ever done, but until now he hadn’t considered the thought of doing it again; hadn’t been in the right place to even let it pass his mind. But now, with Buck, things are different. Buck is a permanent fixture in his life, his home, his family in a way he never thought would be true and he can’t deny the fact that even the distant possibility of a second child, the pipe dream of even considering it makes his heart feel warm in a way he can’t quite find the words to describe. 

Maddie and Chimney arrive back from Maddie’s appointment a few hours later, but the four year old isn’t exactly in a rush to leave, camped out on the couch watching Moana with Christopher, and thus the couple are happy to enjoy some leftovers and debrief on today’s appointment with Buck and Eddie. 

“How’s little Evan doing,” Buck smirks from behind his glass of orange juice, earning a playful slap on the shoulder from his sister as he wraps an arm around her. 

“We’re not calling him Evan,” she chastises through a mouthful of mac and cheese.

“Fine. Buck, then.”

“Buck Han,” Chimney says with a grimace. “Nah, I don’t think it really rolls off the tongue.”

“Boo.”

"Ignore him, he’s just mad Jee wouldn’t spill the beans on the name you have picked out, even though he asked really nicely,” Eddie laughs. “How did the appointment go.”

“Awesome,” Chim’s eyes are already wet with tears. “He’s happy, healthy and the size of a zucchini.”

“Well, I think Zucchini Han is a beautiful name,” Buck pulls Maddie in closer. “I can’t wait to meet him, Maddie.”

“Me too,” Maddie places a hand on her belly, sharing a glance with the others in the room. “Me too.”

*** 

Chris abandons Buck and Eddie during the clean-up process following the pint-sized tornado that had descended upon their house, escaping to hang out with friends whilst they are stuck scrubbing crayon from the dinner table. Not that either man minds; they are both still humming the disney tunes that have soundtracked their last few hours, finishing the mammoth task by pinning the Buck, Eddie and Chris bears Jee had drawn for them on the kitchen fridge. 

Buck takes first dibs for a shower thanks to the mac and cheese crumbs in his hair and the ice cream stains coating his clothes, and he takes his time, his muscles aching from the busy - but truly wonderful - day. Soothed by the steam and the fresh scent of vanilla and cedarwood and lavender, he stumbles back through to the living room in a fresh hoodie and sweats, endeared when he locks eyes with Eddie, yarn and hook in hand. 

“What’cha making?” Buck flops onto the couch beside him, his body curling instinctively towards him. 

Eddie turns his iPad a few degrees so that Buck can see the video tutorial he is working from; a circle, with teddy bear ears surrounded by a blue border, the eyes, nose and mouth of the bear completed with a white circle and embroidered black threat. Buck compares this to Eddie’s progress so far; a beige circle - the bear’s face - and two other colours of yarn picked out and resting on the table - a baby blue and a soft cream - the material baby soft when he takes hold of the ball that Eddie is working from. So soft he can’t help but brush it against his cheek, the gentle fibres soothing and warm against his skin. 

“For the baby?” Buck settles into the spot beside Eddie, content to watch him work. 

“Yeah,” Eddie switches tabs to show him the whole project; a blanket formed by alternating teddy bear granny squares and blocks of the cream colour. 

Buck catches the expression on Eddie’s face; the softness of his brow, the twinkle in his eye, the small little upturn in the corner of his lips. 

“You’re broody,” Buck can’t help but tease. 

“So what if I am?” Eddie smiles, cheeks already tomato red. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No.”

“And you heard Chris, he wants a sibling.”

“I guess we’ll just have to do our best to make that happen then, huh?”

“I guess so.” 

Buck kisses the smile from Eddie’s lips, the yarn quickly abandoned on the coffee table. 

***

A week or so later, whilst Chris is at school and Buck is at work, Eddie finishes the squares in between the latest addition to his recovery; physical therapy sessions. He hadn’t been worried about them to begin with, excited to get back to a sense of normality, to be able to move around and walk and hopefully make progress in getting back to work. What he hadn’t anticipated is just how hard it would be. He has been lucky to not be in much pain since the injury, but with the exercises his PT has him doing to regain full motion in the joint, pain is once again a constant companion. 

With all of the pieces of the blanket ready to assemble, he hobbles to lay out the squares, satisfied with his progress. He struggles to sit on the floor to get to work in joining them. It’s only once he has settled and found a comfortable position, that he realizes he is missing the one tool he needs for the task at hand; a yarning needle. Only his crochet hook is within reach, and he briefly ponders the possibility of slip-stitching the squares together, but he’s never tried that before and he doesn’t want to mess up his hard work up to this point. 

In lieu of his original plan, he reaches back over to grab the remote from the table, switching on an old episode of The Property Brothers, bemoaning that he won’t have something to do with his hands whilst he watches. He still has the crochet hook in his hand, and the half-skein of beige yarn from the coffee table he used for the teddy bears. He makes a chaine aimlessly, not making anything in particular before he starts working half-double crochets into it; he’s returning to an old classic, a hat.

A very small hat. It doesn’t take him long before he has a tiny hat that fits perfectly in the palm of his large hand. Two small details later - bear ears - and he has a baby hat to match the blanket he has yet to assemble, and that is not even mentioning the myriad of ends he still needs to weave in. 

He’s struck by the memory of when Chris was this tiny; a distant memory, hazy with time and blurred by sentimentality but a memory that stops him in his tracks nonetheless. His memories are snapshots, pictures sent to a phone across several thousand miles, facetime calls disrupted by poor connection or orders from his sergeant; parsing together the pieces from his mind, he smells sands in his nostrils, tastes dry crackers and peanut butter from a MRE pack sticky on the roof of his mouth, feels the weight of his gear and uniform heavy on his back. 

He sits with the memory, allowing other memories to spawn as he focuses his eyes on the tiny newborn hat with the bear ears; Chris had a pyjama onesie as a kid with ears like it, in a plush fleece fabric that he loved to wear, snuggled up close against his chest during mild El paso winters. His kid, he thinks, smiling who is barely even a kid anymore; he’s fourteen. He has a fourteen year old. A teenager. He shakes his head in disbelief that this memory, the one that is still making his heart feel fuzzy, was over fourteen years ago now.

Fourteen years with his kid. Fourteen years as his father. Fourteen years of the best goddamn thing that has ever happened to him.

He pushes himself to his feet, the ache in his leg briefly forgotten, resolving to search for the yarn needle, a new found motivation to finish the project driving one foot in front of the other, the feeling still warm in his chest. 

*** 

This is not a baby shower. At the very least, this wasn’t supposed to be a baby shower. Maddie had insisted at length to Buck that she hadn’t wanted one; with a group of family and friends made up almost entirely of first responders, the thought of trying to schedule in advance a day where all of her favorite people would be in attendance had seemed like a mammoth task, and a task she hadn’t wanted to even consider after everything that has happened in the lead up to her final trimester.

She knows fine well the moment she lets Buck organize a ‘little get-together’ that she has caved, and quite honestly, she doesn’t mind. In fact, after all the pain and the suffering and the worry that she has endured in the months since finding out about the pregnancy, it feels nice to be able to sit back and let this happen, to allow this beautiful, wonderful, terrifying thing to be celebrated. 

Buck is at the helm of Maddie and Chimney’s dining table, a determined look on his face as he sorts through the pile of baby photos in his hands, to be used for a game later tonight; not that the game will be that difficult, considering Buck’s birthmark is on full view on the tiny face in his own baby photo, and the fact that baby Bobby Nash looks exactly like what you would imagine Bobby Nash as a baby would look like. 

“Is this Eddie?” Maddie picks up a photograph which falls out from the pile. 

She needn’t ask that question; it’s obvious the baby-faced, red-cheeked kid around Jee’s age in the photo is Eddie. He’s flashing the same roguish smirk the man bears to this day in front of the hazy primary color blur of a busy family celebration of which he seems to be the centre of; a birthday party, she hazards a guess. 

“Hey-” Buck starts protesting her meddling with his game, but he stops himself when Maddie hands the photo - one of those ones a family member must have taken on a disposable camera and gotten developed at a local store, as was common back then - to him. “Yeah, it is.”

A pause.

“God, he looks so much like Chris,” Buck doesn’t take his eyes away from it. 

“He does, doesn’t he?” Maddie rests her hand on Buck’s shoulder. 

The event remains a small affair, or as small an affair as is possible with the 118 involved. Bobby has prepared heaping casserole dishes of food, Buck has baked enough goodies to feed a small army and everyone else supplies the drinks, which are heartily poured and enjoyed as they all find their spots amongst the chaos, with the Han family at the epicenter. 

Jee is on gift delivery duty, filtering through the crowd with her tiny hands full of gift bags and wrapping paper which she hands over to her parents with beaming delight.

“Uncle Eddie’s turn!” she squeals, rushing forward to accept the gift box from him. 

“This is from me and Buck,” Eddie adds, cheeks already turning red as all eyes are on him. “It’s just… Yeah. Just a little something for the little guy.”

The box is slammed not so ceremoniously onto Chimney’s lap by the four-year old, who already is trying to rip the ribbon from it, excited to see what is inside. Chimney carefully unravels the bow, allowing Maddie beside him to tip open the lid. 

Silence fills the room. Chimney’s hand finds Maddie’s on instinct, both brushing across the length of the baby soft blanket in tandem. Maddie finds the hat first, and then the others; three more hats in ascending sizes, one for the baby boy, one for Jee, one for Maddie, one for Chimney. 

“For me?” Jee accepts the hat from her mom, turning around to look at Eddie; he nods, and she pulls it onto her head with such force that she nearly topples over. 

