Archive of Our Own

Buck is slow to return to awareness. The last thing he can remember is a bright blinding light and the lurching sensation of falling. He’s shrouded in darkness. It’s both familiar and not, like standing in your childhood home in the pitch black.

He can feel something next to him. He can’t look. Maybe physically, he’s not sure. He’s not about to try. He’s not frightened though, he feels weirdly normal. Maybe a little floaty. 

“Usually people’s lives flash before their eyes, but yours has been sad.” A woman’s voice says, gentle and heavy with melancholy.

Buck realises with a sinking feeling that it’s over. He’s dead. He thinks he should be panicking about this, but the acceptance has washed over him in a surge wave. Water has filled his body. He rocks in time with the tide. 

“I know.” He swallows thickly. “But, it's still mine. I still loved it.”

Oh, and he did. His chest aches with it. His life had so much pain, but there was also so much joy. 

“Would you like to pick a day to relive instead?”

His heart seizes. Yes. He doesn't want to waste any of his last precious seconds spending the first eighteen years in a home without love. He wants to get to the now, to Eddie, to Chris, to Maddie, to the whole 118 and extended fire family. 

“Y-Yeah, uh yes please,” he croaks. His throat feels dry.

“Which one?”

“I-” 

He takes a moment. A few ideas flash through his mind: Bobby and Athena’s barbecues, babysitting Jee-yun, spending the day hanging out with Maddie, maybe baking in her kitchen, the zoo with Chris and Eddie, karaoke with the team, the time they build Chris a skateboard, all the hundreds of shifts all together.

He feels a little stab of guilt as he settles on one. It’s actually quite boring. But it’s simple and he’s had enough excitement for one lifetime. Right now he just wants the quiet moments, wants them to soothe him into whatever comes next. It’s just a day mostly with Eddie. He feels bad for excluding everyone else. He feels bad for wanting Eddie in this way. He feels bad for the day he’s going to live and bathe in its domesticity enough to tide him over to the afterlife. But, nobody is going to ever know. Eddie is never going to know. So in the privacy of his dying mind, he lets himself have this, have Eddie. For the first and last time, all at once. 

Everything is warm. Everything feels good and calm.

…

His eyes blink open. They’re fuzzy with sleep. He doesn't remember closing them. He scrubs a hand over his face, blinking a few times. The morning sun is pouring in through the slats of the blinds. The curtains they’d forgotten to draw make no attempt to block it out. Eddie’s living room is soft with the promise of a new day, glowing in the pale light. 

He stretches out over the sofa. He feels more concrete, more in his body. The house is still silent, meaning it's before 6am. But not much before, based on the sun’s white glow and the still this side of pleasant heat. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to breathe it all in: the gentle soothing smell of home, the sound of birds singing to the nascent sun, the feel of the soft couch cradling his body. He’s not sure why he catalogues it all to memory, but he does. 

Beep Beep Beep 

Eddie’s alarm echoes down the hall. 

His heart seizes. He must’ve seen him for real only a few scant hours ago, but it feels like lifetimes. Knowing it’ll never happen again has him already grieving the sight of Eddie’s beautiful face. 

He bites down on his cheek. He forces away thoughts of Eddie having to go on living without him. He won’t waste this last day with sorrow. That can come after, if there is an after. 

Eddie groans groggily, shutting off the alarm. It’s muffled but Buck’s heard that sound a million times. He could pick it out in a groaning line up. He can picture the way he’s stretching out against the sheets, still heavy with sleep, his toned stomach arching off the bed, strong arms reaching wide. A smile tugs at Buck's cheeks. Every little thing Eddie does is so damn endearing, simply by virtue of it being Eddie. Being Eddie is a virtue in and of itself, in his opinion. 

Eddie’s slippers shuffle along the hallway. He stops in front of Chris’ door, knocking gently.

“Chris, bud. It’s time to get up.” His voice is rough with sleep, but soft for Chris. The swell of affection fills Buck’s throat.  

“Mhgnmm,” Chris groans. 

“Five minutes and then you’re up, mijo.”

The shuffling continues to the living room. Buck’s breath leaves him as Eddie turns the corner. He’s somehow more beautiful every time Buck sees him. He thinks that a lot. It’s like Eddie is so gorgeous his brain can’t catalogue it all to memory. It tries, but it's a pale imitation. He’s not even just saying this because Eddie is shirtless, although it does add to the artistry. 

“Morning, Buck.” His voice is still raspy. It’s delicious. ASMR central. His hair is mussed, sticking up in all directions. On anyone else it would look stupid. 

“Morning.” Buck’s throat feels dry. He can’t help the grin splitting across his face. He’d worry he’s obvious, but he’s lucky. Lucky that Eddie is so oblivious to romantic overtures. Buck is so dumb for him, it's kinda embarrassing.

Eddie grins back. It's bright and wide, lighting up his sleepy face, like the morning sun come to rouse them. 

“I can make pancakes?” Things like this just bubble out of his mouth around Eddie. Anything to keep that smile directed at him. 

“Yeah, that’d be good.” The smile stays pointed his way. “Thanks, buddy. You’re the best.”

He’s not. But he wants to be, for Eddie. 

Buck stretches some more, indulging in the lovely ache, really feeling every muscle and ligament shifting in his body. He twists side to side, rolls his shoulders. He should probably put a tshirt on, but it’s already getting hot. He’s unwilling to suffer even the most minor inconvenience and dampen his morning bliss. Plus, he doesn't want to deviate too much from the original day. It was already so great. Why try to improve on perfection?

He puts on a playlist made up of songs Eddie will hum along too, and begins on the batter. Eddie shuffles around blearily, puttering about. It’s cute how slow he is to come around in the mornings. Warm coffee is pressed into Buck's hands. It tastes that bit better made by Eddie. If that applies to Eddie’s cooking too.. Yeesh, it must be seriously inedible. An affront to taste buds really. 

The next song starts. He shimmies his hips, dancing about, mostly to make Eddie laugh, but partly because he’s so happy that it’s hard to contain it all standing in place. Eddie’s watching him with that twinkle in his eyes, an amused smirk playing about his lips. 

“Just take those old records off the shelf,” 

He knows this is one of Eddie’s favourites. He lifts his chin, goading him to dance along, to join him. Eddie rolls his eyes fondly, but stays still. His arms are crossed, pressing against his muscled chest, like he’s too mature for such nonsense. It’s for show. His eyes give it away. He’s looking at Buck like he needs permission. Like he needs to be pulled into it, and then he can be allowed to enjoy, because he didn't take it, it was given. That’s what Buck’s best at, he thinks, giving Eddie nice things. 

“I like that old time rock and roll,”

Buck steps to Eddie, putting a hand out, eyebrow raised. Eddie gives in. He takes his hand. Buck loves how fast he is to fold. Buck twirls him by his hand, spinning him out with a flourish before letting go. The feeling of Eddie’s warm hand grasped in his as he spins him out, like a girl Buck is sweet on, has butterflies swirling up a tornado in his stomach. Eddie laughs, eyes crinkled, and shoves his shoulder playfully. Buck feels the heat linger where his palm was pressed.

Buck grabs a spatula off the counter, throwing the rinsed off whisk to Eddie. They dance around, singing to each other passionately, ‘microphones’ in hand. He feels so close to him; Their eyes locked, mouths grinning. Eddie’s smiling at him, and it’s wild and free, a real smile. Buck can see his canines. Eddie looks the most beautiful when he smiles that smile. He glows. Buck swears it. Really, his eyes look brighter, skin more golden. This might be Buck’s favourite song now too. 

They groove to the beat, chests heaving, faces flushed. Eddie, even when fooling around, has an innate sense of rhythm. Buck envies it. It’s incredibly attractive, watching him sync with the beat, the motions of his hips, arms, shoulders. The dancing is ridiculous. They’re both sliding across the floor on their socked feet, their movements and expressions exaggerated. It’s fun. They play with the space, orbiting each other. They might move out, across, away, but always back around to the other.

Buck presses his back against the archway leading to the living room. 

“There’s only one sure way to get me to go,” 

Buck sways his hips, sliding his way down the wall, mouthing the words suggestively at Eddie. Eddie flushes, laughing raucously, before strutting past Buck, and jumping up onto the table. He dances, rolling his own hips, albeit with a lot more rhythm, putting on a little show for Buck. Heat flares through him. Buck tries very hard to resist the hypnosis. It’s particularly potent with how low Eddie’s joggers are slung. It’s indecent really. His hipbones jut out temptingly. Buck wants to lick a strip across them. 

The music is a bit fainter in here. Further from the speakers, their breathing can just about be made out over the din. Eddie reaches his hand down to Buck, palm offered up. Buck takes it, leaping onto the table. They boogie in a cheesy way, done to elicit a laugh. Buck shimmies his shoulders forwards. Eddie mirrors, leaning back to make room for him in his space, before reversing their roles and pressing towards Buck, letting him accommodate. Mirth shines in Eddie’s beautiful doe eyes. His gorgeous chiseled chest is heaving from exertion. Buck could live here forever.

