Archive of Our Own

I'll do anything to be happy

Oh, 'cause blue skies are coming

But I know that it's hard

Buck, wake up!

Buck blinks slowly, the early morning light filtering in through the window warm against his face as he rubs at his eyes. He has half a mind to turn over and go back to sleep. His legs are tangled in a blanket, the strings of his hoodie tucked just beneath the collar. There’s a slight pressure squeezing the ankle on his good leg, steadily shaking him back towards consciousness. Buck frowns, still on the edge of whatever he is dreaming about. It’s hard to make out now, just dark shapes shifting against his eyelids and a deep, aching feeling in his gut that makes his stomach roll unpleasantly.

“Buck,” he hears his name, the voice quiet and concerned, “please.”

That has Buck shifting into a sitting position, his palms pressing into the cushions of the Diaz couch. The last thing he catches from his dream is the sound of splintering wood, a door slamming into drywall, and a looming silence that steals the air right out of his lungs. He tries not to inhale too loudly, focusing on the small pad of fingers against his bare skin right where his socks cut off at the ankle. The living room shifts around him until Christopher comes into view, eyes wide and waiting, his grip on Buck tightening with every passing second.

An easy smile slides across the corners of his mouth, “Hey, buddy,” he breathes a little easier, despite the dredges of his dream weighing heavily against his chest.

“You were mumbling in your sleep,” Christopher says with a furrow in his brow that reminds Buck so much of Eddie it’s almost too much to handle at seven in the morning, “and you looked scared.”

Buck licks his lips, runs a hand through his disheveled curls, but his brain feels a little foggy, like someone coated it in syrup while he was sleeping. Now that he’s more awake he can’t remember much of anything. There’s just an uncomfortable heaviness on his sternum he doesn’t know how to explain. He absentmindedly rubs at his chest to try and dispel it.

“Probably just a bad dream,” he tells Christopher honestly.

They all know each other well enough that lying about things like that does them no good. Christopher lets Buck go before he rounds the couch, reaching out to wrap his arms around Buck’s neck. Buck pulls Chrisopher into a tight hug and some of the exhaustion seeps from his bones. He pokes Christopher in his side, pulling a giggle from the boy, “What are you doing up so early anyway?”

“Saturday morning cartoons, duh.”

“Waffles?” Buck asks as he ruffles Christopher’s curls, noting that they’re just as messy as his own.

“With chocolate chips,” he nods, not asking because he knows Buck will give in approximately ten seconds into the puppy dog stare.

(He’s getting more resistant to it, he swears.)

“As if there’s any other way to eat them,” Buck scoffs before he releases Christopher so he can get up and make his way to the kitchen.

Christopher turns the television on low volume and makes himself comfortable in Buck’s rumpled covers. Buck ducks his head, smiling before he rounds the corner, beelining straight for the coffee maker. He quietly pads around the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise since Eddie is still sleeping. Something warm buzzes beneath his skin, knowing Eddie is still safely tucked away under the covers of his bed. Buck remembers the long nights where sleep didn’t come easily to Eddie, the dark circles and sharp edges of his face that proved just how exhausted the man was. Buck will happily make breakfast too early in the morning if it means Eddie gets to sleep a little bit longer. He scrubs a hand over his face, taking a long sip from his coffee, silently thanking anyone who is listening that Eddie restocked Buck’s favorite creamer in the fridge.

It’s not that Buck doesn’t want to sleep.

He does. He really, really does. But he finds falling asleep to be more and more difficult these days. He shouldn’t be too surprised, he’s been prone to horrible bouts of insomnia all his life. Sometimes it’s just worse than others. And right now it is downright awful. The only positive thing to come out of his sleepless nights is that he’s perfected this gluten-free sugar cookie recipe he’s been working on for months since Karen mentioned that Denny may or may not be gluten intolerant. He’s gone down so many internet rabbit holes and watched every educational documentary Netflix has to offer that he's practically a walking encyclopedia of weird knowledge nobody really cares about. He ends up napping on the worn couch at the firehouse more than the bunk room and he finds sleep comes only a little bit easier in Eddie’s house than his own loft. He knows that it will pass. Hopes it will pass because he’s just so goddamn tired all the time.

And he doesn’t really get it.

Everything feels like it’s on the upswing. Maddie and Chimney are home. His sister is getting better. Eddie’s back with the 118 and Bobby looks happy, both of them smiling more. He finally let go of Taylor, a choice that made him feel impossibly light since she wished him well and disappeared through his door. Their team — their family — is back together. They’re whole. Buck should be happy, he is happy.

And yet —

And yet he can’t fucking sleep.

His eyes flick to the calendar hanging on the wall across from the fridge. It’s one of those artistic posters of the National Parks he and Christopher found at the bookstore and both insisted to Eddie they needed to buy it. A slight frown dips the corner of his lips when he sees the drawing of Scotty’s Castle in Death Valley National Park; February’s featured poster. They’re well into March, on the cusp of April, and he reminds himself to tease Eddie about changing over the calendar month later. He closes the short distance to the wall, flipping it over so it’s on the correct page. His frown only deepens when he peeks into April. Christopher barks a laugh from the living room and Buck turns away, swallowing something bitter and acidic down his throat.

He’s halfway through making the waffles and a quarter of the way through his second cup of coffee when Eddie stumbles into the kitchen. Buck bites his lip, taking in the sight of his best friend who is sleep-soft and wearing a hoodie that is suspiciously too big in the shoulders. He yawns around the back of his hand and blindly follows the scent of fresh coffee, a hot mug waiting for him on the counter.