Maddie places hers on her own head, grinning at her daughter as she tearfully exclaims that they’re matching, not having to say a word to Eddie as she looks over at him, the gratitude evident in the smile she sends his way. Chimney doesn’t say a word, a little awestruck as Jee pleads for him to put on his hat and erupts in giggles when he does so. The baby’s hat is still in his hand, the blanket carefully draped over his lap. 

“I uh…” he shakes his head, clears his throat, unable to find the words. “This is… Thank you.”

He rushes over so quickly that Eddie is taken by surprise by Chimney’s arms being thrown around his shoulders, the hug so tight that Eddie briefly worries he’s going to stop breathing before Chim pulls away. His appearance in the silly little hat with the bear ears would make Eddie laugh if it weren’t for the tear tracks on Chimney’s cheeks; Eddie can feel a sob working its way into his own throat.

“Thank you,” Chimney whispers again, as if the first thanks weren’t enough. “Thank you so much.” 

Chapter Text

“You’re cranky,” Buck gives Eddie a look. 

“No I’m not,” Eddie’s protest only proves his partner’s case; the expression on his face can only be described as something between a scowl and a death stare.

“You’re cranky,” Chimney says, sing-song voice way too loud for Eddie as he turns to Buck, a wide grin spread across his face. “Or maybe crotchety is a better word for it, eh?”

He pauses for comedic effect. When he gets no response, he repeats himself, emphasizing the pun; ‘get it? Crochet-y?’.  Eddie just glares at him, arms crossed.

“See? Chim smirks. “You’re cranky.”

Eddie is not cranky, thank you very much. Or tetchy or sulky or moody or crochety or whatever other words his partner and team want to try and pull from thesaurus.com. He is beginning to regret his choice to stop by the firehouse with Buck after his physiotherapy appointment first thing this morning though. He wishes he had taken up Buck’s offer of giving him a ride back home before the start of his shift, hoping that a breakfast made by Bobby and spending the rest of the morning with Maddie and Jee as planned would make him feel less - 

Okay, so maybe he is a little cranky. He sits begrudgingly in his usual spot at the dinner table, but it feels strange and unfamiliar to be back here, not wearing his uniform and with the clunky boot still encasing his ankle. Even though he has managed to avoid it so far, he can still feel all eyes on the firehouse on him, like he’s a sitting duck just waiting for the awkward small talk from his coworkers to fire. He’s thankful Buck, Chim, Hen, Bobby and Ravi do not entertain those kinds of pleasantries, and is thus satisfied to commiserate amongst their morning cheer for now, even if he sort of wishes he could go home and crawl back into bed. 

And he has every reason to be cranky, he thinks, after the morning he has had. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He had woken up at the crack of dawn, the sun still rising and streaming through the windscreen on the drive to his physiotherapist’s office after dropping Chris at school, singing under his breath in the passenger seat whilst Buck divided his attention between Eddie and the road, a sleepy smile on his lips. He had been eager to get there, bouncing his good leg in the waiting room, anticipating good news; confirmation that he would be allowed to bear weight on his ankle again as predicted, that he’s finally on the road to full recovery and will be back at work by the end of the month. 

Except it wasn’t good news. His physiotherapist is referring him back to his orthopedic surgeon. She is concerned about the pain he has been experiencing, about the range of motion in the joint. The injury may be worse than initially diagnosed. He might need another surgery. 

Everything he had planned for the rest of the week hangs in the balance; Chris has a pool club meet just outside of town this weekend, and Buck had managed to line up his vacation days for the three of them to make a mini road trip out of it; now with the prospect of another surgery on the cards, Eddie might not be able to go. 

“Hey,” Buck stretches his long arms around him, leaning against the back of Eddie’s chair. “I’m sorry, we’re only teasing. I know it’s been a really shitty morning.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie manages a smile, reaching to pat Buck’s hand. “Sorry, I’m bringing the mood down guys. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as Maddie gets here, or I can call an Uber-”

“Eddie,” Bobby cuts him off, and Eddie almost laughs at the serious expression on his face paired with one hand on his hip and the other pointing his spatula. “You’re not bringing the mood down; you know you’re always welcome here. It’s been great to have you back here today, I just look forward to the day you’re back and back in uniform.”

“Me too, cap. Me too.”

“I know you got news of a setback with your injury today, kid, but I know it’ll all work out okay. These next few weeks will fly by much quicker than you think.”

“And we don’t even know if it is a setback,” Buck chimes in. 

This has been Buck’s refrain since they left the office this morning. We don’t know yet. We just have to wait and see what your doctor says. Maybe everything is fine. 

He curses himself for being mad, because this will be helpful soon; it just isn’t helpful at this present moment. Right now, he just wants to wallow in it, to be grumpy and angry and miserable about the shittiness of it all. Because it is shitty; one silly mistake on a call, one wrong footing and now he’s here, facing an injury that could be much worse than first thought. If her worries are correct, it’s the kind of injury that could be career ending, the physiotherapist had told him, if he was a football player or a basketball star or an Olympic athlete, that is. Prior to this appointment, there were talks of him being back at work, on light duty, by the end of the month; this morning, she had suggested it would be at least another month before he can even think about the possibility. 

He hates this; not being able to do his normal routine or drive or work. There is a pang in his chest as he glances around the fire station, the team starting to disperse and start on their day’s tasks. It takes some convincing from Chimney and Ravi to get Buck to leave Eddie’s side so they can start on cleaning the rigs, but he eventually starts trudging in the direction of the truck, staring forlornly back at Eddie as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Eddie drains the rest of his coffee, wondering if the pout on his own face rivals that of Buck’s. 

“Hey Eddie, do you fancy giving me a hand restocking the bus?” Hen’s voice is what pulls him from his ruminations.

“Yeah sure,” he shrugs. I guess so. 

He makes his way down the stairs carefully behind Hen using his crutches, planting himself on the gurney once they are inside of the ambulance and accepting the tray of bandages Hen passes his way to sort through; a repetitive task, but one his brain is thankful for. Hen waits for him to speak, for him to say the first word, not wanting to bombard him with questions but obviously worried about the man’s uncharacteristic quietness.

“Sorry,” he flashes a half-hearted smile. “I’ve been kind of a buzzkill today.”

“It just hasn’t been your morning,” she sighs in commiseration. “And you haven’t; not really. And I’ve enjoyed having you back here regardless. It’s been… Well I was going to say it’s been the q-word without you-”

“But Buck won’t shut up about me?”

“Yeah, he’s relentless.”

“Well, I apologize for that too.”

“He just misses you; we all do. We all can’t wait until you’re back at work with us again.”

“If it ever happens.”

“Hey, none of that doom and gloom sir,” she points at him, glaring at him over the brim of her glasses. “You’ll be back here with us before you know it, even if it’s a little bit further away than you expected. And hey, look on the bright side.”

“Bright side?” he scoffs. “Hen, I don’t know if there is a bright side to this. I might have to get another surgery, and then it’ll be at least another month before I’m back here, and that’s not even on full duty and-”

She halts her task, abandoning the syringes she was organizing in the drawer to sit beside him on the gurney.

“Hey,” she stops him in his tracks. “I know, it sucks. It really sucks. I’m sorry that you’re going through this.”

“I guess I’m just…” Eddie shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m just… Yeah. It sucks.” 

She rests a hand on his shoulder, sighing in tandem with him. 

“But if I had to think of a bright side to all this,” she smirks, a kind twinkle in her eye. “At least now you have more time to make me something. Buck’s been singing your praises, showing us some of the things you’ve crocheted; you have some serious skills, Eddie.”

“I’m…” he nods, not used to compliments. “Thank you.”

“I’m kidding by the way, you don’t have to make me anything. I’m just saying, enjoy this; or enjoy what you can of this, I guess. I think it’s really awesome that you’ve learned to do something like this whilst you’ve been stuck at home; the last time I was out with an injury the only thing I accomplished was getting caught up with Grey’s Anatomy and going a little stir crazy.”

“Poor Karen, although that’s kind of impressive. And believe me, I’ve made my way through a good chunk of my TV backlog too. I’m just about to start the first episode of The Pitt.”

“Just don’t bear it alone, okay?” she says after a pause. “You know we’re all here for you, and like Cap said, you’re always welcome here; if it would help for you to tag along with Buck and hang out here, help out with stuff like this, then you should.”

“I think it would just feel weird,” he shrugs, sitting forward. “Being here, I mean. I’d probably try and follow you out on a call if I were here.”

“And break your other ankle in the process?”

They laugh in unison.

“No I get it,” she says simply. “This is your life, and it’s been put on pause against your will. I would be mad too.”

She rests a hand on his knee, a kind smile on her face. God, he loves her so much; he loves his whole team so much. He hadn’t realized how much he missed spending his days with them until now.

“I’ll make you something,” he says. 

“Eddie, you don’t have to,” she replies, but she’s already grinning at the thought.”

“I want to.”

“That would be really awesome.”

“A blanket? Or something you could wear, would that be cool? A sweater, or a cardigan?”

“I’d be happy with another hat,” she teases. “Eddie, whatever you make for me, I will cherish it with my life. Seriously.”

“Thanks Hen. For uh, everything.”

She takes his hand, and they sit like that in the ambulance for a moment; just a brief peaceful moment, before they get back to the task at hand. 

***

Eddie wastes no time in starting his quest  to find just the right project for Hen. He is in much better spirits after Maddie drops him back home after brunch; Jee did wonders to cheer him up, as did some good coffee and a sweet treat enjoyed in the late morning sun. He had assumed he would spend the rest of his day doom scrolling, and in all fairness, scrolling is exactly what he does as soon as he gets situated on the couch; except right now, he is scrolling with a very important purpose. 

He scrolls through intricate pixel grids making up images in the form of single crochet and delicate lace like patterns in the shape of snowflakes and butterflies and flowers. He is overwhelmed at the thought of even attempting anything like this, too much counting and techniques he hasn’t tried yet, things he will try one day but not on a day like today, where frustration has been his constant companion, where he just needs a win, no matter how small. 

