Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The alarm blared through Station 118, cutting through the early morning quiet like a knife. Evan Buckley had been awake for hours already, sleep had been elusive since he'd transferred to the 118 a few months ago. He'd spent the early morning hours doing push-ups on the cold tile floor of his apartment, then running five miles through neighborhoods still wrapped in darkness. Too much adrenaline, too much to prove, too many thoughts keeping him from rest.

"Structure fire, possible entrapment. 2453 Westwood Boulevard." The dispatcher's voice echoed through the station as firefighters moved with practiced efficiency, a choreographed dance Buck was still learning the steps to.

Buck was the first one suited up, waiting by the engine with barely contained energy, fingers drumming against his thigh, eyes bright with anticipation. His turnout gear still had that slight stiffness of newness, unlike the broken-in equipment of the firefighters and paramedics who had been here for years already. Bobby gave him a measured nod as he passed, his captain's eyes missing nothing — not Buck's eagerness, not his restlessness, not the dark circles under his eyes.

Buck had been trying, and largely failing, to temper his eagerness with the discipline the 118 demanded. But something about today felt different. The morning light slanting through the garage doors, the particular pitch of the siren, the electric feeling in his veins. Like maybe this was his chance to show them he belonged.

"Ready to roll, Buckley?" Hen asked, adjusting her medical bag.

"Born ready," Buck replied with the cocky grin that had become his trademark defense mechanism. The smile that said: I'm not terrified you'll all realize I'm not good enough.

As the truck pulled away, Buck felt eyes on him from the seat across. Eddie Diaz — the firefighter who seemed to embody everything Buck aspired to be. Calm. Focused. Respected. His dark hair was cropped short, regulation-neat, and his eyes held the quiet steadiness of someone who'd seen things Buck could only imagine.

The faint scar near his right eyebrow told stories he never shared. They hadn't exchanged more than professional courtesies since Buck's arrival, but something about the man's quiet confidence made Buck simultaneously want to impress him and avoid him completely.

Eddie's gaze was unreadable, but Buck knew what he was thinking. The same thing everyone thought. 

The rookie's going to get himself killed trying to be a hero.

Buck looked away first, focusing on the passing scenery—palm trees and morning traffic blurring together as the siren cleared their path through Los Angeles.

—

The apartment building was already engulfed when they arrived, black smoke billowing from the third floor windows like dark spirits escaping. The morning air, previously crisp and clean, now tasted of ash and urgency. Buck could feel the heat from inside the truck, see the flutter of curtains through broken windows, hear the distant wail of trapped smoke alarms.

His training kicked in as Bobby barked orders, his captain's voice steady and authoritative over the chaos. Simple enough assignment, Buck and Eddie would take the west stairwell, searching the second floor while the others tackled the more immediate danger zones.

"Stay close," Eddie instructed, his voice clipped through the mask as they entered the building. "Follow my lead."

Buck nodded, falling in behind Eddie as they navigated the smoke filled corridor. The second floor was thick with smoke but no visible flames yet. They moved methodically from apartment to apartment, the standard sweep.

Then Buck heard it. It was faint, but unmistakable. A whimper.

"You hear that?" he asked Eddie, who was checking the apartment to their left.

Eddie paused, then shook his head. "Nothing. Next door."

But Buck was certain. "Someone's here." He moved toward the sound without waiting for Eddie's confirmation.

"Buckley!" Eddie's voice was sharp, but Buck was already kicking in the door of apartment 214.

The smoke was dense here, hovering just above the floor like a living, breathing entity. It swirled around Buck's boots, seeking entry at any seam in his gear. The air felt heavy & thick. Buck dropped to his knees, crawling forward through the murky darkness. The heat pressed against his face shield, making sweat trickle down his temples and spine.

"Fire department! Call out!" His voice echoed strangely in the smoke-filled apartment.

Another whimper, louder now. Buck followed the sound to what appeared to be a bathroom. The door was jammed, swollen from heat or blocked from inside, he couldn't tell. He shouldered it once, twice, feeling the wood break beneath his weight. The pain radiated through his shoulder, but adrenaline pushed it aside. Inside, a young woman with ash streaked blonde hair was curled in the bathtub, a wet towel pressed to her face. Her eyes, red-rimmed and terrified, met his with desperate hope.

"Hey. Hey. I've got you," Buck assured her, his heart hammering as he scooped her into his arms. She couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds, but she was barely conscious. "Stay with me."

Just as he turned to exit, he heard the ominous groan of structural supports beginning to fail. The hallway he'd come through was now blocked by fallen debris.

"Diaz!" he called into his radio. "I've got a victim but my exit's compromised. Going to try the fire escape through the bedroom."

Eddie's voice crackled back, tense with controlled urgency. "Negative, Buckley. Floor's unstable. Captain wants everyone out now."

Buck looked down at the woman in his arms, her breathing shallow. "Not without her."

He made for the bedroom window, shouldering it open with one hand while cradling the victim. The metal fire escape groaned under their weight but held. Buck descended as quickly as he dared, hyperaware of both the woman's fragile state and the possibility that the entire structure could give way.

By the time he reached the ground, paramedics were rushing toward him. Hen took the woman, immediately starting assessment, her capable hands checking vital signs with practiced efficiency. In the harsh daylight, Buck could see the victim clearly now — young, maybe early twenties, with soot-blackened skin but no visible burns. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Buck turned back toward the building, adrenaline still coursing through him, making his hands shake slightly despite his efforts to appear calm.

Bobby grabbed his arm, fingers digging into the thick material of Buck's turnout coat. “What the hell was that, Buckley?" His voice was low, but the fury was evident in the tight lines around his mouth, the rigid set of his shoulders.

"I heard someone," Buck said, pulling off his mask. "I couldn't just—"

"You broke protocol," Nash cut him off. "Diaz ordered a retreat. You ignored a direct command."

Buck felt his face flush with a mix of pride, shame, and lingering adrenaline. "But I got her out."

"And nearly got yourself killed in the process." The voice behind him was quiet but carried steel. Eddie had emerged from the building, pulling off his mask to reveal an expression unreadable behind a layer of soot and sweat. His normally pristine uniform was streaked with gray, and a small cut on his cheekbone leaked a thin line of blood he hadn't bothered to wipe away.

His eyes, however, remained clear and focused and fixed on Buck with an intensity that made Buck's stomach tighten. "That's not heroism. That's recklessness."

Buck's initial rush of satisfaction faltered. He'd saved a life. But the look in Eddie's eyes, not anger, but something worse — disappointment cut deeper than any reprimand.

"We'll debrief back at the station," Bobby said, turning away.

Buck watched as Eddie walked past him without another word, joining Chimney by the ambulance. The cold shoulder wasn't new, Eddie had kept his distance since Buck's first day, but somehow it stung more today. He'd expected... what? Approval? Recognition?

He peeled off his turnout coat, rolling his shoulders against the tension building there. The victim was being loaded into the ambulance now, oxygen mask secured over her face. At least she was alive. That had to count for something.

But as Buck climbed back into the truck, he couldn't shake the weight of Eddie's quiet disappointment. It shouldn't matter so much what one firefighter thought of him. But it did. And Buck didn't know why.

—

The debriefing was brutal in its calm efficiency. Captain Nash laid out exactly where Buck had gone wrong — breaking formation, disregarding orders, endangering himself and potentially others.

"I understand taking initiative," Bobby concluded, "but this team functions on trust and communication. Next time, you wait for confirmation."

Buck nodded, jaw tight. "Yes, Captain."

As the team dispersed, Buck headed for the showers, desperate to wash away the smell of smoke and the sting of failure. He'd saved someone, dammit. But instead of feeling like a win, it felt hollow.

He was toweling his hair dry when he sensed someone enter the locker room. Eddie stood by his locker, already changed into a fresh uniform, those dark eyes finding Buck's with uncomfortable precision.

"Why'd you do it?" Eddie asked, no preamble.

Buck shrugged, defensive. "I heard her. You didn't."

"So you decided your judgment trumped everyone else's." It wasn't a question.

"I decided someone's life was worth the risk," Buck countered, pulling a clean shirt over his head.

Eddie was quiet for a long moment, studying him with an intensity that made Buck want to look away. "It's not about the victim, Buckley. It's about the team. We all go home at the end of the day. All of us."

There was something in his voice — a history Buck couldn't access, a weight he couldn't understand. But it resonated somewhere deep, cutting through Buck's defenses.

"I'm not trying to be a hero," Buck said quietly, meaning it.

Eddie's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Then what are you trying to be?"

Buck had no answer. Eddie nodded as if the silence confirmed something, then turned to leave.

"Diaz," Buck called after him. When Eddie paused, Buck struggled to find the right words. "I'll do better."

Eddie looked back, his gaze steady. "I know you will." It wasn't forgiveness or approval—just acknowledgment.

Then he was gone, leaving Buck with the unsettling realization that he cared more about earning this man's respect than he'd cared about anything in a long time. And he had no idea why.

Later, as Buck drove home to his empty apartment, he replayed the day in his mind. The rescue, the reprimand, the quiet conversation in the locker room. He'd joined the 118 looking for purpose, for belonging. Instead, he'd found a puzzle in Eddie Diaz — a man whose good opinion suddenly mattered more than it should.

Buck rolled down his window, letting the cool night air clear his head. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow he'd prove himself. Not as a hero, but as someone worthy of trust.

Someone Eddie Diaz might actually see.

Chapter Text

Buck's muscles screamed as he completed his fiftieth push-up, sweat dripping onto the concrete floor of the station gym. He'd been the first one in that morning, arriving an hour before his shift started, determined to prove himself after the incident three days ago. The memory of Bobby's disappointment and Eddie's quiet judgment still burned, driving him to push harder, be better.

"You know the equipment doesn't open for another twenty minutes, right?" Chimney's voice echoed through the empty gym.

Buck jumped to his feet, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Just getting warmed up," he said, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Chimney studied him for a moment, head tilted. "You've been 'warming up' every morning this week. Some might call that overdoing it."

Buck reached for his water bottle, avoiding Chimney's gaze. "Some might call it dedication."

"Mmm," Chimney hummed noncommittally, but his eyes were knowing. "Dedication looks a lot like proving something from where I'm standing." He clapped Buck on the shoulder. "Don't burn yourself out before the day even starts, Buckley."

As Chimney left, Buck rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension that had settled there. Since the rescue that wasn't quite a rescue, he'd thrown himself into every aspect of station life with renewed intensity. First to volunteer for the grunt work. Last to leave after cleanup. He'd memorized protocols, equipment locations, even studied the building codes for their district.

All of it an elaborate smoke signal saying: I belong here. I can do this. I'm not a liability.

The alarm cut through his thoughts. Another day, another chance to prove himself.

---

"Ladder drill in fifteen," Bobby announced after breakfast. "Full gear, rooftop scenario."

Buck was already halfway to the equipment room when he heard Eddie's voice behind him.

"You look like shit."

Buck turned, eyebrows raised. It was the first thing Eddie had said directly to him since their locker room conversation.

"Thanks?" Buck managed, unsure if this was criticism or... something else.

Eddie crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "You're pushing too hard."

"I'm doing my job," Buck countered, pulling his turnout pants from their hook.

"You're trying to make up for one mistake by running yourself into the ground." Eddie's gaze was steady, assessing. "That's not sustainable."

Buck felt a flash of irritation. "I didn't realize you cared."

Something flickered across Eddie's face, so quick Buck almost missed it. "I care about this team functioning. You're part of that team."

The words were professional, detached. But there was something in Eddie's tone that made Buck pause. Before he could respond, Eddie pushed off the doorframe.

"Just pace yourself, Buckley. We need everyone at a hundred percent, not one person at two hundred."

Buck watched him walk away, confused by the interaction. Was that concern? Criticism? A professional courtesy? With Eddie, it was impossible to tell.

The ladder drill was brutal in the midday sun. Full gear meant an extra thirty pounds of equipment as they scaled the training tower repeatedly. By the third rotation, Buck's earlier workout was making itself known in trembling muscles and labored breathing.

"You good?" Hen asked as they reset for another climb.

"Never better," Buck lied, ignoring the spots dancing at the edges of his vision.

From across the yard, he caught Eddie watching him, brow furrowed. Buck straightened, determined not to show weakness. He grabbed the ladder with renewed purpose, ignoring the tremor in his hands.

Halfway up, the world tilted sideways. Buck clung to the rungs, blinking hard against the sudden dizziness. One more step. Then another. His boot missed the step, and for a heart stopping moment, he dangled by one hand. Then, strong hands were steadying him, guiding his foot back to the ladder.

"I've got you," Eddie said from below, his voice calm but firm. "Keep going."

Buck swallowed hard and continued climbing, hyperaware of Eddie following closely behind. When they reached the top, Buck took a moment before turning around, trying to regulate his breathing.

"You want to tell me what that was?" Eddie asked quietly, ensuring they were out of earshot from the others.

"Just slipped," Buck said, still not meeting Eddie's eyes.

"Try again." Eddie's tone left no room for evasion.

Buck sighed, finally turning to face him. "I've been pushing pretty hard this week. Might be a little dehydrated."

Eddie stared at him for a long moment, then wordlessly pulled a small sports drink from his pocket and handed it to Buck. "Drink."

Buck took it, surprised by the gesture. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Just don't be stupid." Eddie's words were harsh, but there was no real heat behind them. "You're not helping anyone if you collapse."

They descended in silence, Buck feeling Eddie's eyes on him the entire way down. At the bottom, Bobby was waiting, arms crossed.

"Everything okay up there?"

"All good, Cap," Buck said quickly.

Bobby looked between them, clearly not buying it. "Buckley, take five. Get some water." It wasn't a suggestion.

Buck opened his mouth to protest, but Eddie cut him off. "I could use a break too. Mind if I join you?"

The question caught Buck off guard. He nodded, following Eddie to the shade of the apparatus bay. They sat on a bench, a careful distance between them, drinking water in silence. It was the longest they'd been in each other's company without the buffer of work.

"Why are you doing this?" Eddie finally asked.

Buck stared at his water bottle. "Doing what?"

"You know what." Eddie's voice was low, direct. "The extra training. Coming in early. Staying late. Working yourself to exhaustion."

Buck considered deflecting, but something about Eddie's directness demanded honesty. "I need to prove I belong here," he admitted.

"To who? Bobby? The team?" Eddie paused. "Me?"

Buck felt heat creep up his neck that had nothing to do with the sun. "To myself," he said, although it wasn't the whole truth.

Eddie seemed to weigh this, then nodded slowly. "You don't have anything to prove, Buckley. Not after that rescue."

Buck looked up, startled. "But you said—"

"I said it was reckless. Not that it wasn't brave." Eddie's eyes met his, serious and sincere. "There's a difference between earning your place and killing yourself to prove a point no one's asking you to make."

Before Buck could respond, the alarm sounded. They moved automatically, conversation forgotten as they ran toward the trucks. But something had shifted, subtle but undeniable.

By the end of shift, Buck was dead on his feet. Three more calls after the drill had pushed his already exhausted body to its limit. He moved mechanically through the shower routine, muscles protesting every movement.

He was reaching for his bag when a wave of dizziness hit him, stronger than before. The room spun, floor tilting beneath his feet. Buck grabbed for the locker door, but his hands wouldn't cooperate. He heard the clatter of his bag hitting the floor as his knees buckled.

"Whoa!" Strong hands caught him before he hit the ground. Buck blinked, finding himself staring up at Eddie's concerned face. "Jesus, Buckley."

"'M fine," Buck mumbled, trying to push himself upright.

"Yeah, sure you are." Eddie's voice was tight with what might have been worry. He pressed the back of his hand to Buck's forehead. "You're burning up."

Buck wanted to protest, but the room kept spinning. "Just tired," he managed.

Eddie muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse in Spanish. "When's the last time you ate? Or slept more than a few hours?"

Buck tried to remember and couldn't. The days had blurred together in his determination to prove himself.

"That's what I thought," Eddie said when Buck didn't answer. He helped Buck to the bench, then grabbed his phone. "I'm getting Hen."

"Don't," Buck said, reaching for Eddie's wrist. "Please. I don't need everyone seeing me like this."

Something in his voice must have gotten through, because Eddie hesitated, then slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Fine. But you're not driving home like this." He studied Buck for a moment, clearly debating something. "My place is ten minutes away. You can crash there until you're steady enough to drive."

Buck stared at him, certain he'd misheard. "Your place?"

"It's that or I call Hen. Your choice." Eddie's expression was unreadable.

Buck swallowed. "Your place," he agreed.

Eddie nodded once, then gathered Buck's things along with his own. "Can you walk, or am I carrying you fireman-style?"

Despite feeling like death warmed over, Buck managed a weak smile. "I can walk. Just... maybe stay close."

Eddie's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "I've got you, Buckley."

---

Eddie's house was modestly sized but surprisingly cozy, not at all what Buck would have expected from a man so contained. Photos of a young boy, Eddie's son, Buck remembered, lined the walls. The furniture was well-worn, comfortable.

"Sit before you fall," Eddie ordered, guiding Buck to the couch. "I'll get you some water and Tylenol."

Buck sank into the cushions, feeling the fever now that Eddie had pointed it out. His head pounded, and chills raced up and down his spine despite the sweat beading on his forehead.

Eddie returned with water, medicine, and a cold compress. "Take these," he said, pressing the pills into Buck's palm. Buck obeyed without argument, too exhausted to do anything else.

"Where's your son?" Buck asked, suddenly realizing he'd never seen the boy at the station.

"Christopher's with his grandmother tonight," Eddie said, pressing the compress to Buck's forehead. "She takes him sometimes when I have early shifts."

The gentle pressure of Eddie's hand against his forehead surprised Buck. There was a care there he hadn't expected.

"You're good at this," Buck murmured, eyes drifting closed.

"I've had practice," Eddie replied, his voice softer than Buck had ever heard it. "Christopher gets fevers sometimes. They hit him hard."

Buck forced his eyes open, finding Eddie watching him with an expression he couldn't quite name. "Thank you," he said. "For this. For not telling everyone."

Eddie's mouth quirked in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Get some rest, Buckley. That's an order."

Buck wanted to say more, to understand why this guarded man had brought him into his home, but exhaustion pulled him under before he could find the words.

---

Eddie watched Buck sleep, noting the shadows under his eyes, the way his brow furrowed even in unconsciousness. In the quiet of his living room, he allowed himself to acknowledge what he'd been avoiding, that Evan Buckley worried him.

Not professionally, the kid had good instincts, even if his execution needed work. No, what worried Eddie was the reckless determination, the desperate need to prove himself. Eddie recognized it too well. He'd seen it in the mirror after Shannon left, after Afghanistan. That dangerous drive that could either forge you into something stronger or break you completely.

Buck muttered something in his sleep, a distressed sound that had Eddie reaching out before he could think better of it. His hand hovered over Buck's shoulder, then withdrew. This wasn't his place. Buck wasn't his responsibility.

But as Eddie settled into the armchair across from the couch, prepared to keep vigil, just to be safe, he told himself — he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, Evan Buckley had already become someone he couldn't ignore.

Even if that was exactly what he should be doing.

He watched the steady rise and fall of Buck's chest, listened to the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Eventually, Eddie felt his own eyes grow heavy, though he fought against sleep. He needed to stay alert, just in case Buck's condition worsened.

Just in case Buck needed him.

The thought should have alarmed him. Instead, Eddie found himself sinking deeper into the chair, his vigilance softening as exhaustion took hold. His last conscious thought before sleep claimed him was that Buck looked younger in repose, more vulnerable — and that the sight stirred something protective in him he wasn't ready to examine.

Chapter Text

Buck woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and the smell of coffee. For a disorienting moment, he couldn't remember where he was, the couch beneath him wasn't his, and the blanket draped over him was definitely not one he owned. Then the events of the last night flooded back —  the dizzy spell catching him, being brought here to recover.

Eddie's home.

He sat up slowly, relieved when the room remained steady. The fever had broken sometime during the night, leaving him sweaty but clear-headed. The living room was empty, but he could hear movement from what he assumed was the kitchen.

"You're up." Eddie appeared in the doorway, two mugs in hand. He looked fresh from the shower, hair still damp, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans. It was the most casual Buck had ever seen him. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," Buck said, accepting the coffee offered. "Thanks for... all of this."

Eddie shrugged, as if taking care of feverish coworkers was something he did every day. "You were pretty out of it. Fever hit 101 at one point."

Buck blinked. "You checked my temperature?"

"Had to make sure you weren't dying on my couch." Eddie's tone was dry, but there was something softer in his expression than Buck was used to seeing. "I needed to know if I should call a bus or just let you sleep it off."

"Well, thanks for not shipping me off to the ER," Buck said, running a hand through his hair, acutely aware of how disheveled he must look. "Is your son here yet? I don't want to be in the way."

"No not yet. He wanted to stay for a little longer." Eddie said, a small smile softening his expression at the mention of his son. "They take him sometimes when I have early shifts. He's staying over there until tonight."

Buck nodded, studying Eddie's home in the morning light—photos on the mantle, a few toys neatly stacked in a basket, a jacket hanging by the door. Glimpses into a life beyond the firehouse.

"I should probably get going," Buck said, setting down his mug. "Don't want to intrude on your day off."

Eddie studied him for a moment. "You sure you're good to drive? You can grab a shower first if you want."

The offer surprised Buck. He'd expected Eddie to be eager to have him gone. "I'm okay. But thanks."

Eddie nodded, then glanced at his watch. "Bobby called last night. There's a training exercise today. Wildland prep."

"On our day off?" Buck couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.

"Voluntary," Eddie clarified. "But with fire season coming, he wants everyone sharp. You planning to go?"

Buck hesitated. His body screamed for a real day of rest, but missing a voluntary training felt like admitting weakness. Especially after yesterday.

Eddie must have read his thoughts. "You'll be no good to anyone if you don't recover properly, Buckley."

"Are you going?" Buck challenged.

A slight pause. "Yeah. But I didn't just spend the night burning up with fever."

Buck set down his coffee. "I'll be there."

Eddie sighed, looking like he wanted to argue but thought better of it. "Your funeral," he muttered, but there was no bite to it. "I'm leaving in an hour if you want a ride."

---

The training ground was already bustling when they arrived. Several members of the 118 and neighboring stations milled around as instructors set up the day's scenarios. Bobby caught sight of them and waved them over.

"Glad you both could make it," he said, then looked more closely at Buck. "You feeling alright? You look a little pale."

Before Buck could answer, Eddie spoke up. "He's good. Just needs to take it easy today."

Buck shot Eddie a surprised glance, but Eddie was already turning to Bobby, discussing the training parameters. The casual way Eddie had spoken for him, protective without being controlling, stirred something warm in Buck's chest.

"Alright, listen up!" The lead instructor's voice cut through the chatter. "Today we're running wildfire evacuation and containment drills. You'll be divided into teams of four. Each team will face a simulated wildland fire encroaching on a residential zone. Your objective: establish a perimeter, evacuate residents, and contain the spread."

Teams were quickly assembled. Buck found himself grouped with Eddie, Chimney, and Johnson from Station 42. They gathered to discuss strategy as the instructors continued explaining the parameters.

"I've done these drills before," Johnson said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of condescension. "Key is to move fast and hard, establish control lines before the simulated fire jumps containment."

Buck nodded, absorbing the information. "What about evacuation protocols? Do we split the team?"

Johnson barely glanced at him. "We'll figure it out when we're in there. Just follow my lead, rookie."

Buck bristled at being dismissed but forced himself to stay calm. Today wasn't about ego.

Eddie, however, stepped in smoothly. "Actually, having a plan beforehand makes more sense. Buck and I can handle the eastern sector evacuation while you and Chim work the containment line."

Johnson looked ready to argue, but something in Eddie's steady gaze made him reconsider. "Fine. But keep your rookie in check. Last thing we need is someone too green making mistakes."

Buck felt the familiar sting of being underestimated but said nothing. Eddie's hand landed briefly on his shoulder, a silent show of support that surprised him.

"Trust me," Eddie said to Johnson, his voice level. "Buckley's solid."

The casual vote of confidence from Eddie, of all people, left Buck momentarily speechless.

The drill began with an impressive array of smoke machines, orange marker flags indicating the fire's edge, and actors playing panicked residents. Buck and Eddie moved through their sector methodically, working with an easy synchronicity that felt natural despite their limited time working together.

"Two more houses on the left," Buck called over the din of simulated chaos. "I'll take the first, you get the second?"

Eddie nodded, already moving. "Meet back at the intersection in five."

They split up, each taking a house. Buck found his "resident" — a teenage volunteer playing an asthmatic unable to evacuate independently. He assessed the situation quickly, noting the mock medical needs and the simulated smoke conditions.

"I've got you," Buck assured the teen, slipping into his role. "We need to move quickly, but I'll help you. Do you have your medication?"

The teen nodded, playing his part well. Buck helped him to his feet, supporting his weight as they navigated toward the evacuation point. He scanned continuously for Eddie, relieved when he appeared with his own evacuee— right on schedule.

"Clear?" Eddie asked.

"Clear," Buck confirmed. "Path to evacuation point is still open, but we should move fast. The fire line's shifting." He pointed to where instructors were moving orange markers closer to their position.

Eddie nodded. "Good catch."

They moved efficiently, delivering their evacuees to the safe zone before returning for another sweep. Each time they separated and rejoined, Buck felt the communication between them grow more intuitive. A look, a gesture, a brief word —that was all it took.

During their final evacuation, Buck heard Johnson's voice over the radio. "Fire line breached sector four. We need backup for containment."

"Go," Buck told Eddie. "I can finish the evacuation checks. There's only two more structures."

Eddie hesitated. "You sure?"

"Positive. I've got this." Buck projected a confidence he truly felt. This was his element, the moment when training and instinct melded into something more.

Eddie studied him briefly, then nodded. "Be careful. Meet at command when you're done."

As Eddie jogged toward sector four, Buck continued his methodical check of the remaining structures. The last house revealed an unexpected challenge — a "resident" who refused to leave, insisting on gathering belongings first.

"Sir, we don't have time," Buck explained, keeping his voice calm but authoritative. "The fire line is less than 500 yards away and moving fast."

The actor playing the resident continued his scripted resistance. "Just five more minutes. I need my medications and my wife's photo albums."

Buck recognized this as part of the test —dealing with reluctant evacuees was a common scenario. He took a deep breath, then changed tactics.

"I understand these items are important to you," he said, his voice softening. "What if I help you grab the essentials? You point, I'll collect. Two minutes max, then we have to go."

The actor studied him, then nodded. "Medications in the bathroom cabinet. Photos on the bookshelf."

Buck moved quickly, gathering the items with efficiency. "Time's up," he said after exactly two minutes. "We move now or we both risk getting trapped."

To his relief, the actor complied, allowing Buck to guide him to safety. When they reached the evacuation point, Buck was surprised to find Eddie waiting, concern evident in his expression.

"Everything okay?" Eddie asked. "You were longer than expected."

"Reluctant evacuee," Buck explained. "Had to negotiate."

Eddie's expression shifted to something like approval. "You got him out. That's what matters."

They rejoined the team at command post as the instructors called an end to the drill. Bobby gathered the participants for debriefing, praising effective strategies and pointing out areas for improvement.

"Team Two had particularly effective communication," the lead instructor noted, referencing Buck and Eddie's group. "Especially in the evacuation sector. Good work adapting to the shifting fire line."

Buck felt a swell of pride at the acknowledgment. For once, he hadn't pushed too hard or taken unnecessary risks. He'd simply done his job well.

As the teams dispersed for a water break, Buck found himself surrounded by firefighters from other stations, asking about his evacuation strategies. He explained his approach, surprised by the interest. For the first time since joining the 118, he felt like he might actually belong.

"Nice job with the negotiation tactic," Bobby said, appearing at his side. "That's something that can't be taught, knowing when to push and when to give ground."

Buck smiled, the captain's approval warming him more than he wanted to admit. "Thanks, Cap."

As the group moved toward the refreshment table, Buck caught fragments of conversation from behind him.

"—got lucky with the evac," Johnson was saying to another firefighter. "Kid's still too green for real leadership. Wouldn't trust him with anything critical."

Buck froze, the words hitting like a physical blow. He'd thought he'd finally proven something today.

"Maybe in training," the other firefighter agreed. "But in a real wildfire? Too risky. Rookies like that get people killed."

Buck forced himself to keep walking, not wanting them to know he'd overheard. He reached for a water bottle, his earlier confidence evaporating. Maybe they were right. Maybe one good drill didn't erase the recklessness he'd shown before.

"Don't listen to that bullshit."

Buck turned to find Eddie beside him, jaw tight with something that looked like anger.

"You heard?" Buck asked, embarrassed that Eddie had witnessed his moment of doubt.

"Enough." Eddie handed him a sports drink instead of water. "Johnson's been riding a desk for the last six months after screwing up a rescue. He's looking for anyone to criticize."

Buck took a sip of the drink, surprised by Eddie's defense. "Still. Maybe they have a point. I haven't exactly been the model of caution."

Eddie studied him for a moment. "You know what I saw today? Someone who assessed each situation on its merits. Who adapted when needed. Who put the mission first." He held Buck's gaze. "That's not 'too green.' That's good firefighting."

The unexpected praise left Buck momentarily speechless. Before he could respond, the instructor called them back for the second phase of training.

---

The afternoon progressed through various scenarios, each more challenging than the last. For the final exercise, Bobby appointed Buck as the evacuation coordinator — a position of significant responsibility that caught Buck completely off guard.

"Me?" he questioned, certain he'd misheard.

"You demonstrated good judgment this morning," Bobby explained simply. "I want to see what you can do with more responsibility."

Buck swallowed hard, acutely aware of eyes on him — some supportive, others skeptical. Eddie gave him a quick nod from across the group, the simple gesture somehow bolstering his confidence.

"Okay," Buck said, straightening. "I won't let you down."

As the drill commenced, Buck found himself coordinating four teams of evacuation personnel. He established a clear communication protocol, designated sector responsibilities, and created a tracking system for evacuees.

When the simulated fire unexpectedly "jumped" a containment line, threatening a new residential area, Buck quickly redirected resources, prioritizing vulnerable populations and ensuring teams had escape routes secured.

"Eastern sector reporting heavy smoke conditions," crackled a voice over the radio. "Requesting backup for final sweeps."

Buck assessed his resources, making a quick decision. "Team Three, reroute to Eastern sector. Team Two, expand your coverage area to compensate."

Throughout it all, Buck maintained a calm, authoritative presence. The chaos that might once have tempted him to heroics now simply presented as problems to be systematically addressed. He found himself drawing on memories of Eddie's measured approach during their morning operation.

By the time the instructors called the exercise complete, Buck was exhausted but exhilarated. The teams had successfully "evacuated" all residents with zero casualties.

"Impressive work," the lead instructor told the assembled firefighters. "Particularly from our evacuation coordinator. Good leadership isn't about being the hero — it's about ensuring everyone else can do their jobs effectively. That's what we saw today."

Buck felt a flush of pride that had nothing to do with ego. This wasn't about proving himself anymore; it was about being part of something bigger.

As the training wrapped up and firefighters began dispersing to their vehicles, Buck searched for Eddie, wanting to thank him for his earlier support. He found him talking with Bobby near the command tent.

"—real potential there," Bobby was saying as Buck approached. "Just needs the right guidance."

Eddie nodded. "He's got good instincts when he's not trying to be Superman."

Buck realized with a start that they were talking about him. He hesitated, not wanting to interrupt, but Bobby spotted him.

"There he is," Bobby said with an approving nod. "Good work today, Buckley. That's exactly what I've been looking for from you."

"Thanks, Cap," Buck replied, warmth blooming in his chest at the praise.

"I'll see you both at shift tomorrow," Bobby said, clapping Eddie on the shoulder before walking away.

Eddie turned to Buck, a hint of pride in his eyes that Buck had never seen directed at him before. "You did good out there."

"Couldn't have done it without your backup this morning," Buck admitted. "When Johnson was being..."

"A dick?" Eddie supplied, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Buck laughed, the tension of the day finally easing. "Yeah, that."

They stood there for a moment in comfortable silence, before Eddie glanced at his watch. "I should head out. Need to pick up Christopher from my abuela's."

"Right," Buck nodded. "Hey, thanks for the ride here. I can get a lift back with Chimney."

Eddie hesitated, as if about to say something else, then simply nodded. "See you tomorrow, then."

As Eddie walked away, Buck couldn't help but notice the careful distance he maintained, how quickly the camaraderie of the training exercise had been replaced by professional courtesy. After the way Eddie had defended him earlier, the sudden withdrawal was subtle but unmistakable.

It was confusing. This push and pull. One moment Eddie was defending him, offering quiet support, even bringing him into his home the night before. The next, he was rebuilding the walls Buck had glimpsed behind. Buck sensed Eddie was trying to reestablish boundaries that had temporarily blurred during their time together.

And though he couldn't explain why, the realization stung more than it should have.

During the drive back to the station, Chimney kept up a steady stream of conversation, but Buck found his mind drifting to the contradictions of Eddie Diaz.

"You did really well today," Chimney said, interrupting Buck's thoughts. "Bobby was impressed. We all were."

Buck smiled, genuinely touched. "Thanks, Chim."

"Even Eddie," Chimney continued, with a sideways glance that seemed too knowing. "Which is saying something. He doesn't impress easily."

Buck tried to sound casual. "He's hard to read."

"Diaz?" Chimney chuckled. "That's an understatement. Guy's got more walls than a prison." He turned onto the main road. "But he backed you up today. That means something."

Buck looked out the window, watching the landscape blur past. "Yeah," he agreed quietly. "It does."

By the time Chimney dropped him at his car, Buck was exhausted — physically and emotionally. The events of the day had taken their toll, layered on top of his fever from the night before. All he wanted was a hot shower and his bed.

Yet as he drove home to his empty apartment, he found himself mulling over the day, the leadership role he'd stepped into, the praise from Bobby, and most confusingly, the contradictions of Eddie Diaz. The man who'd caught him when he fell, but who seemed determined to keep his distance.

Buck parked and headed up to his apartment, muscles aching from the day's exertion. As he unlocked his door, his phone buzzed with a text message. He expected Chimney checking that he'd made it home okay.

Instead, he saw Eddie's name.

Good job today. Get some rest.

Five simple words. Professional, appropriate— and yet something about them made Buck smile.

Maybe those walls weren't quite as solid as they seemed.

---

Eddie set his phone down after sending the text, unsure why he'd felt compelled to reach out. He should be maintaining professional distance, not sending messages that could be interpreted as personal interest.

He moved around his kitchen, preparing dinner while Christopher told animated stories about his day with abuela. But part of his mind remained on the training ground, on the unexpected leadership Buck had demonstrated, on the way he'd stepped up when given the opportunity.

"Dad? Are you listening?"

Eddie startled, realizing he'd missed Christopher's question. "Sorry, buddy. Just thinking about work."

"Was it a hard day?" Christopher asked, his perception far too sharp for a nine year old.

Eddie smiled, ruffling his son's hair. "Actually, it was a good day. My friend Buck did something really impressive."

"Buck? The one who stayed here last night?"

"That's right," Eddie confirmed, surprised that Christopher remembered the name from their brief conversation that morning.

"Is he coming over again?" Christopher asked, sounding hopeful.

Eddie felt something in his chest tighten. "No, not tonight. He went home to rest."

Christopher nodded, accepting this with the easy flexibility of childhood, and launched back into his story about the day's adventures.

But Eddie found his thoughts drifting again. To Buck's steady presence during the evacuation drill. To the hurt in his eyes when he'd overheard Johnson's dismissive comments. To the way he'd looked in the evening sunlight as they'd parted ways, something unspoken hanging between them.

Eddie shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the present. On his son. On the life he'd carefully constructed — a life that didn't have room for complications.

And Evan Buckley, he was beginning to realize, could be a very significant complication.

Chapter Text

The call came in at 2:37 a.m. A building collapse at a downtown construction site. Buck was already awake, restlessly flipping through channels in the quiet firehouse, when the alarm blared.

"What have we got?" Bobby asked as they loaded into the trucks, his voice steady despite the hour.