“Good morning,” Buck hums, lightly elbowing Eddie with a slight grin.

Eddie just grunts, hands wrapping around his mug before he takes a long, slow sip. Buck just chuckles as he returns to the waffles. That aching feeling loosens a little more now that Eddie is here. A line of heat pressing into Buck’s space comfortably. Christopher laughs again and Eddie groans, his head dropping onto Buck’s shoulder.

“Please tell me he did not wake you up at six am to watch cartoons.”

“He did not wake me up at six am to watch cartoons,” Buck answers dutifully before he ducks his head trying not to laugh as Eddie looks up at him, eyebrow raised in disbelief. “He woke me up at seven am to watch cartoons.”

“That,” Eddie huffs, “is not better.”

“Saturday morning cartoons are the only cartoons that matter,” Buck states, pointing his spatula in Eddie’s direction.

“And how would you know that?” Eddie asks with a teasing grin as he sneaks a quarter of a waffle from the finished stack, effortlessly dodging Buck’s attempts to lightly smack him with the spatula.

“We didn’t have cable growing up,” Buck explains, his smile growing soft and fond when he spots a smear of chocolate in the corner of Eddie’s mouth, “so Maddie and I would wake up early on Saturdays to crowd in front of our television to watch One Saturday Morning together.”

“You didn’t have cable growing up?” Eddie asks, a furrow in his brow.

Buck just shrugs, “My parents didn’t like the noise.”

Eddie’s face darkens for just a moment, a fleeting thing before he sighs and finishes off his waffle, washing it down with another long sip of coffee. Buck laughs, the chocolate smear only growing wider.

“What?” Eddie pouts.

Buck leans forward, because Eddie is still crowded in his space, and presses his thumb gently against Eddie’s bottom lip, carefully wiping the chocolate away. Somewhere, in the back of Buck’s mind, something is screaming this is far too intimate, but he doesn’t step away. He’s just gotten this back. Ever since Ana — the shooting — an unfamiliar distance started to grow between them. Like someone dug into the solid foundation of BuckandEddie taking piece after piece after piece until there was nothing but a cavern left. They hesitated. Fingers curling into fist instead of reaching out. Shoulders hardly bumping, their knees never knocking in the cab of the truck anymore. A sudden, unspoken fear that they were invading each other’s space, unwelcomed there. It’s taken time, little touches here and there, but like a comet pulled from orbit they’ve fallen right back into each other again.

So Buck indulges.

Eddie’s been something he’s wanted for so long that he’s not really sure he’ll learn how to unwant him. He takes whatever Eddie will give him. Even when it’s not enough. But, it has to be. It has to be. Because Buck will not ruin this. He will not ruin one of the best relationships he’s ever had even if it kills him just a little.

But Eddie can ruin him.

There’s no one he’d rather be ruined by than Eddie Diaz.

He’s not really sure how long he’s lingered, how long he’s let his heart pound against his sternum, how long Eddie’s been watching him with those big, beautiful brown eyes. Eddie is warm beneath his touch, his lips curling against the pad of Buck’s thumb. Buck licks his lips and he’d be embarrassed to say that he feels weak at the knees, but he somehow remains standing when Eddie tracks the movement of his tongue. It’s just a couple of inches, his awful, sleep deprived brain tells him, It’s just a couple of inches and Eddie is right there and—

And somewhere from the living room Christopher yells something about waffles. Buck blinks, dropping his hand, but he doesn’t move back. Eddie is still smiling, soft and Buck really, really wants to kiss him.

“Thanks,” Eddie says when it is clear that Buck has forgotten what words are.

“Sure,” Buck shrugs, easy, like he just didn’t experience a minor crisis in the matter of seconds, “but it’s going to cost you.”

And this feels like familiar ground; light teasing that edges just on the right side of flirting. Buck silently delights in the way Eddie’s eyes sparkle mischievously over his mug as he takes an obnoxiously loud sip.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Eddie chides as he picks up the plate of waffles before he heads out to the dining room to start serving breakfast with a parting wink in Buck’s direction.

Buck can’t be blamed if he burns the rest of breakfast.

It takes Buck all of two minutes after waking up, groggy and near desperate to roll over and go back to sleep, to realize he’s running late. The time flashing across his locked screen doesn’t really register at first, but when his brain unwittingly decides to come back online his eyes shoot open and he’s out of bed so fast he nearly trips over his duvet cover. He knocks into the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush before flipping on the water. He silently debates whether brushing his teeth in the shower is gross or not before giving in to the two minutes it may or may not save him as he strips his night clothes onto the floor. He feels extremely discombobulated, like he’s severely trying to catch his exhausted brain up to his equally exhausted body.

Another night plagued by his increasingly frustrating insomnia. Most days he's hardly in the loft, but last night he hung out with Maddie so by the time he was leaving her and Chimney's apartment (where she finally gave him the full story of how they got back together) it was too late to crash at Eddie’s place. Despite Eddie’s insistence that Buck could show up any day any time, Buck feels like he needs to draw the line somewhere. He can’t just drop in on Eddie and Christopher when it’s way past bedtime just because he wants to. And it’s not that he doesn’t believe that Eddie means what he says, that Buck is always welcomed there, it’s just that, well, someday the person Eddie decides to settle down with may not be so accommodating.