His foot slips. Eddie grabs him, leaning backwards to counterbalance the lurch of his weight. Except he leans too far back. They go barrelling the other way. They slip and slide, giggling, gripping each other's shoulders and biceps, feet frictionless against the polished wood, before managing to steady themselves. 

Hysterical laughter draws their attention. Chris is doubled over, clutching his stomach. He’s still in his pjs, curls messy with sleep and glasses slightly askew. Buck feels like the grinch, the way his just heart grew three sizes. 

Their hivemind, forever firing on all cylinders, has them simultaneously clutching their ‘microphones’ in one hand, the other pointing at Chris, as they sing the next lyric. 

“With that old time rock and roll,”

Chris is splitting up too hard to pretend their antics are anything but amusing. They hop off the table, and circle Chris, marching around him with their faux trumpets for a few laps, before proceeding to the kitchen. Chris follows dutifully. They dance all three of them, together, to the last few lines of the song. Chris’ eyes crinkle the same way Eddie’s does when he laughs. Their twin smiles have Buck's heart so full it feels heavy, a reassuring weight in his chest, pressure like a tight hug. When it ends, they stand there for a moment, grinning so hard it hurts, faces warm and tinted pink. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Oh Shit!”

Buck lunges into action, dashing to the smoke alarm, wincing against its high pitched shrieking. Eddie takes the hot pan off the burner. He throws a dish cloth to Chris for him to fan the smoke, while he cracks open the windows. Buck presses the alarm off, holding down the button. He hadn't even noticed the smoke before. Too giddy to question the haze. 

The screech of the alarm quietened, they can finally hear the next song playing. 

“We’re not gonna take it. No! We’re not gonna take it!” 

“The stove is finally making a stand against Dad’s cooking?” Chris snarks. Buck snorts.

“Hey! That’s Buck’s handiwork. Not mine.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s not my fault.”

“How is it anything but your fault?”

“You distracted me.”

Eddie smirks, eyebrow arched, “I distracted you?”

Buck tries not to impersonate a tomato. And- uh, nope, fails. He definitely belongs in the produce section. 

“Yes.” He nods emphatically. Might as well double down.

Eddie has a predatory light in his eye. It’s a lot like the one that time Buck said he reckoned he could take him, after the grocery store fight. They do this sometimes, flirting into dangerous territory. It always sends heat racing through him, his whole body burning like a flare. This is when Eddie takes them back to safe territory. It’s his cue. 

“With my dancing?” Eddie’s chin dips down, disbelieving. His voice has followed suit. The angle means he’s looking up at Buck through his dark lashes. It’s earth shatteringly hot.

Damn, he missed his cue.

Buck’s eyes, like the rest of him, don't listen. So when he chants dontcheckhimoutdontcheckhimoutdontcheckhimout, it falls on deaf ears. He drags his eyes down Eddie’s beautiful toned chest, down his indecently low joggers, down to his bare feet, then back up again, so slowly you’d swear he was moving though molasses. 

Eddie’s eyes track the motion. Buck swears his eyes darken, pupils expanding. Hope is a dangerous thing, in the wise words of Lana del Rey. It has him seeing things not there. 

“When you’re done, I'd like my pancakes not chargrilled.” Chris is eyeing them in amusement. 

Buck definitely doesn't jump. It’s not personal that he forgot Chris was there. He loves the kid more than anything. It’s just when Eddie speaks, sometimes he forgets he exists himself. He’s just a ball of energy, devoted to hovering around Eddie, radiating love for that man.

He shakes himself. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course, Buddy. Coming right up.” 

Chris is still giving them that look. It’s knowing. He’s too teenagery these days. They’re always missing something.  

Eddie clears his throat. “I’d better- uh.” He gestures vaguely towards the bathroom. 

“Shower, yeah,” Buck says nodding solemnly. “You stink.”

“Watch it, Buckley,” he responds, voice stern, as he heads off towards the shower. It does NOT do things to Buck. No stirring in his pants. Nope, no siree. You’d think a lifetime of tellings off would dampen the warm fuzzy feeling he gets, but for some reason it’s different when it’s Eddie. Always is.

Chris rolls his eyes, gathering his crutches and pushing off from the counter. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Buck manages to make a stack of pancakes, sans soot, by the time both Diaz’ are stationed at the kitchen stools some twenty minutes later. Buck pours them fresh orange juice. He’s making a point to use the juicer after Eddie complained Buck’s always clogging up his counter space and cupboards with appliances he barely uses. He doesn't think about the drag path he’s leaving behind. Can't. They're his fingerprints when he’s gone, evidence he was here.

He’s turned the music down to a quiet drone. It fills the space, without drowning out their voices. 

Eddie’s shovelling down the pancakes. Buck wonders idly if he always ate like this. The hunched over, elbows on table, jaw yawning wide, is very characteristic of ex-military personnel. He wonders how much of it is Eddie, though. Would he still eat the same if Buck was dining with him years in the past? 

They don’t talk much over breakfast. The Diaz boys aren't chatty this early. The Dire Straits gentle them into the morning with the Sultans of Swing. Finishing up his juice, Buck claps his hands together. 

“We’re going to have to hustle if we want to stop by Metro Grind on the way to school.”

Chris nods, dutifully finishing off his last few bites. Eddie clears their dishes, dumping them in the sink to get started on while Buck gets changed. Buck grabs his rucksack, and hustles double time. He loves Metro Grind's coffee, loves Chris’ joy at it even more.

They meet back at the front door, pouring into Buck’s jeep. It’s a beautiful day. He has to keep adjusting his visor to see the road in front. He should’ve brought his sunglasses. Eddie’s fiddling about with the radio trying to find a channel up to his standards. 

“Now, do you believe in Rock n Roll? Can music save your moral soul?"

The sound crackles through the speakers. 

“Veto!” Chris jumps in instantly.

Fingers drumming on the warm leather of the wheel, Buck’s secretly a little disappointed. He likes this song. Eddie groans, he likes it too, but starts up his search again anyway. 

“I see a red door and I want it painted black.”

He turns to Chris, finger pointed in mock sternness,“No more vetoing.”

Chris grins, rolling his eyes,“I like The Rolling Stones, Dad.” 

Eddie turns to Buck, “You’re not planning on vetoing either?”

Buck rolls his eyes sassily, pitching his tone up, “I like The Rolling Stones, Dad.”

He keeps a straight face until Eddie bursts out laughing. Chris pretends to huff in offence, but he’s not very good at hiding his smile. Buck loves that about him, that he’s not very good at hiding his expressions. Not like him and Eddie. Means he’s not had the practice. 

Buck reaches a hand around while they’re held in traffic, aiming to ruffle Chris' hair. 

“Buuuckkk.” He dodges the hand. “Do you know how long it takes to style these curls?”

“I have some idea,” he says, gesturing to his own. 

“Oh, I'm sorry Buck.” He bares his teeth in a grimace. “I didn’t realise that was you putting effort in.”  

Eddie wheezes.

“Eddie! Tell your son to stop bullying me!”

“I can’t. It takes the heat off of me.”

Buck shoots him a wounded look. “Coward.” Then grumbles a bit quieter, “To think they gave you silver stars.”

“He’s only equipped to deal with actual warfare, not psychological,” Chris crows from the back. 

Eddie’s eyes crinkled with laughter is the most beautiful sight in the world. He might’ve already said that but it bears repeating. Buck would declare it one of the wonders of the world, but he doesn't want to share it. And when Eddie turns to look at him, the full force of that smile hits him, Buck thinks he’s been turned to dust and blown away. Parts of him dance away on the breeze carrying though the car. 

It’s a Friday, the last day of school before summer break. Chris got a bunch of tests back yesterday. He’d aced them, of course, a natural genius. Hence, the coffee to celebrate. They’d left a few minutes extra to get the drinks. Buck likes the human interaction of ordering at the counter, and Eddie’s certainly not going to advocate for technology to be further incorporated into their lives. Chris finds their ‘dinosaurisms’ amusing; he could order it for them through the app, and pick up inside, but if they order at the counter Buck will cave and get him a pastry. So sue him, he doesn't. 

Buck tries not to stare too conspicuously at Eddie’s ass as they walk inside. The way the uniform slacks frame his ass should be considered NSFW. It’s a tripping hazard at least; He can’t focus on the floor in front of him. He tugs at his collar. He can already feel sweat dripping down his shoulder blades, ugh. The uniform is hot in more ways than one unfortunately. The summer heat is not messing around in June. Not quite July heat yet though. Eddie would definitely be Mr. July in the calendar. 

The smell of fresh roasted coffee beans is orgasmic. It hits his lungs like a beautiful bean wall as they step inside. He breathes it deep, attempting to take it into his bloodstream via diffusion. Not that caffeine does anything for him beyond a mild placebo effect, but it’s still delicious. He gets an iced vanilla latte with oat milk for himself. Eddie rolls his eyes, but doesn’t complain when Buck orders him the same but with regular milk. 

“And you, bud?” Buck asks, turning to Chris.

“I’ll have an iced salted caramel latte with regular milk, please?”

“No pastry?” Buck’s forehead crinkles with concern. 

Chris grins. “Well, if you insist. An iced bun, thanks.”

“You spoil him with sugar,” Eddie grumbles, but he doesn't look mad. 