"Construction site on Wilshire," Hen reported, checking her tablet. "Partial collapse of a high-rise under development. At least three workers trapped on the fourteenth floor."

Buck felt the familiar surge of adrenaline as the trucks pulled away. He glanced across at Eddie, who was double checking his harness with mechanical precision. In the two weeks since the wildfire training, they'd settled into an odd rhythm — seamless teamwork on calls, careful distance between them. The text messages had become a pattern; brief professional exchanges that somehow felt more significant than they should.

"Gonna be a technical rescue," Chimney noted, breaking into Buck's thoughts. "That scaffolding won't hold after a collapse."

Buck nodded, mentally reviewing the protocols for structural rescue. "We'll need to secure from above and work our way down."

"Good call," Bobby said from the front seat. "Diaz, you and Buck take point on the extraction once we've secured the scene."

Eddie's eyes met Buck's — a quick, assessing glance that conveyed more than words. We've got this. Buck nodded back, the silent communication between them now second nature.

The construction site loomed ahead, emergency lights painting the scene in surreal flashes of red and blue. What had once been a sleek glass-and-steel structure now gaped open on one side, exposed floors hanging precariously. Fire crews were already setting up a perimeter, and Buck could see the construction foreman gesturing wildly to the incident commander.

"Three men still up there," the foreman explained as they approached. "They were working overnight to get ahead of schedule. The collapse took out the east stairwell and most of the elevator shaft."

"Any stability assessment?" Bobby asked, surveying the damage.

"Building inspector's on the way. But it's bad, a support beam failed near the twentieth floor, and it's creating a cascade effect."

Bobby turned to his team. "We don't wait for the inspector. Hen, Chim, set up triage. Buck, Eddie — gear up for vertical rescue. I want you approaching from the west side, away from the collapse zone."

As Buck gathered equipment, he noticed Eddie staring up at the building, his body unnaturally still. Something in his expression made Buck pause.

"You good?" Buck asked quietly.

Eddie blinked, seeming to come back to himself. "Yeah. Let's move."

They secured their lines and began the ascent, using the intact portion of the building to navigate upward. The structure groaned ominously around them, concrete dust floating in the spotlight beams.

"Fourteenth floor just ahead," Buck called over their comms. "I can see movement in the southwest corner."

"Copy that," Bobby's voice crackled back. "Proceed with caution. That whole floor could go."

Buck and Eddie reached the edge of the fourteenth floor, where office space had been framed but not yet enclosed. Metal beams pushed out at odd angles, and electrical wires dangled like vines. Twenty feet away, three construction workers huddled near what had once been an elevator shaft. One appeared unconscious, the others supporting him between them.

"LAFD!" Buck called. "Hold your position!"

"Thank God," one of the workers called back. "Jim's hurt bad — something fell on him when it all came down."

Buck assessed the gap between their position and the workers. The floor was partially collapsed, creating a jagged chasm they'd need to cross.

"We need to secure a line," Eddie said, pulling additional rope from his pack. "I'll anchor here, you cross and secure the victims for extraction."

Buck nodded. "On it."

Eddie secured the line while Buck prepared to cross. The building shuddered slightly, sending a shower of debris into the darkness below.

"Movement on the twentieth floor," Bobby warned through the comms. "Engineers say it's continuing to buckle. You've got maybe ten minutes before potential secondary collapse."

"Copy that," Buck replied. He turned to Eddie. "I'll be quick."

Eddie's eyes locked on his, intense and unreadable. "Be careful."

Buck crossed the gap, balancing on a steel beam and using the secured line for stability. Reaching the workers, he quickly assessed the injured man — a head wound and possible spinal injury, but breathing steadily.

"We need to immobilize him before moving," Buck explained, pulling a cervical collar from his pack. "What's your name?" he asked the more coherent worker.

"Dave," the man replied, his face streaked with dust and sweat. "This is Miguel. And Jim's the one who's hurt."

"Okay, Dave. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to secure Jim to a rescue board. Then we're going to get each of you across that gap one at a time. My partner's going to help pull you across. Understand?"

Dave nodded, his eyes darting nervously to the unstable floor beneath them.

Buck worked quickly, securing Jim to the folding rescue board he'd brought across. He was just finishing when a violent tremor shook the building. A support beam ten feet away tore free with a screech of metal, plummeting into the darkness below.

"Buck!" Eddie's voice was sharp with urgency. "That whole section is starting to go. Move, now!"

"Sending the first victim across," Buck reported, helping Miguel to the edge of the gap. He secured a rescue line to the man's harness, and Eddie began pulling him across.

The building groaned again. And deep, structural sound that Buck felt in his bones. As Miguel reached safety, Buck turned to secure Dave for crossing. The second worker had just reached Eddie when Buck heard a deafening crack above them.

Looking up, Buck watched in horror as a massive support beam broke free from the twentieth floor, plummeting directly toward their position. In the split second before impact, Buck's eyes met Eddie's across the gap—and he saw something he hadn't expected, raw fear.

"Eddie, move!" Buck shouted.

Everything happened at once. The beam crashed through the level above them, sending a cascade of debris raining down. Buck instinctively threw himself over the injured worker, protecting him with his body. When he looked up again, dust clouded his vision.

"Eddie!" Buck called into his radio. "Eddie, report!"

Silence stretched for three agonizing seconds. Then: "I'm here." Eddie's voice sounded strained. "Workers are secure. But—"

The radio cut off.

"Eddie? What's your status?" Buck demanded, his heart hammering.

"Path's blocked," Eddie finally replied. "Debris from the collapse. I can't... I can't get back to your position."

Buck quickly assessed his situation. The collapse had widened the gap between them, making it impossible to cross the injured worker back the way they'd come. "Bobby, we need another extraction point. East side's cut off."

"There isn’t one," Bobby responded immediately. "Building's too unstable on the east. You need to find another way to Eddie's position."

Buck scanned the area frantically. "There," he said, spotting a partially intact section of flooring that curved around toward where Eddie waited. "I've got a route, but I'll need to secure several anchor points."

"Make it fast," Bobby urged. "Engineers say you've got five minutes, tops."

Buck worked with practiced efficiency, securing the immobilized worker to himself and plotting his course along the unstable outer edge of the building. "Eddie, I'm heading your way. Keep the workers back from the edge."

"Copy," Eddie responded, his voice tight with controlled tension.

Buck began his careful navigation, testing each step before committing his weight. The injured man moaned softly against his back as they moved.

"Hang in there, Jim," Buck murmured. "Almost there."

When Buck finally rounded the corner to Eddie's position, his relief was short-lived. Eddie stood rigidly at the edge of the stable flooring, his eyes fixed not on Buck but on the gaping void beyond them. His breathing was shallow, his face ashen beneath the dust.

"Eddie," Buck called. "I'm going to pass Jim across to you. Need you to secure him."

Eddie didn't respond, his eyes still locked on the empty space.

"Eddie!" Buck said sharply. "I need you now!"

Eddie blinked, his eyes finally focusing on Buck. "Right," he said, his voice strangely distant. "Pass him over."

With Dave's help, Buck carefully transferred the injured worker to Eddie and the waiting construction worker. As he watched Eddie secure the man, Buck noticed his hands trembling slightly, something he'd never seen from the always steady firefighter.

"Building's entering critical failure!" Bobby's urgent voice crackled through the radio. "Get out now! That's an order!"

"Moving to extraction point," Buck confirmed, following Eddie and the workers toward the west stairwell that remained partially intact.

They had just reached the emergency ladder when the building gave a final, terrible groan. The floor beneath them tilted, debris sliding toward the void. Buck pushed the last worker toward the ladder, then turned to find Eddie frozen at the edge, eyes wide with a terror Buck had never seen before.

"Eddie, move!" Buck shouted, lunging forward to grab his arm.

Eddie seemed to snap back to himself, stumbling toward the ladder. Buck followed close behind as the floor finally gave way, collapsing into the space below. They descended in tense silence, the only sound their labored breathing and the continuing collapse above them.

When they finally reached the ground, medical teams swarmed the victims. Buck watched as Eddie stepped back from the chaos, his face carefully blank. Something was wrong, deeply wrong, but before Buck could approach him, Bobby intercepted them both.

"Good work up there," he said, eyes moving between them. "Especially with that last minute route change, Buck."

Buck nodded, still watching Eddie. "Thanks, Cap. Just did what needed doing."

"Get checked out by medical, both of you," Bobby ordered. "That was too close."

As Bobby walked away, Buck turned to Eddie. "Hey, what happened up there?"

Eddie's expression shuttered closed. "Nothing happened. We got the job done."

"Eddie—"

"I said nothing happened," Eddie snapped, with an intensity that took Buck aback. "Drop it."

Buck stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You froze. I've never seen you freeze before."

For a moment, something raw and vulnerable flashed in Eddie's eyes. Then it vanished, replaced by cold anger. "You don't know what you're talking about, Buckley. Stay in your lane."

The words hit Buck like a physical blow. After weeks of gradual closeness—the silent communication, the text messages, the growing trust, Eddie's rejection felt like whiplash.

"Fine," Buck said, stepping back. "Forget I asked."

Eddie walked away without another word, leaving Buck standing alone amid the chaos of the rescue scene.

---

Hours later, back at the station after the end of shift, Buck found himself lingering in the locker room. He should go home, get some sleep after the grueling night call. Instead, he sat on the bench, replaying the scene at the construction site.

Eddie's fear hadn't been for himself, Buck realized. It had been something deeper—something triggered by the collapse. The way he'd stared into the void, the tremor in his hands, the momentary paralysis... it reminded Buck of veterans he'd known with PTSD.

The realization hit him suddenly. Eddie had served in Afghanistan. Buck had heard Bobby mention it once. What if the building collapse had triggered something from his time there?

The locker room door swung open, and Buck looked up to find the subject of his thoughts standing there. Eddie paused when he saw Buck, then proceeded to his locker without acknowledgment.

Buck watched him for a moment, debating whether to speak. Eddie's movements were mechanical, his shoulders rigid with tension.

"I'm sorry," Buck said finally. "About earlier."

Eddie's hands stilled on his locker door. "Nothing to be sorry for."

"I shouldn't have pushed."

Eddie turned, his expression carefully controlled. "We got the job done. That's what matters."

"Is it?" Buck stood, taking a step toward him. "Because something happened up there, Eddie. And I think we both know it."

Eddie's jaw tightened. "Let it go, Buck."

"I can't," Buck admitted, surprising himself with his honesty. "Because whatever it was, it matters to me. You matter."

The words hung between them, too raw, too revealing. Eddie stared at him, something complicated moving across his features.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Eddie said finally, but the heat had gone out of his words.

"Then help me understand." Buck took another step closer. "Whatever it is, you don't have to carry it alone."

For a moment, Buck thought Eddie might open up. There was a flicker of vulnerability, a slight softening around his eyes. Then his phone rang, shattering the moment. Eddie checked the screen, his expression shifting.

"I have to take this," he said, already moving toward the door.

Buck nodded, stepping back. "Of course."

Eddie paused at the door, glancing back. "Buck... just leave it, okay? For both our sakes."

Then he was gone, leaving Buck with the unshakable feeling that something fundamental had shifted between them, a fault line cracking open beneath the surface of their carefully maintained professional relationship.

Buck grabbed his bag, exhaustion finally catching up to him. He'd drive home, try to sleep, and pretend the hollow feeling in his chest had nothing to do with Eddie Diaz walking away from him.

As he reached his car, his phone buzzed with a text. Eddie.

Sorry for snapping. Rough call. Talk tomorrow.

Eight words. So little, and yet somehow everything. Buck stared at the message for a long moment before responding.

Whenever you're ready, I'm here.

He sent it knowing Eddie might never be ready, might never let him in. But the offer would stand regardless.

Buck drove home to his empty apartment, the echo of the building collapse still ringing in his ears. It wasn't the structure that haunted him, though, it was the look in Eddie's eyes when the world had started falling apart around them.

Fear, yes. But something else too. Something that looked terribly like recognition.

---

Eddie sat in his truck, staring at Buck's last message. I'm here. Such simple words, and yet they pierced through his carefully constructed defenses with alarming precision.

How had Evan Buckley, of all people, become someone who could see through him? Who could stand in the aftermath of Eddie's worst moment in months and offer not judgment but understanding?

Eddie rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the memories he'd spent years burying surging to the surface. The building collapse. The void opening beneath his feet. The disorienting moment when Afghanistan and Los Angeles had blurred together, past and present colliding with devastating force.

He'd frozen. If Buck hadn't been there—

Eddie cut off the thought, unable to follow it to its conclusion. He'd put lives at risk today because he couldn't keep his ghosts where they belonged. Worse, he'd let Buck see his weakness. Buck, who already occupied too much space in his thoughts. Buck, who was becoming impossible to keep at arm's length.

Eddie started the truck, Buck's text still glowing on his phone screen. I'm here.

Problem was, Eddie was beginning to want him there. And that terrified him far more than any collapsing building ever could.

Chapter Text

Kandahar Province, Afghanistan – Twelve Years Ago.

The air tasted like dust and gunpowder as Eddie crouched behind the remains of a stone wall. Staff Sergeant Miller was bleeding out under his hands, a messy abdominal wound painting everything crimson.

"Stay with me, Miller," Eddie muttered, applying pressure while reaching for gauze. "Evac's five minutes out."

Miller's eyes were glassy, fixed on the hazy sky. "Diaz. You gotta... tell Amy..."

"Tell her yourself," Eddie said firmly, injecting a dose of morphine. "You're not checking out on my watch."

The radio crackled with static, then —  "Incoming! RPG at your two o'clock!"

Eddie barely had time to throw himself over Miller before the world exploded. The deafening blast. The sudden crushing weight. Darkness swallowing everything as the building collapsed around them.

Buried alive. No light. No air. Just the suffocating press of rubble and the distant sound of someone screaming — maybe it was Miller, maybe himself.

—

"Diaz!"

Eddie jolted back to the present, finding Bobby's concerned face inches from his own. The station kitchen materialized around him, his coffee mug spilled across the table.

"Sorry, Cap," Eddie muttered, grabbing napkins to clean the mess. "Lost in thought."

"Everything okay?" Bobby studied him with that too-perceptive gaze.

"Fine," Eddie said automatically, aware of Hen and Chimney watching from across the table. "Just tired. Christopher had a rough night."

"Speaking of Christopher," Hen said, changing the subject, "is he feeling any better? That cough sounded nasty when I saw him at the school fundraiser."

Eddie nodded gratefully. "Better, but not great. My abuela usually watches him when he's sick, but she's got a doctor's appointment today. I'm trying to find a sitter who can handle his needs."

Buck walked into the kitchen, already dressed for his day off. "I could help," he offered, drawing surprised looks from everyone at the table. "I'm not on rotation today anyway. And I'm good with kids."

Eddie stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in Buck's expression. It was the first direct conversation they'd had in days that wasn't about work. Since the construction site, they'd maintained a careful professional distance, the weight of what had happened hanging silently between them.

"I don't know," Eddie said hesitantly. "Christopher needs specialized care. His CP requires—"

"I can handle it," Buck interrupted, with surprising confidence. "I've already researched cerebral palsy. I know what to watch for, what to avoid."

The revelation that Buck had researched his son's condition left Eddie momentarily speechless. When and Why had Buck taken it upon himself to research Cerebral Palsy? 

"It's a good solution," Bobby offered mildly. "Unless you'd rather Christopher stay with someone he already knows."

"Okay," Eddie conceded finally, pulling out his phone. "I'll text you my address. He needs his medication at noon, and he tires easily when he's sick, so—"

"I've got it," Buck assured him, something like triumph flashing in his eyes. "I'll take good care of him, Eddie. Promise."

—

Buck stood nervously on Eddie's porch, double-checking the address on his phone. After taking a deep breath, he retrieved the key from the lockbox and let himself in.

"Hello? Christopher?"

"In here!" a young voice called from the living room.

Buck followed the sound, finding a small boy propped up in pillows on the couch. He had Eddie's dark hair and eyes, but his smile was entirely his own—bright and open in a way Eddie's rarely was. Crutches leaned against the armrest, and a half-finished bowl of cereal sat on the coffee table.

"Hi," the boy said, studying Buck with curious eyes. "Are you the firefighter from Dad's work?"

Buck smiled, setting down his backpack. "That's me. I'm Buck."

"I'm Christopher," the boy replied, then coughed — a wet, rattling sound that made Buck wince in sympathy.

"Your dad said you've got a pretty nasty cough," Buck said, moving to sit on the edge of the coffee table. "How are you feeling otherwise?"

Christopher shrugged. "Just tired. And bored. Dad won't let me go to school."

"Well, I'm no school, but I do have some pretty cool ideas for how we could spend the day," Buck offered. "If you're up for it."

Christopher perked up, his eyes brightening. "Like what?"

Buck grinned, pulling his backpack closer. "Ever built a pillow fort big enough to watch movies in?"

—

The 118 had been called to a multi-vehicle accident on the freeway. Eddie was stabilizing a neck injury when something about the victim's face triggered a memory flash — Miller's eyes, glassy with shock, blood bubbling at his lips. Eddie's hands faltered for just a moment, a barely perceptible hesitation.

"Eddie?" Hen asked, appearing at his side. "You with us?"

Eddie shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. "Yeah. Sorry. Got it covered."

They worked efficiently to stabilize the patient, but Eddie could feel Bobby watching him with concern. When the victim was loaded into the ambulance, Bobby pulled him aside.

"That's the second time today you've zoned out," Bobby said quietly. "What's going on?"

Eddie tensed, defensive walls rising automatically. "Nothing, Cap. Just distracted."

"This have anything to do with what happened at the construction site last week?"

The direct question caught Eddie off guard. He hesitated, torn between his instinct to deny and the growing weight of carrying this alone.

"Maybe," he admitted finally. "Sometimes things just... come back."

Bobby nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Afghanistan?"

Eddie looked up sharply. "How did you—"

"It's in your file," Bobby said simply. "And I recognize the signs. You're not the first firefighter to come from a combat background, Eddie."

Eddie looked away, watching the chaos of the accident scene from a distance. "There was a collapse. When I was stationed in Helmand. My unit was trapped. Man died under me, and I couldn't..." He trailed off, the admission catching in his throat.

Bobby's hand landed on his shoulder, steady and grounding. "You don't have to explain. But you do need to talk to someone if it's affecting you on calls."

"It's not," Eddie insisted. "I can handle it."

"Like you handled it just now?" Bobby's voice was gentle but firm. "This job... it has a way of finding the cracks we try to hide, Eddie. Especially when those cracks come from trying to be stronger than anyone should have to be."

Before Eddie could respond, Chimney called for assistance with another patient. The conversation was shelved, but Bobby's words lingered as Eddie moved through the rest of the scene, his focus deliberately, intensely present. No more flashbacks. No more weakness.

He wouldn't let the past bleed into his present again. Couldn't afford to. Too many people depended on him being whole, being strong — Christopher, the team, the people they saved.

But as they loaded up to return to the station, Eddie found himself thinking about Buck with Christopher. Wondering how they were doing. Wondering if he'd made a mistake, letting someone get that close to the most important part of his life.

—

"Buck?" Christopher asked as they sat in their completed fort, Finding Nemo playing on the TV.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Why did you want to come take care of me today?"

The question caught Buck off guard. He considered brushing it off with a joke, but something about Christopher's direct gaze demanded honesty.

"I wanted to help your dad," Buck said finally. "And I wanted to meet you. Your dad talks about you all the time."

This wasn't exactly true — Eddie rarely discussed his personal life—but the white lie was worth it for Christopher's delighted smile.

"He does?"

"Of course," Buck assured him. "He's really proud of you."

Christopher seemed to consider this. "Dad doesn't let a lot of people help," he said finally, with that same unnerving perception. "He likes doing things by himself."

Buck nodded, recognizing the truth in the child's observation. "Some people are like that. They're so used to being strong for everyone else that they forget it's okay to let others be strong for them sometimes."

Christopher studied him thoughtfully. "Is that why you helped him when he got sick at work?"

Buck blinked in surprise. "He told you about that?"

"He said you were nice to him when he didn't feel good," Christopher confirmed. "That's why I wasn't scared when Dad said you were coming over. I knew you'd be nice to me too."

Something warm unfurled in Buck's chest at the simple trust in Christopher's voice. "Your dad's a good guy," he said softly. "He helps a lot of people. Sometimes it's nice to be the one helping him instead."

After lunch, Buck sent Eddie a text with a photo of Christopher in their elaborate fort,

Christopher's fever broke. We're building pillow forts and watching Finding Nemo. Kid has great taste in movies.

The reply took a while.

Thanks. Busy day. Be home around 6.

Buck tried not to feel disappointed at the brief response. It was the middle of Eddie's shift; he was probably on a call. Still, Buck found himself hoping for more — some indication that this tentative connection growing between them wasn't just in his imagination.

By the time Eddie arrived home, Buck and Christopher had moved on from fort-building to making homemade pasta. The kitchen was dusted with flour, and Christopher's face lit up when Eddie walked in.

"Dad! We're making real pasta!"

Eddie smiled at his son's enthusiasm, glancing over his head to where Buck stood awkwardly in the kitchen doorway, suddenly unsure of his welcome.

"Sounds like you had fun," Eddie said, his eyes meeting Buck's.

"Best day ever," Christopher declared. "Can Buck stay for dinner? He was teaching me to make pasta."

Buck quickly shook his head. "I was just about to head out, actually. Now that your dad's home—"

"Stay," Eddie said, surprising both Buck and himself. "Unless you've got somewhere to be."

Buck hesitated, then smiled. "I'd like that."

Dinner was surprisingly comfortable—Christopher dominated the conversation, regaling Eddie with tales of their day. Buck watched father and son interact, struck by the easy affection between them, the way Eddie's entire demeanor softened around Christopher.

After Christopher insisted on Buck saying goodnight, the two men found themselves in the kitchen with beers, an awkward silence settling between them.

"Thank you," Eddie said finally. "For today. Christopher really enjoyed it."

Buck smiled, accepting the beer. "He's a great kid. Makes it easy."

"Not everyone would say that," Eddie admitted. "His CP can be intimidating for some people."

"He's not his diagnosis, Eddie," Buck said, with surprising intensity. "He's just Christopher. Smart, funny, resilient as hell—wonder where he gets that from?"

The gentle teasing made Eddie smile despite himself. "His mom, probably."

Buck took a sip of his beer, wanting to ask but uncertain if he should push. Eddie seemed to read his curiosity.

"Shannon left when Christopher was two," he said quietly. "Couldn't handle his diagnosis, the medical appointments, the uncertainty. I joined the army after. Did three tours in Afghanistan while my parents raised Christopher."

The admission seemed to cost Eddie something, his jaw tight as if expecting judgment. But all Buck felt was recognition—of the guilt in Eddie's eyes, of the way he pushed himself to be perfect now, as if making up for past failures.

"So you both got left, in a way," Buck observed quietly.

Eddie looked up sharply, surprise flashing across his features. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "I guess we did."

"But you came back," Buck pointed out. "That counts for something. More than something."

Eddie studied him, something unreadable in his expression. "You sound like you know something about it. Leaving, or being left."

Buck hesitated, unused to talking about his own past. But Eddie had shared something personal, something painful. Maybe it was only fair to offer something in return.

"My parents were... physically present," he said carefully. "But they weren't really there, if that makes sense. My sister Maddie was the one who actually raised me. Then she married this guy and disappeared from my life." He shrugged, aiming for casual but missing by a mile. "People leave. It's what they do."

The raw honesty hung between them, unexpected and exposing. But Eddie didn't look uncomfortable or pitying. Instead, there was a quiet recognition in his eyes —one broken person seeing another.

"Not everyone leaves," Eddie said finally.

The simple statement felt like more than it was — a reassurance, maybe. Or a promise. Buck wasn't sure.

"I should probably go," he said, setting down his beer. "Early shift tomorrow."

Eddie nodded, walking him to the door. "Thanks again. For Christopher."

Buck smiled, the awkwardness fading. "Anytime. I mean that."

—

That night, Eddie stood in Christopher's doorway, watching his son sleep. Buck had been good for Christopher. Somehow, he'd known exactly what Eddie's son needed —not just care, but fun.

Eddie moved to the living room, smiling despite himself at the remains of the pillow fort still draped across one corner. He sat on the couch, thinking about Buck's words.

So you both got left, in a way.

No one had ever framed it like that before—acknowledging that Eddie's choice to enlist had been, in its own way, a response to abandonment. A way of running from pain he didn't know how to face.

It was unsettling, being seen so clearly by someone he'd tried to keep at a distance. Being understood by the last person he'd expected to understand him.

Eddie's phone buzzed with a text. Buck.

Christopher's a great kid. Thanks for letting me hang out with him today.

Something about the message, its simplicity, its lack of expectation, made Eddie smile. He typed back before he could overthink it.

You're good with him. He's already asking when you're coming back.

Buck’s reply came quickly:

Name the time. I've got a Lego spaceship to finish.

Eddie set down his phone, that unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest again. He still didn't know what to call this thing with Buck — this pull he felt despite his best efforts to maintain distance. But for the first time since Afghanistan, since Miller, since the building came down around him, Eddie found himself willing to find out.

Maybe some echoes from the past didn't have to define the future.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a routine call—a kitchen fire in a modest two story home, already contained by the time the 118 arrived. The only complication was the elderly homeowner, confused and adamant that her cat remained trapped inside.

"Ma'am, the fire's out," Bobby assured her. "We'll do a thorough search for your pet. Buckley, Diaz — sweep the house."

Buck nodded, following Eddie into the smoke damaged structure. The fire had been concentrated in the kitchen, but residual smoke hung heavy throughout the first floor.

"I'll take upstairs," Buck offered. "Cat's probably hiding somewhere high."

Eddie hesitated. "House is still hot. Be careful."

Buck grinned, already heading for the stairs. "Always am."

The second floor was hazy with lingering smoke, but structurally intact. Buck moved methodically from room to room, calling for the missing cat while scanning likely hiding spots. In the last bedroom, he spotted movement under a bed — a flash of orange fur.

"Got you," Buck murmured, dropping to his knees to peer under the bed frame. The terrified animal had wedged itself against the wall, hissing defensively.

Buck knew better than to force a scared cat out of hiding. Instead, he eased himself further under the bed, speaking in low, soothing tones. "Hey there. I know you're scared, but we need to get you out of here..."

He was so focused on the cat that he didn't notice the damaged ceiling above until it was too late. Without warning, a section of fire-weakened plaster broke free, bringing with it a cascade of debris and an exposed length of old knob-and-tube wiring. The jagged metal edge caught Buck across the temple as it fell, sending a bright shock of pain through his skull.

"Shit!" Buck instinctively jerked away, banging his head on the underside of the bed frame. Warm wetness immediately began flowing into his right eye. Head wounds always bled dramatically, and this one was no exception.

The cat, startled by the commotion, darted out from under the bed and fled the room. Buck tried to follow, but a wave of dizziness hit as he attempted to stand. He grabbed the bed post for stability, blood now streaming freely down his face and soaking into his collar.

"Buck? You find the cat?" Eddie's voice carried up from downstairs.

"Yeah," Buck called back, pressing his sleeve against his temple. "It's coming your way."

Buck took a step toward the door, but the room tilted alarmingly. He staggered, knocking into a dresser and sending framed photos clattering to the floor.

"Buck?" Eddie's voice sharpened, followed by the sound of boots on the stairs. "Everything okay up there?"

"Fine," Buck managed, but the word slurred slightly. His vision swam, the edges darkening. He leaned heavily against the wall, trying to maintain consciousness through sheer willpower.

Eddie appeared in the doorway, his expression shifting from questioning to alarm in an instant. "Jesus Christ, Buck!"

Buck tried for a reassuring smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace with blood painting half his face. "It's nothing. Just a little—"

His knees gave out then, vision tunneling. He was vaguely aware of Eddie lunging forward, catching him before he hit the floor. The last thing Buck registered was the  fear in Eddie's eyes — there for just a moment before being shuttered away behind professional focus.

Buck came to in the back of the ambulance, Hen's familiar face swimming into view as she checked his pupils.

"Welcome back, Buck," she said, relief evident in her tone. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Buck blinked, focusing on her hand. "Three. And before you ask, it's Tuesday, I'm in Los Angeles, and Bobby's our captain."

Hen smiled. "Good to see your concussion didn't affect your attitude. You took a nasty hit to the head."

"How's the cat?" Buck asked, attempting to sit up before Hen firmly pushed him back down.

"Reunited with its owner and completely unscathed, unlike you," she replied. "You're getting six stitches at minimum, and observation for that concussion."

Buck groaned, then noticed Eddie standing silently at the rear of the ambulance. His face was carefully blank, but his hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles white with tension.

"It's really not that bad," Buck said, directing the words at Eddie. "Head wounds always look worse than they are."

Eddie didn't respond, his jaw tight as he stared somewhere over Buck's shoulder.

"I'll give you two a minute," Hen said, glancing between them before stepping out of the ambulance. "Don't let him move," she added to Eddie.

The moment Hen was gone, Eddie's composure fractured — not dramatically, but in ways Buck had learned to read. The slight tremor in his hands as he pulled on latex gloves. The muscle jumping in his jaw. The controlled, too even breaths.

"What happened?" Eddie asked, voice clinically detached as he began cleaning the blood from Buck's face.

"Ceiling collapsed a little. Caught me with some old wiring," Buck explained, wincing as Eddie's ministrations reached the wound itself. "It was just bad luck."

"Bad luck," Eddie repeated flatly. "You went in alone, under a compromised ceiling, for a cat."

Buck frowned, confused by Eddie's tone. "That's the job, isn't it? And the ceiling looked fine when I went in."

"The job is to be careful. To assess risks," Eddie countered, his movements precise but tense as he applied a temporary butterfly closure to Buck's wound. "Not to dive headfirst into danger at every opportunity."

"I wasn't diving into anything," Buck protested. "I was literally crawling under a bed, trying to be gentle with a scared animal."

Eddie didn't respond, focused intently on cleaning the rest of the blood from Buck's face and neck with controlled, methodical motions. But Buck could see it — the subtle signs of panic still lingering beneath Eddie's professional exterior. The way his eyes kept returning to the wound, as if assessing it for any sign of worsening. The slightly uneven rhythm of his breathing.

"Eddie," Buck said quietly. "I'm okay."

"This time," Eddie replied, echoing Bobby's words from weeks earlier. He stepped back, stripping off the gloves with sharp, efficient movements. "Hen's taking you to the hospital. I need to help the team wrap up the scene."

Buck caught his wrist before he could turn away. "Hey. What's really going on here?"

Eddie stiffened at the contact but didn't pull away. "Nothing. You got hurt. We're handling it."

"No," Buck insisted, maintaining his gentle grip. "You're freaking out. Not obviously, but I can see it."

"I'm not—" Eddie began, then stopped himself, staring at Buck's hand on his wrist. "You scared me," he admitted finally, the words barely audible. "There was so much blood, and you just dropped, and for a second I thought..."

He trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought. Buck understood anyway.

"You can trust me, you know," Buck said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Eddie's eyes met his then, something raw and vulnerable in them before his walls slammed back into place. "That's the problem."

The words hung between them, loaded with meaning neither was ready to fully acknowledge. Buck released Eddie's wrist, suddenly unsure what to say next.

"I should go," Eddie said, stepping back. "The team needs me."

Buck nodded, not trusting his voice. As Eddie turned to leave, Buck caught a final glimpse of his face — the conflict there, the fear, the longing. Then he was gone, replaced by paramedics ready to transport Buck to the hospital.

—

Six stitches, a mild concussion, and four hours of observation later, Buck was cleared to go home, with strict instructions to rest for the next 24 hours. He'd expected to call an Uber, but found Eddie instead, leaning against a wall in the hospital waiting room, still in his uniform.

"What are you doing here?" Buck asked, surprised. "I thought you'd be home by now."

Eddie straightened, his expression carefully neutral. "Thought you might need a ride."

"Oh. Thanks," Buck said, oddly touched by the gesture despite the tension still lingering between them.

The drive was quiet, neither man quite ready to address what had happened — not just the injury, but the moment of raw honesty in the ambulance. When Eddie pulled up outside Buck's apartment building, Buck expected a quick goodbye. Instead, Eddie turned off the engine.

"I should make sure you get inside okay," he said, avoiding Buck's gaze. "Concussion protocols."

Buck knew it was an excuse, but he nodded anyway. "Sure."

Inside Buck's apartment, the awkwardness intensified. Eddie moved restlessly around the living room while Buck retrieved water and his prescribed pain medication from the kitchen.

"You don't have to stay," Buck offered. "I'm really fine."

Eddie stopped his pacing, turning to face Buck with an expression that suggested he was wrestling with something internally. "When I saw you go down today," he said abruptly, "it reminded me of something. Someone."

Buck sat on the couch, giving Eddie his full attention. "Miller?"

Eddie's surprise was evident. "How did you—"

"You mentioned him a little after the construction site collapse," Buck reminded him. "Your friend who died in Afghanistan."

Eddie nodded, sinking into the armchair across from Buck. "He bled out under my hands. Head wound, just like yours. One minute he was talking, the next..." He swallowed hard. "I couldn't save him."

"I'm not Miller," Buck said gently. "And I didn't die today."

"I know that," Eddie replied, frustration edging his tone. "Rationally, I know that. But seeing you there, all that blood—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "It triggered something. A response I couldn't control."

"Fear," Buck supplied.

Eddie's mouth tightened. "Panic," he corrected, as if the admission cost him something. "For a second, I wasn't in that house anymore. I was back there, in the rubble, watching someone else I—" He stopped abruptly.

Buck waited, letting the unfinished sentence hang between them. When Eddie didn't continue, Buck filled in the gap himself.

"Someone else you care about," he finished quietly.

Eddie looked away, his profile tense in the dim light of Buck's apartment. "I can't do that again," he said finally. "Care about someone who runs toward danger without thinking. Who makes me feel—" He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the thought.

"Feel what?" Buck pressed, heart pounding.

"Vulnerable," Eddie admitted, meeting Buck's eyes at last. "Exposed. Like everything I've built since Afghanistan, all the walls, all the control—it all means nothing when you're in trouble."

The raw honesty took Buck's breath away. "Eddie..."

"I have Christopher to think about," Eddie continued, as if needing to justify his feelings. "He's already lost his mother. I can't let him get attached to someone else who might disappear."

"I told you," Buck said steadily, "I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't promise that," Eddie countered. "Not in our job. Not with the way you are—always the first one in, always willing to take the hit."

"And you're different?" Buck challenged. "You threw yourself over me during the earthquake last month. You jumped from a collapsing balcony during the apartment fire. You're just as willing to risk yourself."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because I'm not the one people depend on!" Eddie burst out, the words seemingly surprising even himself. He stood abruptly, pacing again. "Christopher has my parents, my abuela. If something happens to me, he still has family. But you—" He stopped, looking at Buck with an intensity that made Buck's chest ache. "You're becoming someone he looks forward to seeing. Someone he talks about when you're not there. Someone he might..."

"Love?" Buck supplied, when Eddie couldn't finish.

Eddie's expression cracked slightly, revealing the fear beneath. "I can't let him be hurt again."

"So push me away instead," Buck said, understanding dawning. "Keep the line between us clear. Professional."

"It's better that way," Eddie insisted, though he didn't sound convinced. "Safer."

Buck stood, moving to stand in front of Eddie. "Nothing about our job is safe," he said quietly. "We both know that. But that doesn't mean we stop living. Stop connecting."

"Buck—"

"I get it," Buck interrupted. "I do. You're scared. After Shannon, after Afghanistan—trust doesn't come easy. But Eddie," he stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in Eddie's dark eyes, "some risks are worth taking."

For a moment, something shifted in Eddie's expression—a softening, a surrender. Buck could feel the invisible line between them thinning, the careful distance Eddie maintained beginning to dissolve.

Then Eddie's phone rang—the specific ringtone he'd set for Christopher's school. The moment shattered as Eddie stepped back, reaching for his phone.

"I have to go," he said, already moving toward the door.