He’s drawn to the idea of crocheting a garment. So far, he hasn’t ventured much further than hats and scarves, assuming - perhaps presumptively - that tops and sweaters and cardigans would be outside of his knowledge base, but with the thought of making something for Hen to wear, for one of his best friends, in mind, he is drawn towards the idea of stepping outside of comfort zone to give it a try. 

He still feels out of his depth, especially when after a search for the perfect project falls short. He finds a shape he likes, colors that look cool, but nothing that screams Hen. He considers himself reasonably fashionable, at least when he makes the effort to dress up, however, he knows his stylings pale massively in comparison to Hen’s. He is in awe of her wardrobe, cheering whenever she enters the firehouse in her myriad of brightly colored sneakers and perfectly tailored pants and fancy jackets, not to mention her seemingly endless supply of glasses to match. If he is going to make a garment for one Henrietta Wilson, then it needs to be just right. 

He still hasn’t settled on a design a few days later, although he does manage to make a last minute appointment to see his orthopedic surgeon the day before they are due to leave for their road trip. He is working on the former as he is stuck in the waiting room, his phone balanced on his knee, grateful for the wait, for the ample opportunity to consider his plans for Hen’s gift. 

Buck is beside him, head lolling over his shoulder to watch Eddie scroll. He is especially tactile today, one arm hooked around Eddie’s like his body is an extension of his own. He doesn’t have to say that he is worried for Eddie to tell; that much is evident in the speed at which he managed to get Bobby to find cover for him today so that he could accompany him to the appointment, despite Eddie insisting he would be able to manage on his own. 

Eddie is more than glad he is here, however. As much as he could have done this alone, he is grateful that he doesn’t have to. 

“Woah, wait, that one,” Buck points at Eddie’s phone. “That one’s so cool.”

“And so…” Eddie tries to articulate. “So Hen.” 

It’s a cardigan that seems to be made up of several granny squares, with a star at the centre of each. There is a thick ribbing around the border and at the end of the sleeves that looks like it is knitted, but Eddie is sure it is crochet. The garment is a constellation of colors, with thick pearlescent buttons at the front. He can’t think of any other words to describe it except it’s so Hen. Eddie can picture her proudly sporting it on her entrance into the firehouse, likely paired with an impressive pair of shoes and matching glasses to complete the outfit.

Whether he can picture himself being able to make such a garment is a different matter entirely. He isn’t given much time to consider the prospect however, before he is being called back for his appointment, the fate of more than just Hen’s cardigan hanging in the balance. 

***

“I told you it would be fine,” Buck says through a mouthful of fries.

They are in the parking lot of their favorite fast food burger joint, just a block or two away from Eddie’s doctor’s office. Eddie is ravenous, having not been able to eat in anticipation of the appointment. He has already polished off half of his burger and a good helping of fries; the perfect meal to celebrate the good news.

Well, the not bad news. Eddie does not in fact require another surgery on his ankle. The concerns of his physiotherapist have been abated after comprehensive scans and assessments, attributed to probable over-exertion and a muscle injury rather than anything more sinister; nothing a reduction in the intensity of his next few sessions and another week or two without bearing weight on the ankle can’t fix. 

With both doctor prescribed rest and a project to get to work on as his excuse, he sets up shop on the couch with a new sense of motivation as soon as they get home, a healthy pile of granny squares starting to stack up, resting beside his propped up foot on the coffee table.

He has finished the granny squares by the time he, Buck and Chris are due to make a start on their road trip. He packs his supplies in an extra backpack in the trunk, hoping he will be able to make some progress whilst he and Buck hang out in the hotel room or by the side of the pool whilst Chris spends time with his friends.

Eddie feels guilty for not being able to bear his share of the drive, as they typically would; the fact that it is the leg he would use to operate the car that is injured has been one of the worst parts of this. Regardless, today he is satisfied to sit in the passenger seat. He had briefly considered trying to crochet some of the ribbing for the cardigan during the journey, but he hadn’t wanted to chance getting car sick as he was prone to do as a kid, and so he opts instead to make happy conversation with his family, humming along to the radio with his eyes on the horizon instead. 

And he’s worried that once he finishes the last section he has left before putting it together, he will hate it. He’s been staring at it for too long, feeling like each of the stars at the centre of the squares are not quite the right shape, doubting whether the colors he has chosen go well together or clash. Buck reassures him that it looks great so far; but Buck tells him everything looks great, staring in awe at even the messiest stitches Eddie knows aren’t right. 

He just wants it to be perfect, to be able to present Hen with a perfect gift that perfectly represents just how grateful he is to have her in his life. He has missed his team since being out of work, but Hen has made an effort to make sure not to make him feel like a stranger, dropping by with takeout and good conversation, keeping an open invite for him and Buck at the Wilson household, sending a text or a call his way for a catch up at the exact moments he needs it most. And that is not even mentioning the years and years of friendship he has had the privilege of experiencing since he moved to LA and joined the 118 and she became part of his life. 

Chris quickly finds his friends once they arrive, disappearing to the hotel pool before Buck and Eddie can even catch their bearings and get settled in the hotel room. Buck is antsy from the long drive, pacing back and forth across the room as Eddie sits on one of the beds, laying out the granny squares, hoping that by sewing them together he will start to feel more confident about the project.

He lays them out as the pattern advises, trying to ignore the doubts that spring to mind; it looks terrible, all this hard work for nothing, he’s silly for even trying. He resists the thoughts, rearranging the squares and trying to remind himself that he has just sunk too many hours into this, that once he steps away from it for a little while he will be happier with the result., 

And the opportunity to take his mind off it comes far quicker than he had expected, pulled immediately from his ruminations by the crash of a glass hitting the floor, followed by an exclamation of ‘FUCK!’ and Buck appearing at the side of the bed, a trail of blood already dripping from his hand. 

“I broke a glass,” Buck sways, looking vaguely like he’s about to pass out or throw up, or perhaps both.

He does neither. Eddie shifts forward, tugging the hem of Buck’s shirt to coax him into sitting down before he can faint, Buck seeming to only realize how close he was to doing so once he is off his feet.

“And you decided to pick it up with your bare hands?” Eddie remarks, but there is no bite behind it, only a wave of concern. 

Buck stares ahead, swallows. He is pale, and his mouth is sealed shut, worried that if he tries to open it he will spill his guts. 

“Hey, let me see,” Eddie uses one hand to lift Buck’s arm about his head and the other to search for a washcloth from the backpack beside him on the bed, applying pressure to the deep but small gouge in the crevice of Buck’s palm. “Jeez, Buck.”

“S’fine,” Buck manages.  

“How about we let the medic be the judge of that, okay?”

Buck nods, taking slow deep breaths in and out through his nose, with no choice but to oblige with Eddie’s orders.

“You think you can stay upright long enough for me to find my kit?” Eddie guides Buck’s uninjured hand to apply pressure to the other arm as Buck nods. 

Eddie hops in the direction of their shared suitcases, his crutches at the other side of the bed. Buck tries to get up to help him, but he takes a nosedive into the opposite bed in the process, prompting Eddie to rush over after grabbing his med kit, using the edge of the bed to keep his balance as he negotiates himself back to Buck’s side. 

“Woah there, bud,” Eddie allows Buck to brace himself against his chest. “Just sit down, take it easy, before I have to peel you off the floor."

“Okay,” Buck agrees, although he’s not in a fit state to do much else; his brain seems to choose this exact moment to realize he’s getting blood on Eddie’s shirt, his eyes going wide with panic. “Sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. Don’t worry; as long as you don’t bleed out on me.”

More deep breaths. Eddie times his breaths with Buck’s; in for four, out for four. Buck isn’t the type to be squeamish around blood, the pallor on his face and difficulty staying upright a physiological response to the injury, his sympathetic nervous system going into overdrive. Eddie is gentle with him nonetheless, easing the washcloth away from the wound to take a look.

“Nothing a few stitches can’t fix, I think,” he says, protesting when Buck tries to lower his arm. “The bleeding has nearly stopped.”

“Stitches?” Buck gulps. 

“Yeah, one or two. With where it is, I don’t think it’d hold together with the glue.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, you don’t have much choice, bud. I’ll find Chris first okay? Tell him what’s going on. His friend Sam’s mom should be around, I can ask her to keep an eye on him whilst we go get you patched up.” 

“No,” Buck leans against Eddie. “I don’t want to… It’s not like you can drive, and I’m… Can’t you do it? You have the stuff in your kit, don’t you?”

Eddie sighs as Buck’s face sinks into a pout, but at the very least some of the color is starting to return to his cheeks.

“I do, but for emergencies,” Eddie shakes his head. “Like when we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere or stuck in an elevator or whatever; not when we’re five minutes down the street from a perfectly good urgent care.”

“Please?” Buck stares at him again, his big blue eyes doing a lot of work to convince Eddie right now. 

Eddie doesn’t give in just yet, but he shifts himself onto the opposite bed from Buck, their knees interlocking as he carefully maneuvers Buck’s hand to take a look at it. He has stitched together much worse, in far less comfortable conditions, and he doesn’t have any concerns about anything deeper than the first few layers of skin being damaged and so after some consideration - and another few flutters of his eyelashes from Buck - he finally relents.

“Alright, give it here,” he says, guiding Buck to prop his arm on his knee, palm facing upwards. 

He gathers the supplies, cleaning his hands and pulling on a pair of gloves from his medkit before he gets to work clearing away some of the blood that is beginning to crust around the wound, thankful it doesn’t look nearly as bad as he first thought. 

“It’s not so bad,” he tilts his head, trying to get a glimpse at it from another angle. “Do you still feel like you’re going to pass out?”

“M’fine,” Buck waves off the concern.