Besides, Buck needs to clear his head. It’s so hard to think of anything else when there’s just an endless loop of EddieEddieEddie. He tries not to look too closely at his feelings, knows how easily they’ll be written on his face if he does. Buck has always worn his stupid, bleeding heart on his sleeve. With Taylor it was almost easy to pretend that there wasn’t something deeply rooted in his very core, etched in the marrow of his bones, buzzing just beneath his skin since he helped pull a live grenade out of a man’s leg in an ambulance nearly four years ago. With Taylor it was almost easy to pretend like he got everything he ever wanted. Now that Taylor is gone and Ana is gone it’s just the two of them left. Now Buck has to look.

And now that it’s done he doesn’t think he can take it back.

So he went back to the loft (he's running out of clean clothes anyway), stupidly hoping that maybe the tiredness behind his eyes or the warmth from the wine would be enough to find sleep. He’s pretty sure it was close to four in the morning before he finally passed out. Even then it wasn’t really restful. He can recall the sound of ocean waves and a voice that was so distinctively Maddie’s, before it faded into his own familiar scream of Christopher's name. The entire dream is too fuzzy to remember really any of the details, but Maddie’s choking coughs and his own rough cries still ring in his head.

He steps out of the shower, wiping the steam away from the bathroom mirror to stare at his reflection. Despite the dark circles starting to grow he looks fine. He is fine. He’s fine. He just needs to sleep. Which will happen, eventually. Twenty-four hour shifts are pretty good at knocking him out for a good couple of hours and he’s weak enough that he’ll immediately give in when Eddie asks him to come over. It’s fine. His head is plenty clear. He sleeps better at the Diaz household anyway. He shoots two quick texts, one to Bobby and one to Eddie. He tells Bobby he’s going to be late and he tells Eddie not to worry.

He’s plugging his coffee order into the mobile pick-up — two extra shots of espresso thank you — before he feels guilty about being even more late for going out of his way to get caffeine that he ends up ordering everyone else's favorite drinks too when Eddie texts him.

Eddie: Everything okay?

Buck smiles, feels some of his anxious tension ease out of his shoulders as he gets into the Jeep. Bobby’s already told him not to worry and to drive safe so he figures it’s okay to take a minute to respond back.

Buck: just your classic buckley morning

Eddie: Still not sleeping well ):

Buck: who needs sleep when there’s caffeine?

Eddie: Buck.

Eddie: You’re coming over after shift tomorrow, no arguments.

Eddie: Christopher missed you.

Buck huffs a small laugh because he just saw both of them a day ago, but the feeling is mutual. He always misses Eddie and Christopher. When he pulls into the coffee shop to pick up his order he watches the three dots appear and then disappear in his conversation with Eddie. It does this a few more times and Buck can not fathom what Eddie is attempting to tell him that can’t wait ten more minutes when they see each other at the station.

Finally,

Eddie: I missed you.

Buck nearly drops both containers of coffee and by some gracious luck of the universe he manages to get everything into his Jeep safely before he blindly reaches for his phone. And before he can think or stop himself from saying something that would completely give him away he sends his reply.

Buck: i always miss you

He has about three seconds to fucking panic about it before Eddie responds with a stupid pink heart emoji like the sap he is. And, for a small, fleeting moment, Buck wonders if maybe, Eddie wants him too.

When he gets to the station he finds his team huddled around the dining table, a scatter of papers grouped in the middle. Hen is the first to spot him and she quickly clears her throat, alerting the others to his presence. As one they all turn, blocking his view from whatever is on the table and he merely lifts a curious eyebrow as Bobby and Eddie not so subtlety clear it off.

“Well,” Chimney greets him cheerily, “look at what the cat dragged in, better late than never, eh Buckaroo?”

“Hen,” Buck sniffs as he passes Lucy a coffee, “make sure Chim is watching as I pour his cinnamon monstrosity down the sink.”

Hen snorts and Chimney scoffs in mocked offense before saying, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Is that a challenge?” Buck grins as he circles around the table, inching closer to the sink.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Eddie and Ravi stifling a laugh while Bobby merely rolls his eyes. Chimney just narrows his own playfully and Buck waits all of three seconds before giving in. Chimney’s victorious smile melts into something softer, more fond as Buck passes over the cup. He clasps Buck’s shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze and Buck suddenly wishes he could find the words to tell Chimney just how grateful he is that he’s back. That they’ve forgiven each other. That he gets to call Chimney his brother. And maybe Chimney understands, reads Buck loud and clear, because he squeezes his shoulder again and Buck swears his eyes look a little misty as he ducks his head to drink his coffee.

“So,” Buck says, turning to the others, “planning something secret or—”

“Bobby,” Hen interrupts, and everyone starts moving, “didn’t you say breakfast was ready?”

“Hashbrown casserole,” Bobby smiles easily and Buck huffs a small laugh as he is unceremoniously ushered into the nearest seat.

“I know what you’re doing,” Buck half whispers to Eddie when his best friend drops into the seat next to him, their knees knocking together.

“Haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Eddie bats his lashes innocently, his leg pressing further into Buck’s as he leans forward to serve himself some food.

“Sure,” Buck plays along, taking pleasure in the warmth he feels from where he and Eddie are touching.

He appreciates what they’re doing, even if his feelings about his birthday are, well, messy and complicated to put it lightly. He thinks about a date he went on with this girl when he first moved to LA . It was the beginning of summer and he was riding the high of getting accepted to a station after passing the fire academy. He just wanted to have fun, celebrate this small victory the only way he knew how — in the company of people who never really stayed. Buck can’t recall her name, but she was pretty, a true west coast girl who snapped her gum and pretended to be interested in what he was saying. She was funny, with dark curly hair and cherry red lips that curled in the corners wickedly when she smiled.