Buck nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Get some rest," Eddie said. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

After Eddie left, Buck stood in the middle of his empty apartment, head throbbing both from the injury and the weight of everything that had been said — and everything that hadn't. He touched the bandage at his temple, remembering the fear in Eddie's eyes when he'd found Buck bleeding.

“That's the problem.” Eddie had said when Buck promised he wasn't going anywhere.

Now Buck understood. The problem wasn't that Eddie doubted Buck's commitment. The problem was that he believed it—and it terrified him.

Chapter Text

The text from Eddie arrived at 6:47 AM, just as Buck was contemplating whether a morning run would help clear his head or aggravate his healing concussion.

Can't do the museum tonight. Something came up.

Buck stared at the message, disappointment settling heavy in his chest. They'd had plans to take Christopher to a dinosaur exhibit — tickets purchased weeks ago, something the boy had been talking about non stop according to Eddie's previous texts.

Everything okay? Buck typed back.

The response came rather quickly. Fine.

The curt reply stung. Since his injury three days ago, something had shifted between them. Eddie had checked on him as promised, but the visit had been brief and oddly formal — Eddie standing awkwardly in Buck's doorway, declining the offer to come inside, asking perfunctory questions about Buck's recovery before making a hasty exit.

It felt like a deliberate step back after the raw vulnerability of their conversation in Buck's apartment. As if Eddie had revealed too much and was now determined to rebuild the walls Buck had briefly glimpsed behind.

What about Christopher? He's been looking forward to it. Buck wrote, trying not to sound accusatory.

Eddie's reply took longer this time. He'll understand. I'll make it up to him.

Buck felt his frustration rise. Eddie, what's going on? Did I do something wrong?

Not everything is about you, Buck.

The words felt like a slap. Buck stared at his phone, hurt quickly transforming into anger. After everything — after the conversations they'd had, the time with Christopher, the moment in the ambulance when Eddie had admitted Buck's injury had scared him — how could Eddie just shut down like this again?

Fine. Buck typed back, fingers hitting the keys harder than necessary. Let me know if you ever decide to stop pushing people away.

He immediately regretted sending it, but it was too late. The message status changed to "Read" with no response forthcoming. Buck tossed his phone onto the couch, anger and hurt churning in his chest.

—

The 118 firehouse was quiet when Buck arrived for his shift. Hen and Chimney were restocking the ambulance, while Bobby prepared lunch in the kitchen. Eddie's truck was in the parking lot, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Good to have you back, Buckaroo," Hen greeted, eyeing the healing cut at his temple. "How's the head?"

"All good," Buck assured her, forcing a smile. "Cleared for duty yesterday."

"Brain cells intact?" Chimney teased. "Not that you had many to spare."

Buck's laugh sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Where's Eddie?"

Hen and Chimney exchanged a quick glance that immediately set Buck's radar pinging.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Hen said too quickly. "He's around somewhere."

"You're both terrible liars. What's going on?"

Chimney sighed, setting down the supplies he'd been organizing. "Look, it's probably nothing. Eddie just seemed... off this morning."

"Off how?" Buck pressed.

"Tense," Hen elaborated. "Barely said two words during briefing. Snapped at Chim for moving his turnout gear."

Buck frowned. It wasn't like Eddie to lose his composure at work. Quiet, sure — Eddie had never been the most talkative team member. But he was always professional, controlled.

"Did something happen with Christopher?" Buck asked, feigning ignorance about the canceled plans.

"No idea," Hen replied. "But whatever it is, tread carefully. He's in a mood."

Buck found Eddie in the gym, methodically destroying a punching bag with controlled, powerful strikes. His form was perfect—each hit precisely aimed, shoulders squared, feet positioned for maximum impact. But there was an intensity to his movements that spoke of something beyond routine exercise.

"Hey," Buck said, leaning against the doorframe.

Eddie glanced up briefly, then returned his focus to the bag. "Hey."

"Seriously? That's all you've got for me?" Buck couldn't keep the edge from his voice.

Eddie landed another solid hit. "What do you want me to say?"

"How about explaining why you're suddenly canceling plans and acting like I did something wrong?"

Eddie finally stopped, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. His expression was carefully blank. "I told you, something came up."

"Right," Buck said skeptically. "Something so important you can't even tell me what it is. After everything we've—"

"We've what, Buck?" Eddie interrupted, his voice low but intense. "What exactly have we done that entitles you to explanations about my personal life?"

The words hit like a physical blow. Buck stared at him, hurt warring with anger. "Are you serious right now? After the past few weeks? After everything with Christopher?"

"That's exactly the problem," Eddie said, his jaw tight. "You're getting too involved. The lines are getting blurred."

"The lines," Buck repeated flatly. "What lines, Eddie? The ones you keep drawing and redrawing whenever things get too real between us?"

Eddie's expression hardened. "This isn't productive. We've got a shift to work."

"No," Buck insisted, stepping into the room. "You don't get to do this, Eddie. You don't get to let me in, let me be part of Christopher's life, let me see who you really are — and then just shut me out when it gets uncomfortable."

"I'm not doing this right now," Eddie warned, tension radiating from his rigid posture.

"Then when?" Buck demanded, voice rising. "Because it seems like you're never ready to actually deal with whatever this is between us."

Eddie's expression shuttered completely. "There is no 'this.', There is no ‘us.’ There's work, and there's... whatever you think is happening. But you're mistaken."

"Bullshit," Buck said, surprising himself with the vehemence in his voice. "You know that's not true. You've known it for a while.” 

For a moment, something raw flashed in Eddie's eyes — vulnerability quickly swallowed by anger. "What I know," he said carefully, "is that you're pushing boundaries that I've made very clear. What I know is that you expect me to just... what? Forget all the complications, all the risks, because you decided we should be something more?"

"That's not what I—"

"I have a son to think about," Eddie continued, as if Buck hadn't spoken. "A job that requires my full focus. I don't have room for more complications in my life right now."

Buck flinched at being called a "complication" again. "Right. Because God forbid Eddie Diaz actually let someone in. Actually admit he might need someone."

"I don't need you," Eddie said, the words precise and cutting. "Christopher doesn't need you. We were fine before you came along, and we'll be fine if you go."

Silence fell between them, heavy and awful. Buck felt like he'd been punched in the gut, all the air knocked from his lungs. He took an involuntary step back, unable to mask the hurt he knew was written plainly across his face.

"You don't mean that," he said finally, his voice barely audible.

Something flickered in Eddie's expression—regret, maybe, or doubt. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "This conversation is over."

As if on cue, the alarm sounded, summoning them to a call. Eddie brushed past Buck without another word, leaving Buck standing alone in the gym, devastation warring with disbelief.

—

The call — a multi-vehicle accident on the freeway, required their full focus. Buck and Eddie worked together with mechanical efficiency but none of their usual synchronicity. The tension between them was palpable, a tangible thing that the rest of the team gave wide berth.

In the ambulance afterward, Hen finally confronted Buck, her expression concerned. "Whatever's going on with you and Eddie, you need to fix it."

"Nothing's going on," Buck replied, the lie bitter on his tongue. "And there's nothing to fix."

"Buck," Hen said gently, "we all saw your faces when you came to the trucks. You looked like someone had died, and Eddie looked like he wanted to punch a wall."

Buck stared out the window, watching the city blur past. "Eddie made his position clear. He doesn't want me in his life or Christopher's. End of story."

Hen's surprise was evident. "He actually said that?"

"More or less," Buck confirmed, the pain still fresh. "Apparently I've been 'misreading' everything between us."

"That doesn't make sense," Hen said, frowning. "The way he talks about you to Christopher—"

Buck's head snapped around. "What do you mean?"

Hen looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I was over there last weekend, helping with some physical therapy exercises for Christopher. He kept talking about 'Buck this' and 'Buck that.' Eddie told him you were part of their family now."

The revelation twisted the knife deeper. "Well, he's changed his mind," Buck said flatly. "And I'm done trying to figure him out."

By the end of shift, Buck was emotionally drained. He changed quickly, determined to avoid any further interaction with Eddie. But as he headed to his Jeep, Bobby intercepted him.

"A word before you go?" the captain asked.

Buck sighed, following Bobby to his office. "If this is about Eddie—"

"It's about the team," Bobby corrected. "And yes, that includes Eddie. But it also includes you." He gestured for Buck to sit. "What happened today?"

Buck hesitated, unsure how much to share. "We had a... disagreement."

"Must have been one hell of a disagreement," Bobby observed. "I haven't seen tension like that since—"

"Since I got stuck under that fire truck," Buck finished bitterly. "Yeah, I get it. Eddie hated me then too."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think? That Eddie hates you?"

Buck looked away. "He made it pretty clear he doesn't want me around."

"That doesn't sound like Eddie," Bobby said thoughtfully. "Did something happen between you two?"

"Nothing happened," Buck said, frustration evident. "That's the problem. I thought we were... I don't know, building something. Then he just shut down on me. Canceled plans with Christopher, told me I was 'misreading' everything."

Bobby was quiet for a moment. "Eddie's a complicated man, Buck. Afghanistan changed him. Losing Shannon changed him. He doesn't trust easily."

"I know that," Buck insisted. "I've been patient. I've respected his boundaries. But he keeps... moving the goalposts. One minute we're close, the next he's acting like we barely know each other."

"And you're sure nothing triggered this sudden change?" Bobby pressed. "Nothing specific?"

Buck thought back to the past week—his injury, their conversation afterward, the texts this morning. "Nothing I can think of. Unless..." He hesitated. "Unless it was what I said. After I got hurt."

"Which was?"

"I told him he could trust me. That I wasn't going anywhere." Buck rubbed a hand over his face. "He said that was 'the problem.' And ever since then, he's been pulling away."

Bobby nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Have you considered that might be exactly what he's afraid of? That you won't leave?"

Buck frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"It does if you're terrified of depending on someone again," Bobby pointed out gently. "If you've learned the hard way that people leave, and the only way to protect yourself is to never need anyone in the first place."

Buck considered this, turning the perspective over in his mind. "So what am I supposed to do? Just... give up? Walk away?"

"I can't tell you that," Bobby replied. "But I do know that sometimes the hardest thing isn't walking away, it's giving someone the space they need to figure things out for themselves."

—

That space lasted exactly three days. Buck and Eddie worked their shifts in tense silence, communicating only when absolutely necessary for the job. The team walked on eggshells around them, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden rift but unsure how to bridge it.

On the fourth day, Buck arrived at the station to find a folded note in his locker. His name was written in Christopher's childish handwriting.

Inside was a crayon drawing of three stick figures, a small one with crutches labeled "Me," a taller one labeled "Dad," and a third labeled "Buck." They were standing in front of what appeared to be a museum with dinosaurs.

Below the drawing, Christopher had written; When are you coming over again? I miss you.

Buck stared at the note, a lump forming in his throat. He carefully refolded it and slipped it into his pocket, his resolve to maintain distance from Eddie crumbling under the weight of his attachment to Christopher.

He found Eddie in the locker room, changing into his uniform. For a moment, Buck just stood in the doorway, uncertain. Then Eddie looked up, their eyes meeting for the first time in days without immediate avoidance.

"Did you know about this?" Buck asked quietly, holding up the paper, the drawing on display.

Eddie glanced at it, recognition dawning in his eyes. "He asked me to give it to you, I didn’t know what was inside. But I'm not surprised. He's been asking about you."

"What have you been telling him?" Buck couldn't keep the accusation from his voice.

Eddie looked away. "That you're busy. That you have your own life."

"Right," Buck said bitterly. "Because it's easier to lie than to explain why you suddenly decided I shouldn't be part of his life anymore."

Eddie's jaw tightened. "It's not that simple."

"Then explain it to me," Buck demanded. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems pretty simple. You got scared of whatever's happening between us, so you pushed me away. Again."

"I was trying to protect him," Eddie said finally, his voice low. "And myself."

"From what? Me?" Buck challenged.

"From getting hurt when you eventually leave!" Eddie snapped, his control finally fracturing. "Everyone leaves, Buck. Shannon left. Twice. My parents left when I enlisted. I left Christopher when I went to Afghanistan. It's what people do."

The raw honesty caught Buck off guard. "Eddie..."

"Christopher loves you," Eddie continued, the admission seeming to cost him. "He talks about you constantly. He's building you into his world, into his future. What happens when you get tired of playing house with us? When you find someone, start your own family? He gets abandoned again, and I'm left picking up the pieces."

Buck shook his head, disbelief warring with understanding. "Is that really what you think? That I'm just... what? Passing time with you both?"

"I think you believe you'll stay," Eddie conceded. "But intentions and reality don't always align."

"So you decided to hurt him now to prevent him possibly getting hurt later?" Buck asked incredulously. "That doesn't make any sense, Eddie."

"It makes perfect sense if you've seen what loss does to him," Eddie countered. "If you've held him while he cries for a mother who chose to walk away from her own child."

Buck stepped closer, determination replacing the hurt that had dominated the past few days. "I'm not Shannon. I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you push me away."

Eddie looked at him then, really looked at him, conflict evident in his expression. "What if I already have?"

Buck held up Christopher's drawing. "Then why is he still drawing me as part of your family?"

Eddie had no answer for that.

"I get that you're scared," Buck continued quietly. "I get that trust doesn't come easy for you. But Eddie, you can't protect Christopher by isolating him from everyone who might love him. That's not protection—it's a different kind of hurt."

The alarm sounded then, cutting through the tense atmosphere. They moved automatically toward the trucks, the conversation unfinished but something fundamental shifted between them.

As they geared up, Eddie caught Buck's eye. "Christopher's been asking about the dinosaur museum," he said, voice carefully neutral. "The exhibit ends this weekend."

It wasn't an apology. It wasn't even really an olive branch. But it was Eddie cracking open a door Buck had thought permanently closed.

"I'm free Saturday," Buck offered, equally careful.

Eddie nodded once. "I'll text you the details."

It wasn't a resolution. not even close. The hurt was still raw, the trust fractured. But as they climbed into the truck, Buck found himself holding onto a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to whatever had been building between them before fear had shattered it all.

Chapter Text

The tension between Buck and Eddie had become a physical presence at the 118, affecting everyone around them. The easy rhythm they had once shared, the almost telepathic communication during calls, the casual touches, the shared laughter, had disappeared, replaced by stilted professionalism and careful distance.

Chimney elbowed Hen as they watched Buck and Eddie work on opposite sides of the apparatus bay, deliberately avoiding each other. "How long do you think this cold war's gonna last?"

"Not sure," Hen replied, her expression concerned. "But it's getting worse, not better."

It had been three days since Buck found Christopher's drawing in his locker, since Eddie had extended the tentative olive branch about the museum. They'd been scheduled to go today, Saturday, but neither man had mentioned it again, leaving everyone wondering if the plans still stood.

"I've never seen Buck this shut down," Chimney observed. "It's like someone dimmed his lights."

Hen nodded in agreement. Buck without his characteristic enthusiasm was like a different person altogether. Efficient but subdued, going through the motions without the spark that made him Buck.

"Team's fractured," Bobby said, joining them. "And it's affecting our performance."

Their latest call, a warehouse fire, had highlighted the problem. Buck and Eddie, normally in perfect sync, had miscommunicated about their entry point, delaying rescue operations by crucial minutes. No one had been hurt, but it had been a close call — closer than it should have been.

"Maybe we should just lock them in a closet until they work it out," Chimney suggested, only half-joking.

Bobby's expression remained serious. "If things don't improve, I'll have to separate them on calls. We can't afford mistakes on the job."

The thought of breaking up their most effective team was sobering. Before Hen could respond, the alarm sounded again, sending them all rushing to the trucks. Buck and Eddie moved with the same practiced efficiency they always had, but the space between them, physically and emotionally, was unmistakable.

—

The call was at an elementary school. A child fallen from playground equipment with a possible spinal injury. As the trucks pulled up, Buck felt his heart sink when he spotted Christopher's school name on the building.

"Eddie," he said, the first word he'd spoken directly to him all shift. "Isn't this—"

"Christopher's at physical therapy today," Eddie replied tightly, already moving toward the gathered staff.

Buck nodded, relief washing through him even as he registered the continuing tension between them. Whatever their personal issues, the thought of Christopher injured was unbearable to them both.

The victim was a seven-year-old boy who had fallen from the monkey bars, landing awkwardly on his back. Buck and Eddie worked together to stabilize him, their professional training temporarily overriding their personal conflict. Buck talked softly to the frightened child while Eddie carefully assessed for spinal injuries.

"You're doing great, buddy," Buck assured him. "We're going to take really good care of you."

”I know you.” The boy said, “You’re Christopher’s dad.” Looking at Eddie, then his terrified eyes fixed on Buck’s face. "Am I gonna be paralyzed? Like Christopher?"

The question caught Buck off guard. He glanced at Eddie, who had gone very still beside him.

"No, buddy," Buck said gently. "Christopher was born with cerebral palsy. That's different from what happened to you. And look, Eddie here has checked you out, and everything's moving just like it should."

Eddie nodded, his voice professional but kind. "You've got some bruising, but your spine is intact. We're still going to be really careful moving you, though, okay?"

As they prepared the boy for transport, Buck couldn't help but notice the way Eddie's eyes lingered on the playground equipment, the tight set of his jaw. He recognized the look, Eddie imagining Christopher in the same situation, the constant fear that lived in the heart of every parent, but especially one whose child already faced physical challenges.

"He's okay," Buck said quietly, once the boy was safely in the ambulance. "Good landing zone. The woodchips absorbed a lot of the impact."

Eddie looked at him, surprise flickering across his features at Buck's perceptiveness. "Yeah," he agreed after a moment. "He'll be fine."

It was a tiny moment of connection, the first in days, and Buck felt something tight in his chest ease fractionally. But as they returned to the station, the fragile thread between them stretched thin again, threatening to snap completely.

—

Bobby found Buck in the locker room after shift, staring unseeing at his open locker.

"Thought you had plans today," Bobby said casually. "The museum with Christopher?"

Buck sighed, running a hand over his face. "I don't know if that's still happening. Eddie hasn't mentioned it again."

"Have you asked?"

"No," Buck admitted, closing his locker with more force than necessary. "I'm tired of always being the one reaching out, Bobby. The one putting myself out there just to get shut down."

Bobby leaned against the lockers, studying Buck thoughtfully. "You know what the hardest part of my job is? It's not the fires or the rescues or even the ones we can't save." He paused. "It's watching my team hurt and not being able to fix it."

Buck looked away, uncomfortable with the concern in Bobby's eyes.

"This thing with Eddie," Bobby continued. "It's affecting more than just you two. It's affecting the whole house. The team is fracturing, Buck."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Buck asked, frustration evident. "Eddie doesn’t want around.”

"He doesn’t?" Bobby challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like a man fighting himself more than he's fighting you."

Before Buck could respond, Eddie appeared in the doorway, his expression guarded as he took in the scene. "Bobby," he acknowledged with a nod, then glanced at Buck. "Can I talk to you? Alone?"

Bobby straightened, patting Buck's shoulder as he moved toward the door. "Remember what I said," he told Buck quietly, then to Eddie. "Don't make me split you two up on calls."

Once Bobby had left, an uncomfortable silence settled between them. Eddie shifted his weight, clearly struggling to find the right words.

"About today," he began finally. "The museum."

Buck waited, unwilling to make this easier for Eddie after days of strained silence.

"Christopher's expecting you," Eddie continued, his voice carefully neutral. "He's been talking about it all week."

"And what about you?" Buck asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice. "What are you expecting, Eddie?"

Eddie's jaw tightened. "I'm trying here, Buck."

"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're just going through the motions for Christopher's sake." Buck stepped closer, frustration building. "I'm not interested in being a placeholder in his life until you decide I'm too close again and push me away."

"That's not fair," Eddie said, a flash of anger breaking through his controlled exterior.

"Isn't it?" Buck challenged. "You told me you didn't need me. That Christopher didn't need me. You made it pretty damn clear where I stand."

Eddie had the grace to look uncomfortable. "I shouldn't have said that. I was angry."

"You were scared," Buck corrected. "There's a difference."

For a moment, Eddie's carefully maintained facade cracked, revealing the turmoil beneath. "What do you want from me, Buck?"

"The truth," Buck said simply. "Stop hiding behind excuses. Stop pretending you don't know exactly what's happening between us."

Eddie's eyes met his, conflict evident in their depths. For a breathless moment, Buck thought he might finally break through the walls Eddie had built. Their moment was cut short, like always, by Eddie's phone ringing — the specialized ringtone he'd assigned to Christopher's physical therapist.

The interruption shattered the moment. Eddie stepped back, reaching for his phone. "I need to take this."

Buck nodded, disappointment settling heavy in his chest. "Go ahead."

By the time Eddie finished the call, the fragile opening had closed again. "Christopher's therapy ran long," he said, voice professional once more. "If we're still doing the museum, we should get going."

"Are we?" Buck asked quietly. "Still doing the museum?"

Eddie hesitated, then nodded. "If you want to."

It wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement, but Buck thought of Christopher's drawing—the three stick figures standing together as a family. "I'll meet you there," he decided. For Christopher's sake, if nothing else.

—

Christopher's excitement upon seeing Buck at the museum entrance was like sunshine breaking through storm clouds — pure, unrestrained joy that made Buck's chest ache with affection.

"Buck! You came!" Christopher exclaimed, practically bouncing in his wheelchair. The therapist had recommended using it for the museum to conserve his energy after a demanding session.

"Of course I did, buddy," Buck replied, kneeling to Christopher's level for a hug. "Wouldn't miss it for anything."

Christopher beamed, then looked between Buck and his father with innocent perceptiveness. "Are you still fighting?"

Buck blinked, caught off guard by the direct question. He glanced at Eddie, whose expression had gone carefully blank.

"What makes you think we're fighting?" Eddie asked, his voice deliberately light.

Christopher rolled his eyes with the supreme impatience only children can truly master. "You don't talk about Buck anymore. And you get really quiet when I talk about him."

Eddie looked genuinely uncomfortable, clearly unprepared for his son's observation. "We're not fighting, buddy. Buck and I just... have some grown-up stuff to figure out."

“It’s weird," Christopher said, an ounce of sadness in his voice. "It's better when we're all together."

The statement hung in the air between Buck and Eddie, its innocence belying the complexity of the situation. Buck saw something shift in Eddie's expression, a softening, a momentary vulnerability, before he carefully rebuilt his composure.

"Let's go see some dinosaurs," Eddie suggested, deftly changing the subject.

Inside the exhibit, Christopher's enthusiasm proved contagious. Despite the lingering tension, Buck and Eddie found themselves drawn into his excitement, answering questions, reading placards aloud, and marveling at the massive prehistoric skeletons towering above them.

Buck watched as Eddie crouched beside Christopher's wheelchair, pointing out details on a Triceratops display. The tenderness in Eddie's expression, the gentle way he supported Christopher as he stood briefly for a better view, it was these glimpses of the man beneath the armor that had drawn Buck to him in the first place. The man who loved fiercely, protected instinctively, and cared deeply, despite his determination to hide that vulnerability from the world.

When Christopher needed a bathroom break, Eddie turned to Buck. "Can you watch our spot? There's a presentation starting in a few minutes he really wants to see."

Buck nodded, settling onto a bench near the Tyrannosaurus display. He was scrolling through his phone when a woman's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"You must be Buck."

He looked up to find a striking brunette studying him with open curiosity. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, though Buck was certain they'd never met.

"I am," he confirmed, standing. "I'm sorry, have we...?"

"No, No.” she said quickly. "I've just heard a lot about you. From Christopher." She hesitated, then extended her hand. "I'm Shannon. Christopher's mom."

Buck froze, the revelation hitting him like a physical blow. Shannon. The woman who had left Eddie and Christopher, whose abandonment had shaped so much of Eddie's inability to trust. Who was, according to Christopher, suddenly calling again.

"Eddie didn't mention you'd be here," Buck said carefully, shaking her hand on autopilot.

Shannon's smile was tinged with sadness. "He doesn't know. I've been trying to see Christopher for weeks, but Eddie's been..." She trailed off. "Anyway, I saw them go into the museum and thought maybe... but it looks like they're not alone."

The implication was clear in her tone—surprise at finding Buck with them, almost like he was intruding on a family outing. Buck felt a strange territorial instinct rise within him.

"We had plans," he said simply. "The three of us."

Shannon studied him with renewed interest. "You and Eddie are...?"

"Friends," Buck supplied, though the word felt inadequate for the complicated reality between them. "I work with him at the 118."

Shannon nodded slowly, seeming to process this information. "Christopher talks about you. When we speak on the phone. He says you build forts and rockets."

Buck wasn't sure how to respond to that. The thought of Shannon maintaining a relationship with Christopher from a distance while Eddie struggled to raise him alone sparked an unexpected anger.

Before he could formulate a reply, Eddie's voice cut through the tension. "Shannon."

Buck turned to find Eddie standing rigidly a few feet away, Christopher beside him in his wheelchair. The boy's face lit up at the sight of his mother.

"Mom!" Christopher called, excitement evident. "You came to see the dinosaurs too?"

Shannon smiled warmly at her son, though her eyes kept darting nervously to Eddie's thunderous expression. "I did, sweetheart. I remembered how much you love them."

Eddie moved forward, placing a protective hand on Christopher's shoulder. "What are you doing here, Shannon?" His voice was controlled but cold.

"I wanted to see him," she replied simply. "You won't return my calls, Eddie."

"So you decided to ambush us at a museum?" Eddie's tone was incredulous. "After everything, you think this is appropriate?"

Buck felt acutely uncomfortable witnessing what should have been a private moment. He glanced at Christopher, whose initial excitement was fading into confusion as he sensed the tension between his parents.

"Maybe we should take this conversation somewhere else," Buck suggested quietly. "For Christopher's sake."

Eddie seemed to register his son's discomfort for the first time, his expression immediately softening. "You're right," he agreed, then turning his attention to Shannon "This isn't the time or place."

Shannon looked like she wanted to argue, but a glance at Christopher's troubled face changed her mind. "Fine," she conceded. "But we need to talk, Eddie. About our son."

The emphasis on 'our' wasn't lost on any of them. Buck felt suddenly like an outsider—an intruder in a family drama that had nothing to do with him. The realization sent a sharp pain through his chest.

"I should go," he said abruptly. "Let you three... figure things out."

"No, Buck!," Christopher protested immediately. "You promised to show me the raptor exhibit!"

"Buck's right," Shannon interjected before Eddie could speak. "This should be family time. We have a lot to catch up on."

The word 'family' hung in the air like a challenge. Buck looked at Eddie, waiting for him to say something, anything, to contradict Shannon's implication that Buck didn't belong there. But Eddie remained silent, his expression unreadable as he processed Shannon's unexpected appearance.

The silence stretched, becoming unbearable. Finally, Buck forced a smile for Christopher's benefit. "I'll see you next time, buddy. You have fun with your mom and dad, okay?"

Christopher's disappointment was evident, but he nodded reluctantly. "Promise?"

"Promise," Buck assured him, though the word felt hollow given recent events.

As Buck turned to leave, he caught Eddie's gaze. The conflict there was obvious—gratitude for Buck's understanding warring with something that might have been regret. But still, Eddie said nothing.

Buck walked away, the weight of unspoken words and shattered expectations settling heavy on his shoulders. Bobby had been right — the team was fracturing. But it wasn't just the professional unit at the 118 that was breaking apart.

It was whatever fragile, undefined thing had been building between Buck, Eddie, and Christopher. The almost family they had become in the quiet moments between calls, in pillow forts and rocket launches, in shared meals and private conversations.

As Buck reached his Jeep, his phone buzzed with a text from Bobby.

Team meeting tomorrow before shift. Mandatory.

Buck stared at the message, a sense of foreboding settling in his chest. Whatever Bobby had planned, Buck suspected it would force them all to confront the fallout of what had broken between him and Eddie—and what, if anything, could be salvaged from the wreckage.

Chapter Text

The 118 firehouse was unusually quiet as Buck arrived for Bobby's mandatory meeting. He'd barely slept, his mind replaying the museum scene over and over. Christopher's confused face, Shannon's unexpected appearance, and most painfully, Eddie's silence when Shannon had implied Buck wasn't family.

Hen and Chimney were already seated at the kitchen table, their expressions somber. Buck nodded in greeting but didn't trust himself to speak. The wound was still too fresh, the sense of rejection too raw.

Eddie arrived last, dark circles under his eyes suggesting his night had been no better than Buck's. Their eyes met briefly before Eddie looked away, taking a seat as far from Buck as the table allowed.

Bobby surveyed his team, disappointment evident in his expression. "This isn't working," he said without preamble. "Whatever's going on between you two—" his gaze moved from Buck to Eddie, "—it's affecting this house. It's affecting our ability to do our jobs."

No one argued. The tension had become a physical presence, impossible to ignore.

"So here's what's going to happen," Bobby continued. "I'm reassigning you both. Buck, you'll be working with Hen. Eddie, you're with Chimney. This continues until you work out whatever this is."

Buck nodded, accepting the decision even as disappointment settled in his chest. He and Eddie had been partners for a while now , their working relationship evolving into something almost telepathic during rescues. Breaking that up felt like losing yet another connection between them.

"Cap—" Eddie began, but Bobby cut him off.

"This isn't a discussion, Diaz. Fix it or this becomes permanent." Bobby's tone softened slightly. "You're both too valuable to this team to let whatever's happening destroy what we've built here."

As the meeting dispersed, Buck remained at the table, staring into his untouched coffee. He sensed rather than saw Eddie hesitate nearby, as if wanting to say something. But the moment passed, and Eddie walked away without a word.

Hen slid into the seat across from him. "That bad, huh?"

Buck sighed, pushing the coffee away. "Worse."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not much to say," Buck replied. "Shannon showed up at the museum. Eddie froze. I left." The oversimplification didn't begin to capture the depth of his hurt, but it was all he could manage.

Hen's eyebrows shot up. "Shannon? As in, Christopher's mother?"

Buck nodded, the memory still painful. "Apparently she's been trying to see Christopher. Eddie's been avoiding her calls."

"And you didn't know about this?" Hen asked carefully.

"No," Buck admitted. "Just that something was bothering him. He shut me out."

Hen studied him thoughtfully. "Eddie's not great at vulnerability, Buck. You know that."

"It's more than that," Buck said, frustration edging his voice. "He had the chance to include me yesterday—to tell Shannon I was part of their lives. Instead, he just... stood there and looked at me. He let me walk away."

Hen reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. "Give him time. Shannon's reappearance is a complicated thing for both of them. For all three of them," she amended, clearly thinking of Christopher.

Buck understood that intellectually. But emotionally, the hurt remained—a quiet burn beneath his ribs that wouldn't ease.

---

The new partnerships were as awkward as expected. Buck worked well with Hen, but he found himself constantly looking for Eddie during calls, the instinct to check his position too deeply ingrained to break easily. He caught Eddie doing the same—quick glances in Buck's direction when he thought no one was watching.

It was during their third call of the day. A multi-vehicle pileup on the freeway after a sudden downpour that Buck found himself unexpectedly working alongside Eddie. The crash involved seven cars with multiple victims trapped, forcing all hands on deck regardless of Bobby's partner reassignments.

Buck was working to stabilize a minivan teetering dangerously on the guardrail when he spotted Eddie approaching with the jaws of life.

"Thought you were working the sedan with Chim," Buck said, hands steady as he secured a stabilization strut.

"Victim's clear. Bobby redirected me here," Eddie replied, his voice professional but strained. "Driver's pinned pretty bad."

Buck nodded, moving to assess the trapped woman. Her leg was crushed beneath the collapsed dashboard, and the minivan's precarious position made extraction especially dangerous. One wrong move could send the vehicle plummeting down the embankment.

"We need to secure it better before using the jaws," Buck said, glancing at Eddie. "Too unstable."

Eddie nodded, immediately understanding. "I'll get more struts. Keep her calm."

As Eddie jogged back to the truck, Buck turned his attention to the trapped woman, speaking soothingly while monitoring her vitals. Behind him, he could hear the rain intensifying, making the already slick road even more treacherous.

A sudden cracking sound made Buck's head snap up. The guardrail, weakened by the impact, was beginning to give way beneath the minivan's weight.

"Eddie!" he shouted, seeing him returning with equipment. "It's going! We need to move now!"

Eddie dropped the equipment and sprinted forward just as the guardrail began to collapse. Without hesitation, Buck threw himself half into the minivan, reaching for the woman as the vehicle started to tip. Eddie grabbed Buck's legs, anchoring him as the minivan slid further over the edge.

"I've got her harness!" Buck called, fingers closing around the rescue strap they'd secured earlier. "Pull us back!"

Eddie's grip on Buck's turnout gear tightened as he braced himself against the pavement, using all his strength to counterbalance their weight. Buck felt himself being dragged backward, the woman coming with him as she clung to the rescue strap.

The moment they cleared the vehicle, it broke free completely, tumbling down the embankment in a screech of tearing metal. Buck, Eddie, and the rescued woman collapsed onto the wet asphalt in a tangle of limbs and relief.

"You okay?" Buck asked, immediately checking the woman for new injuries despite his own racing heart.

"I've got her," Hen said, appearing beside them with a backboard. "You two alright?"

Buck nodded, suddenly aware that Eddie's hand was still gripping his shoulder, firm, almost desperate in its hold. Their eyes met, and Buck saw the same raw fear he'd glimpsed after his head injury, the same unguarded vulnerability that Eddie usually kept so carefully hidden.

"That was too close," Eddie said, his voice low enough that only Buck could hear.

Buck nodded, understanding that Eddie wasn't just talking about the rescue. "We made it, though."

Eddie's gaze held his for a beat longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between them. Then Bobby's voice called them back to work, the moment broken but not forgotten.

—

The shift ended without further interaction between them. Buck was changing in the locker room, mentally preparing himself for another night alone in his empty apartment, when his phone buzzed with a text.

Christopher wants to know if you're still coming to his science fair tomorrow.

Buck stared at Eddie's message, surprised. The science fair had been on their calendar for weeks. Christopher's volcano project that Buck had helped him design during one of their afternoons together. But after everything that had happened, Buck had assumed the invitation was rescinded.

Didn't know if you still wanted me there. he typed back honestly.

He does.

Buck noted the careful distinction. Christopher wanted him there. Eddie was simply facilitating his son's wishes.

What time? Buck asked, deciding that his relationship with Christopher was worth the awkwardness with Eddie.

4 PM. School auditorium.

Buck confirmed he'd be there, wondering if Shannon would also be attending. The thought sent an unexpected surge of jealousy through him. It wasn’t romantic jealousy, but something deeper. The fear of being replaced, of losing his place in Christopher's life, in the small family unit he'd begun to consider partly his own.

He closed his locker with a sigh, slinging his bag over his shoulder. As he turned to leave, he nearly collided with Eddie, who had entered the locker room silently.

"Buck."

Buck stepped back, startled. "Hey."

Eddie hesitated, clearly struggling with whatever he wanted to say. "About tomorrow... Shannon will be there."

Of course she would. Buck nodded, keeping his expression neutral despite the twist in his gut. "Right. Thanks for the heads up."

"It's not..." Eddie began, then stopped, frustration evident in his face. "I didn't invite her. Christopher did. When they spoke on the phone."

Buck wasn't sure why Eddie felt the need to explain this, or what response he was looking for. "Okay."

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Buck recognized as a sign of stress. "I just didn't want you to be surprised. Like at the museum."

"I appreciate that," Buck said carefully.

"And I wanted to say..." Eddie trailed off again, seeming to lose his nerve. "Never mind. I'll see you tomorrow."

Buck watched him leave, confusion mixing with the hurt that had become his constant companion. Whatever Eddie had been about to say, it clearly wasn't easy for him. But Buck was tired of trying to decode Eddie Diaz's emotional state, tired of being kept at arm's length whenever things got too real between them.

—

The science fair was packed with proud parents and nervous elementary schoolers. Buck arrived early, scanning the crowd for Christopher's familiar face. He spotted him near his project, Eddie beside him adjusting the display board. Shannon was nowhere in sight, and Buck felt a guilty relief.

"Buck!" Christopher called, waving enthusiastically. "You came!"

Buck made his way through the crowd, his heart lightening at Christopher's obvious joy. "Wouldn't miss it, buddy. Let's see this volcano."