“You’re just saying that because you’re jealous,” Buck responds, tone teasing. 

He turns back to the lady serving them. “And an iced salted caramel latte with regular milk, and two iced buns, please.”

The lady repeats the order back to him, pressing buttons on her screen, biting down a fond smile. 

“Okay. That’ll be ready in a moment...”

“Buck.”

“Great. Just a minute, Buck.”

Eddie doesn't mention the bun or drink but Buck can tell he’s secretly pleased. He hums with it. It's like he's emitting a high pitched frequency, silent to everyone else, but buck can hear it. Buck is aware he's a dog in this analogy. 

“Order for Buck” 

He makes his way to the counter. The lady passes him the order with a comment of ‘Cute kid.’ Buck beams. Warm fuzzies overtaking him. He knows he shouldn’t indulge in such feelings, should probably feel guilty for feeling so delighted when he’s not his dad, but he’s just so damn proud of that kid.

She smirks, “His other dad isn't too bad either.” It wasn't said in a leering way, more like a maternal ‘good job kiddo, nice catch.' Buck can’t help the fission of pride at that too. It heats him up. He wishes he could take credit for real. He doesn't mention it when they pile back into the car. 

The rest of the ride runs smoothly, like a steadily flowing river. Although the lust coursing through his body does threaten to drown him. Buck keeps his eyes firmly on the road, testing the strength of the wheel when the hot summer sun melts the icing on Eddie’s bun. It drips down to his wrist. The white sticky frosting slid down oh so slowly. He licks it up in one sure strip, from the base of his wrist to the tip of his thumb. The trail of spit left behind glistens in the sun. Buck wants to lick it up. He wants to follow the path Eddie’s tongue took and capture that thumb in his mouth. He wants to hollow his cheeks and show Eddie what he can give him if he just lets him.

Buck doesn't, though. Buck valiantly endures. Somehow, he doesn't die of heatstroke or dehydration, because he’s incredibly strong like that. Durable, even, should Eddie wish to put it to the test. 

He stuffs those thoughts back down, forcing his head above the water, and taking a deep breath before they can cause any real trouble. Although the sun in the sky has a smile on its face, he does NOT want to be shining a salute to the American race right now. 

Luckily, or unluckily because it's a symptom of his years of pining with a high libido, he’s very good at pushing such thoughts aside. His flagpole’s bout of patriotism aside, he focuses on basking in the feeling of the warm sun beating down on his skin.

The wind ruffles the hairs on his arm where it’s slung across the door frame. He’s greedily trying to drink each moment in. He wants to absorb the light through his skin and vibrate with it. His fingers tap along in time to the song on the radio.

“This life hasn't turned out quite the way I want it to be,”

The lyric makes him pause.

His life hasn't in the slightest. If you gave him a hundred guesses as to how his life would've turned out, he never would've landed here. As Nickelback lists out the things they covet, he finds he can’t relate. He wouldn't trade what he’s got for the world. That’s not to say he doesn't yearn for anything. Sure, he wants more. But it’s more of what he already has. He wants more of Eddie, more of Chris, more of the 118. He's always had a great yawning hunger inside of him. It tears him apart that he won’t get anymore. His last moments.. Fuck, they’re a rerun. He's already had everything, and it'll never be enough. 

He shakes himself. Flexes his hands, feels the sleek leather.

“Gonna join the mile high club at 37,000 feet,”

Been there, done that. 

“Been there, done that,”

He clamps down on his lip to stop his laughter breaking free. It’s bordering on hysteric. Eddie notices, glancing over at him, because of course he does. He sends him an amused, mock-disapproving look. Buck bites his lip harder. His cheeks ache with the force of the laugh trying to escape him. He feels half mad.

Using the impressive mental muscles, honed in order to safeguard his sanity from Eddie induced madness, he pushes away melancholic thoughts. He doesn't want to spend the day ruminating. He just needs to refuse to process for a few hours, then he won’t feel all the complicated feelings. Once the feelings start they’re a lot harder to stop bubbling up. He’d know; Eddie isn't the only repression expert in this car. 

They pull up to the drop off. He jumps out, opening Chris’ door for him, helping him get positioned with his crutches, before squeezing him into a hug. He lets himself indulge in the fussing. Like somehow Chris, not Memory Chris, will feel it and know he cares. So, if he hugs him goodbye tighter than usual, hugs him like it's one of the last times he’ll ever do so, like he’s saying goodbye not just for the school day, but forever, well that’s his business. His voice is a little shaky when he says goodbye, but his eyes are dry.

A win is a win. He held it together. 

“He gets bigger every day."

Of course, Eddie is Mr.Melancholy. Impeccable timing as always. Buck swallows the burn in his throat, knowing he’ll never see just how tall Chris will grow. 

“Scared he’s going to be taller than you, old man?” It comes out a little raspy. 

“I want him to be more than me in every way.” Eddie says it with the utmost sincerity. And Buck isn't emotionally equipped to deal with this right now. Old defence mechanisms? Yup, sounds good. 

He smirks, “I’ve heard size isn't everything.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Of course you’d say that.” He clicks his tongue, eyes roving down to Buck’s lap pointedly, then back up to meet his gaze. “Sucks, we can’t all be proportional.”

Buck splutters, “Jerk! You know I'm not- I-.” There’s no dignified or convincing way to exclaim you’re packing. 

Eddie smirks, knowing he has him cornered. 

“I can’t get no satisfaction,” 

They both double over with laughter. He cackles so hard he chokes on it. Great big wheezes burst from Eddie's mouth. Eddie has actual tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over. It goes on for a good long moment. The sound of their shared humour filling the car, drowning out the radio. 

They finally get ahold of their giggles, Buck’s stomach aching, until their eyes lock and they dissolve again. 

“Stop! Stop!” He pleads, gasping for breath.

“I can’t-” Eddie wheezes out, “I can’t help it if your former partners are trying to communicate with us through the radio.”

Oh for God's sake. Buck grips his sides tighter, tears gathering in his eyes as more laughter is forced out of him. 

“Eddieee,” it’s whinier than intended. His sides are splitting open. The ache is almost sweet.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something equally hilarious, judging by the evil glint in his eye.

“Please,” Buck gasps out, giving him his most pitiful eyes. 

Eddie smiles. He does indeed take pity on him, switching over the radio station. Who says puppy dog eyes don’t work? They stare straight ahead, taking deep breaths while they both get a handle on themselves. 

Pulling out of drop off, Buck still giggles a little every now and again. Eddie is doing the same. It’s not even that funny, it’s just everything feels funny with Eddie. Things just tickle him. It’s like they vibrate against each other, waiting for a catalyst to allow them to bubble over. 

Thankfully nothing else triggers a reaction. They pull into work at 8:30am sharp. When he jogs up the stairs, Eddie right behind him, everyone else is already there. 

“Thanks for the cover, guys. I know it was last minute,” Bobby claps him on the shoulder. 

They’re only in for a few hours today. Maxwell and Jones needed cover until 2pm. Everyone else on A shift were in the middle of a 48 on. Buck is beyond grateful for this opportunity to come in for a little while.

“No problem, cap.” Bobby’s warm smile further affirms his choice, today over his life’s summary. He’s here with the paternal figure that matters. The one who has kept every birthday card Buck’s ever given him. 

Yeah, seriously. He actually does. 

Buck had been over for coffee at Bobby and Athena’s place. This was back when May had been packing for college. Athena had been feeling a little nostalgic; She’d pulled out May’s baby box. He tried to make a dumb joke about his lack of one, but it came out weird and stilted, like this throat was too tight.

That’s how the story came out, that his parents didn't keep any proof he existed. It was like he materialised one day, a fully formed adult. Athena's safe had softened. Not with pity, well, there was some pity, but mostly achey warmth. You know, like when someone you love is hurting and you can't help but you really wish you could. She pulled him into a tight hug, then told him to wait right there. She returned with a shoebox. Didn't say a word as she pressed it into his shaky hands.

He could've drowned in the wave of feelings that surged over him when he opened it. Inside was every card he'd ever given Bobby. All the Happy Birthdays, Merry Christmases, even a few joking Happy Father’s days. He’s man enough to admit he cried a little. A Lottle. It was like Maddie’s postcards again. 

Buck had parents. They didn’t look like everyone else's, but he did have them. 

He hopes this isn't written all over his face. He hopes his returning smile isn't wet. If it is, Bobby doesn't mention it, just squeezes his shoulder, firm and reassuring. 

He falls into the routine of the shift. BuckandEddie chat about nonsense with Hen and Chim, restock the ambo between them, answer pretty some routine calls (small grease fire, cat in a tree etc), and then it’s coming up to lunch time. He knows it's a weird choice to work on his last day, but it means he gets to see everyone, and helping people has always felt good. He loves the interaction with people. And something about working alongside Eddie makes him feel settled in his skin. He feels like he’s doing something right. He feels understood, when they work in tandem, like moving parts of the same piece. Like Marge and Bart when they rode that bicycle together. 

He helps Bobby by chopping up vegetables for a salad, fruit for fruit salad, and preparing some sandwiches. Bobby puts together potato salad, some other side dishes and fresh lemonade. He says it's too hot for hot food. Buck agrees. They’re having a picnic on the rooftop today.