You seem like the kind of guy that uses a whole weekend to celebrate his birthday, she said at some point during their dinner.

W — what do you mean? He asked, confused and quite frankly, a little hurt.

She shrugged, her lips wrapping around her straw suggestively, You know, those guys who think their birthday is the most important event or whatever, so they take the whole weekend to celebrate? That’s you.

Buck closed up pretty quickly after that. He still followed her to her place, still fucked her into her mattress until she kissed him goodbye, but he couldn’t get what she said out of his head. Somewhere between panting in her mouth as she slipped a condom on and fumbling around for his discarded clothes on the floor he wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted her to know that he doesn’t really like his birthday. That the only person who ever wishes him love is his sister, thousands of miles away, before she went radio silent for the past two years. He wanted her to know that when April rolls around the corner he feels sick and anxious until the twenty-third where he can forget about it until next year. But he didn’t say any of that. He just thanked her for her time and went home, the buzzing in his head louder than the music blasting from his roommate’s frat party.

Buck grew up watching his friends have birthday parties at bowling alleys, in the park, sleepovers with pizza and ice cream, tables stacked high with presents, rooms filled with laughter. For a while Buck didn’t even really know when his birthday was, the stifling silence in his home only broken when Maddie brought him a cupcake with a candle in the middle on his fifth birthday and she told him to make a wish. She managed to bully money out of their dad so they could go see a movie and buy popcorn. It wasn’t the same as what his classmates got, but it did become tradition. Every year he and Maddie would go to the movies for his birthday, just the two of them, and share a cupcake from the bakery next store. It didn’t fully ease the terrible ache that nawed a cavity into Buck’s chest when he wondered why the day he was born felt more like a ritual of grief than a celebration of life, but it was enough to remind him that he was, at the very least, important to one person.

And then Maddie moved to Boston and Buck’s twelfth birthday was the worst by far. His dad still gave him money for the movies, but he couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in the theater alone. He could have called a friend, but that didn’t feel right either. Instead, he turned away from the entrance to the movies and blindly started walking around his quiet neighborhood until he stumbled into the park. There was some sort of Earth Day celebration going on where you could buy a tree and help plant it right there in the park. Buck found a particularly beautiful dogwood and quickly handed over his birthday money to purchase it. He rolled up his sleeves, the soil cool and soft between his fingers as he helped the other volunteers plant it in the back corner by the lake he and Maddie used to feed the ducks at. If his eyes began to sting in the corners as he watched it sway in the wind then that was his business thank you very much.

After his shitty hookup with the girl who told him he was the kind of guy who needed an entire weekend to celebrate his birthday, Buck got back into Earth Day volunteering. It didn’t always quiet the buzzing in his head, but it gave him something to do with his hands.

His first year at the 118 the team took him out for dinner, Bobby relaying his birthday to Hen, who insisted that birthdays were very important to them. Buck agreed to a dinner with Bobby, Hen, and Chimney under the condition that they join him for Earth Day volunteer work. Buck can’t remember the last time he smiled so much on his birthday. Since then it's become their yearly tradition, their numbers growing with their extended family; Eddie and Chris, Maddie and Albert, all of the Grant family, Karen and Denny. He’s already roped Ravi and Lucy into joining them this year, if that is still part of whatever they have planned for his thirtieth birthday.

It’s the closest he’s ever come to liking his birthday.

But, even then, it’s hard. For most of his life he never understood why his parents pretended that it didn’t really exist. Why his mother would spend the entire week locked in her room or disappear from the house all together. Why his father would hand Maddie the cash with a ghost of a smile, looking past Buck, like he was seeing something just behind his shoulder. That is, until he learned about Daniel.

Daniel Buckley born April 20th, 1985.

And Buck finally understood why his birthday felt like a funeral.

He’s pretty sure he’s earned a pass for being a little miserable around this time of year.

“Hey,” Eddie nudges him gently, dips his head so he can catch Buck’s far off gaze, “still with us?”

“Sorry,” Buck blinks, cheeks dusting a rosy pink as he presses his palms against his eyes, “just tired.”

He feels fingers wrap around his wrist, carefully tugging his hand away from where he is applying so much pressure he’s starting to see stars. Eddie’s touch has always felt like a five alarm fire against his skin, a wild flame that Buck is pretty sure will never go out. He vaguely wonders if that’s why his loft always feels so cold. A too big bed in a too big space that he’s never really known how to fill. And he’s tried. He tried with Ali when he first moved in and then he tried with Taylor and that made it feel less empty, but in a way that made it hard to breathe. Like somehow Buck was pressing into the brick walls, twisting and bending just so he could fit.

“You’ll give yourself a headache doing that,” Eddie hums, his thumb briefly brushing over the inside of Buck’s wrist, feather-light, but Buck feels a shiver run down his spine from the intimacy of it. “Do you need to stop by the loft after shift tomorrow before coming over?”

“Nah,” Buck grins as he takes a bite out of his food, “my bag is good to go.”

And there’s something to that, Buck knows. That he’s ready to just run to Eddie’s house at a moment's notice. That even if his bag isn’t packed with extra clothes, his extra charger, an extra book he wants to give to Chris, there’s so much of himself at Eddie’s house that he has to remember to bring things back to the loft. He has an entire drawer in Eddie’s dresser, a shelf in the bathroom, dishes in the kitchen, hoodies on the back of kitchen chairs, reminders on sticky notes plastered on the fridge. Eddie even has his favorite fucking creamer and the whole grain wheat toast he likes to eat with the fancy apricot jam from the farmer’s market.