Christopher almost immediately went into an explanation of his project, enthusiasm practically radiating from him. Buck crouched to examine the volcano, genuinely impressed by the modifications Christopher had made since they'd last worked on it together.

"You added the secondary chamber we talked about," Buck noted, pride evident in his voice. "That's going to make the eruption twice as impressive."

Christopher beamed. "Dad helped me with the wiring."

Buck glanced at Eddie, who had been watching their interaction with an unreadable expression. "Nice work," Buck acknowledged.

"It was Christopher's idea," Eddie replied. "He said you suggested it might make the eruption more realistic."

The fact that Christopher had remembered their conversation, had taken Buck's suggestion seriously, filled him with an unexpected warmth. Despite everything, he'd made an impact on this kid's life — a positive one.

"The judges are starting," Eddie said, checking his watch. "Buck, would you mind staying with him? I need to meet Shannon at the entrance. She's having trouble finding parking."

Buck nodded, even though his stomach instantly twisted into a not, determined not to let his complicated feelings about Shannon affect Christopher's big day. "We've got this, right, buddy?"

Christopher grinned, bumping his shoulder against Buck's in their familiar gesture of solidarity. "We've got this."

As Eddie walked away, Buck found himself studying Christopher. The boy showed no signs of the confusion he'd displayed at the museum. If anything, he seemed happier than Buck had seen him in weeks.

"Your mom's excited to see your project?" Buck asked carefully.

Christopher nodded. "She said she's proud of me. Even though she didn't help build it."

There was no resentment in his voice — just a simple statement of fact. Buck marveled at his resilience, his ability to accept Shannon's limited role in his life without apparent bitterness.

"Dad says she's trying to do better," Christopher continued, his perception once again catching Buck off guard. "I think he doesn't think she'll stay."

Buck wasn't sure how to respond to such raw honesty. "Sometimes... people have a hard time knowing how to be there for the people they love," he said finally. "It doesn't mean they don't love them."

Christopher considered this, his expression serious beyond his years. "Is that why you and Dad are fighting?”

The question hit with unexpected force. Buck swallowed hard, touched by Christopher's insight and unsure how to answer without placing him in the middle of adult problems.

"It's complicated, buddy," he said gently. "But I want you to know that no matter what happens between me and your dad, I'm not going anywhere. Not when it comes to you."

Christopher studied him for a moment, then nodded, seeming satisfied. "Good. Because you're part of our family now."

The simple declaration made Buck's throat tight with emotion. Before he could respond, Eddie returned with Shannon beside him. She was as beautiful as Buck remembered, with warm eyes and an easy smile. She looked nervous but determined, greeting her son with obvious affection.

"Buck," she acknowledged with a nod. "Christopher said you helped with the project."

"Just the planning," Buck clarified. "Christopher here did all the hard work." He said, smiling at the boy. 

Shannon smiled, a hint of sadness in her expression. "He talks about you all the time, you know. Buck this, Buck that. The amazing firefighter who builds forts and knows all the dinosaur names."

Buck glanced at Eddie, who was watching their interaction closely. "He's a pretty amazing kid," Buck said simply.

"Yes, he is," Shannon agreed, her gaze moving between Buck and Eddie with obvious curiosity. "Eddie, can I speak with you for a moment? About the... arrangements we discussed."

Eddie nodded, his expression guarded. "Buck, would you mind—"

"I've got Christopher," Buck assured him, understanding the request. "Go ahead."

As Eddie and Shannon stepped away for their private conversation, Buck turned his attention back to Christopher, helping him prepare for the judges' arrival. He did his best not to watch Eddie and Shannon, not to wonder what "arrangements" they were discussing, not to feel like an outsider in a family dynamic he had no right to be part of.

But when the judges finally reached Christopher's station, Buck couldn't help but notice that Eddie had positioned himself beside Buck, the three of them standing together as Christopher demonstrated his volcano. Shannon stood slightly apart, her expression a complex mix of emotions as she watched her son with the two men who had, in her absence, become his support system.

When the demonstration ended, the volcano erupting perfectly thanks to the dual chamber design, Christopher looked up at them all, his face alight with pride and happiness.

"We did it!" he exclaimed, and Buck wasn't sure if he meant the volcano or something more.

Eddie's hand landed on Buck's shoulder, a brief, warm pressure that felt like acknowledgment. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "We did."

It wasn't a resolution to the tension between them. It wasn't an apology or an explanation for Eddie's silence at the museum. But it was something — a quiet recognition of the bond that continued to exist despite everything that had tried to break it.

As they helped Christopher clean up his project after the judging, Buck caught Eddie watching him with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. Something soft and uncertain, like a man standing at a crossroads, unsure which path to take.

The quiet burn of hurt in Buck's chest eased slightly, replaced by a cautious hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to whatever had been building between them before fear and miscommunication had threatened to destroy it all.

Chapter Text

Things had been better since the science fair. Not fixed, but functioning. Buck and Eddie had established a careful rhythm, navigating shifts together with professional courtesy, even sharing brief conversations about Christopher or work. The raw hurt from their confrontations had dulled to a manageable ache, allowing the 118 to operate without the suffocating tension of the past weeks.

Buck was grateful for even this limited reconnection. Though they remained in Bobby's reassigned partnerships, the distance between them had narrowed enough that Buck could occasionally glimpse the friendship they'd once shared.

"Hey, you got a minute?" Bobby asked, catching Buck as he restocked the equipment after their morning call.

"Sure, Cap," Buck replied, following Bobby to his office.

Bobby closed the door, his expression serious as he took a seat behind his desk. "I wanted to update you on the partner rotations. You and Eddie have shown improvement. I'm considering putting you back together next cycle."

Relief washed through Buck. "That's great. I think we're finding our footing again."

Bobby nodded, studying Buck thoughtfully. "Good. But that's not why I called you in here." He slid a folder across the desk. "Chief Williams sent this over. It's about a leadership training program coming up. I recommended you for it."

Buck opened the folder, scanning the details. "Four month specialized training? This looks intense."

"It's highly selective," Bobby confirmed. "Only five slots department-wide. If you complete it, you'd be fast-tracked for lieutenant."

Buck looked up, surprised. "You think I'm ready for that?"

"I do," Bobby said without hesitation. "You've grown a lot over the last few months, Buck. This would be recognition of that growth."

Buck stared at the application, conflicting emotions washing through him. Professional advancement was something he'd always wanted, but four months seemed like a long time to be away from the 118. Away from Christopher. Away from Eddie, just when things were starting to heal.

"Can I think about it?" he asked.

"Of course," Bobby replied. "They need your answer by next Friday. But Buck? This is a significant opportunity. Don't pass it up without careful consideration."

Buck nodded, tucking the folder into his bag. "I won't. Thanks, Bobby."

As he left the office, Buck spotted Eddie by the engine, focused intently on checking equipment. For a moment, Buck considered sharing the news about the leadership program, testing the waters of their fragile reconnection. But something held him back—uncertainty about Eddie's reaction, perhaps, or reluctance to disrupt the careful balance they'd established.

The decision could wait. Right now, maintaining what little peace they'd found seemed more important.

—

Three days later, Buck was deep into inventory in the supply closet when he heard voices from Bobby's office, the door partially open as he passed.

"—major opportunity," Bobby was saying. "These positions don't open up often."

"I know," came Eddie's reply, his voice tight with what Buck recognized as stress. "But the timing..."

"You'd be a senior paramedic supervisor," Bobby continued. "Better hours, increased pay, more stability. Station 42 specifically requested you, Eddie."

Buck froze, the clipboard in his hands suddenly heavy. A paramedic supervisor position? At Station 42? Eddie was considering transferring?

"I haven't decided yet," Eddie said, sounding conflicted. "There's Christopher to consider, the team here..."

"And Buck?" Bobby asked quietly.

The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever, Buck's heart hammering in his chest as he waited for Eddie's response.

"It's not about Buck," Eddie finally said, his voice carefully controlled. "This is about what's best for me and Christopher. The hours at 42 would mean more time with him, more stability..."

Buck stepped back from the door, something cold and heavy settling in his chest. Eddie was leaving. Planning to leave the 118, to leave him, without even mentioning it.

He retreated down the hall, mind reeling, nearly colliding with Hen as he rounded the corner.

"Whoa, Buck," she said, steadying him. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Fine," he managed, forcing a smile that felt brittle even to him. "Just... need some air."

Buck escaped to the roof, his sanctuary when the firehouse became too confining. He gripped the railing, trying to process what he'd heard. Eddie was considering a transfer. A permanent separation from the 118. From Buck.

The door opened behind him a few minutes later. Buck didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Hen said you seemed upset," Eddie said, approaching cautiously.

Buck kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Did she?"

Eddie moved to stand beside him, maintaining a careful distance. "Want to talk about it?"

A bitter laugh escaped Buck before he could stop it. "Wanting to talk about things. That's rich, coming from you."

Eddie frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Buck finally turned to face him, hurt crystallizing into anger. "Were you ever going to tell me about Station 42? Or were you just going to disappear one day without saying goodbye?"

Eddie went very still, his expression closing off in the way Buck had come to recognize as his defensive reflex. "You overheard."

"Yeah, I overheard," Buck confirmed, unable to keep the edge from his voice. "Since apparently that's the only way I get to find out what's going on with you."

"I haven't accepted anything," Eddie said, his tone carefully measured. "It's just an option I'm considering."

"An option you never bothered to mention," Buck pointed out. "Not during all our careful conversations, not when we were making plans with Christopher for this weekend."

"It's a complicated decision, Buck," Eddie replied, tension evident in his rigid posture. "I'm still thinking it through."

"And I don't factor into that decision at all?" The question escaped before Buck could stop it, more vulnerable than he'd intended. "The team doesn't? After everything we've been through, I at least deserved to know you were thinking about leaving."

"It's not about you," Eddie said, his voice controlled despite the flicker of something, guilt, perhaps, in his eyes. "This is about what's best for me and Christopher."

"That's the worst part," Buck replied, the words raw with honesty. "The fact that it isn't about me. That I'm so... insignificant in your life that you could just leave without it even being a factor."

Eddie flinched almost imperceptibly, the first crack in his careful composure. "You think you're insignificant to me?"

Before Buck could respond, the alarm blared through the firehouse, summoning them back to professionalism, to duty, to the carefully maintained distance that had become their refuge from the complexities between them.

"We'll finish this later," Eddie said, already moving toward the door.

But Buck knew they wouldn't. This conversation, like so many others, would remain unfinished, the most important words left unspoken.

—

The rest of the shift passed in tense silence. Buck and Eddie moved like planets in separate orbits, maintaining professional efficiency while avoiding direct interaction. By the time Buck reached his apartment that night, the emotional toll had left him drained and hollow.

He was halfway through a beer when his phone buzzed with a text from Bobby.

Thought you might want to know that Eddie requested time to consider the transfer offer. He hasn't accepted yet.

The message provided little comfort. Eddie was still considering leaving, and the fact that Bobby felt the need to inform Buck only confirmed how obvious their rift had become.

Buck stared at his phone, debating whether to reach out to Eddie directly. They'd been in this place before. Anger, misunderstanding, hurt feelings, and had somehow found their way back to each other. But this felt different, more final. A genuine crossroads rather than a temporary detour.

With the leadership program application sitting on his counter and Eddie's potential transfer looming, Buck faced his own decision. Four months away might provide the space they both seemed to need, a chance to gain perspective on whatever remained between them. Or it might be the final severance of a connection already frayed beyond repair.

Buck opened his contacts, thumb hovering over Eddie's name. Then, with a sigh, he set the phone down. What was there to say that hadn't already been said? What words could possibly bridge the growing chasm between them?

Instead, he picked up the leadership program application, staring at it with newfound consideration. If Eddie was plotting his exit, maybe Buck should do the same. Four months away suddenly seemed less like an interruption and more like an opportunity. A chance to focus on his career without the constant distraction of navigating his complicated relationship with Eddie.

His phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Christopher.

Hey Buck! Are you still coming over tomorrow to finish the spaceship? Dad said you might be busy.

Buck's heart clenched at the innocent message. Christopher remained caught in the middle of whatever was broken between Buck and Eddie, another casualty of their inability to communicate.

Wouldn't miss it for anything, buddy. Buck sent back. See you at noon.

Whatever was happening with Eddie, Buck refused to let it affect his relationship with Christopher. The boy deserved better than to lose another person who cared about him.

Setting aside both the application and his beer, Buck headed for the shower, determined to clear his head before tomorrow's visit. Eddie might be considering leaving, but Buck wouldn't be the one to walk away first. Not from Christopher, and not from Eddie, despite the pain of watching him prepare his exit.

Some things were worth fighting for, even when the battle seemed already lost.

—

When Buck arrived at Eddie's house the next day, he found Christopher waiting eagerly on the porch, his face lighting up at the sight of Buck's Jeep.

"Buck!" he called, waving excitedly. "Dad said you might not come."

"I promised, didn't I?" Buck replied, forcing cheer into his voice as he approached. "Where is your dad?"

"Inside," Christopher said, his smile dimming slightly. "He's been quiet all morning."

Buck nodded, unsurprised. "Well, let's go see about that spaceship, huh?"

Inside, the house was unusually still. Buck found Eddie in the kitchen, staring out the window with a cup of coffee gone cold in his hands.

"He's here!" Christopher announced, breaking Eddie from his reverie.

Eddie turned, his expression carefully neutral as he met Buck's eyes. "Hey."

"Hey," Buck replied, the greeting inadequate for the weight hanging between them.

"I brought the final parts we need," Buck said, holding up a shopping bag to break the awkward silence. "Should be able to finish it today."

Eddie nodded, setting down his mug. "Christopher's been talking about it all week." His voice was steady, giving nothing away.

The next few hours passed in a strange limbo. Christopher's excitement creating a bubble of normalcy around them while Buck and Eddie circled each other with careful courtesy. They worked together on the spaceship, hands occasionally brushing as they passed parts, the casual contact both familiar and painful in its restraint.

When Christopher went to the bathroom, the forced normalcy evaporated, leaving them in uncomfortable silence.

"Bobby told me you haven't accepted the transfer yet," Buck said finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer.

Eddie looked up, surprise flickering across his features. "Bobby shouldn't have—"

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Buck interrupted, keeping his voice low. "Or was I just going to show up one day and find you gone?"

Eddie's jaw tightened. "I would have told you. Once I'd made a decision."

"When, Eddie? The day you cleared out your locker?"

"That's not fair," Eddie replied, though the protest lacked conviction.

"Neither is finding out from an overheard conversation that you're planning to leave," Buck countered, unable to keep the hurt from his voice despite Christopher's imminent return.

Before Eddie could respond, Christopher reappeared, immediately sensing the tension. His smile faltered as he looked between them. "Are you guys fighting again?"

The innocent question hung in the air between them, neither man knowing how to answer truthfully without hurting him further.

"We're just sorting some stuff out, buddy," Buck finally said, forcing a reassuring smile. "Adult stuff. Nothing for you to worry about."

Christopher didn't look convinced, but he nodded, returning his attention to the spaceship.

The remainder of the visit passed in awkward starts and stops, the easy camaraderie of previous gatherings replaced by careful distance and forced smiles. When it was time for Buck to leave, Christopher hugged him tightly.

"Will you come back soon?" he asked, uncertainty evident in his voice.

The question broke Buck's heart. "Of course I will," he promised, meaning it despite having no idea where things stood with Eddie or how a potential transfer might affect his relationship with Christopher.

Eddie walked Buck to the door, both men painfully aware of Christopher watching them from the living room.

"I didn't mean for you to find out that way," Eddie said quietly, once they were on the porch.

Buck nodded, too tired for more anger. "I know."

"I haven't made a decision yet," Eddie continued. "There's a lot to consider."

"Like what?" Buck challenged, though his voice lacked the heat from their rooftop confrontation. "What's really driving this, Eddie?"

Eddie looked away, his profile rigid with tension. "It's complicated."

"It always is with you," Buck said, resignation replacing anger. "I just wish, for once, you'd be honest about what you really want."

Eddie's gaze returned to Buck's, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes before he masked it. "I don't always know what I want, Buck. That's part of the problem."

The honesty, however limited, caught Buck off guard. Before he could respond, Eddie continued, "I need time to figure this out. The transfer, the 118, everything."

Buck understood he was being asked for space, for time without pressure or expectations. The request hurt, but he nodded anyway. "Okay."

"Okay," Eddie echoed, relief evident in the slight easing of his shoulders.

As Buck walked to his Jeep, he felt the weight of decisions yet unmade. Eddie stood at a crossroads, torn between staying and leaving. And all Buck could do was wait, and hope that whatever choice Eddie made, it wouldn't mean losing him completely.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since Buck had learned about Eddie's potential transfer, and the silence between them had taken on a weight of its own. Buck had taken to arriving early for his shifts and leaving immediately after, eliminating any possibility of accidental conversation. The locker room, once a space for casual debriefing, had become a danger zone to be navigated with precision. Eddie seemed equally committed to this unspoken agreement, scheduling his routine so their paths crossed as little as possible.

"This is getting ridiculous," Hen remarked one morning, finding Buck alone in the kitchen, timing his coffee break precisely to avoid Eddie's usual routine. "You two can't keep this up forever."

Buck shrugged, focusing on his mug as if it contained the secrets of the universe. "Not forever. Just until he decides whether he's staying or going."

Hen sighed, leaning against the counter. "Have you considered that your silence might be affecting his decision?"

"He's the one who asked for space," Buck pointed out, the memory of their last conversation on Eddie's porch still raw. "Said he needed time to figure things out. I'm just respecting that."

"There's a difference between giving someone space and avoiding them entirely," Hen countered gently. "Eddie looks as miserable as you do, Buck."

Buck glanced up, unable to mask his surprise. "He does?"

Hen's expression softened. "For someone so perceptive on calls, you can be remarkably blind sometimes. Of course he does. You two were, are, important to each other, whatever label you want to put on it."

Buck stared into his coffee, unsure how to respond. The past week had been exhausting. Maintaining distance at work while simultaneously missing Eddie with an intensity that surprised him. And missing Christopher, whose texts had become a lifeline, a connection to the family unit Buck had foolishly allowed himself to become part of.

"Has he said anything?" Buck asked finally. "About the transfer?"

Hen shook her head. "Not that I've heard. Bobby's giving him until Friday to decide."

Friday. Three days away. The deadline loomed like a sentencing date, the approach of an irreversible change. Buck had been counting down silently, preparing himself for the possibility — probability, he reminded himself, that Eddie would choose to leave.

"What would you do?" Buck asked, meeting Hen's eyes. "If it were you, if you had the chance for better hours, more stability for your family..."

"I'd take it," Hen said honestly. "But that's me, with Karen and Denny. Eddie's situation is different. Christopher is different." She paused, studying Buck thoughtfully. "And I don't have a Buck in my life, at least not in the way Eddie does."

Before Buck could ask what she meant, the alarm sounded, sending them racing toward the trucks. Buck spotted Eddie already geared up, his expression unreadable as he climbed aboard. Another call, another few hours of pretending that nothing was broken between them.

—

Buck hadn't expected to see Christopher that week. With things so strained between him and Eddie, he'd assumed their regular Lego sessions and movie nights were on an undetermined hold. So when his phone buzzed with a text from Carla, Eddie's part-time caregiver for Christopher, Buck was caught off guard.

Christopher's been asking for you. Eddie's on shift until 7, but I'm with C at the house until then. Want to stop by? The kid could use some Buck time.

Buck stared at the message, conflicted. Part of him desperately wanted to see Christopher, to maintain that connection regardless of what happened with Eddie. But another part feared that continuing to be in Christopher's life would only make the inevitable separation harder when Eddie finally took the transfer.

Eddie’s okay with this? Buck texted back, not wanting to cross that boundary without permission.

Carla's responded quickly.

It was his suggestion.

Something tightened in Buck's chest at that revelation. Even with everything strained between them, Eddie was still thinking about Christopher's needs, about the boy's connection to Buck. It was such a fundamentally Eddie thing to do. Putting Christopher first, no matter the personal cost.

An hour later, Buck found himself on Eddie's doorstep, his first visit since the tense spaceship completion the week before. Carla answered his knock, her warm smile a welcome that relaxed his shoulders immediately.

"About time," she said, ushering him inside. "That boy has been talking about you non-stop. 'When's Buck coming over? Can Buck help with my math homework? Does Buck know about the new dinosaur they discovered?'"

Despite his anxiety, Buck smiled. "Where is he?"

"Living room, working on a school thing," Carla replied, then lowered her voice. "He knows something's up between you and Eddie. He’s a smart kid, doesn't miss much."

Buck nodded, unsurprised. Christopher's perceptiveness had always been remarkable, his emotional intelligence far beyond his years.

"Buck!" Christopher's excited call pulled Buck toward the living room, where he found his boy surrounded by books and papers, his face lighting up at Buck's appearance. "You came!"

"Of course I did," Buck replied, settling beside him on the couch. "Carla said you needed help with a project?"

Christopher nodded eagerly, pushing a textbook toward Buck. "We're learning about earthquakes. Dad tried to help, but he doesn't know as much as you do."

Buck chuckled, touched by Christopher's faith in his knowledge. "Well, I have responded to a few earthquake calls. Let's see what you've got."

They worked together for the next hour, Buck explaining fault lines and tectonic plates while Christopher took careful notes. Carla bustled around the house, occasionally interjecting with a joke or comment but mostly leaving them to their work. The familiar routine soothed something in Buck's chest, a temporary balm to the ache of the past week.

As they finished the project, Christopher turned to Buck with a seriousness that didn't match his young face. "Hey, Buck? Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, buddy," Buck replied, already sensing where this was going.

"Are you mad at my dad?"

The direct question, delivered with Christopher's characteristic forwardness, caught Buck off guard despite his preparation. He considered deflecting, offering the kind of vague reassurance adults often gave children to shield them from complexity. But Christopher deserved better than that.

"Yeah," Buck admitted quietly. "I am. A little bit."

Christopher nodded, as if Buck had confirmed something he already suspected. "Because he might leave the 118?"

Buck's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You know about that?"

"I heard him talking to Abuela," Christopher said, fidgeting with his pencil. "About Station 42 and how the hours would be better for me." He looked up, his eyes troubled behind his glasses. "But I don't want him to leave if it makes you guys not be friends anymore."

The simple statement hit Buck with unexpected force. He swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat, searching for the right words.

"Your dad and I will always be friends, Christopher," he said finally. "No matter where he works. I'm not mad about the transfer itself. I'm mad that he didn't tell me about it."

"Like how I get mad when he doesn't tell me about doctor appointments until the day before?" Christopher asked, making the connection with startling clarity.

Buck smiled despite himself. "Something like that, yeah."

"He doesn't like talking about important stuff," Christopher observed, with the unintentional wisdom of childhood. "Mom says it's because he keeps everything inside until he explodes. Like a volcano."

Buck had to suppress a laugh at the apt description. "Your mom might be onto something there."

Christopher regarded him seriously. "But you'll still come see me, right? Even if you and Dad are fighting?"

"Always," Buck promised without hesitation. "Nothing could keep me away from hanging out with my favorite buddy."

Christopher's smile returned, bright with relief. "Good. Because Dad's sad when you're not around. He doesn't say it, but I can tell."

Before Buck could process that revelation, the front door opened, and Eddie's voice called out. "Carla? Christopher? I'm home early — shift change."

Buck froze, unprepared for Eddie's sudden appearance. Christopher, however, had no such reservations.

"Dad! Buck's here! He helped me with my earthquake project!"

Eddie appeared in the living room doorway, still in his uniform, clearly caught off guard by Buck's presence. Their eyes met over Christopher's head, a jumble of unspoken emotions passing between them before Eddie's gaze shifted to his son.

"That's great, buddy," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Did you thank Buck for his help?"

"Thank you!" Christopher said, gathering his papers with pride. "I'm going to get an A for sure."

“Maybe a B minus.” Buck joked, Christopher giggling a bit.

Carla appeared behind Eddie, her expression shrewd as she assessed the tension in the room. "Christopher, how about you help me get dinner started while your dad says hello to Buck?"

With Christopher safely occupied in the kitchen, the pretense of normalcy evaporated, leaving Buck and Eddie in awkward silence. Buck rose from the couch, suddenly eager to escape.

"I should go," he said, avoiding Eddie's eyes. "I just stopped by because Carla said Christopher wanted help with his project."

Eddie nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, thanks for that. He's been asking about you."

"Yeah, well," Buck replied, moving toward the door, "I promised him I'd still be around, regardless of... everything else."

Eddie followed him to the entrance, maintaining a careful distance. "Buck—"

"You don't have to explain," Buck interrupted, not ready for another conversation that would inevitably end in stalemate. "You asked for time, and I'm giving it to you. Decision's still yours to make."

Eddie's face tightened, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. "It's not that simple."

"It never is with you," Buck said, without heat. He was too tired for anger now, too drained by the constant effort of maintaining distance from someone who had become so essential to his life. "I'll see you tomorrow, Eddie."

He left before Eddie could respond, the weight of things unsaid following him all the way home.

—

Three days later, Friday arrived with a sense of finality. Buck had spent the night tossing and turning, mentally preparing himself for the news that Eddie had accepted the transfer. By morning, exhaustion had dulled his emotions to a manageable ache, allowing him to approach his shift with resigned acceptance.

To his surprise, the station was unusually quiet when he arrived. No sign of Bobby, Chimney, or most importantly, Eddie. Hen was the only one present, methodically checking equipment in the ambulance bay.

"Where is everyone?" Buck asked, setting down his bag.

"Multi vehicle accident on the 405," Hen replied. "Bobby took the first team out an hour ago. We're second shift, waiting for the call if they need backup."

Buck nodded, retrieving his uniform from his locker. "Eddie with them?"

Hen shook her head. "Called in personal time for the morning. Said he had something to take care of."

The deadline. Today was the deadline for Eddie's decision about the transfer. Buck's stomach twisted at the realization that Eddie was probably at Station 42 right now, finalizing the paperwork, making official what Buck had been dreading for weeks.

"Did he..." Buck hesitated, unsure if he wanted the answer. "Did he say anything about his decision?"

"Not to me," Hen said gently. "But I heard that Chief Williams was expecting paperwork by noon today."

The confirmation of the timeline did nothing to ease Buck's anxiety. He threw himself into busywork, checking and rechecking equipment that didn't need checking, anything to keep his mind occupied and away from the clock that seemed to be ticking with excruciating slowness toward noon.

When his phone rang just after eleven, Buck nearly jumped out of his skin. Christopher's name flashed on the screen, sending a fresh wave of anxiety through him. Had Eddie already told his son about the transfer?

"Hey, buddy," Buck answered, forcing cheer into his voice. "What's up?"

"Buck!" Christopher's excited voice came through the speaker. "Dad says I can sleep over at your house tomorrow night! Can we make a fort like last time?"

Buck blinked, caught completely off guard by the request. "A sleepover? At my place?"

"Yeah! Dad has that training thing all day Saturday, and he said instead of staying with Abuela, I could stay with you if that's okay."

Buck's mind raced, trying to process this unexpected development. Eddie was still planning events that included Buck in Christopher's life? That didn't sound like a man who had accepted a transfer to another station.

"Sure, that sounds great," Buck said automatically, not wanting to disappoint Christopher while his own thoughts were in chaos. "But, uh, maybe check with your dad again, okay? Make sure he's still okay with it."

"He's the one who suggested it," Christopher said, echoing Carla's earlier text in a way that made Buck's chest tighten. "He's right here, you want to talk to him?"

Before Buck could respond, there was a rustling sound, and then Eddie's voice came through the phone. "Buck? Sorry about the ambush. Christopher's been asking about a sleepover since you helped with his project. If it's not a good time—"

"No, it's fine," Buck interrupted, confused by the normalcy in Eddie's tone. "I just... I thought you might be busy today. With the deadline and everything."

A pause, then Eddie's voice, quieter now. "I've made my decision. We can talk about it later, if you want."

Buck closed his eyes, bracing himself. "Yeah. Later."

The rest of the conversation passed in a blur, details about Christopher's schedule and dietary needs that Buck recorded mechanically while his mind fixated on Eddie's words. ‘I've made my decision.’ The transfer was happening, then. This sleepover was what, a consolation prize? A way to ease the transition?

By the time his shift ended that evening, Buck was emotionally drained, operating on autopilot as he gathered his belongings and headed for the parking lot. The day had been mercifully quiet, no calls requiring their response, but the waiting had been its own kind of torture.

Buck was unlocking his Jeep when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to find Bobby approaching, his expression unreadable in the dim parking lot lighting.

"Heading home?" Bobby asked.

Buck nodded, too tired for small talk. "Long day."

"Eddie came by earlier," Bobby said, watching Buck's face carefully. "After you were out on that wellness check with Hen."

Buck's heart skipped a beat. "And?"

Bobby's expression softened slightly. "That's his news to share, not mine. But Buck? Maybe give him a chance to explain before you make any assumptions."

With that cryptic advice, Bobby headed back toward the station, leaving Buck more confused than ever.

—

Buck had just stepped out of the shower when the knock came at his door. He froze, one hand on his towel, certain he'd imagined it. Then it came again, more insistent this time.

Quickly pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt, Buck moved to the door, checking the peephole out of habit. His breath caught at the sight of Eddie standing in the hallway, still in his civilian clothes, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he was as sleep deprived as Buck felt.

Buck opened the door, not bothering to mask his surprise. "Eddie? What are you doing here?"

Eddie looked up, clearly exhausted but determined. "Can I come in?"

Buck stepped aside, allowing Eddie into the apartment. Tension crackled between them as Eddie moved to the living room, his posture rigid with what Buck recognized as barely contained stress.

"I should have called first," Eddie said, running a hand through his hair. "But I knew if I did, I'd lose my nerve."

Buck crossed his arms, defensive despite himself. "Nerve for what? To tell me you took the transfer? Because you could have just texted that, Eddie. Saved us both the awkwardness."

Eddie's expression tightened. "Is that what you think? That I came here to tell you I'm leaving?"

"Aren't you?" Buck challenged. "Today was the deadline, right? For Station 42?"

"It was," Eddie confirmed, holding Buck's gaze steadily. "And I made my decision."

Buck waited, heart hammering in his chest, for the confirmation of what he'd been dreading.

"I turned it down," Eddie said simply.

Buck stared at him, certain he'd misheard. "You... what?"

"I'm staying at the 118," Eddie clarified, his voice quiet but firm. "I told Chief Williams this morning."

Buck sank onto the couch, legs suddenly unsteady beneath him. "But... why? The hours, the stability for Christopher..."

Eddie remained standing, his body tense as if prepared for flight. "It wasn't right. For either of us."

"But you were so convinced it was the best move," Buck said, struggling to process this unexpected development. "What changed?"

Eddie looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the direct question. "A lot of things."

The non answer reignited Buck's frustration. "Seriously, Eddie? After everything, you still can't just talk to me? Tell me what you're actually thinking?"

Eddie sank into the armchair across from Buck, the fight seeming to drain out of him all at once. "I'm trying," he said, his voice strained. "This isn't... easy for me."

The vulnerability in his tone caught Buck off guard. He'd been prepared for anger, for defensiveness, for the walls Eddie typically erected when pushed. Not this raw honesty.

"Okay," Buck said, softening his approach. "So you're staying at the 118. That's... good."

Eddie nodded, his eyes fixed on his clasped hands. "Yeah."

They lapsed into silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. Buck waited, sensing that Eddie was gathering himself for whatever he'd really come to say.

But the words never came. Instead, Eddie simply sat there, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, the weight of sleepless nights evident in every line of his body.

"Eddie," Buck said gently. "Why are you here? Really?"

Eddie looked up, his expression a complex mix of emotions Buck couldn't fully decipher. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "I just... couldn't go home yet."

The simple honesty of the statement disarmed Buck completely. He recognized in Eddie's face the same bone deep weariness he'd been carrying himself. The exhaustion of maintaining distance, of navigating the wreckage of what had once been the most important relationship in his life outside of Christopher.

"Do you want a beer?" Buck offered, a peace offering of sorts.

Eddie nodded, gratitude flickering across his features. "Yeah. Thanks."

Buck retrieved two bottles from the fridge, handing one to Eddie before reclaiming his spot on the couch. They drank in silence, the familiar routine easing some of the tension between them.

Minutes stretched into an hour, neither man speaking beyond occasional comments about the baseball game Buck had turned on for background noise. It should have been uncomfortable, this extended silence, but somehow it wasn't. There was a strange comfort in simply occupying the same space again, no expectations, no pressure to resolve everything in a single conversation.

At some point, Buck's exhaustion caught up with him. He felt his eyelids growing heavy, his body relaxing into the couch despite his best efforts to stay alert. The last thing he remembered was Eddie's voice, quiet and distant, saying something about the game.

—

Eddie watched as Buck's breathing evened out, his head tilting to rest against the back of the couch as sleep claimed him. He should leave, he knew. The responsible thing would be to slip out quietly, send a text in the morning, resume the careful rebuilding of their friendship on more solid ground.

Instead, Eddie found himself studying Buck's face, relaxed in sleep in a way it never was when awake. The past weeks had carved new lines around Buck's eyes, a tension in his mouth that Eddie hated knowing he had caused.

Eddie had come tonight with no clear plan, driven simply by the need to be near Buck after making his decision. He'd spent days agonizing over the transfer, weighing better hours and stability against everything, everyone, he would be leaving behind. In the end, the choice had been both harder and easier than he'd expected.

Station 42 offered certainty, structure, a clear path forward. But the 118 had become home in a way no workplace ever had before. Bobby, Hen, Chimney — they were family, not just colleagues. And Buck...

Eddie sighed, setting down his empty beer bottle. Buck defied simple categorization. Friend felt inadequate for someone who had become so essential to both him and Christopher. Partner carried connotations Eddie wasn't ready to examine too closely. Whatever label applied, the thought of not seeing Buck every day, of gradually losing the connection they'd built, had ultimately been the deciding factor in his decision to stay.

The clock on Buck's wall showed 2:17 AM. Eddie should go home, relieve the babysitter, get some sleep before his shift tomorrow. But the thought of leaving the peaceful quiet of Buck's apartment, of facing his empty house with its echoing rooms and persistent reminders of his own isolation, kept him rooted to his seat.

Eddie reached for the throw blanket draped over Buck's armchair, carefully covering Buck's sleeping form. Buck didn't stir, testimony to his exhaustion after weeks of tension and poor sleep.

"I don't want to leave you," Eddie whispered into the quiet room, the words he hadn't been able to say while Buck was awake finally finding voice in the safety of darkness. "I can't."

The simple truth of it settled over him like the blanket he'd just placed over Buck. A weight, but a comforting one. Whatever lay ahead for them, whatever complications remained to be navigated, Eddie had made his choice. He was staying.

Chapter Text

Buck woke to sunlight streaming through his windows and the disorienting awareness of not being alone. He blinked, taking in his living room from the awkward angle of having slept sitting up on his couch. There was a blanket draped over him that he didn't remember pulling out, and more surprisingly, Eddie asleep in the armchair across from him.

The events of the previous night filtered back slowly. Eddie showing up at his door. The revelation that he'd turned down the transfer. The silence that had stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Buck must have fallen asleep during the baseball game, and apparently, Eddie had decided to stay rather than leave.

Buck studied him, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to observe Eddie unguarded. Sleep had softened the hard lines of tension that had become permanent fixtures in Eddie's face over the past weeks. He looked younger, more vulnerable, with his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle against the chair's backrest and his uniform shirt rumpled from sleeping upright.

As if sensing Buck's eye’s on him, Eddie stirred, his eyes blinking open. For a moment, he looked confused, then recognition dawned as he met Buck's gaze.

"Morning," Buck offered, testing the waters.

Eddie straightened, wincing slightly as he rolled his neck. "Morning. Sorry, I didn't mean to stay all night."

"It's fine," Buck assured him, though the situation felt anything but normal. "Coffee?"

"Please," Eddie replied, running a hand through his sleep tossed hair. "And maybe some aspirin. This chair wasn't designed for sleeping."