It’s almost ready when he can hear a disturbance at the bottom of the stairs.

He can’t make out the words but the tone is instantly recognisable. He’d know that voice and tone through reincarnations. He's hear it if he was deaf.

Maddie is gently encouraging, cajoling really, what must be Jee. Warmth blooms in his chest. He can remember the rush of surprise the first time around, how the warmth had spread faster and sharper than it does now. Athena’s warm laugh sounds from the bottom of the stairs. She says something. Then, Karen can be heard replying. The loft comes alive. They all rush to the top of the stairs. 

He makes it there first, not because he had prior notice, but because you snooze you lose. He squats down.

“Jee! My most favourite niece!” 

She beams, pointing at him, “Buck!” Well, more accurately, ‘Bug!', but it's the thought that counts. 

He reaches his hands out, encouraging her, as she makes her way up a truly formidable ascent. She could be a mountaineer. At this rate she could be the first person to scale Karjiang I. When she finally reaches him, he grasps her tightly and spins in a circle. She shrieks her beautiful toddler laugh, still babyish in its rounded edges. 

He tosses her in the air, swinging her about. 

“Oh God,” Maddie turns away, “It makes my stomach queasy just watching.”

He grins, unrepentant. “You know, roughhousing is good for their development. It builds confidence and improves their spatial awareness. It’s especially important for kids with ADHD. Which, obviously, we don’t know if she has, but ya never know.” 

“Well, she’s definitely got your tendency to wander,” she smiles, holding up a backpack with fairy wings, a leash attached to the back. “Hence this while we’re on top of buildings.”

“Karen, do you need-” 

Karen is holding, or rather struggling against, a huge picnic blanket. 

“I got it.” Chim rushes over to help her corral the massive thing. They hold it between them, like they’re going to batter down a giant’s door. 

“Let’s go help Daddy set up.” Maddie opens her arms for Jee before following Chim up to the roof.

Buck turns to Eddie. “Can you get the speaker?”

“Where is it?” 

“I think it’s still in my locker, or uh- if not then the glovebox.”

“On it.” Eddie gives him a two finger salute, jogging off.

Buck helps Bobby grab the dishes and starts ferrying them up to the roof. Someone had already brought up colourful plastic plates, cups and cutlery. Maybe Hen? Setting down his goods, he steps in to help Athena juggle her Tupperware tower.

“Thanks Buckaroo.”

“No problem.” 

She draws him into a hug. He tries not to slump into it too much. He wonders what she’d say if he could tell her. She always manages to take control, stay calm, even in the craziest situations. Somehow she'd have an action plan. 

Eddie emerges onto the roof, speaker held up in triumph.“You wanna DJ?”

“Nah, all you buddy,” he grins. There’s a hint of challenge in there. 

He and Eddie have this ridiculous running bit at the moment. They’re both trying to convince the 118 that they have the most absurd favourite song. Buck began with Rasputin, Eddie with The Devil Went Down To Georgia. Somehow this raised no eyebrows. Buck progressed by adding Rock Lobster into his shower mix. Eddie retaliated with Cotton Eyed Joe, blaring from his car’s speakers as he pulled off after shift. Those both got a few giggles, some teasing. Then last shift Buck danced along to Witch Doctor, straight faced, as he made lunch. He’s eager to see what Eddie will go with next. 

It starts off normal, late 70s/early 80s rock, the type of stuff Eddie usually listens to, minus Nickelback, because he knows better than to provoke the ribbing he’d get for that.

Buck’s drawn back into conversation with Athena. The sun is almost too hot to be sat out in, but not quite. He closes his eyes, feeling it warm his face. His shoulder brushes against Eddie’s whenever he moves. Which is more than you’d think considering they’re both shovelling down the picnic like it’s their last meal. 

Oh. He guesses it is one of his last. The last he’ll ever share with his family, anyhow.

He refuses to let it turn to ash in his mouth. He swallows hard. Deep breathes. 

It’s a good last one. The lemonade is sweet, yet tart and fresh. It’s cool going down. The same relief as dipping your feet in a cool stream on a hot day. The sounds of everyone chatting and laughing lets his skin stretch as he flexes his hands. The sandwiches are good, potato salad better, obviously, Athena brought some grilled skewers that are just divine, and even better, there’s cake. He prefers the savoury to the sweet but he feels excited about the dessert knowing Eddie will be excited. He’s soft that way.

Looking around, he thinks again, it’s a good last one. 

“Let’s have some fun, this beat is sick, I wanna take a ride on your disco stick,”

Chim whoops. Hen laughs, “Who queued Gaga?”

Eddie, with an impressive poker face, hah, shrugs, as if to say, ‘Me, what’s the big deal? I do this all the time.’

“I didn’t realise you were a Gaga fan,” her eyebrow is raised in suspicion. 

“Really? I’m a huge Gaga fan.”

Oof, he’s stretching it now. Does he realise Bobby is a huge Gaga fan?

“What’s your favourite song of hers?” Yep, there’s Bobby chiming in.

Ruse is up. Buck:1 Eddie:0

“LoveGame.”

“Kinda basic, don’t you think?” Chim asks, chewing thoughtfully at his sandwich.

This is it. Eddie’s busted. 

“What? Can’t a guy enjoy the critically acclaimed 2008 hit album ‘The Fame’.” 

Wow, he did it. They said it couldn't be done, and yet he did it. Eyebrows everywhere hit the ceiling. Theirs, ceilingless, hit the sky. Except for Karen’s. She’s nodding as if this makes sense for broody Texas Military man Eddie. 

Even Buck would think this is far-fetched, and he has a lot more insight into the musical guilty pleasures of Mr. Feelings in a bottle, easy to rub the wrong way.

He will neither confirm nor deny having heard the song he’s definitely not alluding to echoing from Eddie’s shower once before. Allegedly, Eddie was so pink afterwards, when he got out and saw Buck had let himself in. Hypothetically, the flush would’ve been cute as it was delicious.

“It’s a good album.”

Buck is obligated to come to his defence. He did promise to always have his back, and he can admit this was well played.

“Anyone want a refill?”

Almost everyone hums in assent or voices a yes; The stuff’s draining faster than the sea pulling out for a tsunami's surge. He refills them all. When Jee crawls up to him, he offers her with a “Lemonade, it’s cold and it’s fresh, and it’s all homemade. Can I get you a glass?”

She giggles, loud and lilting. He should take her to the lake soon, feed some ducks together.  She’d love that. She’s really into ducks right now. They’d bring peas, of course, not bread, because that’s no good for them. Maybe they can go on- Oh.

Ouch. Okay. This is not easy. His throat convulses. He keeps forgetting. It's so easy to get sucked in.

He keeps the smile plastered on his face. It’s maybe a little tight but it should pass inspection. 

Having worked his way around the circle, finally, he turns to top up Eddie’s glass. He smiles at him, still feeling fragile. One word could shatter him. Eddie gives him a questioning look, but it's subtle, small, and not too probing. It’s gentle. Buck’s heart breaks a little more. He’s spent so long looking for someone who would see him, and now that he finally has it, he has to let him go. 

He clamps the wobbly attempt at fine onto his face harder. He can't think about leaving Eddie behind right now, not his Eddie whose already lost so much, and oh god whose back he promised to have. 

Eddie squeezes his arm, soft brown eyes saying ‘it’s okay, we’ll talk about this later.’ His jaw unclenches a little as gratitude floods him. Eddie is keeping him afloat when he doesn't even know what’s going on. Doesn't have to. Just dives in after him. He’s so stunning in the bright midday sun, he seems to glow. 

He glows a little harder, a glint in his eyes, when Karen pulls out a truly decadent cake. It’s artery-cloggingly chocolatey. Layers upon layers of rich goodness. She cuts big thick slices, gentling them onto plastic plates. Buck tries not to stare too hard at Eddie’s pleased little smile when he’s handed his. Buck’s thrilled to be sitting closer to Karen than Eddie is, it means he got to be the one to pass it to him. Buck barely realises he’s being handed his own. He fumbles to take it from Athena, eyes still glued to Eddie. It’s the cutest little smile. Tucked in at the corners like he’s shy to be so pleased.

Eddie closes his eyes and groans when he takes the first bite. Ugh, Buck could get drunk off that sound. He could bottle and drink that sound. Have they made sure he can’t be resuscitated with that sound? He thinks it could save him. Play it and he’ll rise again. 

Oh for crying out- Buck Jr also seems to be undergoing a resurrection right now. Curse his high libido. 

He’s glad for the sun beating down on him. It excuses the flush tinting his cheeks and the beat of sweat dripping down his temple. Although, he’s not sure how to explain his pupils in this light level. He ducks his head, exorcising the groan reverberating through his skull over and over. It echoes where his brain should be. Used to be?  

Eddie is making contented little humming sounds. Buck tries very hard to breathe evenly. 

“Karen, this is amazing. Where is it from?” 

Eddie’s voice muffled by the mouthful of cake should be gross. Unfortunately, Buck is a lovesick fool, so it’s endearing instead. 

“It’s a new bakery. It opened ‘round the corner from ours. I think the name is on the box.” She fumbles around for it. “Oh here you go.” She offers it up. 