Eddie just smiles, gives Buck’s wrist a squeeze before he lets go so he can eat. Their knees are still touching and their elbows inevitability knock together because they’re sitting stupidly close like they always do. Buck pointedly ignores the silent conversation Chim and Hen are having with their eyes, like watching the two of them is on par with some sort of reality television show. Buck bites back the urge to tell them to change the channel.

They barely make it through breakfast before the alarm bell rings and Buck has this deep, gutted feeling it’s going to be a long, awful twenty-four hour shift. He’s proven right when they get back to back grueling calls all morning, leaving his bad leg in so much pain he’s all but limping into the truck as they pile in for the fifth time today. He wants to take a nap, sneak fifteen minutes on the couch and ice his knee, but with the way things are going he’s lucky he’s able to get an ibuprofen from Hen’s emergency stash. It doesn’t do much, but it gives him enough reprieve that he can keep working without wanting to scream.

He leans his head back against the seat, eyes fluttering close as Ravi and Chim bicker about whether avocado toast is classified as breakfast or lunch, Lucy and Hen egging them on respectively, when he feels something warm wrap around the top of his knee. He sighs in relief, the pressure working against his leg loosening the tension so tightly wound that his leg had started trembling before he could stop it. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know Eddie is gently digging his knuckles into a few of the more painful knots, but he does anyway.

“Here,” Eddie shoves a bottle of water into his hands, “you’re probably dehydrated, it’s making the cramps worse.”

Buck grins sheepishly as he takes it, making a show to drink at least half of it before Eddie’s piercing gaze melts into something that almost looks satisfied. He wants to ask Eddie to work on his aching calf next, but he’s not sure how professional it would be to throw his leg over Eddie in the back of the truck in front of the entire squad so he just slumps in his seat and takes another drink of water. Eddie gives Buck’s knee one last, gentle squeeze, and Buck just knows that Eddie understood his silent plea, a promise to massage Buck’s leg when they get back to the station.

“Buck, Eddie,” Ravi cuts in, which Buck is secretly thankful for because he’s about three seconds away from doing something stupid like kissing Eddie full on the mouth right there in the truck, “help me out here. Avocado toast definitely qualifies as breakfast food.”

Chimney scoffs, arms crossing over his chest while Hen and Lucy snicker, Bobby rolling his eyes from the front.

“Buck can make any meal a breakfast meal,” Eddie says before Buck gets the chance, “he’s got Christopher hooked on avocado toast for breakfast right now.”

Ravi turns his pleased, smug expression in Chimney’s direction who just shrugs his shoulders quipping, “You think I’m going to take Buck’s opinion into consideration?”

“Well, Eddie’s allergic to avocados, they make his mouth itch,” Buck glares at Chimney, but there’s not real heat behind it as he adds, “so his opinion shouldn’t count.”

Eddie elbows him in the ribs and Buck turns a shit-eating grin in his direction. He can vaguely hear Lucy asking, What just happened? followed by Chim and Hen having another silent conversation with their eyebrows, and Ravi muttering, It’s better if you don’t ask. Buck feels heat flushing against the back of his neck, his cheeks following suit as he clears his throat and faces forward again, barely catching the pretty pink blush of Eddie’s face as he does. He nearly startles in his seat when he realizes all eyes are on them.

“What?” Buck asks, working very hard not to look at Eddie again.

“Unbelievable,” Hen and Chim say at the same time, just quiet enough that it sounds more like a rush of air, while Lucy just shrugs and Ravi pretends to suddenly be interested in the bug that is squished against the truck window.

Bobby saves him by saying, “Avocado toast is not a breakfast food.”

That immediately erupts the conversation into chaos as Chimney whoops and Ravi starts listing a counter argument with Buck and Lucy providing key points to back him up. They’ve barely pulled into the station, the ice pack and leg massage in the front of Buck’s mind when they get called out again.

“Okay,” Chim says as he mournfully looks at the station growing in the distance, “who said the Q word this morning?”

Lucy arches an eyebrow, “Do you mean qui—”

Five pairs of hands shoot out, along with a loud shushing noise and cries for Lucy to stop talking.

“I made that mistake once,” Ravi says gravely, “never again.”

“Yeah,” Chim nods his head in Eddie’s direction, “even Mr. Universe is a believer now.”

“The Universe doesn’t—” Eddie begins, but Buck cuts him off with a playful bump of their shoulders, “Eds, you definitely just tried to stop Lucy from saying you know what.”

“See if I massage your leg when we get a moment of downtime,” Eddie pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

The truck comes to a stop, everyone quickly piling out, leaving them alone, and Buck turns his best puppy dog gaze in Eddie’s direction, causing his put out expression to crumble immediately. They join the others and Buck’s smile instantly falls as he applies pressure to his bad leg, the smoke from the accident stinging his eyes. It’s a typical LA car accident, involving multiple vehicles and one of the city buses smashed into a telephone pole. There are no severe injuries, but Bobby splits them off to get started. Buck defers the jaws to Ravi and Lucy, choosing to triage the more minor injuries with Eddie since his pain has shot up from a three to a six.