“Hey, I need you to be honest with me; I don’t want to start sewing you back together until I’m sure you’re not going to just hurl over all my hard work.”

This raises a laugh out of Buck, and Eddie lets himself be at least somewhat reassured. 

“I’m okay,” Buck nods, comforted by Eddie’s face so close to his, the sound of him breathing. “Still a little shaky, but I’m good, Eddie.”

“Promise?” Eddie smirks. 

“Yeah, I promise.” 

“You probably, um, shouldn’t watch. 

Buck doesn’t heed the warning, leaning in closer as Eddie threads the needle and ties a tiny delicate stitch, closing the skin together.

“It’s like you’re crocheting me,” he whispers; it takes everything Eddie has not to break out into laughter.

Eddie makes sure the stitches are secure, carefully wrapping a bandage around Buck’s hand as he starts to join him again back in the land of the living, a grateful but apologetic smile on his lips. Buck is a broken record of sorries and thank yous, which Eddie resists to begin with, but as this refrain continues, Eddie quickly gives up, suggesting a few ways he can think for Buck to make it up to him. 

***

The rest of the trip is mostly spent oscillating between the hotel room and the poolside. Eddie spends most of this time crocheting, hoping to finish the ribbing of at least the cuffs on the sleeves and get started on the rest of the border before they have to leave. Buck has a little more difficulty in finding a relaxing activity he can do now that swimming is off the cards thanks to the cut on his hand, and so he mostly just settles for lazing in the sun, dividing his attention between making sure Chris is still having a good time with his friends and watching Eddie in awe. And of course there is plenty of time for other activities when they manage to squeeze in a few hours alone. 

It turns out to be exactly what Eddie needed, both to settle his mind after the week he has had, and to make good progress with the cardigan. He has a few things to join, some buttons to attach and still has some ends to weave in - normally a task delegated to Buck, although with one hand out of action for the past few days, it has been a duty he has not been able to fulfil - and once he has finished, he can’t wait to gift it to Hen. He loves it; it is his favorite thing he has made, he thinks. The deep purples, cool blues and forest greens go perfectly with the white stars at the centre of each granny square, and he found the perfect buttons to finish it off, in a tortoiseshell design that matches exactly with one of Hen’s go-to pairs of glasses. 

It is a busy few days before he finally has the time to complete the finishing touches, and even longer before he can finally schedule in a visit to the Wilson household to surprise her with it; a gas explosion at an office building ties the 118 up for an entire 48 hour shift, thus delaying the double date he and Buck have planned with Hen and Karen to the end of the week. Buck cooks, Karen pours the drinks, and Eddie and Hen are just content to enjoy the fruits of their partners’ labor. 

It is after dinner when Eddie finally conjures the courage to present the gift to Hen. It’s not perfect, he thinks; Buck and Chris sang his praises when he showed them the finished product, but he can still see the parts that didn’t turn out just how he had hoped, the things he would have done differently if he were to try again. Except he is at peace with it not being perfect now; he’s not sure that if he was to try again, the final result would be much different. He’s not perfect; life isn’t perfect. 

Hen sure as hell thinks the cardigan is perfect, however. He hands it to her and she takes it into her grasp, fingers trailing across each stitch in amazement.

“Eddie,” her voice is already breaking. “This is… It’s so beautiful.”

“It’s-” he is about to start his spiel of everything he knows is wrong with it, but something within him stops him before he can. “Thank you.” 

Hen wastes no time in trying the cardigan on, posing when Karen gasps in awe. She doesn’t take it off for the rest of the night, periodically looking down at it and grinning. 

When Buck and Eddie leave late that night, tipsy and arms laden with leftovers, Hen stops Eddie before he crosses the threshold of the door, pulling him close into a hug and whispering her thanks, words unable to express the sheer gratitude that he made this for her, that his hands created something so beautiful, so wonderful, so perfectly representative of the friendship they have the privilege to share. 

Chapter Text

Besides the journey back from his physiotherapy appointment, Eddie’s first excursion after being approved to bear weight on his ankle once again is to the craft store, tasked with the responsibility of picking up the very specific supplies Christopher has requested for his science project.

He tentatively places his foot onto the asphalt, trying to ignore the fact it feels wrong, like he’s committing a crime. It’s strange, he thinks, having some semblance of his freedom back; able to drive again, to walk without crutches, able to resume at least part of his normal life. All that remains is getting the boot off and working to get his strength back so he can return to work; the former is still a few weeks out, and his PT has warned him that returning to work on full duty is something that won’t be in the cards for a little while yet. 

He grabs a cart, clutching at Christopher’s very detailed list in his hand. The store is busier than he expected for mid-morning on a Wednesday, and he has to fight to stay steady on his feet as customers push past him, standing in the middle of the aisle trying to decide which of two colors of construction paper better qualifies as forest green. 

He opts for both to be safe and veers his cart in the other direction, concerned that he is getting in the way. 

It’s fate that he ends up in the yarn section, he tells himself. It’s not like he drove an extra few miles out to this exact craft store to take advantage of their more extensive offerings; totally not his intention. In some ways, this has been one of his favorite parts of learning how to crochet; yarn shopping has been his go to way to ward off boredom on long days stuck alone in the house, but this is his first time doing so in person, and he sort of feels like a kid in a candy store. 

He stands at the head of the aisle, careful to allow other customers past as he takes it all in; rows and rows of skeins of yarn, divided by brand, color, material, texture. Crimson reds and midnight blues, deep greens, fluorescent yellows. There’s a yarn with a wispy haloed texture - mohair, he learns from the label - and one with a string of golden tinsel spun through, another with the texture of teddy bear fur. 

His eyes, however, are drawn to a display of worsted weight yarn, in a descending gradient of blues, from a deep indigo to a signature baby blue, to a cerulean that reminds him of the ocean. Buck, he thinks. The color of his eyes, the hoodie he wears when he is seeking comfort, his favorite color. 

Since Eddie has picked up this new hobby, there has been no shortage of complaints from Buck about how he never makes him anything. It’s all in good fun, of course, especially because it is the furthest thing from true. There are the many hats he had made at the start of this journey, and Eddie’s go-to project when he needs something to work on to get through the boring days is any sort of small trinket he knows is going to make Buck smile when he gets home after a long shift; crochet hearts, bookmarks, a collection of weird and wonderful little amigurumi creations lined up on the fireplace. 

At the centre of the yarn display is a pattern for a blanket, composed of what seems to be called a ripple stitch on closer inspection, resembling waves and Eddie knows immediately that this will be what he will make for Buck, the largest project he has tackled so far. He hasn’t exactly been putting off making a bigger project for Buck, but he has been keeping his eyes peeled for the right one; one that just feels right, that will truly encompass everything he feels about Buck, wrapped up into each and every stitch. 

He doesn’t intend to keep the blanket a secret from Buck to begin with; it just sort of happens that way. He makes a start on learning the stitch - a repeat of five double crochets followed by two double crochets in the same stitch for two stitches for the peaks or double crochet two together for the valleys later that evening, whilst Chris is preoccupied with his science project in his room. Once he gets the hang of it, he finds it to be a repetitive but comforting task, the perfect accompaniment to his daily television marathons. 

He is three rows in, realizing this is going to be far more involved than his other projects so far due to the sheer size of the blanket, about to change to the second color, when Buck sends a text his way, confirming that he will be home soon. He feels the urge to hide the blanket come over him, a pleasant sensation, like the way your stomach dips on the decline of a rollercoaster, at the thought of Buck seeing the blanket, of his face when he sets his eyes on the finished product Eddie is making for him.

It strikes him that he doesn’t want him to see it like this, so unfinished. He moves as fast as his foot being in a boot allows, knocking on Christopher’s door with an unintentional fervor, practically slamming into the room as soon as Chris yells for him to come in. He stares back at him, dumbfounded as he watches his father fling open his wardrobe and source the empty suit carrier that had previously held Christopher’s last suit before he outgrew it  and shove the unidentifiable object inside. 

“Um, what are you doing?” Christopher swivels his chair around, smirking. “Why are you hiding a… Scarf in my wardrobe?”

He pauses, finally noticing the length of the thing Eddie is trying to fit inside of the bag.

“And why is the scarf so long?” he raises an eyebrow, smiling wider. 

“I’m making a blanket for Buck,” he says, as if this explains anything; evidently it doesn’t. 

“Okay?”

“And I’m hiding it so he doesn’t see it before it’s done.”

“Oh,” Christopher nods, reaching for his crutches to approach his dad. “Am I allowed to see it though?”

“Oh yeah, of course.”

Eddie unfurls his efforts of trying - and failing - to shove the fabric into the bag before laying it out across the length of Christopher’s bed, remaining vigilant to the sound of Buck’s impending arrival home.

“Woah,” Christopher holds it up to take a closer look. “You did all of this today?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “I got the supplies whilst I was at the craft store for you.”

“It’s awesome.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. Buck’s going to love it.”

Eddie doesn’t make any effort to hide his smile. Beaming in his son’s direction as he carefully folds the blanket back into the bag and zips it up, hanging it inconspicuously back inside the wardrobe before he turns his attention to observing the progress of Christopher’s science project, hoping that Buck won’ suspect a thing. 

***

Eddie works on the blanket at any spare chance he gets, or any spare chance when Buck isn’t around, which has unfortunately been a lot more than he would like lately. Buck has been working long hours, the 118 faced with relentless calls and being short on staff with the flu making its rounds through the firehouse. Eddie manages to make good progress on the blanket with Buck on shift, however, the yarn quickly being crafted into waves and starting to resemble a blanket; he has around twelve inches in length now, the foundation chain he started with about the width of a queen bed. 