Eddie snaps a picture on his phone, beaming at her. “Thanks.”

Buck wishes he’d be around to buy it for Eddie. To watch raptly as he devours a slice, in his living room, just them. Buck is a strange pervert with strange pervert whims brought out only by Eddie. Eddie turns to Buck, probably feeling the hole he’s boring into him with his hungry eyes. 

“Don’t you like it?”

“I-uh yeah it’s good.” His mouth hasn't been this dry since he took a bong rip frat party hungover.

Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion, glancing down pointedly at the untouched slice. “You haven't tried it.” 

“I will. I’m just.. Full. Right now.” Real convincing, Buckley. 

“This better not be another keto, green juice, paleo, no sugar thing again,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes.

Buck laughs, “No, don’t worry Eddie. I won’t make you eat anything too healthy for dinner.”

“It’s not healthy I have a problem with. It’s that it’s inedible.” 

“Oh, you wanna talk inedible? Have you tried your own cooking?”

“You take that back, Buck Buckley!” Eddie’s pointing an imperious finger at him, voice stern as he leans into his space. 

“Never,” he grins with too many teeth, up in Eddie’s face.

“Last chance. Take it back” 

“Or what?”

Eddie lunges.

How the bickering devolved into trying to snatch forkfuls of cake off each other's plates he doesn't know, but he wouldn't change a thing. 

Maddie and Jee stay behind after the picnic. It’s incredibly Q word for a shift. Buck thanks any Gods listening. Chim takes that time to give Jee a refresher tour of the station because ‘She’s older now. She’ll take more in.’ Even though Buck knew Maddie would choose to stay in the loft with him, relief floods him anyway when she stays put. It’s not his first rodeo, or ground hog day playthrough, whatever, but he still felt antsy at the thought that he might not get to have this unspoken goodbye. 

They’re nestled on the sofa, watching an old episode of Love Island. Well, watching is a strong word. It’s more the backdrop for their idle chatter. Just like it used to be all those years ago when she first came back to him, and they’d sit squished up against each other on the couch, the ghosts of their exes flanking them.

He’s struggling to focus on the conversation. It’s like her voice is playing with a lag. Her lips are moving but he can barely make out what she's saying. 

“I just don’t know if it’s insensitive to set Josh up with someone, y’know given everything, but Carlos is such a great guy, and he’s just moved to LA, so he’s really looking for a connection, and I know he’s not someone shady because we worked together. “

Buck hopes he’s nodding along and humming convincingly. 

She’s staring at him expectantly. Oh shit.

“I- Whatever you thinks best.” Oh great work Buck, real natural. 

Her brow crinkles, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah- I uh didn't get enough sleep last night sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. 

Her brows raise a little. Not relaxing, easing out, concerns abated, but in an unconvinced look. Maddie is really hard to lie to. “Maybe you should get some sleep while it’s still..”

He shakes his head a little too forcefully. “No. I.. I'm struggling to sleep. There wouldn't be much point.”

She looks at him for a long moment, eyes roving his face, searching, lips pursed. Buck tries not to squirm. Finally, she heaves a sigh. “Okay, but at least lay down and rest a little.”

He tries to tamp down his jubilant glee enough that the exultant grin threatening to break free can be negotiated down to a grateful smile more appropriate for the situation. He snuggles down, putting his head in her lap. She leaves her story there. They both turn their focus to the TV. He turns his face to the TV, at least. 

He’s grateful for the reprieve. It’s hard to perform right now. Sitting here with Maddie he feels like he’s trying to burst out of his skin. Being so close, knowing it’s the last time.. His bones ache with the tension. The secret is gnawing at him, trying to claw its way up his throat. He wants to be purged of it. Wants Maddie to absolve him of everything. 

It’s been easier not to tell Eddie about what’s happening. Not because he doesn't love and trust him, but he doesn't want to burden Eddie. Eddie is burdened enough. He’s used to trying not to burden Eddie. He’s used to keeping feelings and thoughts from Eddie. 

Whereas Maddie… Maddie has made it her life’s purpose to unburden him of every worrisome thought and navigate him through every arduous situation he’s ever encountered. She’s wheedled everything out of him since he could speak. Probably before then too. He doesn't know how to swallow the bile burning up his gullet, the horrible secret surfing the waves.

And.. as pathetic as it is, he wants his mommy. 

His eyes feel hot. He bites his lip. His fingers clench in the fabric of his uniform. 

He’s not ashamed to admit it. On scenes it’s uncommon for dying words to be a call for mom. Maddie said it's true for her too. She heard it all the time as a nurse, even as an operator. So yeah, he wants his mommy. Everyone does in the end. 

The need to tell Maddie he’s dying, and can she please hold his hand, is drowning him. He’s been trying so hard not to be scared, but she’s here now and it’s hard to be brave when he knows she’ll hold his hand. 

If he asks. 

He can't ask. 

His teeth clamp down onto his lip without enough force to draw blood. The metallic tang on his tongue helps bring him back to himself a little. He can’t do that to her. He’s not sure if she’d somehow remember any of this even if he did tell her, but he can’t take that risk. Maddie would believe him instantly, no hesitation, and spend the last of their time together futilely searching for a solution. It’s hopeless. God, and if she did remember it somehow, she’d spend the rest of forever torturing herself for not having saved him. 

It’s better this way. 

So he swallows it down. Again. He’s so full of it now he’s surprised he doesn't burst. He burrows his head further into her lap, smushing his face against her leg. It’s warm under his cheek. He takes her hand and he prays it’s casual the way he strokes it, memorising her. He lifts their intertwined hands and drops it on his crown. The weight resting there feels like heaving a great sigh after a long day. She tangles it into his curls, stroking her fingers through the lengths. Her voice is smooth, even, and dipped a little deeper as she begins to tell him a story they both know he’s not listening to. 

His jaw unclenches, breathing evening out, deepening. He keeps his eyes locked ahead. 

If she looks into his eyes he’ll be compelled to tell her everything. He wishes she had medusa powers instead. Let him freeze, turn to stone. Anything but shatter her. 

He closes his eyes. Her fingers gently casting through his curls, smoothing them out, rubbing circles into his scalp. She hums gently, it vibrates through his chest, rocking his heart. 

He’s five years old again and his big sister can save him. 

…

He must’ve dozed for a while. Seems stupid to waste some of his remaining hours snoozing, but one of life's greatest pleasures is being lulled by Maddie's voice and gentled into sleep by her soothing touch.

When he wakes he feels less emotionally exhausted. She smiles down her beautiful smile at him, smoothing a hand over his temple. It’s so similar to his own that sometimes when he missed her, when he couldn't see her anymore, he’d smile at himself in the mirror and pretend it was her. 

“Sleep well? She asks him playfully, her eyes glittering. 

“Mmgh, yeah.” He rubs his face against her thigh burrowing closer

She laughs, melodic and lovely. “Well I'm here anytime you need a nap. My stories have always got the job done.”

“Yeah, you’re so-” he stifles a yawn “boring.”

She rolls her eyes but they’re warm and fond. She ruffles his hair. “You’ve got to start sleeping more. You need a proper schedule. Can’t rely on my lullabies.”

He wonders if it’ll be like falling asleep. He wishes he could rely on them one more time. 

“Will soon. Working on it.” It comes out muffled, his face still squished into her. 

She’s been saying the same thing as far back as he can remember. So has he. Sure as the sun will rise each morning, Maddie will gently chastise his irregular sleep schedule. They sit there a few minutes in silence as he gets his bearings. When he feels strong enough he sits up. 

“You know it’s weird we haven't had a call in-”

Riiiiiingggg

He heaves a sigh, rolling off the couch. Yep, okay, that’s on him, he knows better than to acknowledge a slow day.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Buck!” She says rising off the couch. 

Ouch. 

“Yeah, uh, of course. See you then Mads.” He grips her in a slightly too tight, slightly too long hug. After a moment he forces himself to let go. He’s not sure how he got his fingers to comply. 

She follows him down the stairs and he feels like Orpheus, unable to turn back. Like him, he too fails. After his stolen glance he throws his turnouts on in a fugue state. 

Leaving her behind is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. Again.

When they pull up to the scene their actual work doesn't take too long. They put out a small fire started by an unattended hair curler. Nothing serious, Hadn't spread much. Two girls did sustain minor burns however, trying to wrangle the straighteners. The beauty queens, all safely evacuated from the pageant, loitered restlessly on the sidewalk. From the corner of his eye Buck can see Eddie eyeing them with a glimmer in his eye. It’s the same look he gets before unleashing the most groan inducing dad joke of the century. 

Buck waits for the stupid joke to fall from his lips. They’re heading back to the truck, side by side, shoulders brushing as they walk. They’d make terrible parallel lines. 

Eddie smiles, nudging Buck. “Glad nobody shrunk today.” 

Bingo. “And that we’re not giants.” Buck’s mouth stretches into a mischievous grin. “Bet you’re glad not to be in handcuffs again too.”

Eddie’s eyes glitter with the challenge, “Can’t say the same for you.”

He groans, cheeks heating. “We agreed to never mention that.”