He’s about halfway through the bus crowd when he notices a girl, about twelve or thirteen, sitting on the curb with a scraped up chin and nursing her left wrist. There’s a manila envelope tucked tightly against her chest and Buck can see the way she sighs, full bodied, as she taps her foot against the street, her eyes darting to look over the crowd in the roped off area every few seconds. He hikes up his medical bag, fingers brushing over Eddie’s shoulder as he favors his good leg in the girl’s direction. It doesn’t take long for her to notice him as he practically hobbles over and she raises a curious eyebrow as he sets the bag down.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, knowing that if he kneels down he will not be getting back up anytime soon.

“Sure,” she shrugs, nose scrunching in pain as she jostles her wrist.

“My name is Buck,” he tells her as he eases down onto the curb, stretching out his leg to offer some small relief from the pain.

“Evelyn, but,” she eyes him warily for a moment, pale blue eyes that look almost grey in afternoon sun, and Buck strangely feels like he’s being assessed for his worthiness before she finally adds, “you can call me Evie.”

“Evie,” he smiles warmly, holding out his hands, “may I take a look at your wrist?”

She gives him another look, this one a little wide eyed and awed like he is giving her something amazing instead of just doing his job. It makes his skin prickle unpleasantly, a bitter taste coating the inside of his mouth, but he can’t put a reason to it, so he swallows it down and gently takes her hand.

“Is it broken?” She blurts out almost immediately, an edge to her voice that makes Buck’s careful gaze snap to her face.

“Just a little bruised,” he reassures her with a smile he usually reserves for Christopher when he’s frustrated with his homework or afraid to tell Eddie that he accidentally killed a spider they were trying to save from the bathtub. Evie exhales, long and slow, relaxing as she lets Buck wrap it up with bandages to keep it stabilized. “Were you on the bus?”

Evie nods, “I tried catching myself when we jerked forward, but that’s hard to do with only one hand.”

Buck eyes the envelope still tucked tightly against her chest, but he doesn’t ask about it. He sets her wrist down on her knee and looks around, expecting a worried parent to come bursting from the crowd, pushing him aside to hug their daughter. After a few seconds when it is clear that that is not going to happen Buck clears his throat, his heckles raising again.

“Evie,” he says and like she knows exactly what he’s about to ask, she tenses, instinctively pulling the envelope closer, eyes darting to the blocked off area again, “are you by yourself?”

“Do you have to call me parents?” She asks, her face pulling together, not in fear necessarily, but there is something and dread begins to pool in the bottom of Buck’s stomach. She immediately shakes her head, as if she can perfectly read his thoughts, “It’s not — “ she huffs, almost laughs, “they just get really worried when I’m hurt that’s all. There’s nothing bad, so stop thinking that.”

She playfully flicks his shoulder which makes him bark a surprised laugh.

“My mom is a mega helicopter parent,” she continues, almost rolls her eyes, but still Buck can just pick out an undercurrent to her tone that keeps his stomach from settling, “and both my brother and I will be grounded if she finds out he let me take the bus back from — “ she stops suddenly, clears her throat, “or, well, home.”

Buck watches as she sighs again, turning towards the cloudy sky as if it will somehow have the answer she wants. Just for a second Buck feels like he’s looking at a thirteen version of himself. The one that purposely crashed his bike into cars or sliced his hand with the bread knife in the kitchen while his mother cooked dinner just to get their attention. It was the only time they would worry, the only time they paid him any mind, even if it was just to raise their voices, tell him he wasn’t invincible or indestructible.

“Since you’re a minor,” he blinks out of his memory, giving her a remorseful smile, “we’ll have to give them a call.”

“Ugh,” she rubs her eyes with her uninjured hand, “okay, I have a cell phone I can call my dad.”

He doesn’t ask why she didn’t call them as soon as the accident happened, but he has a sneaking suspicion the envelope she’s holding on to has the answer. He looks around at the scene, trying to give her as much privacy as he can without leaving her alone. He spies Lucy and Ravi working on the last car in the accident, Bobby talking with the bus driver who is on a stretcher being looked over by Chimney. Hen is assisting another member from their shift splint a pretty bad leg break on the other side of the road and Eddie is just in his line of sight. As if he knows Buck is watching him, Eddie turns, getting up from his kneeling position, eyes growing soft in the corners when he spots Buck.

You okay? He mouths, poised between coming over to them and moving on to the next minor injury.

Buck gives him a thumbs up and a small smile with a jerk of his head in Evie’s direction that indicates he’s pretty much planted next to her until Bobby assigns him another, more urgent task. Eddie nods his head in understanding, lets his eyes linger on Buck too long before he moves onto the next person. Buck wonders if they look honey-brown in the filtered sunlight.

“Have you been in a car crash?”

Buck startles, blinking owlishly as he looks down at Evie, who is watching him expectantly. He doesn’t remember hearing her hang up the phone, the low murmur of her conversation drowned out by the sound of everything else going on around them as he tried not to listen in. He shakes his head and tries to remember what she asked.

“When I was nineteen I crashed my motorcycle,” he says with a slight shrug to his shoulders, “and I broke my collar bone, but that’s all healed now.”

Evie presses her lips together in thought for a moment, “But your leg?” Buck stiffens and it does not go unnoticed. “Sorry,” she rushes to say, “Dani tells me I can be a bit too blunt sometimes.”

“No,” Buck says as he runs the pad of his fingers over his aching calf, digging into the twist of knots that have been bunching up all morning, “it’s fine, honestly I just made a joke about it a few months ago, while I was working, and it’s usually something people don’t want to hear when they’re staring at their own protruding bone and—”

He cuts himself off when he realizes that he’s telling this to a thirteen year old girl, but she’s giggling, her good hand pressing against her mouth as she tries not to rock back onto the pavement from her laughter.