He’s anxious to show it to Buck, excited to see the look on his face when it is unveiled. Buck will love this blanket; Eddie doesn’t doubt that for a second. And it sure as hell will be put to good use; Eddie is no stranger to Buck’s strange proclivities like wearing socks to bed, or sleeping underneath a mountain of blankets, or clinging onto Eddie for dear life as if he risks freezing to death, despite the fact they live in LA. Eddie doesn’t mind; he himself runs warm at the best of times, and he’s not sure if he could cope without Buck’s cold hands against his bare skin at night, a cooling balm from the California heat. 

Today has been particularly productive, and he feels he has made some solid progress. He lays back on the couch, allowing himself to take a breather and stretch his hands. Hen has been pestering him to slow down, to be careful he doesn’t throw another limb out of action by giving himself carpal tunnel from the repetitive movement; he’s not quite sure he believes the horror story she had sold him about a call they had last week about the broken hand from knitting too aggressively, but it’s on his mind nonetheless.

He didn’t intend to nap. He figured he would take a quick break before getting up to hide the blanket safely away in anticipation for Buck’s return and get started on dinner for tonight; a simple meal, just for the two of them, with Chris at a sleepover at the Wilson’s with Denny and a couple of their other friends. 

He wakes an hour or so later, Buck’s voice on the other side of the front door shocking him to his feet, the blanket clutched in his grasp. Shit, he curses. He runs through the hiding spaces in his mind, limping aimlessly as Buck’s keys rattle in the door, the other man thankfully seeming to have some issue finding the right one. The door creaks open, and Buck is already announcing his entrance as Eddie can only hastily chuck the blanket underneath the couch and hope for the best. He only notices the corner of the blanket peeking out from underneath once his arms are thrown around Buck’s shoulders, embracing him into a welcome home hug. 

He manages to deftly spin Buck, hands on the other man’s waist. Glad for his new found freedom of being able to bear weight on his foot for more reasons than one, he dances with Buck, swaying his hips from side to side and letting him follow, so expertly that Buck is entirely unaware that it is part of Eddie’s plot to maneuver his eyeline in the opposite direction of the blanket. Buck doesn’t protest for a second, sinking immediately against Eddie without an ounce of suspicion, content to be wooed by his lover the moment he sets foot inside. 

“I think somebody missed me today,” Buck’s breath is hot against Eddie’s neck. 

“Maybe just a little,” Eddie feigns nonchalance, but does a poor job, considering the grin plastered across his face.

Buck’s lips are on his in an instant, hands shifting to his shoulders and starting to lead him in the direction of the couch. Eddie closes his eyes, pure desire taking over his instincts until the very last moment his brain kicks back into gear, and he catches himself, tugging the hem of Buck’s shirt and encouraging him to follow in the direction of the bedroom instead. 

They tumble into bed, fighting against the comforter to climb on top of the mattress, a mix of hands and lips and tongues and bodies, such a well rehearsed dance that it is hard to tell where each man ends and the other begins.

“Oh, so you really missed me, huh?” Buck says, panting as Eddie is on top of him, kisses in the dip of his neck turning into something deeper, more instinctive, more carnal. 

Eddie traces his fingers along the mark he has left beneath his jaw and thinks mine. This moment, this place, this snapshot in time; mine . 

He is left drunk with the thought after they finish, satisfied to lay there with Buck’s arm draped over his bare chest. They lay like that for a while, before Buck reluctantly pushes himself up from the mattress, mumbling something about how they should probably get dinner started, that all this messing around has been hungry work. A shiver runs down Eddie’s spine, and he’s grasping for Buck’s hand again, pleading him to stay; just a few more minutes, I’m all yours. 

Buck doesn’t take much convincing. Eddie suggests takeout in between kisses, before ordering Buck to stay, not to move, that he will take care of everything. 

He is none the wiser when Eddie disappears briefly under the guise of collecting their food, managing to hide the blanket in a safer spot. He really needs to start being more careful. 

***

Buck doesn’t get much chance to stumble across the blanket by accident over the next few weeks. He doesn’t get much chance to do much of anything except work, stuck on a cycle of long shifts and covering doubles that leaves him so tired by the time he gets home he does nothing more than tumble into bed to sleep in preparation for the next one. 

Buck slumps into the driver’s seat of the car, pressing his head against the steering wheel and savoring the first time he has had the chance to get off his feet in hours, the prospect of three whole days off ahead of him not quite feeling real yet. He still smells soot on his skin from the four-alarm that closed out his shift, despite scrubbing himself thoroughly in the shower once they got back to the firehouse, hoping to offset the aching muscles he knows will hit him with full force tomorrow as soon as his body has been allowed to rest.

It’s also one more thing ticked off that he has to do before going out tonight; he just needs to drive home, change into something a little more presentable and then he and Eddie will make their way to the restaurant for Chimney’s birthday dinner, a much needed night off and a chance for the 118 to let their hair down after such a busy month. 

He stretches out the knot already beginning to settle in his shoulders, grateful to just sit there for a moment and delaying his departure from the firehouse parking lot so as to hopefully avoid the worst of the traffic. He balances his phone on the steering wheel, the familiar ‘ring-ring-ring’ of an outbound FaceTime call and the yearning to see Eddie’s face already soothing his tired soul. 

Eddie answers within a couple of rings, but the signal is poor; Buck can just about make out the other man and his surroundings, able to tell he is in the kitchen and rifling through a drawer in search of something through the blur. He tries to jump straight into the conversation, but the connection stops and starts before Eddie appears on screen, leaning over the counter in front of where he has propped up his phone. 

“There you are, it’s working now,” Buck’s face relaxes into a smile. “Sorry I’ve not been in touch all day, it’s been, uh well. Let’s just say I think someone said the q word. I’m just about to drive home, and then we can head to the restaurant as soon as we’re ready; I checked with Chim and he said there’s overnight parking about a block away.”

“Oh,” Eddie whispers, and Buck can feel his heart sink in his chest. 

“Eddie? Everything okay?” 

The connection cuts out again, a brief moment of buffering before it finally settles.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it tonight,” he says, the expression on his face solemn, like he is reluctantly admitting defeat.

“You’re sick,” Buck states simply. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve caught what Chris had.” 

Such is the fate of a parent, Eddie curses beneath his breath. Chris is back to full health again now, back at school for the past week and sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight, and he hadn’t fared too badly, even throughout the worst of it; just a head cold and a low grade fever, nothing some chicken soup and a few days off school couldn’t fix. 

Eddie had hoped the same could be said for himself. He’s been denying that this has been happening, attributing the unshakable stuffiness and scratchy throat to the seasonal allergies that have been kicking his ass all month, but upon waking up this morning to Buck long having left for work, a spiking fever and whatever has been working on him all week finally taking up residence in his chest, there is no denying it. 

“No,” Buck exclaims, a tad dramatic. “To the you being sick part, not the missing dinner tonight part.”

“I feel terrible about it,” Eddie sighs.

“Well you shouldn’t. Chim will understand. How are you feeling anyway?”

“Like shit. I’m okay Buck, stop fussing.”

“Do you want me to stay home too?” Buck pouts his lower lip.

“No, you go,” Eddie laughs, endeared by his concern.

“But I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. But you should go; have fun without me whilst I’m on my deathbed.”

“Okay I will.”

Buck grins back playfully, but his smile falters as he watches Eddie brace himself against the counter, wincing in tandem with him as he suppresses a cough into his wrist before trying to resume his search.

“You should go lay down, Eddie,” Buck says softly. “What are you looking for anyway?”

“Tylenol,” Eddie frowns, and Buck wishes he could drive at the speed of light to be by his side, to make him feel better. “Can’t find any.”

“Have you tried-”

“The medicine cabinet, the bedside table, my work bag… I was hoping to find something in the junk drawer but-”

“Alas, no luck,” Buck declares. “Go and lay down, and I’ll stop by the store on the way home and pick up some supplies. Any particular requests?”

“The will to live?” Eddie leans over the kitchen counter, cradling his head for a moment and letting out something between a laugh and a cough. “Just Tylenol, and maybe some cough drops. And a can of soup.”

“A can? I could, but what about that soup you like? From the Thai place near the firehouse?”

Eddie hesitates; in all honesty, that soup sounds like the best thing in the world to him right now, like sweet sweet nectar that may just be the thing that will heal him, or at the very least make him feel marginally less like he is on death’s door.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Buck doesn’t wait for an answer.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he gives in. “And because I’m missing out on teppanyaki tonight.”

“Your driver is picking up your order. It will be with you in T-minus, uh, however many minutes it takes to drive there, secure the soup and drive home.”

It ends up being about thirty minutes, give or take. Buck disrupts Eddie’s half-nap on the couch with his entrance, standing in the doorway with the CVS bag in one hand and takeout bag in the other. Eddie just wishes he could smell the delicious coconut warmth of the Tom Kha Gai that Buck wastes no time serving up to him, placing the bowl on the coffee table and procuring a spoon from the bag; at least he can taste it, feeling the heat hit his tongue and soothe his aching throat from the first bite.

“Good?” Buck laughs, eying him as he perches on the arm of the couch. 

“So good,” Eddie says after a mouthful of soup. “I’ll have to give the delivery driver a big tip.”

“A big tip, huh?”

Eddie turns his head away just in time before Buck can plant a kiss on his lips, although this is mostly a performative gesture; germs spread quicker in this house than gossip spreads through the firehouse. 

“I don’t want to get you sick,” he shakes his head, even when Buck pulls the most almighty pout from his arsenal of tricks. “I know, I know. I’m evil. I’m sorry.”

“Not fair,” Buck is still frowning as he forces himself to stand.

“You should go get ready, Buck. Dinner’s at eight, right? You don’t want to be late.”

“Yeah, eight.”

“I texted Chim telling him I won’t be able to make it, but pass on my apologies in person, okay? I feel awful for cancelling last minute.”