Buck moved to the kitchen, grateful for the momentary reprieve from Eddie's presence. He'd spent weeks adjusting to distance between them, constructing careful walls around the hurt of Eddie's secrets and potential departure. Now, with Eddie asleep in his living room having apparently decided to stay at the 118, Buck found himself in emotional territory he wasn't prepared to navigate.

He returned with two mugs of coffee and the requested aspirin, finding Eddie now upright, checking his phone with a frown.

"Everything okay?" Buck asked, passing a mug to Eddie.

"Just checking on Christopher," Eddie replied, setting his phone aside. "He's fine. Still asleep."

Buck nodded, settling back onto the couch with careful distance between them. The morning light made the silence between them more noticeable, more awkward than it had been in the dimness of the previous night.

"So," Buck began, when it became clear Eddie wasn't going to initiate conversation, "you're staying at the 118."

Eddie nodded, his expression difficult to read. "Yeah."

"Can I ask why you decided to stay?" Buck ventured, watching Eddie over the rim of his coffee mug. "You seemed pretty convinced Station 42 was the right move."

Eddie's gaze dropped to his coffee, his fingers tightening around the mug. "It was the practical choice. Better hours, more stability for Christopher, less dangerous calls."

"But?" Buck prompted when Eddie fell silent again.

"But it didn't feel right," Eddie admitted, his voice low. "Leaving the 118, the team..." His eyes flicked up to meet Buck's for a brief moment. "Everything."

The vague response was so typically Eddie that Buck felt a surge of frustration despite himself. Even now, even after weeks of tension and a night spent in Buck's apartment, Eddie couldn't bring himself to speak plainly and openly about his feelings.

"Right," Buck said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. "Wouldn't want to leave 'everything.'"

Eddie frowned at Buck's tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Buck replied, standing to take his mug back to the kitchen. "I'm glad you're staying, Eddie. The 118 needs you."

He was nearly to the kitchen when Eddie's voice stopped him. "Is that it? The 118 needs me?"

Buck turned, surprised by the hint of challenge in Eddie's tone. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," Eddie admitted, frustration evident as he set his mug down with more force than necessary. "Something. Anything that isn't this...."

"You're the one who's been keeping me at arm's length for weeks. You're the one who was planning to transfer without even telling me. You're the one who showed up at my door last night and still couldn't bring yourself to say whatever it is you really came to say." Buck said, his own frustration bubbling over.

Eddie stood, tension radiating from his body. "I told you I'm staying. What more do you want from me, Buck?"

"I want you to be honest!" Buck exclaimed, the words bursting out before he could stop them. "Not just about the transfer, but about everything. About why you pull away every time we get close. About why you'd rather run than face whatever this is between us."

"You think this is easy for me?" Eddie challenged, taking a step closer. "You think I want to be this way?"

"I don't know what you want, Eddie," Buck replied, the honesty raw in his voice. "Because you never tell me. You just... build walls and expect me to somehow figure out how to get through them."

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "I'm trying, Buck. I came here last night, didn't I? I told you I'm staying."

"But you still can't tell me why," Buck pointed out. "Not really. Not the real reason."

For a moment, something vulnerable flickered in Eddie's eyes, a crack in his carefully maintained control. Then the wall came back up, and he turned away, reaching for his jacket.

"I should go," he said, his voice carefully neutral once more. "Christopher will be waking up soon."

Buck watched him head for the door, too tired to argue anymore. This pattern between them, one step forward, two steps back, had become exhaustingly familiar. But as Eddie reached for the doorknob, something in Buck snapped. He was done with this dance, done with the careful avoidance of truth.

"That's it?" Buck called after him. "You're just going to leave? Again?"

Eddie paused, his back to Buck, shoulders rigid with tension. "What do you want from me?" he asked again, not turning around.

"I want you to stop running," Buck said simply. "I want you to turn around and finish a conversation for once, instead of walking away when it gets too real."

Eddie remained frozen, his hand still on the doorknob. Buck could see the internal struggle playing out in the tight line of his shoulders, the way his head dropped slightly as if carrying a weight too heavy to bear.

"Eddie," Buck said, softer now, "please."

Slowly, Eddie turned, his expression a complex mix of fear and resignation. "I don't know how to do this, Buck."

"Do what?" Buck asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

"This," Eddie gestured between them. "Us. Whatever it is that keeps pulling us back to each other no matter how many times I try to keep my distance."

The admission, however limited, cracked something open in Buck's chest, hope and hurt mingling in equal measure. "Why do you keep trying to keep your distance? That's what I don't understand."

Eddie moved back into the living room, though he remained standing, his body tense as if prepared for flight. "Because it's safer that way."

"Safer for who?" Buck challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, all it's done is hurt us both."

"For Christopher," Eddie insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. "For the team. For..."

"For you," Buck finished for him, the realization dawning. "You're protecting yourself."

Eddie's gaze dropped, a silent confirmation that cut deeper than any verbal admission could have.

"From what, Eddie?" Buck pressed, moving closer. "From me?"

"From making the same mistakes," Eddie burst out, the words seeming to surprise even himself. He took a step back, visibly struggling to regain control. "From rushing into something I'm not ready for. From disrupting Christopher's life with more change when he's finally feeling stable. From risking the one friendship that's gotten me through the hardest times of my life."

The raw honesty stunned Buck into momentary silence. He'd suspected Eddie's walls were built from fear, but hearing him articulate it, hearing him acknowledge there could be something more between them while simultaneously admitting his terror of pursuing it — was a revelation Buck hadn't been prepared for.

"Eddie," Buck said finally, his voice gentle, "that's not how this works. You can't protect yourself from getting hurt by avoiding anything that matters."

"It's worked so far," Eddie replied, though the defeat in his voice suggested otherwise.

"Has it?" Buck asked, stepping closer. "Because from where I'm standing, we're both already hurting. We've been hurting for weeks."

Eddie met his eyes then, the vulnerability there more raw than Buck had ever seen it. "I can't lose you, Buck. Not you too."

The simple admission, stripped of all pretense and defense, hit Buck with physical force. This was Eddie at his most exposed, most honest — admitting not just fear but the depth of Buck's importance in his life.

"You won't," Buck promised, the words carrying all the certainty he felt. "I'm not going anywhere, Eddie. Not unless you push me away."

"I'm trying not to," Eddie said quietly, the confession clearly costing him. "That's why I stayed. At the 118. Why I came here last night. I'm trying to stop running."

Buck nodded, understanding the courage it had taken for Eddie to admit even this much. "I know. And I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure the rest out as we go."

Something shifted in Eddie's expression—not a dramatic change, but a subtle easing of tension, a hesitant openness. He didn't move closer, didn't offer any further revelations, but the wall he'd maintained for so long had cracked, allowing Buck a glimpse of what lay beneath.

"I should still go," Eddie said after a moment, though the words lacked the urgency of his earlier attempt to leave. "Christopher will be up by now, wondering where I am."

Buck nodded, recognizing that they'd reached the limit of what Eddie could process in one conversation. "Yeah. Yeah, Okay. We'll talk more later."

Eddie moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Buck," he said, not turning around. "Thank you. For not giving up on me."

Before Buck could respond, Eddie was gone, the door closing quietly behind him. Buck stood in the center of his living room, processing the conversation. The admissions made, the fears voiced, the tentative step forward they'd taken together.

It wasn't everything. Eddie hadn't suddenly transformed into someone comfortable with emotional vulnerability. But it was something. A crack in the wall, a glimpse of possibility, a promise to try. And for now, Buck decided, that was enough.

— 

The morning briefing at the 118 had the familiar rhythm of routine— Bobby outlining the day's training schedule, Chimney cracking jokes about the protein shake Hen was drinking, Buck and Eddie standing side by side but carefully not touching, the invisible boundary between them maintained by silent agreement.

Buck had been thinking about the morning with Eddie in his apartment since it happened. When what should have been a simple conversation had somehow escalated into something far more revealing.

Buck could still hear Eddie's voice, tense with frustration.

“I told you I'm staying. What more do you want from me, Buck?"

And his own response, raw with frustration.

"I want you to be honest! Not just about the transfer, but about everything. About why you pull away every time we get close. About why you'd rather run than face whatever this is between us."

The way Eddie had nearly walked out, hand on the doorknob, before turning back with that rare vulnerability in his eyes, admitting his fear of mistakes, of disrupting Christopher's stability, of risking their friendship. Buck had promised he wasn't going anywhere. Eddie had admitted he was trying to stop running. They'd reached some kind of understanding, fragile but real.

Now they were back to careful distance, professional courtesy, the weight of unspoken feelings creating a tension neither seemed ready to address.

"Earth to Buck," Chimney called, waving a hand in front of his face. "You planning to join us for ladder drill, or are you going to stare at that coffee mug all morning?"

Buck blinked, realizing he'd been lost in thought again — a frequent occurrence lately. "Sorry. Just thinking about the drill."

Eddie's eyes met his briefly, a hint of knowing in his gaze. They'd both been doing this dance for weeks now, present but distant, professional but guarded, waiting for something neither seemed ready to initiate.

The alarm interrupted before Chimney could press further, sending them racing toward the trucks. Multiple-casualty incident on the freeway, a tanker truck overturned, several vehicles involved. The kind of call that required perfect focus, that left no room for distraction.

"Looks bad," Hen observed as they approached the scene, smoke visible from a quarter mile away.

Bobby nodded grimly. "Hen, Chimney —  triage and medical command. Buck, Eddie—check vehicles for trapped victims. Priority on the cars closest to the tanker. Fire department's working on containment, but that fuel could go up any minute."

Buck and Eddie moved in unison, their personal tension set aside in the face of immediate danger. This was the one place they still functioned flawlessly, in the field, where training and instinct overrode everything else.

The scene was entirely chaos. Twisted metal, shattered glass, the strong smell of fuel heavy in the air. Buck and Eddie worked methodically, checking vehicle after vehicle, helping injured motorists clear of the danger zone.

"How many more?" Eddie called as they finished with their third car.

Buck scanned the area, spotting a minivan partially crushed beneath a larger vehicle about fifty yards ahead, dangerously close to the overturned tanker. "One more, over there. Looks bad."

Eddie followed his gaze, frowning at the proximity to the leaking fuel. "We should wait for backup. That tanker's too volatile."

By the time Eddie had even fully finished talking, Buck was already moving forward, his focus narrowing to the task at hand. "There's no time. I can see movement inside— they're alive."

"Buck—" Eddie started, but Buck was already sprinting toward the minivan, trusting Eddie would follow.

The vehicle was in worse shape than it had appeared from a distance. It was partially crushed on the driver's side, the roof collapsed inward, fuel pooling beneath it from either its own tank or the nearby tanker. Buck dropped to his knees, peering through the shattered passenger window.

"LAFD!" he called. "Can anyone hear me?"

A weak voice answered from the back seat. "Help... my daughter..."

Buck could see them now — a woman pinned in the driver's seat, and behind her, a small girl strapped in a car seat, unconscious but breathing. The roof had caved in directly above them, making extraction through the doors impossible.

"Ma'am, we're going to get you both out," Buck assured her, assessing the situation rapidly. "Are you hurt?"

"My legs," she gasped. "I can't feel them. Please, get my daughter first."

Eddie appeared beside Buck, taking in the scene with a quick, professional glance. "We need to go through the rear hatch," he said, already moving toward the back of the minivan. "It's the only access point not compromised."

Buck followed, helping Eddie force open the rear door. The fuel smell was stronger here, the puddle beneath the vehicle expanding visibly.

"Command, this is Diaz," Eddie radioed. "We've got two victims trapped in a minivan near the tanker. Adult female pinned, pediatric victim unconscious but stable. Requesting additional resources for extrication."

"Negative on additional resources," Bobby's voice crackled back. "Fire department reports imminent danger of ignition. Evacuate the area immediately. Repeat, all personnel evacuate."

Eddie looked at Buck, the conflict clear in his eye’s — duty versus protocol, the lives in front of them versus their own safety. A look he knows from Evan Buckley all too well. 

"We can get the child out," Buck said, already climbing into the vehicle. "Two minutes, max."

Eddie hesitated only a moment before nodding. "Two minutes. Then we all get clear."

Buck maneuvered through the cramped space, reaching the little girl who couldn't have been more than four years old. The car seat had protected her from the worst of the impact, but the roof above her had compressed dangerously low.

"I'm going to unbuckle her," Buck called to the mother, who was watching him with desperate hope. "Then we'll come for you, I promise."

The car seat straps were jammed, the buckle deformed from the impact. Buck pulled out his rescue knife, carefully cutting through the straps while Eddie monitored the situation outside.

"Buck, we need to move faster," Eddie warned, urgency in his voice. "Fuel's spreading, and I can see flames from the crash site."

"Almost done," Buck replied, finally freeing the child. He lifted her gently, passing her back to Eddie. "Take her. I'm going for the mother."

Eddie's expression darkened. "Bobby ordered an evacuation. The tanker could go any second."

"So get the girl clear," Buck insisted. "I'll be right behind you with her mother."

A moment of silent communication passed between them — Eddie's concern, Buck's determination, the unspoken understanding that neither would leave someone behind.

"One minute," Eddie conceded, cradling the child protectively. "Then we're both out, with or without her."

Buck turned back to the driver, assessing her injuries more thoroughly now that her daughter was safe. The dashboard had collapsed onto her legs, pinning her completely. Without extraction equipment, there was no way to free her quickly.

"Ma'am, what's your name?" Buck asked, keeping his voice calm despite the increasing urgency of their situation.

"Marie," she replied weakly.

"Marie, I need to be honest with you. I can't get you out without specialized equipment, and we don't have time to wait for it. There's a fuel leak, and it's not safe."

Understanding dawned in her eyes, followed by a calm resignation that broke Buck's heart. "My daughter? Is she..."

"She's safe," Buck assured her. "My partner has her, she's going to be okay."

Marie nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Then go. Please. Don't risk your life for me."

Buck shook his head, stubbornness settling into his jaw. "That's not how this works. I'm going to try one more thing."

He moved to the driver's side, examining the crushed door and collapsed dashboard. If he could just create enough space for her to slide sideways...

"Buck!" Eddie's shout came from outside, his voice tight with alarm. "Fire's spreading along the fuel trail. We need to go now!"

"Thirty seconds!" Buck called back, bracing himself against the frame of the minivan. Using all his strength, he pushed against the twisted metal of the dashboard, trying to create even an inch of clearance. The metal groaned but didn't move.

"Buck!" Eddie again, closer now. "It's too late! We need to go!"

Buck made one final attempt, muscles straining, sweat pouring down his face despite the cool morning. The dashboard shifted slightly — not enough to free Marie completely, but just enough for her to maneuver.

"Try to move toward me," Buck urged her. "Just a little, slide your hips if you can."

Marie gritted her teeth, pushing with her arms, dragging herself inch by agonizing inch toward the passenger side. Blood smeared the seat behind her, but determination kept her moving.

Just as her legs began to come free, a whoosh of igniting fuel sounded from outside, followed by Eddie calling out. 

“Buck! Get out of there now!"

Buck reached for Marie, pulling her the rest of the way free with desperate strength. He dragged her across the seat and through the rear hatch, the heat already intense as flames raced toward the minivan.

"Go!" he shouted to Eddie, who was waiting just outside, the child still in his arms. "Get clear!"

Eddie hesitated for only a second before running with the girl, as Buck half carried, half dragged Marie away from the vehicle. They had made it perhaps twenty yards when the minivan erupted in flames, the concussive wave of the explosion knocking them forward onto the pavement.

Buck covered Marie with his body, protecting her from debris as heat washed over them. When he looked up, he saw Eddie shielding the little girl similarly several yards ahead, already being approached by other firefighters who had rushed forward despite the danger.

Medical personnel swarmed around them, taking Marie from Buck's arms, assessing them both for injuries. Buck sat back on his heels, adrenaline still coursing through him, aware that he'd cut it far closer than he should have.

He was stretching to his feet when Eddie reached him, having passed the child to the waiting paramedics. Buck expected relief, maybe even congratulations on the successful rescue.

What he got instead was fury.

"What the hell was that?" Eddie demanded, his voice low but intense. "We had an evacuation order. The situation was unsafe. You should have been clear five minutes ago!"

Buck stood, meeting Eddie's anger with calm certainty. "I got her out. They're both alive."

"You almost weren't!" Eddie shot back, stepping closer, oblivious to the scene they were creating. "You had no extraction equipment, no backup, and a fuel fire racing toward you. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about a mother and her child," Buck replied, his own voice rising to match Eddie's. "About not leaving someone to die when I could still save them."

"That wasn't your call to make!" Eddie's control was slipping, genuine fear bleeding into his anger. "Bobby gave a direct order. The situation was unsafe. You risked your life on a rescue that had a minimal chance of success!"

"But it did succeed," Buck insisted, frustration building. "They're both alive. That's what matters."

"And what if you weren't?" Eddie demanded, his voice breaking slightly on the question. "What then, Buck? What about the rest of us, standing out here, watching that van go up in flames, knowing you were still inside?"

The raw emotion in Eddie's voice caught Buck off guard. This wasn't just professional concern or teammate worry. This was something deeper, more personal, more visceral.

"I had it under control," Buck said, though even to his own ears, the claim sounded hollow.

"No, you didn't," Eddie countered, his face flushed with anger. "You never do. You just throw yourself into danger without thinking, without considering the consequences. It's like you're trying to prove you don't need anyone. That you can handle everything alone, take on every danger by yourself."

The accusation hit with unexpected force, striking closer to home than Buck wanted to admit. "That's not true," he protested, though the words sounded weak even to his own ears.

"Isn't it?" Eddie pressed, stepping closer, the fear in his eyes fueling his anger. "You push everyone away by putting yourself in danger. It's like you think your life is worth less than everyone else's. Like you've got nothing to lose."

"Because I don't have anyone!" Buck burst out, the words escaping before he could stop them. His voice cracked on the admission, raw emotion breaking through his carefully maintained composure. "Not the way you do."

The statement hung between them, heavy with implication. Buck hadn't meant to say it — hadn't even fully articulated the thought to himself until this moment. But now that it was out, he couldn't take it back, couldn't pretend he hadn't just exposed the deepest insecurity at his core.

Eddie stared at him, the fury draining from his expression, replaced by something Buck couldn't interpret. Shock, perhaps. Or worse, pity.

Seconds stretched into an eternity as Buck waited, heart hammering in his chest, for some response — denial, reassurance, anything to lessen the terrible vulnerability of having laid himself bare. But Eddie said nothing, his silence stretching until it became its own kind of wound.

"Forget it," Buck said finally, turning away to hide the hurt he knew must be plainly visible on his face. "It doesn't matter."

He walked away, past the concerned faces of his team, past Bobby who looked like he wanted to intervene, past the medical personnel still treating victims. His ears were ringing, his chest tight with the aftermath of adrenaline and emotion.

He'd survived the explosion only to detonate something far more dangerous —t he truth he'd been hiding even from himself. That beneath all his bravado and recklessness was a desperate fear that he simply didn't matter to anyone the way they mattered to him.

Eddie's silence had confirmed that fear more eloquently than words ever could.

Buck reached the relative privacy of the truck, leaning against it and drawing deep breaths, trying to center himself. He'd screwed up — not just with the risky rescue, but with the emotional outburst that had followed. He'd revealed too much, crossed the careful boundary they'd maintained.

He didn't know how to face Eddie after this. Didn't know how to walk back into the station and pretend everything was normal, that he hadn't just shattered whatever fragile peace they'd established.

And worse, beneath the embarrassment and regret, the truth he'd spoken still burned — a quiet, persistent ache that no amount of professional success or casual friendship had ever managed to extinguish. The fear that at the end of the day, when everyone went home to their families, their partners, their real lives, Buck would always be left alone.

Because for all his easy charm and warmth, for all the people who claimed to care about him, Buck had never quite been able to shake the suspicion that he was fundamentally unkeepable. That everyone, eventually, would leave him behind.

And nothing in Eddie's silence had suggested otherwise.

Chapter Text

Buck sat alone in his  dark apartment, a half empty bottle of alcohol on the coffee table in front of him. He hadn't meant to drink tonight, but after the scene at the accident, after his raw admission and Eddie's devastating silence — he'd needed something to dull the familiar ache of rejection.

"Because I don't have anyone. Not the way you do."

The words haunted him, echoing in the empty rooms of his apartment like ghosts from his past.

Buck closed his eyes, the whiskey lowering his defenses against memories he usually kept carefully buried. Tonight, they rose to the surface unbidden, fragments of a childhood defined more by absence than presence.

—

Hershey, Pennsylvania  – Fifteen Years Ago

"Mom?" Ten year old Evan Buckley stood in the doorway of his parents' bedroom, backpack clutched in one hand, a wrinkled permission slip in the other. "Can you sign this? It's for the science museum trip tomorrow."

Margaret barely looked up from her book, her reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose. "Just leave it on the dresser. I'll look at it later."

"But it's due tomorrow morning," Evan persisted, taking a tentative step into the room. "And Dad's not home until late."

His mother sighed, marking her place in the book with deliberate care before setting it aside. "Evan, I told you to handle these school things earlier in the week. Not at the last minute."

"I forgot," he admitted, staring at his shoes. "I'm sorry."

"You always forget," she said, the familiar disappointment in her voice making his stomach twist. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You need to be more responsible."

Evan nodded, the familiar script playing out as it always did — his failure to anticipate, to plan, to be the organized child his parents wanted. Never mind that Maddie, nine years his senior, had been the one to remind him about the permission slip, had been the one to actually help him find it crumpled at the bottom of his backpack.

"I'll try harder," he promised, the words automatic after years of repetition.

His mother picked up her book again, a clear dismissal. "Leave it on the dresser. And next time, remember sooner."

Evan placed the permission slip carefully on the edge of the dresser, smoothing it out with small fingers, a ritual meant to convey care, responsibility, worthiness. He lingered a moment, waiting for... something. A question about his day, perhaps. A smile. Any indication that his presence mattered beyond the inconvenience it caused.

None came.

He retreated quietly, closing the door behind him. In the hallway, he found Maddie waiting, her expression sympathetic.

"Did she sign it?" she asked softly.

Evan shook his head. "I left it on the dresser. She said she'll look at it later."

Maddie's mouth tightened slightly — a subtle expression he'd learned to recognize as her displeasure with their parents. "Come on. I'll help you with your homework, and we can check later."

Later, the permission slip remained unsigned, collecting dust on the edge of the dresser where his mother had clearly never bothered to look. Evan found himself unsurprised, the familiar weight of disappointment settling like a stone in his chest.

"You know what?" Maddie said when he showed her, determination in her young face. "I can sign it."

"But that's forgery," Evan protested, eyes wide. "We could get in trouble."

Maddie shrugged. "Only if they notice. And they never notice, do they?"

The truth of her statement hung between them, a shared understanding too heavy for children their age. Their parents didn't notice — not the forged signatures, not the meals Maddie prepared when their mother "forgot" dinner, not the way Evan had learned to make himself small and quiet to avoid being perceived as a burden.

The next day, Evan went on the field trip, his permission slip bearing his mother's signature — perfectly forged by his sister's careful hand. No one questioned it. No one called home to verify. No one noticed.

Just as no one noticed when he won the third-grade spelling bee, or when he scraped his knee badly enough to need stitches (Maddie had taken him to the urgent care center, making up a story about their parents being tied up at work). No one noticed when he stopped bringing home report cards, or when he started spending more and more time at friends' houses, soaking in the warmth of their families like a plant starved for sunlight.

—

Hershey, Pennsylvania – Ten Years Ago

"You can't be serious."

Fifteen year old Evan stood in the kitchen, staring at his father in disbelief. The college brochure for Penn State lay on the table between them, opened to the page about their prestigious engineering program.

"I'm completely serious," Philip replied, his tone matter of fact. "Engineering is a practical field with excellent job prospects. You're good at math when you apply yourself. It makes sense."

"But I don't want to be an engineer," Evan argued, frustration building in his chest. "I want to help people. Maybe be a paramedic, or—"

"A paramedic?" His father's dismissive laugh cut through Evan's words like a knife. "That's not a career, Evan. That's a job. There's a difference."

"It's what I want," Evan insisted, a rare moment of defiance breaking through his usual compliance. "I want to make a difference, to—"

"What you want," his father interrupted, "is to be financially secure and stable. Trust me, the novelty of 'helping people' wears off quickly when you're living paycheck to paycheck."

Evan looked to his mother, hoping for support, but found her attention fixed on her tablet, apparently absorbed in her email and disinterested in the conversation shaping her son's future.

"Maddie's studying nursing," Evan tried, changing tactics. "That's helping people."

"Maddie is... different," his father said, the slight hesitation revealing volumes about their family's unspoken hierarchy. "She's always been more focused, more disciplined. You need more structure, a clearer path."

The familiar comparison stung, though Evan knew his father didn't mean it as cruelly as it sounded. It was simply a fact in the Buckley household. Maddie was the responsible one, the focused one, the one who met expectations. Evan was the one who needed guidance, correction, improvement.

"I don't want to be an engineer," Evan repeated, quieter now but no less determined.

His father sighed, gathering the brochures from the table. "We'll revisit this conversation when you're thinking more clearly. In the meantime, I've set up a campus visit for next month. I expect you to approach it with an open mind."

The conversation was over, his future decided without his input, his desires dismissed as the passing whims of adolescence. It was a pattern Evan had grown accustomed to. Never quite measuring up, never quite being trusted to know his own mind or heart.

Later that night, as he lay staring at his ceiling, Evan made a decision. He wouldn't be going to Penn State. He wouldn't be becoming an engineer. And as soon as he was eighteen, he would leave Hershey behind and find somewhere, someone, who would see him—really see him—for who he was, not who they wanted him to be.

—

Buck opened his eyes, the memories fading but leaving their familiar ache behind. He'd left home at eighteen, just as he'd planned, but escaping the physical presence of his parents hadn't freed him from the patterns established in that household. The desperate need to prove himself, to be useful, to be wanted, it had followed him from city to city, relationship to relationship, job to job.

And now here he was, twenty-five years old, still caught in the same cycle. Still throwing himself into danger, still trying to prove his worth through risk and sacrifice, still seeking connections that inevitably seemed to fall short of what he really needed.

Eddie had seen it so clearly, had called him out with devastating accuracy. "It's like you're trying to prove you don't need anyone. That you can handle everything alone."

Buck took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn distract him from the tightness in his chest. The parallels were impossible to ignore. His parents had never chosen him, had never made him feel essential rather than incidental to their lives. And now Eddie, the person who had somehow become the center of Buck's world, seemed equally unwilling to claim him, to choose him, to acknowledge whatever had been building between them.

The silence after Buck's confession had been answer enough. Eddie didn't see him the way Buck saw Eddie. Didn't need him the way Buck needed Eddie. Didn't feel the same desperate pull that had Buck constantly crossing lines, pushing boundaries, seeking reassurance that he mattered.

History repeating itself in the most painful way possible.

Buck set down his glass, suddenly exhausted. Maybe it was time to accept the pattern, to stop fighting against a reality he couldn't change. Maybe some people were just meant to be the ones who cared more, who needed more, who could never quite find the belonging they sought.

The thought settled over him like a shroud, heavy with the resignation of a lesson finally, painfully learned.

—

Eddie sat in his silent kitchen, Christopher long asleep down the hall. The house felt emptier than usual tonight, the quiet oppressive rather than peaceful. His encounter with Buck at the accident scene played on repeat in his mind, each iteration more painful than the last.

Buck's eyes, wide with hurt and raw vulnerability — "Because I don't have anyone. Not the way you do."

And Eddie's own silence in response, not because he had nothing to say, but because he had too much. Because the fear that had seized him in that moment had been so overwhelming that words had failed him completely.

The doorbell rang, startling Eddie from his thoughts. He glanced at the clock, nearly midnight, too late for casual visitors. When he peered through the peephole and saw Carla on his porch, concern immediately replaced his confusion.

"Carla? Is everything okay?" he asked, swinging the door open.

She brushed past him, purpose in every movement. "No, everything is not okay. And I'm here to tell you why."

Eddie closed the door, following her into the living room with a sense of foreboding. "If this is about Christopher's—"

"This isn't about Christopher," Carla interrupted, turning to face him with uncharacteristic sternness. "This is about Buck."

Eddie stiffened, immediately defensive. "What about him?"

"I just spent two hours on the phone with him," Carla said, crossing her arms. "That boy is hurting, Eddie. Really hurting. And from what I can piece together, you're a big part of the reason why."

"It's complicated," Eddie said, the inadequate response automatic.

"Oh, save that for someone who might believe it," Carla replied, her voice softening slightly. "Eddie, I know you. I know how much you care about Buck. So what I don't understand is why you're doing this dance around each other instead of just being honest."

Eddie sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "I don't know what you want me to say, Carla."

"I want you to tell me why you're pushing away someone who clearly loves you and that boy down the hall," she said directly. "Someone who has proven time and again that he's not going anywhere."

"That's just it," Eddie replied, the words escaping before he could stop them. "Everyone leaves eventually. Shannon did. My parents did, in their way. I learned a long time ago not to depend on people sticking around when things get hard."

Carla's expression softened with understanding. "Eddie, pushing people away isn't protecting them. And it sure isn't protecting you or Christopher. All it's doing is ensuring you end up alone."

"You didn't see Buck today," Eddie said, his voice tight with remembered fear. "He nearly got himself killed trying to save someone from a burning vehicle. No regard for his own safety, for protocol, for anything but the rescue. How am I supposed to—" He broke off, unable to complete the thought.

"Supposed to what?" Carla pressed gently. "Care about someone who risks his life? Depend on someone who might not come home one day? Let Christopher get attached to someone who could leave, one way or another?"

Eddie nodded, the simple gesture conveying all the complex fears he couldn't articulate.

"Eddie," Carla said, settling beside him on the couch, "that risk exists no matter what. You're a firefighter too. You face the same dangers. The only difference is, you're facing them alone instead of with someone by your side."

The truth of her words struck Eddie with unexpected force. He was a firefighter, just like Buck. He faced the same risks, made the same sacrifices. The possibility of not coming home existed for both of them, regardless of whether they acknowledged what existed between them.

"Buck said something today," Eddie admitted quietly. "He said he doesn't have anyone. Not the way I do."

Carla waited, letting him process the memory at his own pace.

"And I just... froze," Eddie continued. "Because he's wrong, Carla. He does have people. He has Bobby, and Hen, and Chimney. He has you. He has Christopher." Eddie swallowed hard. "He has me. But in that moment, I couldn't say it. I couldn't tell him that—"

"That you need him as much as he needs you?" Carla suggested softly.

Eddie looked away, the admission too raw even now. "I've spent so long being strong for everyone else. For Christopher, for my parents, for the team. Admitting that I need someone, that I need Buck, feels like..."

"Like vulnerability," Carla finished for him. "Like risk."

"Yeah," Eddie agreed, the single word carrying the weight of everything he couldn't say.

"Life is risk, Eddie," Carla said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "The only sure way to avoid getting hurt is to never care about anything. And that's not living, it's just existing."

They sat in silence for a moment, Carla's words settling between them. Finally, Eddie spoke again, his voice barely audible.

"What if I'm not enough? What if I can't be what he needs?"

The question revealed the heart of Eddie's fear. Not just that Buck might leave, but that Eddie himself might fall short, might fail to be the person Buck deserved.

"Oh, Eddie," Carla said, her voice gentle with understanding. "That's not a question I can answer for you. But I will say this, Buck isn't asking you to be perfect. He's just asking you to be present. To acknowledge what's already there between you instead of pretending it doesn't exist."

Eddie nodded, absorbing her words, feeling the truth in them despite his lingering fear.

"Just think about it," Carla said, rising to leave. "And maybe, when you're ready, actually talk to Buck instead of just talking about him."

After she left, Eddie remained on the couch, turning their conversation over in his mind. Carla was right, pushing people away wasn't protection, it was preemptive abandonment. A way of controlling the inevitable by initiating it himself.

The realization didn't magically dissolve his fear or erase the patterns of a lifetime. But it did illuminate them, bringing into focus the choice that lay before him, continue as he had been, isolated and "safe," or risk everything for the possibility of something more.

Eddie didn't know which path he would choose. But for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to truly consider both options — and to acknowledge the cost of the safety he'd clung to for so long.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter Text

The sun was setting in Los Angeles, casting long shadows across Buck’s living room. He'd been staring at the same spot on the ceiling for nearly an hour, sleep proving elusive despite his exhaustion. The shift yesterday had dragged endlessly. Another eight hours of carefully navigating around Eddie, the weight of their unresolved tension making even routine tasks feel like walking through quicksand.

Buck had given up trying to understand how they'd ended up here. The pattern was becoming painfully familiar, moments of connection followed by retreat, small steps forward inevitably undone by Eddie's inability, or unwillingness, to acknowledge whatever existed between them. After the tanker incident, after Buck's raw confession and Eddie's devastating silence, he'd promised himself he would stop expecting more. Stop hoping for something Eddie clearly wasn't ready to give.

But the promises he made to himself in the dark solitude of night never seemed to survive the light of day, especially when that light illuminated Christopher's hopeful face, his innocent belief that whatever was broken between the adults in his life could still be fixed.

Buck's phone buzzed on the nightstand, yanking him from his thoughts. Christopher's name flashed on the screen, accompanied by a photo Buck had taken of him a bit ago, ice cream smeared across his grinning face.

Dad says we're going to the park later! Can you come? The one with the good swings!

Buck stared at the message, conflicted. Part of him, the self protective part that had been growing stronger with each rejection, wanted to invent an excuse. The thought of another afternoon of strained politeness with Eddie, both of them pretending for Christopher's sake, felt exhausting.

But the text was from Christopher directly, not Eddie relaying his son's wishes. Buck could picture him typing carefully with his tongue caught between his teeth, the way he did when concentrating particularly hard. That image alone made refusal impossible.

What time?  he texted back.

The response came almost immediately, suggesting Christopher had been waiting anxiously for his reply.

2pm! Dad says we can get ice cream too if it's not too cold

I'll be there.  Buck promised, already resigning himself to another afternoon of emotional tightrope walking. For Christopher, he reminded himself. Always for Christopher.

—

The park was relatively quiet for a Saturday afternoon, the crisp autumn weather keeping all but the most dedicated families indoors. Buck spotted Christopher immediately, his red jacket bright against the muted browns and grays of the playground. He was attempting to navigate the wood chip covered ground with his crutches, Eddie hovering nearby, ready to assist but giving his son space to manage on his own.

The sight sent a familiar pang through Buck's chest. The bittersweet ache of witnessing the beautiful, complicated dance of independence and protection that defined Eddie and Christopher's relationship. He'd been privileged to be part of that dance once, had found himself unconsciously adopting Eddie's approach of supporting without smothering, encouraging without pushing.

"Buck!" Christopher's excited cry carried across the playground. He abandoned his path toward the slide, changing direction with the easy adaptability of childhood. "You came!"

"Course I did," Buck replied, crouching down to Christopher's level for a hug. "Wouldn't miss swing time with my buddy."

Christopher beamed, then gave Buck a critical once over. "You look tired. Dad looks tired too. Is that because you're still fighting?"

Buck blinked, caught off guard by the direct question. He glanced up to find Eddie approaching, his expression a careful mask that did nothing to hide the exhaustion in his eyes.

"We're not fighting, Christopher," Eddie said, reaching them before Buck could formulate a response. "Adults just have complicated stuff sometimes."

Christopher looked unconvinced. "That's what you always say. But you don't talk to each other anymore. And Buck doesn't come over for movie night. And you both look sad all the time."

The simple observation, delivered with the unfiltered honesty of childhood, silenced both men. Buck felt exposed, as if Christopher had somehow seen through the careful facade he'd constructed, straight to the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his chest.

"I'm sorry we've been weird," Buck said finally, meeting Christopher's worried gaze. "But I promise it's not your fault. And it doesn't change anything between you and me."

"So you're still my best friend?" Christopher asked, a vulnerability in his voice that made Buck's throat tighten.

"Always," Buck assured him without hesitation. "No matter what, Chris. That's forever."

Something in Eddie's posture shifted at Buck's words, a barely perceptible softening that Buck might have missed if he hadn't spent years cataloging Eddie's subtle expressions, learning to read the emotions he so rarely voiced aloud.