“I um, you might be too young to remember,” the look she levels him with is impressively terrifying and he’s reminded of Maddie that it almost makes him grin, “okay, well I was the firefighter who got trapped beneath the firetruck a few years ago.”

“Holy shit,” and Buck laughs because he’s not sure if she should be cursing, but he had his fair share of choice words at that age so he lets it slide, “that was you?”

“Funny,” he says, “I get that a lot.”

“That must have required a lot of surgeries,” she says, giving him a look of understanding that makes a shiver run down his spine, even though he’s not really sure why.

“Too many,” he answers with a forced laugh.

“Any others?” Evie asks, eyes bright and curious as she hangs onto his words.

Buck taps his finger against his chin, face scrunching in mock thought for dramatics that has Evie rolling her eyes, but she’s smiling as she waits for him to answer.

“Lost my tonsils when I was six and my appendix when I was fourteen,” Buck says, “oh, and uh wisdom teeth like three years ago, but not sure that counts.”

“So the useless organs then?” She grins and Buck makes a choking sound in the back of his throat that turns into a cough loud enough that Eddie’s eyes snap to him in worry before he can wave him off that he’s fine.

“Useless,” he finally manages, “what, were you expecting me to say I don’t have a kidney?”

Her grin suddenly drops, gaze falling to the ground where she digs her shoe into the concrete. Buck feels a little lightheaded, like he’s been spun too many times and he’s dizzily trying to figure out which way is up.

He clears his throat and tries not to press the heel of his hands into his eyes where he feels a headache beginning to build, “Hey, sorry, I—”

“Kidneys are important, aren’t they?” She asks, looking back up at him, that same undercurrent he heard early, making her words cut across sharply.

Buck’s stomach rolls, and he faintly hears thunder in the distance. He doesn’t remember when the clouds hanging overhead got so dark. He hopes they finish up with the accident soon, the cold and rain usually makes his leg ache, and he’s already sitting pretty high on the pain scale.

“They are,” he nods his head, “although, I think you can live a mostly normal life with just one.”

“But you shouldn’t have to, right?” She asks, more earnestly, leaning forward, hands on her knees, pale eyes so, so wide.

“Unless it pulls an appendix,” he tries for a joke and feels relieved when Evie huffs a laugh and leans back, relaxing.

“You’re funny, firefighter Buck,” she hums, fingers playing with the edge of the envelope, “even if you don’t have tonsils or an appendix.”

“Or wisdom teeth,” he adds, pleased when she rocks back with another laugh.

“Or wisdom teeth.” She agrees.

For a moment they sit in companionable silence. There’s another rumble of thunder, louder and closer this time, and Buck wonders if he should call Evie’s dad to see how far away he is so she doesn’t get caught in the rain. He doesn’t have time to ask because Evie is shoving the manila envelope into his chest, pressing as hard as a thirteen year old can.

“I need you to hold onto this for me, please,” she says, her face hard and serious, “promise me you’ll watch over it?”

There’s an urgency in her voice that Buck feels down to his very core. He gently takes the envelope from her, eyebrows knitted together as he searches for something he feels like he’s missed. There’s a crackle of lightning, the thunder crashing just a few miles west. It’s darker, almost too dark for nearly one in the afternoon, and he can hear the slow patter of rain on the cement.

“Promise.” He swallows, tucking it under his turnout so it doesn’t get wet.

Evie smiles, nods her head, turns, and takes off towards a man ducking under the police caution tape. Buck watches as, presumably Evie’s dad, calls out his daughter’s name, wrapping her up in a tight hug that makes Buck feel like he wants to cry. They disappear without looking back in his direction and Buck wonders if he’s going to wake up in his loft, running late and feeling shitty, like all of this is just a weird dream that somehow feels like a very unfunny joke. A fat drop of rain splashes against his cheek and he looks up at the dark sky with a frown.

“Hey,” Eddie is there, hand reaching out to help Buck up, “you okay?”

No, Buck thinks miserably, but, like most of the past twenty minutes, he doesn’t really have the answer to why he feels so off. He knows he can’t really lie to Eddie, especially with the weight of the concerned gaze he finds in those doe brown eyes, so he just shrugs his shoulders because he suddenly feels completely and utterly exhausted. Eddie grips his shoulder, thumb sneaking beneath the collar of his shirt to press into his skin, warm and comforting.

“Buck,” he says, quiet and gentle, “what’s going on? I thought you were waiting with someone?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, “her dad just picked her up, but she gave me something to hold onto.”

Eddie furrows his brow. It’s starting to drizzle and Buck’s leg feels like it’s on fire. He pulls the envelope out just enough that Eddie can see it, but keeping it safe from the rain, which is starting to come down harder with every passing second.

“What is it?”

“Dunno,” Buck shrugs again, winces from the pain shooting up his leg, and Eddie’s grip becomes a little firmer.

“Come on,” he nods his head towards the truck, “Cap says we’re good to go and you look like you could use a nap.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees even though he’s pretty fucking sure he won’t be sleeping the rest of the shift if the ache carving a deep, bleeding hole in his chest has anything to say about it.

He follows Eddie, who’s hand drops to Buck’s, fingers lightly tugging him along. For a brief moment Buck can’t understand how Eddie doesn’t struggle to carry some of Buck’s weight, because with the envelope in the pocket of his turnout coat he suddenly feels very, very heavy.