“You brought it up first.“ Eddie’s grin is wide and unrepentant. 

“At least I didn't cry.”

“You looked like you were going to when she tried to take them off.” 

Buck scrunches his face into a mimicry of Eddie’s that day. “I don’t like this,” he hiccups. 

“Please,“ Eddie’s voice is pitched to a whine, “They feel good. I want to keep them on.”

Buck flushes red. Eddie looks too smug. He shoves Eddie lightly, palm pressed against his chest. “Shut up.”

“Hey! Hands to yourself or I'll have to restrain them.”

Buck scoffs, “As if you could”

“You don’t think I could take you?” Eddie shifts his body towards Buck, brow quirked with the gauntlet laid down.

“I know you couldn’t,” It comes out a little husky. Buck swears he can taste the tension between them, it’s bitter like ozone, and oddly metallic. The air feels charged, energy vibrating. He looks at Eddie’s lips. Then back to the eyes boring into him. Eddie wets his lips, parts them-

“Let’s saddle up,” Bobby’s voice cuts off whatever Eddie was about to say. 

Their bubble shatters. Eddie turns away, heading to the truck. Buck follows. When Eddie looks back at him, he still feels a faint sizzle on his skin. 

Their shift wraps up not long after that. He hugs everyone goodbye, much to the bemusement of Chim and Hen. His goodbye to Bobby is especially suspicious. He buries himself so hard in his arms you’d think he was trying to nuzzle under his skin, burrow in like a tick. Bobby, always the one to wait for the best moment to corner someone, doesn't say anything. If he did, Buck might’ve crumbled. Instead, he rubs firm reassuring circles over Buck’s back. The way Eddie does to Chris sometimes. The pressure helps hold him together. He feels like oobleck. 

How Bobby knew he needed it he doesn't know. Maybe he’s transparent. His parents always thought so. But Bobby sees that Buck needs this somehow. He squeezes him tighter than usual, lingers longer. Like a Disney park cast member, he isn't the first to let go. He lets Buck take what he needs. 

And when he finally feels Buck’s arms begin to relinquish him, he says quiet, close to Buck’s ear, for only Buck to hear, “Take care, kid.” 

Buck's heart feels too full and so empty all at once. Heals and shatters. Shatters and heals.

He pulls back, giving him his worst approximation of a reassuring smile. “See ya Bobby.”

“See you Friday, Buck.” Bobby gives him a warm paternal smile. It’s the kind that, as a kid, he thought he’d only ever see in daydreams right before he fell asleep. He’d imagine what it would be like to have a dad who was proud of him. Not for anything in particular. Just because he was their kid. 

He’s glad that now he knows.

It’s the greatest. 

He doesn't linger too long. He needs to compartmentalise, or covert goodbye after covert goodbye was going to send him crumbling down. 

He takes one last look at the firehouse, cataloguing the sleek silvers and the faint smell of the pine cleaner, before heading out. He's into his jeep before another bell can sound, tempting him to ride along. Eddie is sitting in his spot already. It’s funny how if anyone other than Eddie or an Eddie derivative sits in that seat it feels wrong. Time to go home. 

Drumming his hands on the wheel, a delightful breeze blowing through the window ruffling his hair, they spitball ideas for dinner. They settle on pasta. The temperature is finally starting to drop a little, but it’s still uncomfortably warm. Probably too warm for such a heavy meal, but he likes pasta, and more importantly, Eddie likes pasta. 

Eddie smiles so pretty when Buck suggests it.

His skin is glowing a gorgeous golden colour. His neck is stretched back in a long line, Adams' apple poking out, as he rests his head back against the seat. His long lashes rest on his face. They flutter occasionally, like a butterfly’s wings ruffled by the breeze.

He looks so peaceful like this, in repose, like a cat basking in sunlight pouring through window slats on a laminate floor. 

Thankfully, they’re free from their stifling uniforms. Sweat is no longer dripping down Buck’s back in rivulets. His arms are still kinda clammy, but the breeze ghosts cool fingertips over his bare skin. 

It’s hard to keep his eyes on the road. After ten or so minutes, Eddie keeps reaching forward to mess about with the radio. The movement naturally drawing his eye, and the corded muscles coated in a thin sheen of sweat, naturally gluing them there. 

“You know, if you don’t like anything on the radio, you can connect with my phone.”

Eddie makes a face. 

Buck sighs, “Look it’s just-” he picks up his phone, handing it to Eddie. “Open the app. It should connect automatically.”

After a few long moments, Eddie succeeds. He scrolls through Buck’s phone looking for something to play. 

“I think I have my next song picked out. My favourite song.” Amusement tinges his tone. 

Buck glances at him, curious. “Play it?”

“Nope.”

“Please, c'mon Eddie, I'm your best friend. I should know your favourite song.”

“It’ll spoil the surprise.” 

“If it’s that good, I'll ruin your chances at convincing them, since I won’t be able to keep a straight face.” It’s hard to give puppy dog eyes while looking at the road.

Eddie considers. “You make a good point, Buckley. Fine.”

It takes Buck a good moment to recognise the song. It's new to today. At first he doesn’t get what’s so ludicrous about this song. Yeah, the rap is a little salacious but that’s not too uncommon for the genre. Then it hits the chorus. 

“When it comes to a snack-pack I can’t lie, I wanna ride, can I ride?”

Buck chokes on the laughter shocked up out his throat. He sputters for a moment before exclaiming, scandalised, “Eddie!” 

Eddie grins at him, unrepentant. 

“You realise between this and disco stick they’re going to think you’re trying to say something.”

Eddie shrugs, “I'm not celibate.”

Buck ignores the coil of jealousy, focusing on his heating face. Jesus, how does he explain this so Eddie doesn’t- 

“Eddie - I- uh, I meant it more sounds like you want to um -”

“Ride?” Eddie smirks. 

Buck tries not to choke on his tongue. Images of Eddie on top of him, strong thighs straddling, working himself up and down on-

He manages to get a hold of himself. He perseveres. 

“It sounds like you want to y’know-” He does a stupid lasso gesture, his voice is strangled “-Cowboy.” 

He expects Eddie to be a little, he doesn't know? Shocked? Off-put? Just react in some way?

He just shrugs again, then says all casual, with a sharkish grin, “I am a Texan.” 

Buck checks if the ceiling has any advice. He massages the bridge of his nose when it doesn't. He’s not sure what to do with this conversation. He can’t tell if Eddie is messing with him, or really doesn't understand the message he’s putting across. It seems so obvious, but then again when Sir-Mix-a-Lot sang about wanting to ride, it didn't have the connotations it now holds.

He thinks about trying again. But he can’t think of another way to say it, or at least not one that isn't ‘it sounds like you want to bounce on cock.’ And he doesn't have the strength to look his best friend in the eye and say that. Eddie’s going to have to learn the hard way. Pun NOT intended. 

He gives changing the conversation a go, instead. 

“Did you ever used to ride bulls or horses in Texas?”

“Of course I did. Good luck finding a bull that can throw me off.”

Spit pools in his mouth. God. The cocky tone just does something to him. His blood migrates so quickly he has brain freeze. 

Eddie’s thick thighs bracketing his, clamped tightly, as he braces a steadying hand on Buck’s chest; The image is burned into his brain. He shakes his head to try and dislodge it.

Nope. Etch-a-sketch logic sadly doesn't apply. The brand remains. Branded like a Bull, his brain supplies helpfully. He’s using every ounce of energy right now to keep his jaw clamped shut, so he doesn't say something stupid like ‘I bet I could', or ‘They don’t call me Buck for nothing.’

His jaw spasms. He tries to breathe deeply. He adamantly ignores his soldier’s moral. He focuses instead on Eddie. This seems counter productive, but his obsession with Eddie runs so deep he can drown in any aspect of him. He dives into the drop of information Eddie has provided about his past. 

“You did Rodeo?” It comes out a little dry, croaky. 

“Bull riding,” Eddie says it so casually. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world and not stupidly interesting and stupidly hot. Buck loves how he’s pretty sure he’s the person that knows Eddie best in this world, can read him the best, and yet he’s always surprising him.

It used to make him feel insecure, that he wasn't there for all that came before him,  but he knows now that those versions of Eddie are what led him to the one before Buck; He knows this Eddie inside out. That’s what matters. 

“Were you any good?” 

Eddie’s grin is cocky. “Of course I was. You think these muscles are for show?” He flexes his biceps. 

The flexing of those beautiful thick ropes of muscle gets him all hot. They’re gorgeous biceps, but it’s more than that. They’re Eddie’s biceps. Strong and capable. He’s seen them in action: carrying people, hauling debris, staunching bleeding. They’re not for show. They’re so very undeniably capable. 

“Sorry, I took you more for a show pony. Didn't realise you were riding the pony.”

“Bulls, Buck. I was riding the Bulls.”

“Right. Can’t forget our cage fighter likes the aggression.”

Eddie laughs, eyes crinkling. “Did you just say I like it rough?”

Buck’s grin splits his face so wide it feels like a Glasgow grin. “If the boot fits, cowboy.”

When Eddie’s eyes glint in the afternoon light, meeting his own, a stretch of smile so wide, one usually only Buck draws out of him, he feels warm inside. It starts in his chest, emanating outwards until even his fingertips feel fuzzy. 