"Swings?" Buck suggested, needing to move away from the intensity of the moment. "I bet I can push you higher than your dad."

Christopher grinned, immediately distracted. "Dad says not too high. He gets nervous."

"Your dad's right," Buck agreed, shooting Eddie a small smile that felt like the first genuine one in weeks. "Safety first. But we can still have fun."

For the next hour, Buck immersed himself in Christopher's world, grateful for the simplicity of playground games and childish enthusiasm. They moved from swings to the climbing structure, Buck spotting Christopher with careful hands as the boy navigated the equipment with determined concentration.

Eddie remained nearby, occasionally joining in but mostly watching, his expression thoughtful. Several times Buck caught him staring, only for Eddie to quickly look away, as if afraid of being caught in some transgression.

"Ice cream?" Eddie suggested eventually, breaking a silence that had stretched too long. "The cart's still here, surprisingly."

Christopher immediately abandoned his attempt to conquer the monkey bars. “Can I get chocolate, Dad? With sprinkles?"

"Whatever you want, buddy," Eddie agreed, a fond smile softening his features. "Buck? You want anything?"

The casual offer felt significant somehow, a small olive branch extended in the neutral territory of the playground. "Sure," Buck replied, careful to keep his tone light. "Vanilla if they have it."

As Eddie took Christopher to the ice cream cart, Buck settled on a bench, watching them go with a familiar mixture of affection and longing. This was the hardest part —being so close to the family unit he'd briefly felt part of, yet acutely aware of the careful distance Eddie maintained. The reminder that Buck's place in their lives remained undefined, contingent, subject to the boundaries Eddie established.

"Buck?"

He looked up to find Christopher standing before him, ice cream already smeared around his mouth despite having only just received it. Eddie trailed behind, carrying two more cones.

"Thanks," Buck said, accepting the vanilla cone Eddie offered. Their fingers brushed briefly in the exchange, the momentary contact sending an unwelcome jolt through Buck's system.

Christopher squeezed onto the bench between them, happily demolishing his chocolate ice cream, oblivious to the tension on either side of him. For a few minutes, they sat in almost comfortable silence, the simple pleasure of ice cream on a fall day creating a temporary truce in whatever cold war existed between the adults.

"Buck?" Christopher asked suddenly, looking up with chocolate smeared across his cheek. "Are you still part of our family? Even if you and Dad are having complicated stuff?"

The question hit with the force of a physical blow. Buck glanced at Eddie, whose face had gone carefully blank, then back to Christopher's earnest expression.

"Family is forever, buddy," Buck said finally, choosing his words with care. "No matter what, I'll always be there for you."

He'd avoided directly answering the question, unwilling to make promises about a relationship Eddie had never defined, never acknowledged existed. But Christopher, with his uncanny perceptiveness, caught the omission immediately.

"But Dad says you're family," he insisted, looking between them with confusion. "Right, Dad? You said Buck's our family even when grown ups have complicated feelings."

Eddie's face flushed slightly, caught in the trap of his own words. "That's right," he admitted quietly, not meeting Buck's eyes. "Buck's family."

The simple confirmation should have been gratifying, but the reluctance with which Eddie offered it only twisted the knife deeper. Family — but only when pressed, only when cornered by his son's innocent questioning. Not freely given, not openly acknowledged.

"See?" Christopher said triumphantly, as if the matter were settled. "So you have to keep coming over. Families stick together, even when things are hard."

"Your dad's right," Buck agreed, his throat tight with emotion he struggled to control. "That's exactly what families do."

The conversation moved on to safer topics, like Christopher's upcoming school field trip, the new dinosaur exhibit he'd read about, plans for Halloween which was still weeks away. But Buck could feel Eddie watching him, something unreadable in his gaze each time Buck glanced his way.

When Christopher announced he needed the bathroom, Eddie directed him to the park facilities just visible from their bench. "You'll be okay on your own? It's not far."

"Dad," Christopher said with the supreme patience only children can truly master, "I'm ten. I can go to the bathroom by myself."

As Christopher made his way across the playground with determined independence, Eddie turned to Buck, something like resolve settling in his expression.

"I meant what I said," he stated, his voice low but firm. "About you being family. That wasn't just for Christopher's benefit."

Buck nodded, uncertain how to respond to this unexpected acknowledgment. After weeks of silence and distance, even this small confirmation felt significant.

"I know this has been... difficult," Eddie continued, his discomfort with emotional conversations evident in his rigid posture. "The way things have been between us."

"Eddie—" Buck began, but Eddie shook his head.

"I'm not good at this, Buck. The talking, the feelings, it doesn't come naturally to me. But that doesn't mean..." He trailed off, visibly struggling for words. "It doesn't mean I don't care."

It wasn't an apology. It wasn't an explanation for his silence after Buck's vulnerable confession. But it was something— the first crack in the walls Eddie had built, the first acknowledgment that whatever existed between them mattered enough to fight for.

Before Buck could respond, Christopher was making his way back, and the moment for further conversation passed. But something had shifted, a subtle change in the atmosphere between them that Buck found himself clinging to like a lifeline.

—

Hours later, alone in his apartment, Buck replayed the conversation in his mind, turning Eddie's words over and over like worry stones. “It doesn't mean I don't care.” The double negative was so characteristically Eddie, unable to directly state positive emotion, resorting instead to the denial of its absence.

Buck was halfway through a beer he wasn't really tasting when the knock came at his door. He wasn't expecting anyone, and it being already close to eleven p.m. made the list of possible visitors extremely short.

When he opened the door to find Eddie standing in his hallway, Buck felt a strange sense of inevitability. As if all roads, no matter how circuitous, eventually led them back to each other.

"Eddie?" he said, unable to mask his surprise despite the feeling of déjà vu. "Is everything okay? Did something happen with  Christopher—"

"He's fine," Eddie assured him quickly. "He's with my abuela for the night."

Eddie looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than they had been even that afternoon. But there was something else in his expression. A determination that hadn't been there earlier, as if he'd made some decision in the hours since they'd parted at the park.

Buck stepped back from the doorway. "Do you want to come in?"

Eddie nodded, moving past Buck into the apartment. He seemed to know where he was headed, making his way directly to the living room couch and sinking onto it with the weight of someone carrying too heavy a burden for too long.

Buck followed, settling at the opposite end, giving Eddie the space he seemed to perpetually need. For long moments, neither spoke, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of the city filtering through Buck's windows.

"I haven't been sleeping," Eddie admitted finally, his voice rougher than usual. "Haven't really slept well since... since the tanker accident."

Buck nodded, recognizing the admission for what it was, not just a statement about insomnia, but an acknowledgment that whatever had broken between them that day had affected Eddie as profoundly as it had affected Buck.

"What you said that day," Eddie continued, staring at his hands rather than meeting Buck's eyes. "About not having anyone. Not the way I do."

Buck tensed, immediately defensive. "Eddie, we don't have to—"

"You were wrong," Eddie interrupted, finally looking up. "And I should have said so then, instead of freezing. Instead of saying nothing when you needed... when you needed to hear it."

The naked vulnerability in Eddie's eyes caught Buck off guard. This was Eddie without his armor, without the careful control he maintained so rigidly. This was Eddie raw, exposed, terrified but pushing through it anyway.

"You have people, Buck," Eddie continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have Bobby, and Hen, and Chimney. You have Christopher."

Buck waited, heart in his throat, for Eddie to continue the list. To include himself. To acknowledge what they both knew was true but had never fully articulated.

"You have me," Eddie said finally, the words clearly costing him. "Even when I'm not good at showing it. Even when I'm... afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Buck asked, unable to stop himself.

Eddie's gaze dropped back to his hands. "Of letting someone become so important that if they left, like everyone else eventually does, it would break something in me that I can't afford to have broken. Not when Christopher needs me to be whole."

The honesty was startling, more than Buck had expected Eddie capable of offering. He felt something in his chest loosen at the confession, a knot of tension he'd been carrying for weeks beginning to unravel.

"I'm not ready," Eddie continued, his voice strained. "To talk about everything. To put words to... whatever this is." He gestured vaguely between them. "But I don't want to be alone tonight. And I think maybe you don't either."

The raw honesty of the statement caught Buck off guard. This was Eddie at his most vulnerable, admitting need, acknowledging connection, even if he couldn't yet define its parameters.

"You're right," Buck confirmed quietly. "I don't want to be alone either."

Something in Eddie's posture relaxed fractionally at the admission. Buck reached for the remote, turning on a basketball game neither of them would really watch, the background noise filling what might otherwise have been uncomfortable silence.

They sat like that for nearly an hour, not speaking but not avoiding each other either. The space between them on the couch remained, but it felt less like a defensive barrier and more like a respectful distance. An acknowledgment of boundaries not yet ready to be crossed, but perhaps someday.

At some point, Buck noticed Eddie's eyelids growing heavy, his head occasionally dipping toward his chest before he jerked awake again.

"You're exhausted," Buck observed gently. "You can crash here if you want. Guest room's made up."

Eddie shook his head, though the refusal lacked conviction. "No, I should go home. Don't want to impose."

"It's not an imposition," Buck assured him. "Just sleep, Eddie. We'll figure out the rest later."

Whether it was the permission to let go or simply the exhaustion of weeks of poor sleep finally catching up with him, Eddie's resistance crumbled. He settled deeper into the couch, his body gradually relaxing as sleep claimed him.

Buck should have led him to the guest room, or at least brought him a better pillow. Instead, he simply adjusted the throw blanket from the back of the couch, draping it carefully over Eddie's sleeping form. Then he settled back into his own end of the couch, a strange peace washing over him despite all that remained unresolved between them.

They hadn't fixed anything, not really. The careful dance of approach and retreat would likely continue, Eddie's fear and Buck's need for acknowledgment creating a tension neither seemed able to fully resolve. But tonight, at least, Eddie had chosen proximity over distance, had admitted need instead of denying it, had acknowledged Buck's place in his life even if he couldn't yet define it.

It wasn't everything. But it was something— a beginning, perhaps, of finding their way back to each other across the distance that had separated them for too long.

Buck felt his own eyes growing heavy, the familiar sound of Eddie's steady breathing lulling him toward sleep. Tomorrow would bring complications, explanations, the return of all the barriers they'd so carefully constructed. But for tonight, they had found a fragile peace in the no man's land between them, not quite together, but no longer entirely apart.

Chapter Text

The persistent buzz of a phone alarm finally cut through Buck's deep sleep. He groaned, fumbling blindly to silence it before cracking one eye open. Nearly eleven — later than he'd meant to sleep, but after the night he and Eddie had, his body had apparently needed it.

His apartment was quieter than usual, the rain against the windows was the only sound, creating a white noise. He stretched, wincing at the tight muscles in his back— a combination of the sometimes strenuous shifts and sleeping awkwardly on the couch.

The sound of movement in his kitchen jolted him fully awake. Though they'd fallen asleep on opposite ends of the couch last night, Eddie was clearly up and about now. After everything that had happened at the tanker accident, after Buck's outburst and the careful conversations since, this quiet morning felt strangely significant.

Buck pulled himself off the couch, noting the throw blanket that had somehow ended up tangled in his legs during the night. The cushion at the opposite end still held the impression of where Eddie had slept, though the man himself was now awake and in Buck's kitchen.

He made his way there, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the lingering heaviness of oversleeping. Eddie stood at the counter, his back to Buck, measuring coffee into the machine with the focused precision he brought to every task.

"Hey," Buck said, his voice still rough with sleep.

Eddie turned, offering a small nod of acknowledgment. "Morning. Or almost afternoon, I guess."

There was something different about Eddie this morning — a certain ease in his posture that hadn't been there last night when he'd shown up at Buck's door, unable to sleep.

"Sorry. I know I didn’t ask.” Eddie continued, turning back to the coffee pot. "Just needed something to fully wake me up.”

"It's okay," Buck assured him, leaning against the doorframe, not quite entering the kitchen fully. Something about the moment felt fragile, as if moving too quickly might shatter whatever careful equilibrium they'd established. "Saves me from having to make it."

Eddie's shoulders relaxed slightly at Buck's casual tone. The coffee maker gurgled to life, filling the silence between them with its familiar noise.

"Pain meds?" Buck offered, noting the careful way Eddie was holding himself.

"Already found some," Eddie replied, gesturing to an empty glass by the sink. "Hope you don't mind."

"Mi casa es su casa," Buck said, then immediately regretted the words — too familiar, perhaps, for the strange tension that hung between them this morning. But Eddie just nodded, focusing intently on the coffee now dripping into the pot.

When it was ready, they settled at Buck's small kitchen table. Buck waited, sensing that Eddie was gathering himself for something. He seemed more present today, more willing to talk than he'd been in weeks.

"I've been thinking about what you said," Eddie began, surprising Buck with the directness. "At the tanker accident."

Buck tensed, immediately on guard. They'd been carefully avoiding direct mention of his outburst, — something he'd regretted almost as soon as it happened.

"Eddie, you don't have to—"

"I do, actually," Eddie interrupted, uncharacteristically firm. "Because I've never told you about El Paso."

The unexpected shift caught Buck off-guard. "El Paso?"

Eddie nodded, his gaze fixed on his coffee as if drawing strength from its familiar warmth. "Before I moved here with Christopher. Back when I was trying to make it work on my own, after Shannon left the first time."

Buck remained silent, recognizing the rarity of Eddie voluntarily offering a piece of his past.

"Christopher was younger then, needed more hands-on care. I was working two jobs, barely sleeping." Eddie's voice had taken on a distant quality, as if he were seeing it all play out again behind his eyes. "My parents kept offering to help, but there were... conditions."

"What kind of conditions?" Buck asked quietly.

"The kind that came with judgment. With constant reminders that if I'd been a better husband, made better choices, Shannon might have stayed." Eddie's jaw tightened. "Every time they watched Christopher was another opportunity to point out how I was failing him."

Buck felt a surge of protectiveness, imagining Eddie younger, more vulnerable, caught between pride and necessity.

"There was this night," Eddie continued, his voice dropping lower. "Christopher had been sick all week. I was exhausted, hadn't slept more than two hours at a stretch in days. I'd used up all my sick days at both jobs. My mom was supposed to come over, but she called last minute to cancel."

He paused, taking a sip of coffee that must have gone cold by now, his expression darkening at the memory.

"I had no choice but to take him with me to my overnight security job. Smuggled him in, made a little bed in the back office. Prayed he'd sleep through the night, that no one would notice." Eddie's eyes closed briefly, the shame of the memory still evident years later. "My supervisor found us around three in the morning. I got fired on the spot."

"Eddie," Buck started, but Eddie shook his head.

"That's not even the worst part. The worst part was driving home, Christopher burning up with fever in the backseat, and realizing I had absolutely no one to call. No one who would just... help, without making me feel like I was failing for needing it."

The parallel to Buck's own confession at the accident site hung unspoken between them.

"And eventually, I swallowed my pride and moved here, to be near Abuela and Pepa." Eddie looked up, meeting Buck's eyes directly. "But I've never forgotten what it felt like that night. To be completely alone with too much responsibility and not enough resources."

Buck felt his throat tighten with emotion, understanding dawning. "That's why you froze when I said I didn't have anyone."

Eddie nodded slowly. "It hit too close. Reminded me of a time I try not to think about." He hesitated, then added, "And it scared me, hearing you say that. Because I thought, I hoped, after what I said last night, you knew you had me. Had us."

Buck swallowed hard against the emotion threatening to close his throat. Eddie's words from last night, "You have people, Buck.” “You have me.", had been a start, but hearing it reinforced in the clear light of day meant more than he could express. "I do know that. Most of the time."

"But not always," Eddie observed, the insight surprising Buck with its accuracy. "Not when you think I might leave. Like with the transfer consideration."

"It's not just about you," Buck admitted, the confession difficult despite the openness Eddie had shown. "It's a pattern I can't seem to break. I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Because it always has before," Eddie supplied, understanding evident in his voice.

Buck nodded, then surprised himself by continuing. “When I was sixteen, I broke my arm pretty badly. Compound fracture during a soccer game. Had to have surgery, pins, the whole thing."

Eddie listened intently, perhaps recognizing, as Buck did, the rarity of Buck voluntarily offering pieces of his past.

"My parents were in Europe. Some anniversary trip they'd been planning for months." Buck's tone remained deliberately casual, as if the story held no particular emotional weight. "They didn't come home. Said it wouldn't change anything, that I was in good hands with the doctors."

"Jesus, Buck."

Buck shrugged, the practiced nonchalance of someone who had long ago accepted disappointment as the baseline. "My point is, I learned early that people have limits to what they'll do for you. Hard lines they won't cross, even for people they're supposed to love."

"Not everyone," Eddie said quietly.

"No," Buck acknowledged. "Not everyone. Maddie came home from college to take care of me. Skipped midterms, nearly failed two classes." A small smile touched his lips at the memory. "I didn't ask her to. Wouldn't have. But she just... showed up."

"Like you do for Christopher," Eddie observed.

Buck hadn't considered the parallel before, but it resonated with uncomfortable clarity. "I guess I've been trying to be for others what I needed someone to be for me."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Eddie said, then hesitated before adding, "except when it becomes a way of proving your worth. Of earning your place."

The observation struck with unexpected precision, laying bare a truth Buck had never fully articulated even to himself. His relentless need to be useful, to be needed — it wasn't just generosity, but a strategy for survival. A way of making himself indispensable so no one would leave.

"I've never thought about it like that," Buck admitted.

"I have," Eddie said quietly. "Because I do the same thing. Just... differently."

Buck looked up, surprised by the admission.

"I maintain control," Eddie explained, a self deprecating smile touching his lips. "Never need too much, never ask for help, never let anyone see the cracks. If I'm perfect, the perfect father, the perfect son, the perfect firefighter — then no one has a reason to walk away."

The insight into Eddie's carefully constructed facade, one Buck had been slowly chipping away at for weeks now, felt like a gift. An offering of vulnerability more meaningful than any grand declaration could have been.

"Doesn't that get exhausting?" Buck asked gently.

Eddie's laugh held no humor. "Every damn day. But the alternative..." He trailed off.

"Feels scarier," Buck finished for him.

"Yeah." Eddie met his eyes across the table. "Until recently."

The implication hung between them, delicate but unmistakable. Something had changed for Eddie, was still changing, and Buck was somehow part of that shift.

"What happened?" Buck asked, hardly daring to breathe.

"You," Eddie said simply. The single word contained multitudes. Acknowledgment, admission, confession.

Buck felt something crack open in his chest, hope blooming cautiously in the space where doubt had lived for so long.

"The thing is," Eddie continued, his voice gaining strength, "I've spent so long focusing on what could go wrong that I never stopped to consider what I might be missing. What Christopher might be missing."

"And now?" Buck prompted, when Eddie fell silent.

"Now I'm trying to... consider it." Eddie's eyes held Buck's, unwavering despite the vulnerability of the admission. "To see the possibilities instead of just the risks."

Buck nodded, understanding exactly what Eddie meant, and what he wasn't quite saying. "I'm trying too," he offered. "To believe that some people stay. That I can be enough without having to prove it every day."

"You are," Eddie said with quiet certainty. "More than enough, Buck. You always have been."

The simple declaration, delivered without hesitation or qualification, filled a void in Buck's chest he hadn't fully recognized until that moment. He swallowed hard, emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"Back at you," he managed, his voice rougher than he intended.

Eddie's eyes tracked over Buck's face, seeming to search for something. Whatever he found there made him lean forward slightly, the distance between them narrowing across the small table.

"I'm not good with words," Eddie said, frustration evident in his voice. "I never have been. But I need you to know that you matter to me. That this—" he gestured between them, "—whatever it is, it matters."

The words hung between them, charged with meaning neither seemed ready to fully articulate. Buck felt something shift in the atmosphere, the air suddenly heavy with possibility.

Eddie leaned closer, his eyes never leaving Buck's. "I don't know what happens next," he admitted. "I just know I'm tired of pretending this isn't happening."

Buck's heart hammered against his ribs, equal parts fear and anticipation. "This?"

"Us," Eddie clarified, the simple acknowledgment momentous in its honesty. "You and me. The way things have been changing between us."

Buck hardly dared to breathe, afraid that any movement might shatter this fragile new reality where Eddie Diaz acknowledged what they'd both been dancing around for months.

"I'm scared too," Buck confessed, offering his own truth in exchange for Eddie's. "Of what it could mean. Of what we could lose if it goes wrong."

"And if it doesn't?" Eddie asked, the question carrying all the weight of possibilities neither had allowed themselves to fully imagine.

Buck didn't have an answer, not one he could put into words. Instead, he found himself leaning forward, drawn by a pull he'd been fighting for too long.

Their first kiss was tentative, barely more than a brush of lips, a question rather than a declaration. Buck held perfectly still, afraid that any movement might break the spell, might send Eddie retreating behind his walls again.

When Eddie didn't pull away, Buck allowed himself to press slightly closer, to return the gentle pressure. The kiss remained soft, exploratory, nothing like the desperate passion Buck had sometimes imagined in his weakest moments. This was something else entirely. Fragile, new, terrifying in its tenderness.

It ended as gently as it had begun, both men drawing back slightly, eyes opening to gauge the other's reaction. Buck's heart hammered against his ribs, fear and hope warring in his chest as he watched uncertainty flicker across Eddie's features.

"That didn't mean anything," Eddie said suddenly, the words at odds with the lingering warmth in his eyes, the slight tremor in his voice. "I mean—it was just—"

"Okay," Buck agreed quickly, offering the out Eddie so clearly needed despite the sharp sting of disappointment. "It's fine, Eddie. We're fine."

Relief and something like regret mingled in Eddie's expression. He squeezed Buck's hand once before releasing it, creating physical distance to match the emotional retreat Buck could already sense happening.

"I should go," Eddie said, rising from his chair with careful movements.

Buck nodded, forcing a smile that felt brittle even to him. "Tell Chris I said hi."

Eddie hesitated at the kitchen doorway, conflict evident in his expression. "Buck—"

"It's okay, Eddie," Buck interrupted, unable to bear whatever half formed explanation or apology might follow. "Really. We're good."

After a moment, Eddie nodded, accepting the easy absolution Buck always seemed to offer. "I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Buck confirmed. "Tomorrow."

After Eddie left, Buck remained at the kitchen table, coffee gone cold in his mug, fingers still warm from where they'd been entwined with Eddie's. The kiss lingered like a ghost on his lips. What it had meant, what it hadn't, what Eddie had claimed it didn't.

Buck knew they wouldn't talk about it again. They would probably pretend it never happened, would carefully navigate around the memory as they did so many other significant moments between them. The pattern was familiar, almost comforting in its predictability, despite the hollow ache it left in his chest.

But something had changed this morning, something fundamental that couldn't be undone even by Eddie's hasty denial. They had seen each other, truly seen each other, perhaps for the first time. Had recognized in each other the same patterns of hurt, the same desperate fears, the same longing for connection countered by terror of loss.

The kiss might never be acknowledged again. But the understanding that had preceded it, the vulnerability they had finally allowed each other to witness, that couldn't be taken back.

Chapter Text

The 118 firehouse had settled into a new kind of normal in the week following what Buck had privately come to think of as "the morning." The kiss that hadn't meant anything, according to Eddie. The kiss that had changed everything, according to the persistent ache in Buck's chest whenever he caught Eddie looking at him across the station.

Outwardly, nothing had changed. They worked their shifts with professional efficiency, maintained careful distance during downtime, and never, ever mentioned what had happened. Buck had expected awkwardness, had braced himself for another period of avoidance like after the tanker incident. Instead, something unexpected had emerged.

Their connection on calls had deepened, as if the vulnerability they had finally shown each other had translated into a near-telepathic ability to anticipate each other's movements. They moved in perfect synchronization during rescues, communicating with glances and half-gestures that required no words.

"It's almost creepy," Chimney commented after they'd extracted a driver from a crushed vehicle in record time, each anticipating the other's needs before they were voiced. "Like watching some kind of freaky mind-meld."

Buck had just shrugged, avoiding Eddie's eyes as they packed up the equipment. The truth was too complicated to explain—that something fundamental had shifted between them, even as they pretended nothing had changed. That the walls they had maintained for so long had crumbled just enough to allow this deeper connection, even if neither was ready to acknowledge what it meant.

The pattern continued through the week—extraordinary teamwork during calls, careful distance during downtime, neither man willing to break the fragile equilibrium they had established. It wasn't enough, not really, but it was better than the strained silence that had preceded it. It was something Buck could live with, if he had to.

Until the hotel fire.

The call came near the end of their shift. A four alarm blaze at a downtown hotel, multiple teams already on scene, additional personnel needed for rescue operations. Buck knew immediately this would be bad—the kind of all hands situation that tested even the most experienced firefighters.

"Focus on the east wing, floors six through eight," Bobby instructed as they arrived, the scene controlled chaos around them. "Fire department has the blaze contained on the lower floors, but they're reporting multiple guests still unaccounted for in the upper levels."

Buck and Eddie moved as one unit, gearing up and entering the smoke filled building without hesitation. The familiarity of the routine — checking oxygen levels, maintaining communication with the team, systematically clearing rooms — provided a framework for the adrenaline coursing through their systems.

They worked methodically through the sixth floor, finding only empty rooms, before advancing to the seventh where conditions deteriorated rapidly. The smoke was thicker here, visibility reduced to mere feet despite their powerful flashlights.

"LAFD! Call out if you can hear us!" Buck shouted, listening intently for any response over the crackling of flames and the distant sound of fire hoses.

A faint cry drew them toward a room at the end of the corridor, the door jammed against its frame. Eddie's shoulder joined Buck's as they forced it open, revealing a bathroom where a young man had sought refuge in the tub, a wet towel pressed to  his face.

"We've got you," Buck assured him, helping her to her feet. "Stay low, follow us closely."

Their exit route was clear until they reached the central stairwell. What had been a viable path minutes before was now engulfed in flames, cutting off their descent.

"Command, this is Diaz," Eddie radioed, voice steady despite the escalating danger. "East stairwell on seven is compromised. Need alternate evacuation route for one civilian, moderate smoke inhalation but ambulatory."

"Copy that," Bobby's voice crackled back. "West stairwell should still be clear. Fire department is reporting structural concerns on your floor — get out now."

They changed direction, guiding the man toward the opposite end of the building. The floor groaned beneath their feet, the building's integrity clearly compromised by the heat and water damage.

They had almost reached the west stairwell when a section of ceiling collapsed directly in their path, bringing with it debris and intensifying flames. Eddie reacted instantly, pulling the man backward while Buck shielded them both with his body, feeling the heat sear through his turnout gear.

"You okay?" Eddie's voice in his ear, concern evident despite the professional tone.

"Fine," Buck confirmed, though his shoulder burned where embers had found a gap in his protection. "We need a new route."

The situation was deteriorating rapidly. The smoke had thickened to near impenetrable darkness, and the man was struggling to breathe despite the oxygen mask they'd provided. The building continued to creak and groan around them, threatening further collapse.

"Service elevator," Eddie suggested, pointing toward a corridor they hadn't yet explored. "Might still be accessible for evacuation."

It was a risky move — elevators were typically death traps during fires but with both stairwells now compromised, their options were limited. Buck nodded, trusting Eddie's judgment implicitly.

They located the service elevator, finding its machinery room surprisingly clear of smoke— the fire suppression systems had apparently functioned properly in this section of the building. Eddie forced the doors open, revealing the elevator car stalled a few feet below their level.

"We can lower him down," Eddie said, already calculating angles and handholds. "Then use the ladder from the car to reach the floor below."

They worked in tandem, securing the man with a makeshift harness from their equipment, lowering her carefully into the waiting elevator car. Buck went next, positioning himself to receive the woman's weight and stabilize his arrival. Eddie followed, closing the roof hatch behind him to limit smoke intrusion.

The elevator remained functional enough for the emergency override to work, allowing them to descend one floor where the doors yielded to their combined strength. The sixth floor was clearer, the west stairwell still accessible, providing a straight path to safety.

As they emerged from the building, the woman was immediately surrounded by paramedics, leaving Buck and Eddie standing alone in the controlled chaos of the scene. The adrenaline of the rescue still coursed through their systems, the heightened awareness of danger and survival thrumming beneath their skin.

"Your shoulder," Eddie said, noticing Buck's singed turnout coat. "Let's get that checked."

Buck allowed Eddie to guide him toward the triage area, too exhausted to maintain the careful distance they'd established. The paramedic cleaned and dressed the minor burn efficiently, declaring it superficial enough to not require hospital follow-up.

"Lucky," the paramedic commented. "An inch to the left and those embers would have found your neck instead of your shoulder."

Buck nodded absently, his attention focused on Eddie who stood a few feet away, speaking with Bobby about the building's condition. The realization of once again, how close they had come to serious injury, or worse — settled over him like a physical weight.

Eddie must have felt his gaze, turning to meet Buck's eyes across the short distance. Something electric passed between them, an acknowledgment of danger survived, of mortality faced together. Without breaking eye contact, Eddie excused himself from Bobby and moved toward Buck with deliberate steps.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asked, his voice too controlled, too neutral for the intensity in his eyes.

Buck nodded, falling into step beside him as they returned to the truck. The rest of the team was still engaged at the scene, giving them a rare moment of privacy in the vehicle bay.

"That was close," Buck said finally, the understatement inadequate for the reality of their experience.

Eddie nodded, his gaze fixed on some distant point. "Too close."

The tension between them had taken on a different quality. No longer the careful avoidance of the past week but something more urgent, more primal. Buck recognized it for what it was — the aftermath of danger, the body's desperate affirmation of survival.

He wasn't sure who moved first. One moment they were standing a careful distance apart, and the next Eddie's hands were gripping the front of Buck's shirt, pushing him against the side of the truck, mouth finding Buck's with desperate intensity.

This kiss was nothing like their first — no hesitation, no gentleness, just raw need and adrenaline translated into physical connection. Buck responded immediately, his hands coming up to frame Eddie's face, holding him steady as the kiss deepened.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun, both men pulling back at the sound of voices approaching from outside. They separated just before Hen and Chimney rounded the corner, their faces flushed but otherwise giving no indication of what had just happened.

The ride back to the station passed in a blur, the routine of equipment check and shift handover providing welcome distraction from the weight of what had happened. Neither man mentioned the kiss, maintaining the practiced normalcy they had perfected over the past week.

But as Buck changed in the locker room, he felt Eddie's eyes on him, tracking his movements with an intensity that sent heat coursing through his body. When their gazes met briefly across the room, Buck saw the same hunger he felt reflected in Eddie's eyes, barely contained beneath the surface of professional composure.

They wouldn't talk about it. Buck knew this with absolute certainty. Would add this second kiss to the collection of significant moments they pretended hadn't happened, would maintain the careful fiction that nothing had changed.

Except something had. The tectonic plates of their relationship had shifted, creating tremors neither could ignore.

Buck made it halfway to his apartment before turning around, driving with single-minded purpose toward Eddie's house. He didn't analyze his decision, didn't allow himself to consider the potential consequences. He simply followed the pull that had been drawing him toward Eddie for longer than he cared to admit.

Eddie's truck was already in the driveway, the house dark except for a single light visible through the living room window. Buck sat in his Jeep for a long moment, second guessing his impulsive decision, before finally gathering the courage to approach the door.

His knock was answered almost immediately, as if Eddie had been waiting, perhaps expecting him. They stood facing each other across the threshold, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

"Christopher?" Buck asked, needing to know before anything else.

"Sleepover for the night," Eddie replied, his voice carefully neutral despite the heat in his eyes. "School project they're working on."

Buck nodded, uncertainty suddenly replacing his earlier determination. He had come here with no clear plan, driven only by the need to see Eddie, to address the growing tension between them.

Eddie stepped back from the doorway, a silent invitation that Buck accepted without hesitation. The door closed behind him with a soft click that felt somehow significant, final.

They stood in Eddie's dimly lit living room, the space between them charged with everything they weren't saying. Buck waited, heart hammering against his ribs, for Eddie to establish the boundaries of whatever this was, whatever they were about to become.

"I can't offer you promises," Eddie said finally, his voice rough with emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. "I can't give you labels or definitions or any of the things you deserve."

The admission hurt, but Buck appreciated the honesty. "I'm not asking for those things," he replied, though part of him wanted them desperately.

"What are you asking for, Buck?" Eddie's question was direct, challenging.

Buck considered his answer carefully, knowing its importance. "Just you," he said simply. "Whatever you're willing to give. However you're willing to give it."

Something shifted in Eddie's expression —relief, perhaps, or gratitude for Buck's understanding of his limitations. He moved forward, closing the distance between them with deliberate steps until they stood close enough to share breath.

"I want you," Eddie admitted, the words clearly costing him. "I have for a long time. But I'm afraid of what that means. For us, for Christopher, for everything."

Buck reached up, his hand cupping Eddie's jaw with a gentleness that belied the urgency coursing through him. "We don't have to define it. Not tonight. Tonight can just be... tonight."

Eddie nodded, relief evident in the slight easing of his shoulders. Then he leaned forward, closing the final inches between them, capturing Buck's mouth in a kiss that started gentle but quickly intensified into something more desperate, more consuming.

Buck surrendered to it completely, allowing Eddie to guide him backward until his legs hit the couch. They sank down together, Eddie's weight a welcome pressure pinning Buck to the cushions, their bodies aligning with the same intuitive synchronicity that characterized their work together.

The kiss deepened, Eddie's tongue sliding against Buck's, drawing a low sound from his throat that seemed to ignite something primal in Eddie. His hands became more urgent, sliding beneath Buck's shirt to map the lines of his chest, his touch leaving trails of heat across Buck's skin.

"Bedroom," Eddie murmured against Buck's mouth, the word both question and command.

Buck nodded, unwilling to break contact even as they navigated through the house, shedding clothing as they went. By the time they reached Eddie's room, both were down to just pants, bare chests pressing together as Eddie backed Buck toward the bed.

They fell onto the mattress together, Eddie immediately covering Buck's body with his own, mouth trailing down Buck's neck to explore the sensitive space of shoulder and throat. Buck arched into the contact, hands gripping Eddie's hips, pulling him closer to create the friction they both desperately sought.

Eddie pulled back just long enough to shed his remaining clothes, helping Buck do the same with efficient movements that betrayed his urgency. Then they were skin to skin, nothing between them but the heat of shared breath and racing pulses.

"Tell me what you want," Eddie murmured, his voice rough with desire as he braced himself above Buck, eyes dark and intent in the dim light of the bedroom.

"Everything," Buck replied honestly, beyond pretense or caution. "Anything. Just... don't stop touching me."

Something like wonder flashed across Eddie's features, as if Buck's simple honesty had surprised him. Then he was moving, his mouth tracing a path down Buck's chest, hands exploring with increasing confidence.

Buck lost himself in the sensation, in the physical reality of Eddie's weight against him, Eddie's hands mapping his body with possessive intensity. It felt inevitable, somehow, as if all their careful distance, all their practiced avoidance, had been merely delaying this moment when they finally surrendered to whatever had been building between them.

Eddie's touch was slow yet urgent, alternating between tender exploration and demanding pressure. Buck responded in  sync, learning Eddie's body with hands and mouth, discovering what made him tense with pleasure, what drew those rare, unguarded sounds from his throat.

He prepped Buck with slow, careful fingers, watching his face the entire time, searching for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. Buck met his gaze steadily, the look in his eyes raw and unguarded, equal parts trust and want. When Eddie finally pressed inside, Buck’s breath caught — sharp, shaky, overwhelmed.

“Okay?” Eddie whispered, voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Buck nodded, pulling him closer with his legs wrapped around Eddie’s waist. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. Move, Please.”

When Eddie finally moved inside him, the sensation was overwhelming — not just the physical fullness but the emotional weight of the moment, the significance of this final boundary crossed. Buck locked eyes with Eddie, watching as his careful control fractured, as the walls he maintained so rigidly fell away to reveal raw need and vulnerability.

They moved together with the same instinctive synchronicity that characterized their work as firefighters, anticipating each other's rhythms, responding to subtle cues of pleasure and need. Eddie's forehead pressed against Buck's, their breath mingling as they established a steady pace that gradually increased in urgency.