“Hey, we all forgot Hen’s birthday a few months ago; I think you’re off the hook.”

“Well, I didn’t forget.”

“Send him some balloons or chocolate or dig up his yard to make it up to him,” Buck laughs. “Anyway, he’ll probably thank you for not coming and spreading your germs; you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Very true, Eddie coughs into his fist. “I guess I’m just mad that I can’t come.”

“I know. It sucks.”

“And teppanyaki? Does the universe have it out for me or something?”

“Nah, just your immune system. Don’t worry, I’ll eat enough for the both of us, and bring a doggy bag home if there’s anything left.”

Buck reluctantly trudges through to the bedroom to get ready whilst Eddie finishes his soup. It is the first proper meal he has eaten all day, too exhausted and achy to think about anything more involved than grabbing a granola bar and gulping ice cold gatorade from the fridge in the hopes it might make him feel better quicker. The soup, and a dose of the Tylenol Buck had picked up for him does a much better job in this effort and he slumps back into the couch, fatigued but satisfied by the hearty meal. 

Buck returns a little while later, in a simple but well-put-together outfit that would have Eddie sweeping him off his feet if not for his current state. He settles for swooning from the couch as Buck poses for him, his attempt at a playful wolf whistle turning immediately into a hacking coughing fit.

“Jeez, you sound awful,” Buck remarks.

“I’m fine,” Eddie insists, although he is barely convincing himself let alone Buck, his voice sounding like it’s been dragged through a cheese grater twice over.

“Let me guess, it sounds worse than you feel, huh?”

“Not sure I’d say that.”

Buck finds his way to Eddie’s side, pushing a sweaty strand of hair out of Eddie’s forehead with his palm as Eddie leans against his touch. 

“You’re burning up, Eddie,” he frets, hand shifting to cradle Eddie’s neck. “We could fry an egg on you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs, unfazed. “It’s definitely down from this morning though.”

A quiet moment passes, Buck strokes his thumb across Eddie’s skin. 

“Do you want me to stay home?” he whispers, voice careful and slow and soothing; for a brief, fleeting second Eddie considers saying yes.

“No,” he insists. “Go, celebrate with Chim and everyone.”

“Are you sure? You’ll be okay?”

“I think I’ll manage.”

“But-”

“Buck. Go.”

“Okay, okay,” he smiles, although he doesn’t move to leave just yet. “Only if you’re sure you’ll be fine without me.” 

“Buck,” Eddie’s laughing now; the smile on his face seems to placate Buck somewhat as he finally takes his hand away, starting the journey towards the door. “Go, and have fun . God knows you deserve it after how crazy work has been these past few weeks.”

“Okay, I’m going. I love you Eddie.”

“I love you too. I’d get up to give you a goodbye kiss but uh-”

“No, you just rest. And call me if you need anything, I’m serious. Promise?”

“I won’t but okay, I promise. And Buck?” he turns to look at him just before he leaves. “Behave yourself.”

“I always do,” Buck winks, waving goodbye and closing the door behind him. 

***

Boredom is the worst part of this, Eddie thinks, plagued by the brutal combination that is FOMO and the fever aches which have rendered him unable to do much except laze on the sofa and wallow in his misery. He has an old episode of House Hunters running in the background, only half paying attention to John and Linda or whatever there names are debating over whether to go for the million dollar turnkey condo in the Hollywood Hills or the fixer-upper Spanish style two bed, one-and a half bath in West Hollywood, but in need of something to do with his hands, he of course turns to the thing that has kept him company for the past several weeks. 

The project is about halfway done, and big enough to be used as a lap blanket as he works on adding rows of the next color. He tucks his feet underneath the soft fabric, the yarn providing an insulation that wards off the chills that have been threatening all day, at least somewhat, warmth washing over him as he lays back for a moment, observing his work; he’s proud of himself, proud of what he has created. Just a month and a half ago and he was a complete beginner, barely able to make a hat that fit his head; now he has a blanket between his fingertips, a beautiful blanket, something he knows that Buck is going to love, going to cherish, going to hold onto for the rest of their lives together. 

He lets this warmth, this pride, carry him through the next few rows, but he reaches a roadblock when he realizes it’s time to change color, and unfortunately for him, he has left the other ball of yarn on the whole other side of the house in his bedroom. He rests his head on the arm of the couch, trying to will his body onto his feet in search of it, but the thought of taking even a few steps right now sort of feels like running a marathon. 

Just a minute, he thinks. He can close his eyes just for a minute and then he will get up, grab the next two colors of yarn from the other room and plant himself back down on the couch for the rest of the evening, tucking it away in Christopher’s wardrobe just in time before Buck gets home. Just a minute…

He wakes three hours later, to the sound of keys rattling in the door and Buck’s voice. It takes a moment for Eddie to acclimatise to being awake, blinking and sitting up as he swipes drool from his mouth. It takes even longer to register that Buck is not in fact speaking gibberish, and is in fact singing a merry rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ addressed to Chim which Eddie catches the tail end of as he shuffles to the door to greet him, locking eyes with Maddie as she leans against her car, smirking.

“Missed you tonight, Eddie!” Chimney shouts from the passenger seat, sounding even tipsier than Buck. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Yeah, I do too,” he laughs, locking arms with Buck who rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder, smiling. “Happy birthday dude, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“It’s okay, we can go out again sometime. Yeah, we should. Next week Eddie, we should.”

“Okay,” Maddie laughs at her husband as she climbs into the driver’s seat. “I’m going to get this one home.”

“And I’ll make sure this one gets to bed in one piece,” Eddie playfully nudges Buck in the side with his hip. 

“Feel better soon, Eddie!” they chime in unison. 

They wave their goodbyes, hanging in the doorway until Maddie’s car disappears down the street. Buck’s arms find themselves tucked around Eddie’s waist, his face burying into the warmth of his shirt. He isn’t as drunk as Eddie had feared, merely a little tipsy from a few drinks with dinner, but he’s laying it on a little thick, clingy and silly as they stumble their way to the bedroom, still wrapped up together in a tangle of limbs. 

“You should sit down,” Buck says as they reach the edge of the bed; a strange thing for him to say considering he is the one currently swaying on his feet, but not entirely untrue. 

Eddie obliges, sinking to perch on the edge of the mattress, not realizing just how much those few steps had taken it out of him until he’s sitting on the comforter, allowing Buck to run a clumsy hand through his hair.

“I missed you tonight,” Buck mumbles, humming in satisfaction as Eddie leans his head into the touch. “S’quiet without you.”

“I missed you too,” Eddie says. “Although I mostly just slept.”

“Good. Sleep is good for you. Yay sleep. Did it make you feel any better?”

“Not sure. I’m still sort of half asleep, I think. Did you have fun?” 

“Yeah. Would’ve been more fun with you though. Ravi said I looked like a lost puppy without you there.”

“I believe him.”

They laugh together as Eddie eases himself out of his shirt, figuring it best to try and sweat out the fever as he sleeps. Buck takes a seat beside Eddie, leaning his head on the other man’s now bare shoulder. 

“I wish you’d let me kiss you,” he sighs, pressing a kiss against Eddie’s bicep in lieu of kissing him on the mouth. “It’s not fair.”

“You won’t think it’s fair when you wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck,” Eddie shakes his head, although it takes everything he has not to cave as Buck’s sloppy kisses trail all the way up his neck, pausing when he reaches the edge of his chin and looks at him, big blue eyes begging for permission. 

“I’m doomed either way, Eddie; I got sneezed on like three times at work today. And besides, I have the immune system of steel.”

“I’d still feel guilty. And I’m gross.”

“You’re not gross. You could never be gross to me.”

Eddie begs to differ as he runs a hand across his face, his skin feeling dry and crusty, his lips feeling chapped. Buck doesn’t seem to care, inching even closer so that Eddie can feel his warm breath blowing across his face, his hands still lazily mapping their way along Eddie’s chest. His kisses continue to dance upwards, along Eddie’s chin, his rosy cheeks, his temple before he plants a smooch directly in the centre of Eddie’s forehead. 

It takes everything Eddie has not to give up and let him kiss him on the lips right now. His own body thwarts him before he can give in as he doubles over in a coughing fit that leaves him shaky and breathless once it’s done, laying back against the comforter before shifting his body to lie down on the pillow.

“M’sorry you don’t feel good,” Buck throws himself back onto the mattress, clambering to lie parallel with him, lazily stroking his palm through Eddie’s hair once he settles into the sheets. “If only my kisses had magical healing properties.”

“They do,” Eddie instinctively curls against Buck’s side, practically purring in satisfaction when Buck pulls him close, pressing yet another kiss, this time on the top of his head. “I feel better already.” 

Buck hugs him closer, the tight embrace soothing Eddie’s bones. They lie like that for a while, so long that Eddie convinces himself Buck is sleeping, especially when he sprawls out across the mattress, draping his long legs over Eddie’s own. He does his best to calm the itch at the back of his throat that threatens, wincing as he tries to turn over without waking Buck, hoping that propping himself up with his pillow will calm the rumble in his chest. 

“Eddie?” Buck whispers, mere seconds after Eddie fails in his efforts to be quiet, coughing harshly into his pillow. 

“M’sorry for waking you,” Eddie croaks.

“Wasn’t sleepin’.” 

Eddie groans, not quite believing him but too tired to question it as Buck splays his palm across Eddie’s ribcage, kneading in circles as he tries to calm his lungs, as he tries to steady his breaths in rhythm with Buck’s own. 

It seems to work; the next conscious thought Eddie has is waking up the next morning, sticky with sweat and with a chill still running down his spine; except his fever has broken. No, the shudder that takes over his bones as he sits up is not one of illness, although he still feels awful; no, it is a shudder of fear.

The blanket. 