When they get inside, Eddie hops into the shower while Buck starts pulling out the things they need to start on dinner. It gives him a moment to think. Not ruminate, just reflect a little, on this day and why he chose it. 

He likes that this day was one particularly full of music, that the weather was good, that he got to see everyone he holds dear, that the shift was easy and the day flowed sweet and slow like honey. He likes that he spent almost every second with Eddie. He likes the extra flirty tone of their interactions today too. 

It happened sometimes. Somedays they’d press right up against that line, but never crossing. He liked it so much not just because for a moment he could clear his head and delude himself into thinking Eddie liked him back. Not just because it lit his nerves alight under his skin either, every atom of him burning with a heady want. It was because of the easy nature they did it. It rolled off his tongue. It felt like a dance. Eddie surprised him, yet never caught him off guard. It was the best reminder that they just meld together.

They can venture into uncharted territory, but simply by virtue of being together you’d have sworn the road was well travelled. 

It’s one of the times he feels closest to Eddie. 

By the time Eddie has showered, they’ve switched places, and dinner is finally starting to be prepared, the light outside is softening. It’s not dim by any means, but the harsh glow of the sun has gentled into something kinder. He’s gentled the lights inside to match. 

The kitchen is illuminated by the warm orange glow of a lamp he’d bought Eddie early on, insisting that if he was going to be cooking here regularly it would not be under the tyrannical glare of the big light. Soft country music croons from the speaker. Not Eddie’s choice. Eddie actually prefers jazz but Buck likes to tease him, insisting he ‘connects with his roots,’ and well, okay sue him, he likes country music. 

“Maybe I didn’t love you, quite as often as I could have,”

He’s glad this is never a regret he’ll have when it comes to Eddie. Willie Nelson might, but not him. He was gone the moment Eddie’s eyes had softened talking about his son that first day in the truck. When he’d put aside his answering hostility, to pull out a picture of Chris, and glow with pride, yep, Buck didn't stand a chance. 

Eddie is chopping vegetables in neat slides of the knife. Steadfast, sure. He wasn't much of a cook, but he was great with reliable tasks like this. Ever the soldier. His eyes are focused on the task at hand. He looks so beautiful, it takes Buck’s breath away. The curve of his jaw, the line of his nose, the swoop of his cheekbones, all illuminated softly. God. He worries sometimes his eyes aren't a high enough resolution to catch it all. He worries his brain doesn't have the processing power to piece together the splendour of each feature into a complete piece. 

“You were always on my mind. You were always on my mind,”

He is. 

Maybe he feels the weight of Buck's gaze, heavy with adoration, because he looks up. And those eyes, those beautiful brown cow eyes, magnetise him. 

“This good?”

“Yeah.”

He can’t tear his eyes away to look down. He already knows it’s good. Even if it wasn't, he’d love it. There’s nothing Eddie could do that he wouldn't love. It’s better having simply been touched by Eddie. 

He hopes he’s better, having been touched by Eddie. 

Eddie smiles that lovely gentle smile at him. It’s private and pleased. It exists mostly in the walls of this house. Buck’s lips have responded without needing to be told. Having his back is instinct. 

They cook in companionable silence for the most part. There’s some idle chatter but mostly they take the time to unwind after a shift in the sweltering LA heat. It’s finally started to break by this hour. He can attribute some of the tension leaving his shoulders to that, and not the bubble he’s found himself in. 

The lazy rhythm snags his attention. It's one of his favourites. He hums idly along. He moves back to Eddie, stepping away from the stove. Eddie looks up at him. 

“You’re as warm as a glass of brandy,”

When the warm light hits his eyes, it’s the exact hue of brandy. The burn in Buck’s chest feels just the same too. 

“And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time,”

He thinks sometimes it’s for the best that he doesn't have Eddie’s love in that way. It would be too potent. He’s already drunk on what he has. 

They putter about. Finishing touches now. 

As if to taunt him, the next song is In Case You Didn't know. 

When Buck lets himself look at Eddie like this, with nothing masking his adoration, he feels like a spider. He’s charted all of Eddie’s movements, so he can choreograph around them. He winds a path around him, like ships in the night, leaving him undisturbed.

It’s moments like these, when Eddie changes routine, he feels it most. They’re frozen as they both stare at each other. Eyes wide, both a little frightened, as they ask what now? 

And true to the metaphor, his eyes skitter away, cloistering in the dark. 

It’s moments like this he wonders sometimes if Eddie is kindly pretending not to know how he feels. But then he doesn't think that’s Eddie’s style. When he chances to move again, Eddie’s cheeks look a little pink. 

“I would be lyin’ if I said that I could live this life without ya,” 

His heart crumbles in his chest. Old stone walls collapsing into the ocean, washed away by the waves. The pit in his stomach is deeper than the Mariana Trench. He’s selfish, so selfish, because even in his anguish for Eddie who’s going to have to do this life without him, he’s glad it’s not the other way around. Because he doesn't think he could. 

Eddie’s eyes meet his. When those dark eyes drink him in, absorbing him into their depthless beauty, he feels seen. It’s one thing to be invisible, to spend your life having people look through you, it's another completely, to be banished back beyond the veil, having known what it’s like to live.

The door rattles open and shut. 

“Dad, Buck, I'm home.”

“Hey bud,” Eddie calls back. 

Buck yells, “Great timing. It’s nearly ready.”

“Good. I'm starving.” Chris smiles as he enters the kitchen, dropping his school bag on the floor. 

Eddie’s brow is scrunched. “You didn't eat anything down Jake’s house?”

Chris shrugs, “Nah, I'd rather wait and have Buck’s cooking.”

Buck, very bravely, doesn't burst into tears. He nods sagely instead. “Jake’s moms’ cooking isn't the best, but it's better than Eddie’s. You made the right choice, kiddo.”

“Every day I am bullied inside my own home!” Eddie laments, tossing his head back dramatically.

Buck and Chris snicker.

“Nothing you don’t deserve. Chris, you mind setting up the table?”

It’s more of a formality to ask. They've had their roles for years. Eddie’s on drinks. 

When they’re all settled at the table Buck asks, “How was science club?” 

“Kinda boring. Peyton nearly set Ashley’s hair on fire but I don’t think that was an accident. Jake said that Brooke said that Ashley was behind the bleachers with Casey yesterday after lunch.

“Who’s Casey?”

Chris gives him an exacerbated look. “Peyton’s boyfriend, duh.” 

Buck knows it's strange but he kind of enjoys the teenage attitude. He’d have never talked to his parents like that. Every conversation with them was careful. Like talking to a boss that kinda hates you for no reason other than that you exist in their vicinity. Which, he guesses they kinda were. 

Smile twitching at his lips, he replies, “But what’s the big deal? If they were just hanging out?”

Chris rolls his eyes so hard they might detach. Eddie’s eyes dance with amusement. It’s a little more fond than usual. Buck wonders if he’s thinking the same thing. 

“Because! Everyone knows if you’re under that part of the bleachers it’s like where everyone goes to make out. And they’re not even friends.”

“So then why didn't Peyton just talk to Casey about it if she thinks he’s cheating?”

“Because nobody saw him actually cheat. If she accuses him she’ll look crazy.” 

“Less crazy than setting someone’s hair on fire?”

Chris shakes his head. “She didn't actually do it, plus there was like plausible deniability. Also Ashley lowkey deserves it. She kissed Peyton’s last girlfriend.”

Teenage drama was the best. “While they were together?”

Chris looks at him like he’s the dumbest person on the planet. “Obviously. Peyton was so upset she didn't come to school for a week, and when she did, she had bangs.” 

Buck can’t get enough of the stories Chris tells. He can remember how his parents were never listening when he tried telling them stuff like this. He tried for a lot longer than most people would. He was maybe fourteen when he finally gave up. 

“Oh wow, that’s seriously rough.” He tries to look a bit sympathetic. “Did they look bad?”

“The worst. They were uneven. She cut them herself and her forehead is way too small for bangs.”

Buck bites his lip, grin tugging at the corners. He can’t risk a glance at Eddie lest it escape containment. 

“So did she say anything to Ashley after that?”

“Nah, she dropped it.”

Chris' eyes possess a mischievous glint. He leans across the table, adding “Kaitelynne thinks Ashley did it because she actually wants to kiss Peyton. But like I don’t know why she’d be sitting with Casey since she’s a lesbian. Kaitelynne said she might be bi just to kiss Casey but I'm not sure that’s how that works.” When his forehead scrunches, confused, he looks just like Eddie.

 “So why do we think she likes Peyton?”

Chris grins as he launches into a saga spanning over a year, including every minute detail that proves this theory. His enthusiasm lights Buck up inside. He’s talking animatedly, gesturing wildly, pasta mostly forgotten, just happy to share this story with Buck. 

Buck’s parents had said he’d understand the choices they’d made, how they treated him, when he had his own kids. He knows Chris isn’t- but, it feels- Ugh. Anyway, what he’s trying to say is that he has never understood them less. Everything Chris says is fascinating, he wants to be around him always, he wants to hug him as much as his grouchy teen self will allow. There’s never been anything hard about loving him. 