"Evan," Eddie murmured, the single word full with meaning he couldn't articulate, his composure visibly fraying as he neared the edge.

Buck understood without explanation, recognized in Eddie's voice the same overwhelming combination of pleasure and terror he felt himself—the fear of falling, of surrendering to something that might destroy them both. He pulled Eddie closer, arms wrapping around his shoulders, offering silent reassurance that whatever happened, they would face it together.

They came together, Eddie shuddering against him, Buck arching upward as waves of pleasure crashed through his system. For long moments afterward, they remained entangled, neither willing to break the connection, to return to the reality where they pretended this wasn't everything it clearly was.

Eventually, Eddie shifted to the side, grabbing an old shirt off of the floor to wipe the mess between them. Laying back down, though his arm draped across Buck's chest, the point of contact seemingly essential to his equilibrium. They lay in silence, the magnitude of what had happened settling over them like a physical presence in the room.

"We're not going to talk about this either, are we?" Buck asked finally, unable to maintain the pretense of silence despite knowing the answer.

Eddie's body tensed slightly beside him. "I don't know what to say," he admitted, his voice low in the darkness. "I don't know what this means."

"We don't have to label it," Buck assured him, though the uncertainty ached in his chest. "Not yet. Maybe not ever, if that's what you need."

Eddie turned toward him, propping himself up on one elbow to study Buck's face in the dim light filtering through the blinds. "What do you need, Buck? What do you want from this? From me?"

The question caught Buck off guard, Eddie's willingness to acknowledge that Buck's needs mattered too a surprising step forward from his usual retreats.

"I just want to be someone's first choice," Buck said honestly, the vulnerability of the admission leaving him exposed in a way their physical intimacy hadn't. "Someone who matters enough to stay for. And I want that someone to be you."

Eddie was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the darkness. Then, with careful movements, he leaned down to press a soft kiss to Buck's mouth — gentle, deliberate, nothing like the desperate urgency of earlier.

"You are," Eddie said simply, the words barely audible. "You matter. You have for a long time."

It wasn't a declaration of love. It wasn't a promise of forever. But in the context of Eddie Diaz—his fears, his walls, his careful distance—it was monumental. An acknowledgment that whatever lay between them was real, was significant, was something Eddie was willing to at least try to navigate despite his terror.

"Stay," Eddie added, settling back onto his pillow, his arm reclaiming its place across Buck's chest. "Tonight, at least."

Buck nodded, knowing this was as much as Eddie could offer right now — a single night, no commitments beyond the moment, no promises about what tomorrow might bring. It should have felt inadequate, should have left him wanting more.

Instead, as they both started to fall asleep, Buck found himself filled with unexpected peace. They were pretending they weren't in something, maintaining the fiction that this was casual, undefined. But the truth lay in Eddie's arm draped possessively across his chest, in the vulnerability they had shown each other, in the walls that had finally crumbled enough to allow this connection.

They were in something, whether they acknowledged it or not. The ground had shifted beneath them, tectonic plates realigning to create a new landscape neither had fully mapped yet. Tomorrow would bring complications, explanations, perhaps retreats. But for tonight, the simple fact of their bodies pressed together in sleep was enough — a truth more honest than any words they might have spoken.

Chapter Text

The firehouse bustled with its usual morning energy — Chimney entertaining the team with stories of his latest cooking disaster, Hen organizing medical supplies while half listening, Bobby preparing breakfast with practiced efficiency. Buck entered casually, greeting everyone with his characteristic warmth, careful not to let his gaze linger too long on Eddie who was already at the table, nursing his first coffee of the day.

"Morning," Eddie said, his tone perfectly neutral, betraying nothing of the fact that they had woken up in the same bed barely two hours earlier, that Buck had slipped out of Eddie's house before dawn to maintain the careful fiction they'd established over the past three weeks.

"Morning," Buck replied with equal casualness, accepting the plate Bobby handed him with a grateful smile. He settled across from Eddie rather than beside him — another unspoken rule in their elaborate dance of discretion.

It had been a little close to a week now since that night between them. A week of careful navigation between their professional relationship and whatever was happening behind closed doors. They had fallen into a pattern neither had consciously established but both instinctively understood. Maintaining strict boundaries at work, allowing themselves to gravitate together only in the privacy of Eddie's home, or occasionally Buck's apartment when Christopher was out.

Always after dark. Always ending before dawn if they had a shift the next day. Always unspoken, unnamed, existing in a liminal space neither man seemed ready to define.

"Earth to Buck," Chimney's voice broke through his thoughts. "I asked if you were coming to the barbecue next weekend. Cap's letting me use his grill since mine is still... recovering from the incident."

Buck blinked, pulling himself back to the present. "Yeah, of course. Wouldn't miss it."

"Bring someone if you want," Chimney added casually. "We've got plenty of room, and you haven't introduced us to anyone new in ages."

Buck felt Eddie's eyes on him, the weight of his attention suddenly palpable despite his outward indifference to the conversation.

"I'm good solo," Buck replied easily, though the words felt like a betrayal of whatever existed between him and Eddie. "Less pressure that way."

Chimney shrugged, already moving on to interrogate Hen about whether Karen would be bringing her famous potato salad, oblivious to the silent communication happening across the table.

Eddie's expression revealed nothing, but Buck caught the slight tension in his shoulders, the barely perceptible tightening of his jaw. They hadn't discussed this, how to handle social invitations, what to tell their friends and family, whether there was even anything to tell. The undefined nature of their relationship had seemed simpler when it existed only in the space between them, uncomplicated by outside expectations or scrutiny.

The alarm saved them from further consideration, sending them racing toward the trucks with practiced efficiency. They moved in perfect synchronization, gear donned, positions taken, professional masks firmly in place. On calls, at least, the ambiguity of their personal relationship translated into an uncanny ability to anticipate each other's movements, to communicate without words, to function as a seamless unit.

It was afterwards, in the quiet moments between emergencies, that the uncertainty crept back in. The careful distance maintained in the kitchen, the locker room, the gym. The recognition that what happened in the darkness of Eddie's bedroom remained separate from the bright fluorescent reality of the firehouse.

The shift passed in this familiar rhythm, professional efficiency during calls, careful avoidance during downtime. By the end of the day, Buck felt the strain of maintaining the facade, the weight of constant vigilance taking its toll.

"Plans tonight?" Hen asked casually as they changed in the locker room, Eddie within earshot but seemingly absorbed in organizing his bag.

"Nothing special," Buck replied, the lie now automatic after weeks of practice. "Probably just catch up on some sleep."

Hen nodded, apparently accepting his response at face value, though Buck sometimes wondered if she saw more than she let on. Hen had always been perceptive, particularly when it came to the emotional undercurrents running through the team.

"How about you, Eddie?" she asked, turning her attention to him. "Christopher have anything exciting planned for the weekend?"

Eddie looked up, his expression carefully neutral. "Just the usual. He's got a new lego set, so we'll probably work on that."

Buck kept his face deliberately blank, though he knew perfectly well that Christopher had completed his lego set — which was a helicopter — and that Eddie had already invited Buck over to help with dinner while Christopher finished his weekend reading assignment.

Another lie by omission. Another careful sidestepping of the truth that had become second nature to them both.

—

Buck waited until after eight to drive to Eddie's house, their unspoken agreement to maintain a buffer of time between the end of shift and their reunion. The curtains were drawn but light spilled around the edges, a warm beacon in the gathering darkness. He parked on the street rather than the driveway. It was another precaution, unnecessary perhaps but adhered to nonetheless.

Christopher answered his knock, face lighting up with genuine delight. "Buck! Dad said you were coming for movie night!"

Buck stepped inside, ruffling Christopher's hair with easy affection. "Wouldn't miss it, buddy. I brought popcorn."

"Cool!" Christopher exclaimed, taking the bag Buck offered. "Dad's in the kitchen. He's trying to make spaghetti again."

Buck grinned, following Christopher through the familiar house. The domesticity of the scene that greeted him in the kitchen, Eddie stirring sauce, ingredients spread across the counter, the radio playing softly, sent a warm rush through his chest that was becoming dangerously familiar.

"Need some help?" Buck offered, already rolling up his sleeves. "Or should I just wait for the smoke alarm?"

Eddie shot him a mock glare, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "One time. I burn dinner one time, and you never let me forget it."

"It was memorable," Buck teased, moving beside him to take over garlic bread preparation. "The fire department showing up at a firefighter's house isn't something people forget easily."

Their shoulders brushed as Buck reached past Eddie for a knife, the brief contact sending a flutter of awareness through his system. They had become experts at this. Existing in parallel spaces, maintaining enough distance to be appropriate in Christopher's presence while allowing themselves these small, seemingly casual touches.

Dinner preparation flowed with easy familiarity, a routine established over weeks of similar evenings. Buck took over sauce duty while Eddie set the table, Christopher chattering about his school day from his perch on a kitchen stool. The scene was so domestic, so natural, that Buck occasionally had to remind himself of its tenuous nature, of all the words still unspoken between him and Eddie.

"This is good, Buck," Christopher declared when they were finally seated around the table, twirling spaghetti enthusiastically. "Way better than when Dad makes it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, mijo," Eddie replied dryly, though his eyes held amusement rather than offense.

"It's true," Christopher insisted. "Buck's is better. Dad's is too chunky."

"He means the vegetables," Buck clarified, catching Eddie's confused expression. "I chop them smaller so they blend into the sauce better."

"Sneaky," Eddie commented, a hint of admiration in his voice. "No wonder he eats it without complaining."

"I learned from the best," Buck replied with a wink toward Christopher, who grinned conspiratorially. "There's a lot of vegetables hidden in this sauce."

The conversation flowed easily throughout dinner, the three of them settling into the comfortable dynamic that had evolved over these shared meals. Buck found himself storing away these moments. Christopher's laugh, Eddie's rare unguarded smiles, the simple pleasure of being included in their family rhythm.

Family. The word flitted through his mind before he could stop it, dangerous in its implications. This wasn't family, not officially. This was... something else. Something undefined, uncertain, existing only in these stolen moments between dusk and dawn.

After dinner, Christopher insisted on setting up the movie while Buck and Eddie handled cleanup. They moved around each other with practiced ease in the small kitchen, a choreographed dance of loading dishwasher and storing leftovers.

"You've got sauce," Eddie murmured, reaching up to brush his thumb across Buck's cheek, the touch lingering slightly longer than necessary. His eyes darkened as they met Buck's, heat flaring briefly before he stepped back, mindful of Christopher in the next room.

These moments of unguarded want had become more frequent, harder to contain within the careful boundaries they had established. Buck felt it too, the growing difficulty of maintaining distance when all he wanted was to close it, to claim Eddie's mouth with his own, to acknowledge openly what had been building between them.

But the rules remained. Not in front of Christopher. Not where anyone might see. Not until... until what? Until Eddie was ready? Until they both were? The endpoint remained as undefined as the relationship itself.

"Movie's ready!" Christopher called, breaking the charged moment between them.

They settled on the couch, Christopher between them as usual, the arrangement both buffer and bridge. The familiarity of the scene, Friday night movie, Christopher's running commentary, the gradual softening of the day's tensions, had become a touchstone in Buck's week, something he found himself looking forward to with an intensity that occasionally frightened him.

Halfway through the film, Christopher's eyes began to droop, his commentary growing less frequent until he was leaning heavily against Eddie's side, clearly fighting sleep.

"Bedtime, buddy," Eddie said gently, pausing the movie. "It's getting late."

"But we haven't finished," Christopher protested weakly, a yawn undermining his argument.

"We can finish tomorrow," Eddie assured him. "Buck can come back, right?"

The question was directed at Buck, who nodded immediately. "Of course. Wouldn't miss the ending."

Christopher considered this, then nodded, apparently satisfied. "Promise you'll come back tomorrow?"

"Promise," Buck confirmed, helping him up from the couch. "Gotta find out what happens to the dinosaur’s, right?"

This earned a tired grin from Christopher as Eddie guided him toward his bedroom. Buck remained on the couch, listening to the familiar sounds of Christopher's bedtime routine filtering down the hallway. The low murmur of Eddie's voice, the squeak of the bathroom faucet, the soft thud of crutches being set aside for the night.

When Eddie returned fifteen minutes later, he settled beside Buck on the couch, closer now that Christopher's presence no longer necessitated distance. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the paused movie forgotten on the screen.

"He really likes having you here," Eddie said finally, his voice soft in the quiet room. "Movie night has become his favorite part of the week."

Buck smiled, warmth spreading through his chest at the simple statement. "Mine too," he admitted.

Eddie's hand found his on the couch cushion between them, fingers interlacing with casual intimacy that still sent a thrill through Buck's system. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Buck confirmed, turning to meet Eddie's gaze. "This. Being here with you guys. It's... it feels right."

Something shifted in Eddie's expression—vulnerability mixing with what looked almost like fear. "It does," he agreed quietly. "Sometimes I think it feels too right."

The admission hung between them, weighted with implications neither seemed ready to fully explore. Buck understood what Eddie meant, the terrifying ease with which they had slipped into this domestic pattern, the rightness of it counter balanced by the fear of what acknowledging it might mean.

"Does that scare you?" Buck asked, unable to stop himself. They rarely spoke directly about what was happening between them, allowing the physical connection that flared in darkness to stand in place of the emotional conversations they carefully avoided.

Eddie's fingers tightened around Buck's, his gaze dropping to their joined hands. "Sometimes," he admitted, the rare honesty catching Buck off guard. "Not this—" he squeezed Buck's hand, "—but what it could become. What it might already be becoming."

Buck waited, sensing Eddie had more to say, unwilling to interrupt the rare moment of emotional vulnerability.

"Christopher's already attached to you," Eddie continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hell, I'm—" He broke off, swallowing hard. "If this goes wrong, it's not just us who get hurt."

The unspoken fear hung between them—that whatever existed between them might eventually shatter, leaving collateral damage neither was willing to risk. Especially to Christopher, who had already endured more loss than any child should.

"I'm not going anywhere, Eddie," Buck said softly, the promise one he had made before and meant with increasing certainty each time. "Whatever this is or becomes, you don't have to worry about that."

Eddie looked up, something like wonder mixing with the lingering fear in his eyes. "How can you be so sure? About any of this?"

Buck considered the question seriously, wanting to give Eddie the honesty he deserved. "I'm not sure about everything," he admitted. "But I am sure about you. About Christopher. About wanting to be here, with both of you, in whatever way you'll let me."

Eddie's expression softened, the fear receding slightly beneath something warmer, more certain. Instead of responding with words, he leaned forward, capturing Buck's mouth in a kiss that conveyed what he couldn't seem to articulate — gratitude, affection, desire, all tangled together in a way that left Buck breathless.

The kiss deepened, Eddie's hand coming up to cup Buck's jaw, drawing him closer. Unlike their earlier encounters — frantic, desperate, driven by adrenaline or months of suppressed want, this was slower, more deliberate, a conscious exploration rather than a helpless surrender.

When they finally parted, Eddie rested his forehead against Buck's, eyes closed as if gathering himself. "Stay," he murmured, the word both request and offering. "Not just tonight. Tomorrow too. For breakfast. For the rest of the movie."

The invitation represented a shift in their unspoken rules — extending their connection beyond the cover of darkness, into the daylight hours usually kept carefully separate. Buck felt its significance, the tentative step toward something more acknowledged, more defined.

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "I'd like that."

They remained on the couch for a long time, neither eager to move from the moment of quiet connection. Eventually, Eddie stood, extending his hand to Buck in silent invitation. They moved through the darkened house together, the path to Eddie's bedroom now familiar to them both.

Later, tangled together in the darkness of Eddie's room, Buck traced patterns on the warm skin of Eddie's back, listening to his breathing gradually even out toward sleep. They still hadn't defined what existed between them, hadn't put labels on the relationship that had evolved beyond friendship but remained unnamed. But something had shifted tonight—a small step toward acknowledgment, toward bringing what happened in darkness into the light.

For now, Buck decided as sleep claimed him, that was enough. The rest would come after, when they were both ready.

Meanwhile, they had this—movie nights with Christopher, shared meals in Eddie's kitchen, the quiet intimacy of falling asleep together. Not officially a relationship, perhaps. But a family all the same, forming slowly, carefully, one unspoken truth at a time.

Chapter Text

Two months. Buck stared at the calendar on his phone, somewhat startled by the realization. Two months since that first night with Eddie, since they'd crossed the line from friendship to something more. Two months of careful navigation between public personas and private intimacy. Two months of unspoken rules and boundaries that seemed to shift beneath his feet just when he thought he understood them.

Lately, a new tension had crept into their carefully constructed arrangement. Nothing dramatic, Eddie was too controlled for dramatic, but subtle changes that left Buck increasingly uncertain. Eddie had been quieter, more distant, even in the privacy of his home where they usually allowed themselves to relax the careful facades maintained elsewhere. Touches that lingered less, conversations that ended sooner, moments of connection interrupted by Eddie's sudden retreat into his own thoughts.

Buck tried to tell himself he was imagining things, projecting his own insecurities onto normal fluctuations in mood and behavior. But the gnawing doubt persisted, growing stronger with each cancelled evening, each abbreviated conversation, each time Eddie pulled away just when Buck thought they were finally moving forward.

Maybe Eddie regretted it. All of it. The first night, the weeks that followed, the domestic routine they'd established that felt increasingly like playing house rather than building something real. Maybe the reality of what they were doing had finally caught up with him, the implications for his life, for Christopher, for their careers.

The thought settled like a stone in Buck's stomach as he prepared for another shift at the 118. He'd spent the night alone in his apartment, Eddie had begged off their usual evening together, citing exhaustion after a long day. A perfectly reasonable excuse that nonetheless fed the growing worry that Eddie was creating distance, preparing for an end Buck couldn't bear to contemplate.

"You look like hell," Hen commented as Buck dropped his bag in the locker room, her keen eyes missing nothing. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," Buck replied automatically, the lie so practiced it required no thought. "Just didn't sleep great."

Hen studied him with the perceptiveness that made her both an excellent paramedic and a dangerously observant friend. "Hmm," was all she said, but the single syllable carried volumes of skepticism.

The shift passed in a blur of routine calls and station duties, Buck moving through the motions with professional efficiency that masked his inner turmoil. Eddie maintained his usual careful distance at work, nothing in his behavior revealing anything abnormal to their colleagues. But Buck caught the glances, fleeting, uncertain, quickly averted when noticed, that suggested Eddie's thoughts mirrored his own anxiety, though perhaps for different reasons.

By shift's end, the strain of maintaining normalcy had left Buck emotionally drained. He changed quickly, intending to escape the station before anyone could engage him in conversation he wasn't prepared to navigate.

"Hey," Eddie's voice from behind stopped him just as he reached the parking lot. "You okay? You seemed off today."

Buck turned, momentarily thrown by the genuine concern in Eddie's expression. "Yeah, just tired," he replied, falling back on the same excuse Eddie had used the night before.

Eddie nodded, though his eyes suggested he didn't entirely believe it. "Listen, Christopher's been asking when you're coming over again. Maybe tonight? If you're not too tired?"

The invitation sent a confusing mixture of relief and apprehension through Buck's chest. "Yeah, sure. What time?"

"Whenever you're free. He finally convinced me into buying that new video game. He’s been wanting to show you."

The normalcy of the conversation, the casual invitation as if nothing had changed between them, left Buck feeling oddly unbalanced. But he nodded, unwilling to reject any opportunity to be with Christopher — and with Eddie, even if things were shifting in ways he didn't understand.

"I'll be there around six," Buck confirmed, offering a smile that felt stiff on his face. "Should I bring dinner?"

"We've got it covered," Eddie replied. "See you then."

Buck watched him walk away, trying to read meaning in the set of his shoulders, the cadence of his steps. The growing fear that whatever existed between them was approaching an expiration date made each interaction feel weighted with significance, each word potentially the harbinger of an end Buck wasn't ready to face.

—

Eddie's house looked exactly as it always did when Buck arrived that evening, the  light from outside coming from the windows, Eddie's truck in the driveway, the familiar path to the front door that Buck had walked countless times over the past months. Yet something felt different, a subtle shift in atmosphere he couldn't quite identify.

Christopher answered his knock with characteristic enthusiasm, pulling Buck into a hug that momentarily eased the tension he'd been carrying all day.

"Buck! Finally, Dad said you were coming but you're late!"

Buck checked his watch, confused. "Am I? I thought we said six."

"We did," Eddie confirmed, appearing behind his son with an apologetic smile. "Someone's just been a little impatient."

"I wanted to show you my new video game." Christopher explained, already tugging Buck toward the living room where the video game loading screen was on the tv.   

"Dad helped me start, but it’s better playing with you ."

The simple declaration. The casual assumption that certain experiences should be reserved for Buck, that his presence was expected and valued — sent a surge of emotion through his chest. Whatever uncertainty existed between him and Eddie, Christopher's attachment remained rock-solid, his place in the boy's life unquestioned.

Dinner was a subdued affair, pizza from their favorite local place, Christopher dominating the conversation with stories from school while Buck and Eddie contributed just enough to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Buck caught Eddie watching him several times, a speculative look in his eyes that Buck couldn't decipher, couldn't bring himself to ask about directly.

After dinner, they returned to the video game, the three of them settling into the familiar routine of building together. Buck found himself relaxing despite his earlier anxiety, drawn into Christopher's enthusiasm and the simple pleasure of creating something together.

"I'm getting a drink," Eddie announced after they'd completed the first round. "Either of you want anything?"

"Water, please," Buck replied, not looking up to avoid letting Christopher beat him. 

Eddie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Buck and Christopher absorbed in their project. After a moment, Christopher set down the game controller, his expression turning serious in a way that immediately grabbed Buck's attention.

"Buck? Can I ask you something important?"

"Of course, buddy," Buck replied, setting down his own controller to give Christopher his full attention. "Anything."

Christopher studied him with that unnervingly perceptive gaze that sometimes made Buck forget he was only nine years old. "Are you happy now?"

The question caught Buck completely off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Before, when you and Dad were fighting, you both looked sad all the time," Christopher explained with the straightforward logic of childhood. "Then you stopped fighting, and you started coming over more, and Dad smiled more. But now you're both acting weird again."

Buck swallowed hard, unsure how to respond to Christopher's keen observation. How much did the boy understand about what had changed between his father and Buck? How much should Buck reveal?

"It's... complicated, buddy," Buck said finally, falling back on the adult explanation that he knew Christopher hated. "But I am happy when I'm here with you and your dad. That part's simple."

Christopher considered this, clearly unsatisfied. "Dad's happier when you're here too. He told Tía Pepa that you make everything better, even though it's scary."

Buck felt his heart skip a beat at the casual revelation. "He said that?"

Christopher nodded. "Last week when you couldn't come over because of your extra shift. He thought I was asleep but I heard him talking  on the phone."

Before Buck could process this information, Eddie returned from the kitchen, carrying drinks and apparently oblivious to the conversation he'd interrupted. Buck accepted his water with a mumbled thanks, mind racing with the implications of Christopher's words.

Eddie thought Buck made everything better. But it was scary. The duality of the statement echoed Buck's own conflicted feelings — the certainty that what they had found together was right, countered by the fear of its fragility, of all the ways it could fall apart.

The evening progressed with surface normalcy, though Buck found himself hyperaware of every interaction, every glance exchanged over Christopher's head, searching for confirmation of what Christopher had unknowingly revealed.

When it was time for Christopher's bedtime, the boy insisted Buck participate in the routine that had become increasingly familiar over the past months — listening to Christopher read a few pages from his current book, saying goodnight with their special handshake that had evolved over countless evenings.

"Night, Buck," Christopher said, voice already heavy with approaching sleep. "You'll be here tomorrow, right?"

The question carried weight beyond the simple words, a child's need for consistency and reassurance that the adults in his life would remain present, would not disappear without warning.

"If that's okay with your dad," Buck replied, glancing at Eddie who stood in the doorway watching them.

"Always," Eddie said quietly, the single word carrying a resonance that made Buck's chest tighten.

After Christopher was settled, they returned to the living room, the silence between them both comfortable and charged with unspoken words. Without discussion, Eddie took Buck's hand and led him down the hallway to his bedroom, their footsteps quiet against the hardwood.

The familiar path to Eddie's room felt different tonight, weighted with the revelations of the evening. Christopher's innocent disclosure had shifted something fundamental between them, bringing to the surface feelings they'd both been carefully navigating for months.

Eddie closed the door behind them with a soft click. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, Buck could see the vulnerability in Eddie's eyes, the careful control he usually maintained now noticeably absent.

"I've been thinking a lot," Eddie said, his voice low to avoid disturbing Christopher. "About us. About what we're doing here."

Buck's heart clenched, fear rising in his throat. "And?"

"I think..." Eddie paused, visibly gathering courage. "I think I've been waiting for you to realize this isn't enough. That you deserve more than sneaking around, more than this undefined thing we've been doing."

The admission caught Buck completely off guard. "You think I want to end this?"

"I think you deserve someone who can give you everything," Eddie replied, vulnerability evident in his voice. "Someone who doesn't make you hide, who isn't terrified of what it means to be together openly. I've been waiting for you to get tired of the limitations, the secrecy."

Buck stared at him, momentarily speechless. All this time, while he'd been fearing Eddie's regret, Eddie had been waiting for Buck's rejection. The irony might have been funny if it weren't so heartbreaking.

"That's not... Eddie, that's not what I want," Buck managed finally. "I mean, yes, eventually I'd like to not have to hide. But I understand why we've been careful. I know this isn't simple for you, for Christopher."

Eddie's expression softened, something like hope flickering in his eyes. "So you're not... waiting for something better to come along?"

"Eddie," Buck said, stepping closer, needing him to understand. "There is nothing better. No one better. What we have…you, me, Christopher — it's everything I never thought I'd find. Everything I never thought I'd be allowed to keep."

Eddie's breath caught audibly at the raw honesty in Buck's voice. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, the depth of feeling between them impossible to deny despite all their careful attempts to keep it unnamed, undefined.

"I've been an idiot," Eddie said finally, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "All this time, I thought you were just waiting for me to catch up, to be ready for what you wanted. And instead, you've been afraid I'm going to walk away."

"Aren't you?" Buck asked, the vulnerability he usually tried to hide now fully exposed. "Having second thoughts? Regretting crossing that line?"

"God, no," Eddie replied immediately, with a conviction that sent a wave of relief through Buck's chest. "The opposite. I've been terrified of how right it feels. How natural. How much I want this to be real, to be permanent."

The admission hung between them, more significant than any they'd shared in the two months since that first night. Buck held his breath, afraid to hope, to believe that Eddie was saying what he thought he was saying.

"I love you," Eddie said quietly, the words falling into the space between them with gentle certainty. "Not just as my best friend. Not just as someone important to Christopher. I love you, Buck. All of you. The way you fit into our lives, the way you make everything better just by being here. The way you see me, really see me, and stay anyway."

Buck felt the words wash over him like a physical touch, warm and real and impossible to misinterpret. Not spoken in the heat of passion or the adrenaline of crisis, but here, in the quiet intimacy of Eddie's bedroom, with Christopher asleep down the hall. A declaration that wasn't forced or desperate but simply true, offered freely in the safety of the home they had been building together.

"I love you too," Buck replied, his voice rough with emotion. "I think I have for a long time. Before we ever... before that first night. I just never thought you'd feel the same way."

Eddie moved closer, reaching out to pull Buck against him, and Buck went willingly, the familiar solidity of Eddie's body against his now carrying new meaning, new certainty.

"I do," Eddie confirmed, his breath warm against Buck's neck. "And it terrifies me, how much. But not being with you, not having this, that would be worse."

Buck closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the simple truth of the moment. "So what now?" he asked softly. "Where do we go from here?"

Eddie pulled back just enough to meet Buck's gaze, his hands steady on Buck's shoulders. "Forward," he replied simply. "Together. No more hiding, at least not from ourselves. No more pretending this isn't exactly what we both want."

"And the rest?" Buck asked. "Work, friends, the world outside this house?"

"One step at a time," Eddie said, his voice steady with newfound resolve. "But no more secrets from the people who matter. No more pretending we're just friends who happen to spend all our free time together."

The promise, for that's what it was, Buck realized, settled something that had been unsettled within him for months. Not a complete resolution to the complexity of their situation, but an acknowledgment that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, openly and honestly.

"I'd like that," Buck murmured, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face. "A lot."

Eddie's answering smile was soft, genuine in a way Buck had seen only in his most unguarded moments. Instead of responding with words, he closed the distance between them, capturing Buck's mouth in a kiss that felt both familiar and entirely new—unhurried, deliberate, infused with the certainty of what they'd finally confessed to each other.

When they separated, Eddie led him toward the bed that had become as familiar to Buck as his own, both of them moving with the certainty of a well established routine. No words were needed; Buck belonged here. They both knew it.

Eddie helped Buck out of his shirt, fingers lingering against warm skin, the familiar touch now carrying the weight of their spoken confessions. Buck returned the gesture, the intimacy between them deeper now, transformed by the truths they'd finally acknowledged.

Later, as they lay in the darkness, limbs tangled together beneath the sheets, Buck felt Eddie's heartbeat against his chest, strong and steady.

"I love you," he whispered into the quiet dark, testing the words that had remained unspoken for so long, marveling at how natural they felt now that they'd finally been released.

Eddie shifted closer, his lips brushing Buck's shoulder. "I love you too," he murmured back, the words no less potent for their repetition. "I'm sorry it took me so long to say it."

"Worth the wait," Buck assured him, feeling Eddie's arms tighten around him. "Worth everything."

And it was, All the uncertainty, the careful navigation, the fear and doubt — all of it had led to this moment of perfect clarity. To the knowledge that he was loved, wanted, chosen. Buck knew that he finally had what he'd spent his entire life searching for. A place to belong, people who would stay, a family to call his own.

Not temporary. Not conditional. Not something that would slip through his fingers the moment he allowed himself to believe in its permanence.

Real. Solid. His.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter Text

Buck woke slowly, awareness returning in waves — the warm weight of Eddie's arm draped across his waist, the steady rhythm of breath against his neck, the sensation of waking up without the need to rush away. He allowed himself to simply exist in this moment, savoring the connection between them and the significance of what had changed last night.

Eddie stirred behind him, nuzzling closer. "Mmm," he hummed against Buck's skin, his arm tightening briefly around Buck's waist. "You're thinking too loud."

Buck smiled, turning in Eddie's arms to face him. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Eddie murmured, eyes still closed, hair messy from sleep. "Just wondering what's going on in that head of yours."

"Just... this," Buck admitted quietly. "Us. How different everything feels this morning."

Eddie's eyes opened then, warm brown meeting Buck's blue with an intensity that still made Buck's breath catch. "Good different?"

"The best different," Buck assured him, reaching up to trace his fingertips along Eddie's jawline.

Eddie caught Buck's hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm. "What time is it?" he asked softly, making no move to check the clock himself.

Buck glanced over Eddie's shoulder. "Just after six-thirty."

"Christopher's alarm doesn't go off until seven," Eddie murmured, pressing a kiss to Buck's shoulder, then another along his collarbone. "No need to rush off today."

The casualty of the unhurried morning intimacy made Buck's chest tighten with emotion. "Finally."

"Mmm," Eddie agreed, continuing his trail of gentle kisses across Buck's skin. "No more sneaking out before dawn. Not unless you want to."

"Definitely don't want to," Buck replied, sliding his fingers into Eddie's hair. "Christopher—

"Knows you stayed over," Eddie finished for him, propping himself up on one elbow to meet Buck's eyes properly. "He asked you to stay, Buck.”

"Yeah, but that was different," Buck pointed out. "That was just me staying after dinner againt. This is..." He gestured vaguely between them, suddenly unsure how to articulate the significance of the shift between them.

Eddie's expression softened as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Buck's lips. "This is us," he said simply. "No more pretending otherwise."

"Yeah," Buck agreed, the warmth in his chest expanding. "I like that."

Eddie smiled, that rare, unguarded smile that Buck treasured for its rarity. "Me too."

He settled back down, head resting on Buck's chest, arm draped comfortably across his waist. Buck's fingers found their way to Eddie's hair, stroking gently as they lay together in comfortable silence.

"What are you thinking about now?" Eddie asked after a while, his breath warm against Buck's skin.

"How good this feels," Buck admitted quietly. "Being here with you. Waking up together and getting to stay in the moment."

Eddie tightened his arm around Buck's waist, pressing another kiss to his chest. "It does feel good," he agreed softly. 

"Even though it scared you at first?" Buck asked, remembering Eddie's previous confession.

"Still scares me a little," Eddie admitted, raising his head to meet Buck's gaze again. "But not being with you? That scares me more."

The simple honesty of the statement made Buck's heart clench. He leaned forward, capturing Eddie's mouth in a kiss that tried to convey everything he felt — gratitude, tenderness, love that had been building for longer than either of them had acknowledged.

The moment was interrupted by the soft beeping of an alarm from down the hall, signaling Christopher's wake up time. Eddie sighed against Buck's lips before pulling back reluctantly.

"Duty calls," he murmured, though he made no immediate move to leave the warmth of their embrace.

"I can help with breakfast," Buck offered, stroking his thumb along Eddie's jawline. "My shift doesn't start until noon."

Eddie's eyes brightened. "Yeah? You don't need to rush off?"

"Nowhere I'd rather be," Buck assured him, pressing one more quick kiss to Eddie's lips before reluctantly sitting up. "Besides, you know I make better pancakes than you do."

Eddie laughed, the sound uninhibited in a way Buck rarely heard. "Christopher certainly thinks so."

"Smart kid," Buck teased, reaching for his discarded t shirt from the night before.

Eddie caught his hand, stopping him. "Borrow one of mine," he offered, nodding toward his dresser. "Second drawer."

The casual domestic intimacy of the offer, wearing Eddie's clothes, having a designated drawer to find them in, sent a new wave of warmth through Buck's chest. "Thanks."

Eddie's eyes tracked him as he crossed to the dresser, something possessive and tender in his gaze that made Buck's skin warm. "Blue one on top," Eddie suggested. "Looks good on you."

Buck smiled, pulling out the suggested shirt and slipping it on. It was slightly tight across the shoulders, a reminder of their physical differences that Buck found unexpectedly appealing.

"Looks good on you," Eddie commented, finally rising from the bed himself. He crossed to Buck, hands settling on his waist. "Really good."

The admiration in his voice made Buck flush slightly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie confirmed, leaning in for another quick kiss. "We should probably get out there before Christopher comes looking for us, though."

Reality reasserted itself. A school day, work shifts, the world beyond this bedroom awaiting them. But Buck found the thought didn't dim his happiness. This moment, this morning, was just the beginning.

They moved through the morning routine with surprising ease. Eddie helping Christopher get ready while Buck prepared breakfast, the three of them eating together at the kitchen table as if this were an established pattern rather than something entirely new.

"These are way better than Dad's pancakes," Christopher declared, syrup dripping down his chin as he took another enthusiastic bite.

"Hey," Eddie protested with mock offense. "I thought you liked my pancakes."

Christopher grinned, unrepentant. "Buck's are fluffier. And he puts chocolate chips in them."

"Can't argue with that logic," Eddie conceded, shooting Buck an amused glance across the table.

Buck felt a surge of affection for them both—this family that had somehow become his, in ways he was still learning to understand. "Your dad's eggs are better than mine, though," he offered, earning a grateful smile from Eddie.

"That's true," Christopher agreed solemnly. "Dad makes the better eggs."

The conversation flowed easily as they finished breakfast, Christopher chattering about his science project and the book he was reading for class. Buck found himself seamlessly integrated into their morning routine — helping Christopher find his missing homework folder and packing his lunch while Eddie made sure everything else was together. 

"Do you have to go to work today?" Christopher asked as Eddie helped him into his jacket. "Or can you stay and help with dinner like last night?"

Buck glanced at Eddie, uncertain how to navigate this new territory. "I do have to work today, buddy," he said gently. "But I'm off tomorrow."

"So you'll come back tomorrow?" Christopher pressed, his direct question carrying more weight than he could possibly understand.

Buck looked to Eddie again, silently asking for guidance. Eddie nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "If that's okay with you and your dad," Buck answered carefully.