He had fallen asleep on the couch last night whilst working on the blanket. He turns his head just an inch, sighing in relief when he sees that Buck is still out cold, completely dead to the world as his snores fill the room. 

He exits the bed stealthily, or as stealthily as he can for someone who can only breathe through his mouth right now, thankful more than he has ever been for Buck’s snoring which covers the creak of the bed and the cough that accompanies  getting up from the mattress. He tiptoes into the living room, scared that he will find the blanket has been discovered; lain over the couch or folded neatly on the coffee table or worse; missing entirely. 

His heart thuds when he thinks he has discovered it is the latter, the couch completely empty except for a few crumpled tissues and the throw cushions strewn out of place. Except the blanket is there, curled up on the floor, the position of it evidencing that he probably kicked it off himself in his sleep. He snatches it up off the floor, quickly sneaking it back into its hiding place in Christopher’s bedroom before collapsing back into bed, wheezing with relief as Buck rolls over, still half-asleep and envelops him in his arms. They lay like that, sleeping in a tangle of limbs, until well after midday. 

*** 

The firehouse sputters to life as the 118-A shift arrive and settle in for the start of their forty-eight hour shift; there is the whir of the coffee machine preparing the much needed first caffeine fix of the day, the chirp of birds on the roof, the hustle and bustle of footsteps and laughter and early morning conversation. None of these things do much to rouse Buck from his sleepy state as he sits at the table, cheek smushed in his palm as he yawns into a fist. 

“Wakey wakey,” Hen places his coffee in front of him, stopping to wrap her arms around his shoulders on her way back to being upright, although Buck pulls away an inch before she can embrace him. 

“Hey you uh, probably shouldn’t get too close,” Buck’s declaration is punctuated by a pathetic sniffle. “I think I’m coming down with whatever Chris and Eddie had last week.”

Hen doesn’t heed the warning, hugging Buck even closer at this knows, the back of her hand shifting to his cheek. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Hen waves off his concern. “Eddie caught it from Chris, who caught it from Denny who caught it from Karen who caught it from me, after Chim got me sick. Come here, give me a hug; you look like you need one.”

“Yeah, I think you were the last man standing,” Chim remarks from the opposite side of the table, smirking from behind his cup of coffee as Buck suppresses a cough into his elbow. “The Buck Buckley immune system not so infallible after all, huh?” 

Buck gives him a look in response, but it doesn’t quite have the (albeit unserious) bite to it he intends; it’s hard to look intimidating when you can barely breathe through your nose. 

“Are you going to be okay for the shift?” Hen eyes him. 

“I think I’ll live,” he nods and Hen believes him; he seems okay, although she knows all too well the younger firefighter’s habit of working himself to the bone before the inevitable crash. “It’s just a cold.”

“I hear mucus is a great fire suppressant,” Chim adds. “Sneeze on those fires and we’ll have them out in no time.”

“You’re sure?” Bobby joins the conversation after quietly observing, taking his seat at the helm of the table. “You know I wouldn’t mind finding cover, and you have the sick days to use.” 

“I’ll be alright,” he confirms, letting his scratchy throat be soothed by his first sip of coffee. “Seriously, I’m fine. It’s just a cold, and if I feel worse I’ll let you know. I’m not that silly.”

“That’s still up for debate,” Chimney teases. “We’ll keep an eye on him, Cap; make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble.” 

“And take it easy, okay?” Bobby warns, the stern look on his face reminding Buck somewhat of Eddie when he goes all paternal on Chris. “We don’t need you getting hurt too.”

“Aye, aye captain,” he salutes, somewhat pathetically. “I promise."

Buck is saved from further lecture by the bell. They rush to the first call of the day, although as if in spite, the day refuses to grant him much opportunity to take it easy. Much like the past few weeks, the calls are constant and intense; car doors to break open with halligans, buildings to scale, small spaces to squeeze through that would still be claustrophobic even if he could breathe through both nostrils. The one small mercy is that the adrenaline makes time feel like it is moving faster, and by the time they are finally granted reprieve with a slowing of calls, ten hours of the forty-eight hour shift have been conquered.

Only thirty-eight hours to go, Buck mutters under his breath as they pull back into the firehouse and climb out of the truck, which is coated in a thick layer of manure from their latest call; Buck has never been more glad to have a cold in his life than at this moment. The next task of the day is to clean the rigs, and although Buck knows he needs to get to work soon so they can get the trucks ready in anticipation for the next call, his legs can’t help but drag him in the direction of the nearest bench, his head immediately falling into his hands the moment he sits down. 

“I thought you were supposed to tell Cap the second you started feeling worse,” he doesn’t need to look up to know that it is Hen who has found her way to his side, her soft fingertips resting on the back of his neck.

“I didn’t,” he protests. “Not until… now.”

And it’s true; he hadn’t felt much worse until this exact moment. The adrenaline had forced one foot in front of the other, aided him in surging forward with the task at hand. It is only now he has been permitted to stop, to take stock of the discomfort taking root in his limbs that he finally recognizes just how bad he feels. He shivers in spite of the balmy summer day and many layers of uniform, unable to deny it when Hen suggests he is running a fever. 

“You should take up Cap on his offer of a sick day,” Hen says, more of an order than a suggestion as she lets him lean his head on her shoulder, locking arms with him as they absent-mindedly let Chimney and Ravi set up to wash the rigs. 

“Not like I have much choice,” he coughs into his elbow and Hen winces in response. “Sorry, I’m gross.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Why don’t you go take something, lie down and we’ll catch up with you in a little while, okay? I’ll find Cap and give him the heads up that you’re done, then I’ll come find you. I want to check you over.”

“Hen, I’m fine. It’s just a cold.”

“I know, I know. But you know me; I’m a worrier.”

“I could just dose up on some Dayquil and I’ll be fine-”

“Buck, I’m surprised you even made it through the last twelve hours,” she nudges him affectionately, knowing how difficult it is for him to admit defeat. “I wouldn’t bet on you being able to make it through the rest."

“Yeah," he’s overcome with another coughing fit, this one harsher than the last, serving only to confirm what he already knows. “I think you’re right.” 

He follows orders and retreats to the couch upstairs, not turning back to see at the commiserating looks sent in his direction by his team. He faceplants into a throw pillow, cursing himself for not grabbing a blanket, too exhausted to even think about getting back up for one now that he is horizontal too; he had left it in the kitchen before the last call. The ache in his muscles somehow manages to win out over the yearning to call Eddie deep in the pit of his stomach.

“Pete’s on his way to cover for you,” are the words that wake him from his all-too-brief slumber. 

He blinks himself awake, a cough rippling through his throat the moment he re-enters consciousness. There are steady hands settling him as he tries to sit up and scramble to stand, the protests of ‘no, no, I’m fine’ barely making it to his lips before he’s being carefully pushed back down Bobby’s expression somehow stern and kind all at once.

“Hey, slow down,” Bobby is sitting across from him, perching on the coffee table, Hen and Chim on either side of him; the three of them share the same concerned but bemused look on their faces, their arms crossed. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“S’okay,” Buck is more successful in his efforts to maneuver his body upright this time, slowly propping himself up against the back of the couch. “Sorry.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I um, I kind of…” he chooses to be honest. “Like shit.”

“I’ll bet,” Hen remarks. “You’re running one hell of a fever.”

“Chim and Hen are going to check you over, just for peace of mind-”

“But-”

“It’s this or urgent care,” Chim interjects. “Sorry, don’t shoot the messenger. Maddie’s orders.” 

“You called Maddie?” he squeaks. 

“Well, someone needs to give you a ride home. She should be here soon, and she can drop you home on her way to work.”

“But I can dri-”

“I’ll get your car back to you tonight, okay. Please, I just want to make sure you get home in one piece.”

“Okay. Fine.”

***

Eddie thinks about the next few days ahead of him and genuinely considers tumbling back into bed to sleep through it, despite this being the only thing he has done for the past week. Chris is gone for the next couple of days, at Summer camp, and Buck had left in the early hours of the morning for his forty-eight hour shift whilst Eddie was still fast asleep. 

The blanket is finished. He had finished it at the tail end of last week, when he was feeling much better whilst Buck was on shift. It is tucked away in a box at the back of Christopher’s wardrobe, wrapped in a delicate ribbon, ready to be gifted when the right moment arises. He doesn’t know what to do with himself now that it’s done. He misses the soft yarn, perfectly tense beneath his fingers, the slow methodical motion of each stitch. 

In lieu of something to do, and still recovering from being sick the week prior, he naps, sprawled out on the couch; a position he has occupied for much of this past week. 

He isn’t sure what time it is when he wakes up to the sound of the door cracking open, nearly jumping out of his skin when he jolts to his feet on instinct. He’s expecting an intruder, or at the very least the over-zealous delivery guy who has a penchant for checking if the door is locked if he doesn’t get a response from ringing the bell.

What he doesn’t expect is Buck, a whole thirty-six hours earlier than he is due home, standing in the doorway looking like death warmed up. 

“Hey,” Eddie rushes over to him, or as quickly as he can rush in his ankle boot.

Buck’s arms are around him before Eddie can even blink, face burying into his shoulder. Eddie hugs tighter on instinct, taking Buck’s weight against him, bearing at least some of the burden of whatever is bothering him. Eddie can feel his warmth through the layers of fabric, body heat reaching his fingertips as he cradles Buck’s waist, steadies him except the other man is shivering in his arms.

“You’re home early,” Eddie says, neither man moving an inch. “I thought you were supposed to be on a forty-eight?”

“Bobby sent me home,” Buck says, so solemn you would think he is confessing to a crime.

“You don’t feel good, huh?”