Maybe that’s because Chris is the best kid, but he also thinks he’d love him just the same even if he wasn't. 

Buck looks at Eddie, watching his son, face warmed by affection. He used to dream of family dinners, like this. His dinners, after Maddie left, were mostly sitting at the table on his own. He wasn't allowed to eat in his room unless he was sick, and they were never really home. 

After dinner, they move to the couch to play a video game for a bit. They settle on some military battleroyal game at Chris' insistence. It’s not one they’ve played before (excluding Buck’s first run of today). It seems kinda similar to Fortnight, which he played a little of during Covid. His first loop around hardly counts either since they didn’t play too long. They have to play as a team working together to be the last man standing. 

They’re in their usual positions: Eddie is sat on the floor with his back pressed against the arm of the sofa, Buck is sprawled across the cushions, head dangling down next to Eddie, one leg draped across the back, Chris is slumped in a pile over the opposite end. 

They play the first round and Eddie is comically terrible. Like, so bad Buck and Chris got mad at him for throwing. It’s only after another round that they realise he was just.. that bad. And even funnier, was Eddie’s utter disbelief that he could be so terrible at the game. 

“Cheat!” Eddie points accusingly at Buck, glaring.  

Buck groans, “Eddie we’re on the same team and I am literally pulling my punches.”

“How are you so bad?” Chris sounds genuinely concerned. 

“I’m not! That wasn't my fault!” 

Ever the boots on the ground, Buck presses the question, “How are you so bad at this? You’ve been in an active warzone.” 

Eddie huffs, “This is nothing like real life.”

 “Yeah, thank God, I'd be an orphan,” Chris quips.

Eddie looks so genuinely scandalised that Buck wishes he had a camera. 

Buck snickers, “I don't know Eddie. You’re riddled with bullets. Looks pretty accurate to me.” 

Eddie groans. “When will the bullying end? I raised you better than this Chris.”

Buck can’t help himself. “You're lucky to have raised him at all with an aim like that.”

“Your team is supposed to have your back.” Eddie throws his controller down. “I’m rage quitting.” 

Chris nudges Buck, stage whispering, “You’d think he’d thrive in a hostile environment.”

“I’m behind enemy lines,“ Eddie declares, flopping down dramatically. 

They switch to a street fighter game after that. Eddie still loses most of the time, but at least he puts up a good fight. They get to rib him about his skills not transferring some more.

When Chris wanders off to his room after a few rounds, Eddie grabs them both a beer from the fridge. It’s ice cold. It feels like heaven sliding down his throat. The evening heat is nothing like the summer swelter of midday, but it’s still warm and muggy. It sticks like sweat on his skin. Eddie resettles on the couch next to him, their bodies angled towards the other. He feels like they orbit each other sometimes. 

The room has a bluish glow from the TV. Buck had switched the channels when he left. The soothing even tones of the documentary narrator fill the room, educating them on the Great Barrier Reef. 

Buck watches the condensation drip down the bottle in Eddie’s hand. He tracks the movement as it’s brought to his lips, and he swallows, throat constricting. It’s hard to believe anyone has ever been this beautiful before. Buck’s a lucky guy to have seen it up close.

He tugs his gaze away, picking at his beer’s label. His eyes are focused on the TV, but his mind is elsewhere. He rips off little bits of paper and rolls them between the pads of his finger and thumb. They smooth into little balls. He lets them fall. They litter down onto his sweats. He just keeps picking, rolling back and forth, and dropping.

Eddie turns to look at his face. He keeps his eyes trained on the ocean. 

“What were you upset about earlier, at the picnic?”

“I wasn't upset about anything.”

Eddie gives him his ‘Bullshit’ look. It’s less effective now that he’s avoiding his gaze. Eddie knows this. 

“Buck,” he puts a hand on his shoulder. Buck’s skin tingles under his t-shirt.

He sighs, meets his gaze. “I wasn't upset about anything.. I was thinking, reflecting, you know?”

“Reflecting on what?”

Buck sighs again. “It’s dumb.”

Eddie waits him out. Bastard. 

“I was just looking around, and everyone's got families, and I'm thirty, and I'm wondering if I'm ever going to have that,” It comes out all croaky and sad. He swallows thickly, stomach sinking with the knowledge that he never will now. He shifts in his seat. His leg, where it’s pressed against Eddie’s, rustles the fabric on both their joggers. 

Eddie looks saddened by this admission. It’s hard to pin the expression down more specifically, since his face has shuttered. His jaw works, like he’s struggling to force the words up and out. 

“You have a family, Buck. You have all of us. You have me and Chris.” 

Buck does think of them as a family sometimes. Not in the way Eddie means though. He feels like crap for thinking of Chris as his son as much as he does. It way oversteps, and it’s so disrespectful to him and Eddie. 

Eddie must read something on his face. 

“You have me and Chris,” he says more forcefully. “You know he thinks of you as…” he trails off, ducks his head for a moment. He steels himself, returning Buck’s gaze again. “You’re his Buck. The will- The will didn't change anything. It wasn't to change anything.” Eddie looks like he might have an aneurism. 

Buck is trying so hard to understand what’s being communicated to him. His head is titled like a puppy’s. His ear is almost pressed to his shoulder. He leans in a little, as if getting closer will help. Like it’ll boost the signal for telepathy.

Eddie huffs in frustration. He tries again, “The will just formalised what’s already there. If anything happens to me, you get Chris, not because I'm giving you Chris. You already have Chris. It’s to stop anyone trying to take him away from you.”

Buck’s vision swims. A tear overflows, trailing a path down his cheek. 

“I-” He doesn't know what to say. How to say it. What do you say when you get everything you’ve ever wanted and no time to revel in it?

Eddie puts a hand over Buck’s. “You have a family, Buck. You’re not on your own.”

The warmth blooming in his chest is strong enough to block out the bone deep ache at the thought that Chris is losing anyone else. It warms him enough to thaw his heart, which had frozen over with terror at the mention of Eddie’s no longer viable contingency plan for Chris. 

He does have a family. He does have somewhere he belongs; It’s right on this couch. It might be unconventional, but he wouldn't trade it for anything else. 

The surge of affection for Eddie is stronger and deadlier than any tsunami. It’s indescribable. To know that someone trusts him, Buck, whose name has been synonymous with recklessness, stupidity, hell, even expendability, his entire life. And it’s not just anyone and with anything. It’s Eddie, who struggles to let anyone in. Eddie, trusting him with the most precious thing he has, the thing he treasures more than his own life. 

He wouldn’t change anything. He thinks this was a life well lived. 

Eddie’s hand is heavy on where it rests on his. The heat radiating it travels through Buck’s body. It warms him like hot chocolate straight to the veins. 

“Thank you.” His grateful smile is a little wet.

Eddie just squeezes his hand. They’re sitting so close now. Practically in each other's laps. The silence hangs. It’s not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. It’s settled like a heavy blanket over their shoulders. Neither tries to say anything. They just sit, eyes locked. Like maybe if they look hard enough they can project the things it’s hard to say into the other’s mind. They can transcend spoken word.

Looking into those beautiful doe eyes will be the last thing he ever does. 

Buck has no regrets at all. 

…

It’s disorientating. He’s sat there gazing at Eddie one moment, the next, he’s lurched away, standing as a spectre watching himself instead. From here they look like lovers. 

“I wish I kissed him,” he finds himself thinking out loud. “I don’t regret anything else. Everything brought me to here.”

He can’t tear his eyes away from them. They look like everything he’s ever wanted. 

“I just.. regret not kissing him,” His voice is wrecked, “And now it’s too late.. and I never will.”

“I really shouldn't be doing this,” The gentle voice from earlier is back, “Aw, fuck it!”

He lurches and he’s back there again, staring into the most gorgeous eyes there’s ever been. He doesn't hesitate. He doesn't process being back in this body. Before he can fully feel his corporeality, he’s lunging forward to tangle a hand in Eddie’s hair and finally bring their lips together. 

Eddie startles a moment, but before Buck can even start to wonder if he shouldn't have, Eddie’s hand is twisting a fierce grip into his curls. He kisses like he’s starving and Buck is sustenance. Buck can taste his tears on their lips. He thinks it might not just be his tears. There’s salt water in his mouth. He’s drowning and he doesn't want air. His hand trembles as it cards through Eddie’s impossibly soft tresses. He keeps trying to pull him closer. It’s too much and not enough. He needs to breathe him in. He needs to meld them together, BuckandEddie. 

Faintly, he can hear I Love You So. He wonders if Eddie can hear it too. 

Their lips brush, sliding together as they crest and fall like waves. Buck wants to drown in them. The rhythmic passion extends to their hands, who seem to also move in time with the tide. As he rises and falls with Eddie, he’s lulled. Despite the strength of the passion, he’s soothed. It feels like coming home. It feels like everything he ever dreamed of and more. It feels so perfect and complete his heart slows to meet the steady pace of their rise and fall. They rise and fall, rise and fall…

…

Eddie wakes with a start. He lifts his fingers to brush his lips.. It was like...

…

In room 232 the monitor beeps with the rise and fall.. rise and fall…. rise and fall fall fall