"It's okay with me," Christopher declared confidently. Then, with the perceptiveness that still sometimes caught Buck off guard: "Dad's happier when you're here anyway."

Eddie's cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn't contradict his son. "The bus will be here any minute, mijo. Got everything?"

Christopher nodded, seemingly satisfied with Buck's answer. He hugged his father goodbye, then turned to Buck and wrapped his arms around his waist. "See you tomorrow, Buck."

The simple farewell, delivered with such casual certainty, made Buck's throat tighten with emotion. "See you tomorrow, buddy."

It was only after Christopher had safely boarded the school bus that the reality of their new situation fully registered. Buck turned to find Eddie watching him, something soft and vulnerable in his expression.

"We should probably talk about this," Eddie said as they cleared breakfast dishes together, the domestic rhythm now familiar after months of shared evenings. "About us. About how we handle everything."

Buck nodded, understanding the complexity Eddie was referencing. "I think we should keep it between us for now," he said carefully, watching Eddie's expression. "Not because I want to hide it, but because it's still... new. Precious."

Relief flickered across Eddie's features, followed immediately by concern. "You sure? I don't want you to think I'm ashamed of this, of us. That's not it at all."

"I know," Buck assured him, reaching across the kitchen counter to take Eddie's hand. "I get it, Eddie. I do. We're figuring this out as we go. There's no rush."

Eddie's fingers tightened around his, gratitude evident in his expression. "I just want to give us time to find our footing before we have to deal with everyone else's opinions. To have this be just ours for a little while."

"Exactly," Buck agreed, understanding completely. "Besides, Christopher should be the first to know, when we're ready for that conversation."

"Thank you," Eddie said, bringing Buck's hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "For understanding. For being patient with me."

"Always," Buck replied simply, the word carrying the weight of a promise. "We've got time, Eddie. All the time we need."

Eddie pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Buck's waist. "I meant what I said last night," he murmured, forehead resting against Buck's. "I love you. Have for a while now."

"I love you too," Buck replied, the words easier to say with each repetition, more natural, more right. "That part's simple."

Eddie smiled against his lips. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

When it was time for Buck to leave, having to return to his apartment before his shift, Eddie walked him to the door, their fingers intertwined until the last possible moment.

"See you at the station," Buck said, reluctant to break the bubble of intimacy they'd maintained all morning.

Eddie glanced around quickly, confirming the privacy of his front porch, before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to Buck's lips. "See you there," he agreed, the simple farewell carrying the weight of their new reality.

—

It was quiet when Buck arrived for his shift, the day crew out on a call. He moved through the locker room with practiced efficiency, changing into his uniform, mind still partially occupied with the events of the morning. The way Eddie had looked at him across the breakfast table, the casual intimacy of borrowing his clothes, Christopher's unquestioning acceptance of his presence.

"There he is," Chimney's voice broke through his thoughts. "The man of mystery himself."

Buck blinked, momentarily concerned that somehow Chimney knew about the shift in his relationship with Eddie. "What?"

"You," Chimney clarified, gesturing with his coffee mug. "And your increasingly mysterious personal life. No one sees you outside of shifts anymore. You're always 'busy' or 'just catching up on sleep.'" He made exaggerated air quotes. "Some of us are starting to wonder if you've joined a cult or something."

Buck laughed, relief mingling with amusement at how close yet far from the truth Chimney's speculation fell. "No cult," he assured him, pouring himself coffee. "Just been... focused on other things."

"Mmhmm," Chimney hummed skeptically. "Things that have nothing to do with a certain coworker whose schedule mysteriously aligns with your unavailability."

Buck froze, coffee mug halfway to his lips, heart rate accelerating. "What?"

Chimney's expression shifted from teasing to something more perceptive, his eyes narrowing as he studied Buck's reaction. "Interesting," he said after a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Very interesting."

Before Buck could formulate a response, the alarm sounded, saving him from what was quickly becoming a dangerous conversation. He set down his untouched coffee, grateful for the reprieve as they headed toward the trucks.

The call was straightforward. A kitchen fire contained before they arrived, more smoke damage than actual destruction. Buck found himself working seamlessly with Eddie, their professional rhythm undisturbed by the personal evolution of their relationship.

It was only after they'd returned to the station that Buck noticed Chimney watching them with undisguised interest. The scrutiny made him hyperaware of his interactions with Eddie, of the need to maintain the professional boundaries they'd always respected at work.

"You're being weird," Hen commented as Buck deliberately positioned himself across the table from Eddie at lunch, leaving an empty seat beside him that would have been his natural choice before.

"Am not," Buck replied, the childish retort automatic and unconvincing even to his own ears.

Hen raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "Right. And I'm not noticing you avoiding sitting next to Eddie like he's got the plague, when yesterday you two were practically attached at the hip during that warehouse call."

Buck felt heat creeping up his neck, aware of Chimney's sudden interest and Eddie's careful neutrality across the table.

"Just trying to maintain professional space," Buck said, the explanation sounding weak even to himself. "For... teamwork purposes."

Hen's expression shifted from skeptical to knowing, a dangerous gleam in her eye. "Professional space," she repeated slowly. "For teamwork purposes. Of course."

The conversation shifted as Bobby joined them, but the damage was done. Buck could feel Chimney's speculative gaze and Hen's knowing looks for the remainder of the shift.

"I think Chimney knows," Buck murmured to Eddie when they found themselves alone in the equipment bay, ostensibly checking oxygen tanks. "Or at least suspects."

Eddie glanced toward the station, ensuring they were truly alone. "Would that be so bad? If he knew?"

The question caught Buck off guard. "I thought we agreed to keep it between us for now."

"We did," Eddie confirmed, his expression thoughtful. "And I still think that's right. But maybe it's not the end of the world if people figure it out on their own."

Buck considered this, his anxiety easing slightly. "You're not worried? About what they'd think, what they'd say?"

Eddie's eyes met his, steady and certain in a way that still made Buck's breath catch. "About us being together? No. They're family, Buck. They want us to be happy." His gaze dropped briefly, vulnerability showing through. "I am worried about Christopher, about making sure we handle that conversation right. But the team? They already know how important you are to me. This is just... an extension of that."

The simple assessment settled something in Buck's chest, a fear he hadn't fully acknowledged until Eddie addressed it. "So we don't tell them, but we don't panic if they figure it out on their own."

"Exactly," Eddie agreed. "No announcements, no deliberate hiding, just... us. Finding our way."

Buck nodded, the approach feeling right—honest without being dramatic, private without being secretive. "I can work with that."

The rest of the shift passed more comfortably with this understanding between them. Buck stopped overthinking every interaction, allowing himself to fall back into the natural rhythm he and Eddie had always shared at work.

If Chimney watched them with increasingly knowing eyes, if Hen gave Buck thoughtful looks when she thought he wouldn't notice—well, that was okay. They weren't hiding, not really. Just protecting something precious while it found its footing.

—

"Game night at my place?" Buck suggested as they changed at the end of shift, keeping his voice casual though the invitation carried new weight.

Eddie glanced up, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Christopher would love that. He's been wanting to show you his finished science project."

"I'll pick up pizza on the way," Buck offered. "The usual?"

"Perfect," Eddie agreed, the simple domestic exchange unremarkable to anyone overhearing yet laden with significance for them both.

They walked to the parking lot together, maintaining casual conversation. To anyone watching, it would appear completely normal — two friends making plans as they had countless times before.

Only Buck noticed the subtle differences—the way Eddie's eyes lingered on his, the slight brush of their shoulders as they walked, the private smile that passed between them as they reached their vehicles.

"See you at six?" Eddie confirmed, keys in hand.

"Six," Buck agreed, resisting the urge to lean in for a goodbye kiss that would have been unthinkable in the station parking lot just days earlier. “I haven’t went grocery shopping yet. Care to bring a few snacks? "

Eddie's smile widened slightly, something warm in his expression that made Buck's heart race despite the innocuous exchange. "I got it."

As Buck drove toward his apartment, he reflected on the strange new reality they were navigatingz The careful balance between privacy and secrecy, between discretion and shame. What existed between them wasn't something to hide, but it was something to protect, to nurture before exposing it to external scrutiny.

For now, it belonged to them alone, the quiet acknowledgment of love spoken in Eddie's bedroom, the promise of something built to last. The team might suspect, might exchange knowing glances, but the truth of what existed between them remained their own to share when ready.

His phone buzzed with a text from Eddie.

Christopher wants to know if he could stay over after game night? Or you could come back here. Your choice. No pressure either way.

Buck smiled, warmth spreading through his chest at the simple message and all it represented — Eddie including him in family decisions, offering him a place without demanding or presuming.

Tell him he’s more than welcome, he knows that. You are too. 

 Okay, See you then. We’re both excited.

Five simple words, yet they settled into Buck's chest with the weight of everything he'd spent his life searching for—belonging, acceptance, a place that was his not temporarily but permanently, intentionally.

They were figuring it out as they went, navigating new terrain without a map. But the foundation was solid, built on years of friendship, trust, and now, finally, love acknowledged rather than just silently offered.

For now, it remained theirs alone. This new understanding, this shifted reality. But even as they kept it between themselves, Buck knew the truth was becoming increasingly evident to those around them. The way they looked at each other had changed, subtly but fundamentally, in ways they couldn't fully disguise.

And maybe that was okay, Buck thought as he gathered what he'd need for the night ahead. Some truths didn't need to be announced to be known. Some changes were visible in the smallest shifts, the lingering glance, the private smile, the gravitational pull that drew them into each other's orbits again and again.

What existed between them had survived fire both literal and metaphorical, had been forged in crisis and cemented in quiet moments of profound understanding. And now, in the aftermath of those fires, something new had emerged, stronger, clearer, unobscured by fear or doubt.

Something real. Something lasting. Something that, even unspoken, was becoming impossible to hide.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter Text

Three weeks had passed since that morning Eddie had finally said "I love you," the words changing everything between them. Three weeks of navigating this new reality they'd created together — Buck and Eddie, Eddie and Buck, no longer just friends or colleagues but something deeper, more profound, still finding its proper name but undeniably theirs.

The quiet Sunday evening found them on Eddie's couch, the remnants of pizza dinner still on the coffee table, a movie playing quietly in the background that none of them were really watching. Buck could feel the nervous energy radiating from Eddie beside him, could see the way his fingers tapped restlessly against his knee.

They'd discussed this moment extensively over the past few days. How to approach it, what to say, whether it was even necessary given how naturally things had evolved between them. But Eddie had been adamant that Christopher deserved an explicit conversation, deserved to understand exactly what was happening in his home.

"Hey buddy," Eddie finally said, muting the television. "Can we talk to you about something important?"

Christopher looked up from the lego creation he'd been working on, instantly alert to the change in his father's tone. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, not at all," Buck assured him quickly, exchanging a nervous glance with Eddie. "Actually, it's about me and your dad. We wanted to talk to you about... about how things have been changing lately."

Christopher set his brick piece down carefully, giving them his full attention. The perceptiveness in his young face made Buck's heart clench with affection and anxiety in equal measure.

"You know that Buck and I have been friends for a long time," Eddie continued, his voice steadier than Buck had expected given the tension in his body. "Best friends."

Christopher nodded, looking between them with curious eyes.

"Well," Eddie took a deep breath, "sometimes people who are best friends realize that they have feelings for each other that are... different. Stronger. Like how I felt about your mom when we first met."

Understanding dawned on Christopher's face. "You mean like you guys are dating now?" he asked simply.

Buck nearly choked at the directness of the question, while Eddie looked momentarily stunned before recovering.

"Yes," Eddie confirmed, reaching for Buck's hand. "Buck and I are together now. We care about each other in a way that's different than just being friends."

"We wanted to talk to you about it," Buck added, "because it's important that you understand what's happening, and how you feel about it matters to us a lot."

Christopher was quiet for a moment, processing this information with a serious expression that made him look much older than his years. Buck held his breath, heart hammering against his ribs as he waited for the boy's reaction.

Then Christopher broke into a wide grin. "Finally!"

Eddie blinked in surprise. "You... knew?"

"Dad," Christopher said with the supreme patience only children can truly muster, "Buck sleeps in your room instead of the guest room now. And you guys hold hands when you think I'm not looking. And you're happier when Buck's here."

Buck couldn't help the surprised laugh that escaped him, relief washing through his system. "So you're... okay with it?"

Christopher shrugged, turning his attention back to building the lego creation as if they were discussing something as boring as the weather. "Buck's already family anyway. He helps with my homework and makes pancakes and comes to my school events when you can’t."

The simple assessment, delivered with the unfiltered honesty of childhood, made Buck's throat tighten with emotion. He glanced at Eddie, finding his own overwhelmed feeling reflected in the moisture gathering in Eddie's eyes.

"Yeah," Buck managed, his voice rough. "You're my family too, Christopher. Both of you."

"So does this mean Buck is going to live here now?" Christopher asked, the practical question cutting through the emotional moment. "Because he's here all the time anyway, and his stuff is everywhere."

Eddie laughed, the tension draining from his shoulders. "Maybe eventually. We're still figuring things out, but... would you like that? If Buck moved in with us?"

"Yes!," Christopher replied, "Then he can make pancakes every morning instead of just on weekends."

Buck caught Eddie's eye over Christopher's head, their shared amusement at the boy's priorities mingling with something deeper, more significant. The realization that this monumental conversation, that they'd built up in their minds as potentially difficult or confusing, had been accepted by Christopher with such easy certainty.

"Any other questions, buddy?" Eddie asked, wrapping an arm around Christopher's shoulders. "About me and Buck, or how things might change?"

Christopher thought for a moment. "Are we going to tell people? Like Abuela and Tía Pepa? And your friends at work?"

Buck and Eddie exchanged glances, both realizing they hadn't actually prepared for this question.

"We haven't gotten that far yet," Buck admitted. "We wanted to talk to you first, because you're the most important."

Christopher nodded, seeming to accept this answer. "When you do, can I be there when you tell Tía Pepa? She always makes those special cookies when she's really happy about something."

Eddie laughed, the sound full of relief and genuine amusement. "Sure, Chris. You can be there."

"Cool," Christopher said, a smile on his face. "Can we finish the movie now? I want to see if the dinosaur finds his family."

And just like that, the conversation that they'd been anxiously planning for days was over, absorbed into the fabric of their evening routine as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Eddie un muted the television while Buck gathered the pizza boxes, exchanging wonder filled glances as they settled back into their evening.

Later, after Christopher had gone to bed, they returned to the couch, the quiet of the house wrapping around them like a familiar blanket.

"That went... better than I expected," Eddie admitted, his voice soft in the dimly lit room.

"He already knew," Buck said, still slightly stunned by the revelation. "All this time we were trying to be careful around him, and he just... figured it out on his own."

Eddie shook his head, a smile playing at his lips. "Sometimes I forget how perceptive he is. Nothing gets past him."

"He said I'm family," Buck said, the words still echoing in his mind, filling his chest with a warmth he couldn't quite describe.

Eddie reached for Buck's hand, intertwining their fingers with practiced ease. "Because you are, Buck. You've been part of our family for a long time now, whether we called it that or not."

The simple truth of it settled over Buck like a blanket, comfortable and right. Family. The thing he'd been searching for his whole life, the belonging he'd craved through years of moving from place to place, relationship to relationship. He'd finally found it, not in grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but in homework help and pancake breakfasts, in school field trips and lego projects.

In the quiet moments that made up a life together.

—

"Your turn to set the table," Bobby called to Buck as the 118 crew prepared for their family dinner, the shared meal that had become a cornerstone of their shifts together. "Hen's got the salad, Chimney's on dish duty."

Buck moved to the cabinets, gathering plates and utensils with practiced efficiency. The routine was familiar, comforting in its predictability, though even here subtle changes had crept in over the past weeks. Eddie appeared at his side without being called, helping with the glasses and napkins, their movements synchronized in the small space as they had been on countless calls.

"Thanks," Buck said, the simple acknowledgment covering more than just the assistance with place settings.

Eddie's hand brushed his briefly as they finished, the contact seemingly accidental to anyone watching but deliberate in its gentle pressure, a moment of connection in the midst of their professional environment. These casual touches had become more frequent, less guarded, Eddie reaching for Buck without conscious thought, a hand at the small of his back as they passed in narrow corridors, fingers brushing when passing equipment, shoulders touching as they sat side by side during briefings.

They still maintained appropriate boundaries at work, still focused on professionalism above all else. But the careful distance of earlier weeks had gradually relaxed, the hyper vigilance fading as they grew more comfortable in their new reality, more confident in its solidity.

"They’re doing it again. Sharing their freaky telepathy and mirroring each other," Chimney commented as they all settled around the table, Bobby distributing the pasta he'd prepared.

Buck felt heat creep up his neck, suddenly aware of how their unconscious coordination  He glanced at Eddie, finding him similarly caught off guard by Chimney's casual observation.

"We've always worked well together," Eddie replied after a moment, his voice carefully neutral despite the slight tension in his shoulders. "That's not new."

"True," Hen agreed, her perceptive gaze moving between them with undisguised interest. "But there's something different lately. Can't quite put my finger on it."

Buck focused intently on his plate, avoiding eye contact with anyone at the table. They hadn't explicitly hidden their relationship from the team, had agreed weeks ago not to panic if their colleagues figured things out on their own. But they hadn't confirmed anything either, hadn't made any announcements or clarifications, allowing the ambiguity to persist for reasons that felt increasingly unclear even to Buck himself.

"Must be all the extra training we've been doing," Buck offered finally, the explanation weak even to his own ears. "Those warehouse drills last month really improved our—"

"Oh my god," Chimney interrupted, setting down his fork with dramatic emphasis. "Are you two seriously still pretending we don't know?"

The question landed like a stone in still water, ripples of tension spreading outward from the center of the table. Buck froze, fork halfway to his mouth, as Eddie went absolutely still beside him.

"Know what?" Eddie asked, his voice remarkably steady despite the sudden intensity of his gaze.

Chimney looked skyward, as if seeking divine patience. "That you're together. Like, together together. Have been for months, from what we can tell."

The silence that followed was deafening. Buck set down his own fork, appetite forgotten as he glanced at Eddie, trying to gauge his reaction to this direct confrontation. They'd discussed the possibility of the team figuring things out, but had never quite settled on how they'd respond when, not if apparently it happened.

"It's not—" Buck started, then stopped, unsure what he was even trying to deny. It was exactly what Chimney was suggesting, had been for longer than any of them probably realized. "We didn't—"

"You didn't what?" Hen prompted gently, her expression softening as she took in their obvious discomfort. "Think we'd notice? Or think we'd care?"

"Both, maybe," Eddie admitted after a moment, surprising Buck with his candor. "It's still... relatively new. At least, the acknowledged part of it is."

The careful phrasing drew a small smile from Bobby, who had remained silent during the exchange, watching with the patient attention that characterized his leadership style. "The 'acknowledged part,'" he repeated thoughtfully. "That's an interesting distinction."

Buck felt something ease in his chest at Bobby's tone — not judgmental or disapproving, but curious, even supportive. He glanced at Eddie again, finding him similarly relaxed, the initial tension gradually dissipating as it became clear their friends weren't upset or uncomfortable with the revelation.

"We've been trying to figure it out ourselves before bringing everyone else into it," Buck explained, finding his voice finally. "It seemed... simpler that way."

"Plus there's Christopher to consider," Eddie added, his primary concern evident in his voice. "We wanted to be sure about what we were doing, what we were building, before making it official. For his sake as much as ours."

Understanding dawned in Hen's eyes, her expression softening further. "That makes sense," she acknowledged. "Kids need stability, not uncertainty."

"Exactly," Eddie confirmed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders at her immediate comprehension. "But we're not hiding anything. Not anymore. We're together. Have been for a while now, in one way or another."

The simple declaration, offered without qualification or explanation, sent a wave of warmth through Buck's chest. There was a time when he couldn't have imagined Eddie saying those words so directly, so publicly—acknowledging not just their relationship but his comfort with others knowing about it.

"Well, thank God that's finally out in the open," Chimney declared, returning to his pasta with renewed enthusiasm. "The pretending not to notice was getting exhausting."

Laughter broke the remaining tension, the conversation shifting naturally to other topics as dinner continued. Buck felt Eddie's knee press against his under the table, a silent communication of relief and solidarity that meant more than words could have expressed.

Later, as they finished cleaning up after the meal, Eddie found Buck alone in the kitchen, the others having dispersed to various duties around the station.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, moving close enough that their shoulders brushed, the casual contact now so natural Buck barely registered it.

"Yeah," Buck confirmed, genuinely surprised to realize it was true. "Better than okay, actually. It feels... good. Having it in the open. No more careful avoidance or half truths."

Eddie nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I've been thinking the same thing. Not sure why we waited so long, really."

"Caution," Buck suggested, thinking of the careful steps they'd taken together, the deliberately slow pace they'd maintained. "Making sure we were solid before inviting outside opinions."

"We are," Eddie said with quiet certainty, his hand finding Buck's briefly, a quick squeeze of reassurance before returning to an appropriate professional distance. "Solid. More than."

The simple affirmation settled something in Buck's chest, a lingering uncertainty he hadn't fully acknowledged until it was addressed. They were solid. What they had built together, slowly, carefully, with Christopher's wellbeing always at the center, was real, enduring, strong enough to withstand external awareness and whatever came with it.

The next morning, Eddie nudged Buck gently as they left the locker room. "We should talk to Bobby," he said quietly. "Make it official, administratively speaking."

Buck nodded, understanding the importance of the step. This wasn't just about their personal lives anymore. It was about their professional relationship, about ensuring everything was properly disclosed and documented.

They found Bobby in his office, reviewing reports from the previous shift. He looked up as they knocked, something knowing in his expression as he took in their serious faces.

"Cap, you got a minute?" Eddie asked, his professional tone belied by the slight tension in his shoulders.

"For you two? Always," Bobby replied, setting aside his paperwork. "Come in, close the door."

They settled into the chairs across from his desk, exchanging a quick glance that conveyed both nervousness and resolve.

"We wanted to formally disclose our relationship," Eddie began, his voice steady despite the personal nature of the conversation. "Buck and I are together now. Have been for a while, actually."

"We know there's paperwork, protocols," Buck added. "We want to do this right."

Bobby leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I was wondering when we'd have this conversation."

"You were?" Buck asked, surprise evident in his voice.

Bobby chuckled, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a folder. "I've had the paperwork ready for months."

Eddie blinked. "Months?"

"Since the first time you yelled at Buck after that structure fire," Bobby confirmed, his expression amused but kind. "The one where he went in after that victim without waiting for backup. I've never seen you that concerned about anyone. That angry because you were that scared."

Buck turned to Eddie, who looked as stunned as he felt. "That was over a year ago."

"Sometimes a captain sees things his team doesn't even realize yet," Bobby said simply, sliding the folder across the desk. "I just figured you two would get there eventually."

Eddie opened the folder, scanning the disclosure forms with a bemused expression. "So you knew? All this time?"

"That you two were heading somewhere beyond friendship? Yes," Bobby confirmed. "The timing, the specifics — that was yours to figure out. But I wasn't surprised when Chimney finally called you out last night."

Buck shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and affection for their captain washing through him. "And you're... okay with it? With us working together?"

"You've been one of my most effective teams since Eddie joined the 118," Bobby pointed out. "That hasn't changed with your relationship status. In fact, from what I've seen, you work even better together now. More in sync, more trusting." He leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "As long as you maintain professionalism on calls, as you've been doing, I have no concerns."

The simple acceptance, the matter of fact support, brought a lump to Buck's throat. He glanced at Eddie, finding his own emotion reflected in Eddie's eyes.

"Thank you, Bobby," Eddie said, his voice slightly rough. "For understanding. For supporting us."

"That's what family does," Bobby replied simply, pushing a pen across the desk. "Now fill these out so I can finally file them. HR's been asking why I've been holding onto blank relationship disclosure forms for so long."

As they completed the paperwork, Buck felt something settle in his chest — the final piece of a puzzle falling into place. Their relationship was now acknowledged in every area that mattered. With Christopher, with their team, with the department. No more hiding, no more careful avoidance, no more half truths.

Just them. Buck and Eddie, Eddie and Buck. Building something real, something lasting, something that had perhaps been inevitable from the moment they first met, though neither had recognized it at the time.

Home, Buck realized as they left Bobby's office together, their shoulders brushing in the narrow hallway. Not a place, but a person. A feeling. A certainty that wherever Eddie was, wherever Christopher was, that's where he belonged.

Home, finally. Found in the quiet spaces between heartbeats, in the steady rhythm of shared days and nights, in the profound understanding that existed between two people who had seen each other at their most vulnerable and chosen each other anyway.

Not with dramatic declarations or grand gestures, but with paperwork and disclosure forms, with inside jokes and gentle reminders about wet towels. With the quiet certainty that whatever came next, they would face it together — Buck and Eddie, Eddie and Buck, and Christopher between them, the family they had created together.

Home, in its truest, simplest form. Found at last, and built to last.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter Text

ONE YEAR LATER.

Morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the Diaz-Buckley household, painting golden stripes across the kitchen counter where Buck stood assembling lunches. Christopher sat at the table, finishing his breakfast while simultaneously reviewing math flash cards for a quiz later that day.

"Dad! Have you seen my permission slip? It's due today!" Christopher called out, the mild panic in his voice drawing an amused smile from Buck as sudden realization hit. 

"Check your blue folder," Buck suggested, not looking up from his sandwich construction. "That's where we put it last night, remember?"

There was a moment of rustling papers, then a triumphant, "Found it!" that made Buck chuckle. Some things never changed— Christopher's perpetual disorganization  among them, despite their best efforts to instill some semblance of order in the chaos.

Eddie appeared in the kitchen doorway, uniform shirt still unbuttoned over his white undershirt, hair damp from the shower. "Permission slip crisis averted?"

"Crisis managed," Buck confirmed, placing the completed lunches in respective bags—turkey and cheese with no crust for Christopher, roast beef for Eddie, tuna for himself. The routine was so established now that he barely had to think about the assembly, his hands moving on autopilot through the familiar motions.

Eddie moved closer, pressing a brief kiss to Buck's temple as he reached past him for the coffee pot. "You're a lifesaver."

"Just part of the job description," Buck replied with a grin, watching as Eddie finished buttoning his shirt, the simple domestic moment filling him with contentment that never seemed to diminish, even after months of similar mornings.

Christopher glanced up from his flash cards, observing them with the keen perceptiveness that frequently caught them off guard. "Are you guys still coming to parents' night tomorrow? Ms. Rodriguez says she wants to talk about my science fair project with both of you."

"Wouldn't miss it," Eddie assured him, sharing a quick look with Buck that conveyed volumes of shared understanding. This would be their fourth parent teacher conference as a unit, but the significance never diminished. The teachers, the school, Christopher's classmates all recognizing them as what they were, a family, two parents equally invested in Christopher's education and wellbeing.

"We'll be there," Buck confirmed, zipping Christopher's lunch into his backpack. "And we'll try not to embarrass you too much."

Christopher rolled his eyes with the dramatic flair only an eleven year old could muster. "Just don't tell the fire stories. Ryan's dad is still talking about the warehouse call you told him about last time."

Buck laughed, remembering the rapt attention of Christopher's classmate's father as Buck and Eddie had recounted one of their more dramatic rescues. "No fire stories," he promised solemnly. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," Eddie pointed out, leaning against the counter as he sipped his coffee.

"Details," Buck dismissed with a wave of his hand, checking the time on the microwave clock. "Alright, bus in fifteen minutes. Teeth brushed, face washed, shoes on."

Christopher gathered his materials with practiced efficiency, disappearing down the hallway toward the bathroom, leaving Buck and Eddie alone in the momentary lull of their morning routine.

"You're good at this," Eddie observed, not for the first time, watching Buck move through their shared space with confident familiarity. "The whole morning chaos management thing."

Buck shrugged, though the compliment warmed him as it always did. "I've had some practice now."

The understatement drew a smile from Eddie. Practice indeed — nearly a year of officially living together, preceded by months of Buck spending more nights at Eddie's than at his own apartment. A year of gradually refining their morning choreography, of learning each other's patterns and preferences, of blending their lives into something seamless and strong.

"Moving in was the right call," Eddie said quietly, setting his coffee mug down and moving closer to Buck. "For all of us."

Buck nodded, remembering the conversation that had led to his official relocation. Christopher's straightforward question one evening over dinner, "Buck, why do you still have your apartment when you're always here anyway?" The simple logic of childhood cutting through the adults' careful consideration, laying bare the obvious truth they'd been dancing around.

"Best decision we ever made," Buck agreed, turning to face Eddie fully, drawn to him with the same magnetic pull that had always existed between them, only stronger now, deeper, tempered by time and certainty.

The front door opened unexpectedly, drawing both their attention. Carla appeared in the entryway, her timing perfect as always.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she greeted them cheerfully. "Just thought I'd swing by early to make sure my favorite family is getting off to a good start."

"You mean to make sure Christopher actually remembered his permission slip," Eddie translated with a knowing smile.

"That too," Carla admitted, setting her purse on the counter. "Plus, I wanted to drop these off." She produced a thick envelope of photographs, sliding them across the counter. "From the cabin trip last month. I finally got them printed — thought you might want some for that photo wall you're working on."

Buck opened the envelope, Eddie leaning close beside him as they flipped through the photos — Christopher fishing off the dock, Eddie attempting to start a campfire with increasing frustration while Buck laughed behind the camera, the three of them posed in front of the cabin with arms around each other, happiness radiating from every face.

"These are perfect," Buck said, warmth spreading through his chest at the visual evidence of their shared life, their family adventures. "Thanks, Carla."

"That one's my favorite," she said, pointing to a photo Buck hadn't taken — likely snapped by Carla herself when neither he nor Eddie had been aware. In it, they were seated side by side on the cabin's porch steps, watching the sunset over the lake. Eddie's head was tilted to rest against Buck's shoulder, their profiles silhouetted against the golden light, the unguarded intimacy of the moment captured perfectly.

"Mine too," Eddie said softly, his eyes lingering on the image.

The bus horn sounded from outside, signaling their cue to hurry. The morning resumed its familiar rhythm — final checks of backpack contents, a quick goodbye kiss from Eddie, Buck's reminder about soccer practice later, Christopher's eye roll and assurance that yes, he remembered, he wasn't a baby.

"I'll see you boys later," Carla called as Christopher headed for the door. "I'm picking him up from school for his doctor's appointment, remember?"

"You're a lifesaver, Carla," Eddie replied gratefully.

"So I've been told," she said with a knowing smile, following Christopher out.

As they watched from the front porch, Christopher boarding the bus with a final wave, Buck felt Eddie's arm slip around his waist, a casual intimacy that still sent a small thrill through his system despite its everyday occurrence.

"We've got forty minutes before we need to leave for our shift," Eddie noted, checking his watch once the bus had pulled away.

Buck grinned, turning to lead Eddie back inside. "Whatever shall we do with such luxury?"

The door had barely closed behind them when Eddie's hands found Buck's waist, drawing him close with deliberate intent. "I might have some ideas," he murmured, backing Buck slowly toward the kitchen counter.

"Do tell," Buck encouraged, arms looping around Eddie's neck, surrendering to the familiar pleasure of Eddie's body pressing against his, solid and warm and known.

They moved together with the easy synchronicity that characterized everything they did, developed over months of learning each other, of memorizing reactions and preferences, of building a language that existed in touch and breath and movement.

Eddie's mouth found Buck's with practiced precision, the kiss unhurried yet purposeful, carrying a depth of feeling that still took Buck's breath away despite its familiarity. This was the difference in their relationship now — the urgency of their early encounters had evolved into something more profound, more sustaining. Not less passionate, but more certain. Not less intense, but more grounded.

Buck's hands found their way beneath Eddie's shirt, tracing the muscle and bone he knew by heart yet never tired of rediscovering. Eddie responded by pressing closer, deepening the kiss with a low sound of pleasure that vibrated through Buck's chest.

"God, I love you," Eddie breathed against Buck's mouth, the words spoken with casual certainty, as natural as breathing yet never diminished in their impact. "Even after all this time, I still sometimes can't believe we get to have this."

Buck understood exactly what he meant. Even now, after a year of officially being in a relationship , of building a life together intentionally rather than in stolen moments, there were times when the reality of their happiness struck him with stunning force.

"I know," Buck replied, cradling Eddie's face between his palms, studying the features he loved with undisguised adoration. "Sometimes I wake up and just watch you sleeping, making sure you're real."

Instead of finding the admission strange, Eddie nodded, understanding filling his eyes. "I do the same thing. Especially after bad calls."

The simple acknowledgment of shared vulnerability, of the fear that still occasionally crept in despite the solid foundation they'd built, made Buck's chest tighten with emotion. This was what had changed most profoundly between them—not the physical intimacy, though that remained essential and treasured, but the emotional openness, the willingness to acknowledge fears and insecurities without shame or hesitation.

"I'm not going anywhere," Buck promised, echoing the words he'd spoken so many times before, that had become a touchstone between them. "Not ever."

"I know," Eddie said simply, complete trust in his voice where once there might have been doubt or fear. "That's why I can sleep at night."

They stood in the quiet kitchen, morning sunlight streaming through the windows, holding each other with the comfortable familiarity of people who had chosen each other deliberately, who continued to choose each other daily. The simple intimacy of the moment, not dramatic or performative, just real and warm and theirs, embodied everything they had built together.

Eddie's thumb traced Buck's cheekbone, his gaze reflecting the same wonder Buck still felt at finding each other, at creating this life together. "We should probably get moving," he said reluctantly, though he made no immediate move to step away.

"Five more minutes," Buck negotiated, unable to release Eddie just yet, to break the perfect bubble of connection they'd created in the quiet aftermath of the morning chaos.

Eddie smiled, that soft, private smile that Buck knew belonged only to him. "Five more minutes," he agreed, leaning in to capture Buck's mouth again, the kiss slower this time, deeper, conveying everything words couldn't fully express.

They eventually separated, gathering their things and heading toward Eddie's truck. As they drove toward the station, Buck found himself reflecting on the journey that had brought them here. The slow build of friendship to something deeper, the fears overcome, the trust established step by careful step. The fights and misunderstandings, the silences that had nearly broken them, the truths finally spoken that had ultimately saved them.

Fire in the blood, Eddie's abuela had called it once, when describing Eddie's passionate nature hidden beneath his controlled exterior. The description had stuck with Buck, recognizing in it something essential about the man he loved — the intensity that ran beneath the surface, the heat that powered everything Eddie did, everyone he loved.

Buck had found that fire in himself too, eventually. Not the reckless flame of his youth that had burned hot but hollow, seeking validation in risk and adrenaline. But something steadier, deeper, more sustaining — a core of warmth that fueled his life now, that powered his love for Eddie and Christopher, for the family they had built together.

Fire in the blood. Not destructive but essential, not consuming but sustaining. The element that had forged their bond through crisis and calm alike, that had tempered them both into something stronger, more resilient, more capable of the love that now defined their shared life.

"What are you thinking about?" Eddie asked, glancing over as they stopped at a red light, his hand finding Buck's on the seat between them.

Buck smiled, intertwining their fingers with practiced ease. "Just how lucky I am. How lucky we all are."

Eddie's thumb traced patterns on Buck's palm, the simple touch conveying a depth of feeling that still amazed Buck after all this time. "It's not luck," Eddie said quietly, certainty in his voice. "It's choice. Every day, we choose this. Choose each other."

The light turned green, and they continued toward the station, toward the day waiting for them with its predictable patterns and unexpected challenges. Whatever it held, routine calls or life-threatening emergencies, quiet moments or heart pounding crises, they would face it as they faced everything now. Together, a unit forged in fire and built to last.

Fire in the blood. The heat that had drawn them together, that continued to fuel their connection through every challenge and triumph. The warmth that had created a home, a family, a life neither had imagined possible before finding each other.

The foundation, Buck realized as they pulled into the station parking lot, Eddie's hand still firmly grasping his, of everything that mattered. Everything that would endure, long after the flames had died down, leaving only the steady glow of what they had built together.

A light to guide them home, always.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

—

THE END.