Buck shakes his head, burrowing deeper against Eddie’s chest. He coughs harshly, and Eddie can feel his shuddering breaths beneath his palm, his own lungs constricting in sympathy as Buck tries to pull away and cover his mouth. His cheeks are fever pink, his eyes glassy, and Eddie would do anything to swap places with him, to take on every ounce of suffering as his own. 

“Don’t want to get you sick,” he resists Eddie pulling him closer, despite himself, his voice worn and hoarse.”

“ I’m the one who got you sick, remember?” a sympathetic smile passes over his lips.

“M’sorry.”

“Hey, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for bud. Come here.”

Buck doesn’t need to be told twice, slumping against Eddie and letting himself be held, letting Eddie rub slow circles across his back. 

“You’re shivering,” Eddie muses.

“Yeah, I have a fever,” Buck admits. 

“Wow, I would never have guessed.”

“Shut up.”

“You want to go to urgent care, get checked out?” Buck starts groaning in protest before Eddie even finishes his sentence. 

“Nah, Hen and Chim checked me over. They said I’m all good. Just the flu or whatever.”

Eddie pulls away for a brief moment to look at him suspiciously, but mostly in jest. He knows his teammates far too well to doubt that they would have let Buck out of their sights like this without at least a once-over, confident that they would have covered all the bases; normal heart rate, blood pressure within range, no crackles or wheezing on the lungs to indicate anything more sinister going on than the same bug that has been sweeping through the fire station.

“I know,” Eddie smiles softly. “Still sucks though, doesn’t it?”

“Tell me about it,” Buck sighs. “I feel awful.”

It hits Eddie at this exact moment, remembering the box at the back of Christopher’s wardrobe. The blanket. Buck’s blanket. 

“Well,” Eddie pulls away from the hug, hands still resting on Buck’s shoulders. “I’ve got something that might make you feel better.”

Buck follows along as Eddie guides him to the couch, telling him to stay put, that he’ll be back in a moment. He watches Eddie disappear down the hall, a little dumbfounded, trying to get his fever addled mind to conjure up the possibilities of what Eddie’s ‘something’ could be; frankly, the only thing he thinks might make him feel better is downing a bottle of Nyquil and crawling into bed to rot for a week. 

There’s a box in Eddie’s hands, his large fingers encasing either side of it, brushing against a royal blue ribbon tied into a neat bow. 

“What is it?” Buck croaks, balancing the box on his knee.

“Open it, you’ll see,” Eddie’s cheeks are already blushing red.

He carefully unties the ribbon, lifting the lid of the box carefully. Tears are already forming in his eyes before he can fully see its contents. A blanket. For him. A blanket Eddie made. A blanket Eddie made for him.

He is throwing his arms around Eddie in an instant, so overwhelmed with love that he forgets himself, forgets that his body is currently rebelling against him. Eddie carefully eases him to sit back down, unfolding the blanket to display it in all of its glory. Beautiful blues, ripples like the ocean. Buck doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t need to say anything for Eddie to know exactly how he feels. 

Thank you, he says. Thank you.

“Lay down,” Eddie lulls once Buck’s voice grows too tired for anymore thank yous, and Buck obliges, laying his head on Eddie’s lap. “I’ve got you.”

Eddie carefully lays the length of the blanket across Buck, only letting himself lay back and rest once he hears the snuffly snores that indicate the other man has managed to drop off to sleep, his hand running across the fabric of the blanket which is draped over Buck’s frame.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers again. “I’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

Bobby arrives early, hoping to savor his favorite part of these kinds of mornings, where he is the first of his team to arrive whilst B-shift are still kicking around at the tail end of their busy night shift, lazing on the couch or lingering in the bunks to watch the clock in anticipation for the moment that can hand off to their A-shift counterparts. 

He finds his way to the empty kitchen, resting the bags of freshly baked pastries and sourdough bread from his favorite local bakery on the counter, questioning whether he has gone overboard before determining that no, today is a special day; today is Eddie’s first day back at the firehouse. 

Coffee, however, is Bobby’s first priority of the morning, and he can’t help but laugh as he thinks about how it is a particularly contentious issue in the firehouse. Ravi agrees with him, believing in the merits of a fresh espresso shot, Hen sings the praises of her Moka pot, Chim is a drip coffee kind of guy, Buck ruins his with whichever gross limited edition creamer is his flavor of the month and Eddie doesn’t give much care as long as it’s strong and hot. He takes his time, savoring the quiet as he tips the beans into the grinder, milling them down before weighing out a measure into the filter, clicking it into place and listening to the slow hum of the machine working its magic, golden liquid dripping down into his cup. He carefully tops it up with steamed whole meal before reaching for a coaster from the cabinet - handmade by Eddie - and taking his drink to the table, where he sits and listens to the patter of the rainstorm outside on the roof and enjoys his first sip of the day as he waits for the team to start rolling in.

He feels positive about today’s shift; Eddie’s first day back since his injury, returning on lighter duties for the next week or so as he gets back into the swing of things. He can’t deny that it has been strange without him here, not least thanks to Buck’s dramatics without his partner in crime by his side; it’s almost like something had shifted with Eddie absent from the firehouse for such an extended period of time. Something just felt wrong, like there was a disturbance in the force that he couldn’t quite place, something that never quite felt right; a reminder of the other times where they have not been a full cohort under other - usually more dire - circumstances.

He takes another sip of coffee, taking a moment to admire the coaster. It is deceptively complicated; he had thought it was just a simple circle, but when he looks closer there are intricate stitches that resemble a flower, with scalloped edges on the rim. There are more of Eddie’s creations dotted around the firehouse; potholders and dishcloths, a small lap blanket draped over a chair, bookmarks held inside the books strewn across the room. Buck brings them in most days, playing delivery guy for his boyfriend and coworkers, and Bobby can’t help but smile as he scans the firehouse and notices the small signs of Eddie; an indication that he has been there with them in this one small way, in spirit, even if not in the flesh.

Hen is the first to arrive, wearing the cardigan Eddie had made for her, paired with tortoiseshell glasses that match the buttons; she looks so good Bobby sort of wishes he could excuse her off duty for the day so she didn’t have to change out of it into uniform. 

“Woah, that coffee smells heavenly,” she beams in his direction, joining Bobby at the table.

“Can I make you one?” he is already on his feet and approaching the coffee machine. “Oat milk latte with a splash of vanilla?”

“Have I ever told you I love you, cap?”

“Flattery doesn’t work on me, Wilson.”

“Good, because you don’t want to go toe-to-toe with Karen; I sure as hell wouldn’t dare with Athena. And you’re not my type.”

They laugh in unison. Bobby finishes preparing Hen’s coffee, sliding it across to her along with another coaster; this one is in the shape of a coffee cup with a smiling face on it, which raises another giggle from the other firefighter.

“It’s so cool, isn’t it?” she lifts it to show Bobby as he places pastries onto a plate. “”Not that I’m not glad he’s back today, but is it selfish that I’ll miss him having the time to make us all these fun things?”

“Yeah it is,” Bobby agrees. “Although I’m sure he’ll stick with it; I think he’s got a new hobby for life.”

“Who’s got a new hobby for life?” Chim’s voice enters the mix as he appears, reaching for a croissant before Bobby can even place the plate down on the table. “Don’t tell me Buck’s decided to try out home canning after all? I told him he’s just going to give himself botulism.”

“Eddie,” Bobby confirms. 

“We’re talking about him learning to crochet whilst he’s been out because of his ankle,” Hen adds. 

“Oh good,” Chim laughs, waving the item in his hands; one of Eddie’s crocheted hats, soaked completely through from the rain. “Well I’m glad; his hobby for life saved my ass this morning.”

“By ass do you mean your hair?” 

“Maybe. Let’s just say, this wonderful handmade hat I found in my car came in very handy on my journey into the firehouse this morning.”

Ravi chooses the perfect moment to join in on the chaos, deliberately shaking his coat in Chimney’s direction as he sheds his lakers, abandoning his keys on the table at the offer of a coffee from Bobby. Hen reaches over, observing the keyring on his keys; a small crocheted plushie of a firefighter.

“Did Eddie make this?” she asks, running her hand along the stitches and turning it to take a better look; it looks like Ravi, if  Ravi were too inches tall, leaking fluffy stuffing material and made of yarn. 

“Yeah, he did,” Ravi laughs. “He said he was going to try and make one for all of us, but he said he’s not so good at the plushie making thing.”

“He probably just doesn’t want to step on Cass from B-shift’s toes,” Chim jokes, blowing the fluff that is hemorrhaging from the keyring across the table. “But hey, we can’t all be good at everything.”

Minutes pass, and Buck and Eddie still haven’t arrived; not worrying considering their shift doesn’t start for another half-hour, but it puts Bobby on edge nonetheless, checking his phone for a last minute text message to indicate that Eddie might not be returning today after all, but there is nothing. The only sign of him is his various creations throughout the firehouse; a reminder that he has been there, with them, even if not in physical form. 

There is little to worry about; Buck and Eddie arrive in tow with fifteen minutes before their shift to spare with a tale about the crazy traffic, which Bobby nods and feigns belief in, not ignorant to the signs that the pair were likely delayed in their entrance by a last minute pep talk to psych Eddie into making his grand return; Eddie’s eyes nervously darting around the firehouse, Buck’s hand  clasped in his, eyes glued in his direction. Bobby has done his best to pre-emptively prevent the obligatory small-talk and barrage of questions from the rest of the team, but he knows fine well that Eddie probably feels like he’s stepping directly into the firing line, expecting the worst. 

Eddie isn’t entirely spared the welcome back party, immediately being pulled into the arms of Hen as she initiates a group hug that nearly bowls him off his feet, the rest of the team wasting no time before joining in. Once he is finally relieved of being squished to death, he is finally able to take his usual seat at the table, conscious of the eyes on him, but glad to be here; glad to be back. Glad to be home, where he belongs.