It’s still raining when their shift ends. Buck barely changes out of his uniform before B shift is peeling out of the firehouse off to their first emergency of the morning. Despite the hot shower he took fifteen minutes ago he still feels chilled to the bone, like the rain, cold and dreary seeped beneath all of his layers. There’s a flash flood alert on his phone and a headache behind his eyes and Buck really, really just wants to go to fucking sleep. They’d been up pretty much all night with back to back calls from the rain and the only hour Bobby managed to take them offline provided no such relief for Buck. Between his aching leg and the weight of the mystery envelope now stashed safely in his locker the darkness of the bunk room felt too suffocating and the couch up in the loft too exposed.

“Let me drive,” Eddie says, giving Buck a tired smile as he claps Buck’s shoulder.

Buck doesn’t argue because he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be behind the wheel when he’s a breath away from falling over. Hen and Chimney wave their goodbyes, eyes linger on Buck’s closed locker a beat too long before they disappear into the bay. As soon as they got back from the station he practically had to wrestle the envelope away from everyone’s prying eyes.

“Seriously, Buck,” Chimney groans as Buck ducks behind Eddie to avoid Chimney’s quick, grabby hands, “now you choose to do the right thing instead of the nosy one?”

“Yeah,” Hen huffs, arms crossed over her chest, “who are you and what have you done with Buck?”

“It’s not ours to look at,” Buck frowns as he hooks his chin over Eddie’s shoulder, letting his weight lean against his best friend, “and I promised.”

“You promised to watch over it,” Chimney points out, “just think of this as watching over all of it.”

“That’s not how that works Chim,” Buck deadpans as he teeters out of Lucy’s reach, who was trying to sneak up behind him.

He stumbles a little when he applies too much weight on his bad leg, but Eddie reaches out, hand on his arm to steady him, lips tugging down in concern. Bobby saves him by telling everyone lunch is ready and to leave Buck alone. Buck preens just a little when Bobby squeezes his shoulder, telling him he’s proud of Buck and that he agrees it’s the right decision to make.

He triple checks that his locker is locked before he limps his way towards Eddie, who is waiting for him by the locker door. Eddie silently takes Buck’s bag, ignoring Buck’s protest and roll of his eyes.

“I can carry my own bag, Eds.”

“I know you can,” Eddie is still smiling, but he doesn’t give it back.

Buck grins as he tips forward, slipping Eddie’s bag from his shoulders, taking it before Eddie can stop him.

“Buck,” Eddie huffs, half-way between annoyed and amused, “that defeats the purpose.”

“Your bag is lighter, if that helps,” Buck points out as they bump shoulders on the way to Eddie’s truck.

“You’re insufferable,” Eddie shakes his head, but his voice is softly fond.

Buck wants to melt right into the pavement with the spring rain.

“You love me,” he teases, light and easy to hide the blush creeping over his cheeks as he throws Eddie’s bag into the backseat.

Eddie ducks his head, mumbling to himself. Buck’s heart is practically out of his chest when he thinks he hears something close to, you have no idea. The shattering sound of thunder startles him and he shakes his head, convincing himself they’re just part of his exhausted imagination.

Eddie’s grip on the steering wheel is knuckle-white when he pulls out of the station.

Buck dozes with his head against the window, the sound of the radio and the patter of rain against the glass lull him into something close to sleep. He’s vaguely aware of his surroundings, Eddie tapping his fingers and the occasional crack of lightning, but his head feels fuzzy and he half dreams about his fourteen year old self waking up in a hospital bed with a nasal cannula, the remnants of a burning pain in his side, and a set of empty chairs next to him.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Eddie teases, nudging him awake, “let’s see if we can make it to the bed before we become dead to the world, yeah?”

Buck’s stomach rolls with the bitter edges of the dream and he has to clamp his mouth shut tight so he doesn’t throw up on Eddie’s dashboard. When he finally manages to suppress the nausea his brain catches up to what Eddie said.

“Bed?”

But Eddie is already out of the truck, grabbing both of their bags before Buck gets the chance. He fumbles with his seat belt, tumbling out of the truck to follow Eddie into the house which is blissfully warm and smells like sandalwood. Christopher is at school and there’s a note from Carla stuck to the fridge with one of the aquarium magnets saying she left a breakfast casserole for them in the oven. Buck beelines for the bathroom as Eddie puts the casserole away in the fridge. He easily finds the pain relievers and swallows them down with the sink water. He takes a brief moment to look at his reflection, the dark circles and near vacant expression makes the nausea return, so he quickly shuts the light off and moves towards the closet to fish out the pillows and blanket for the couch.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Getting ready to crash on the couch?” Buck says a little uncertainly as he holds up one of the pillows to make his point.

Eddie stretches, long and slow, a sliver of his stomach showing that definitely doesn’t make Buck’s mouth go dry when he sees it in the dim light of the hallway.

“Bed,” He says around a yawn and despite the utter gentleness of it, Buck can tell he’s not really leaving any room for argument.

“Eddie,” Buck says, but he puts the pillow back, lets Eddie’s fingers wrap around his wrist to pull him towards the bedroom.

Eddie’s room feels more lived in these days, less cold and bare since they patched up the holes in the wall a few months ago. Buck convinced Eddie he needed an accent wall, a muted sage green that made the room soft and inviting. There’s a picture collage across from his bed; photos of Christopher, of the 118, the three of them together, a few with Shannon and his Abuela, and a couple of just the two of them. Buck’s favorite is the one Hen sneakily took of them sleeping against each other in their turnouts during one of their more exhausting shifts. Eddie’s head is on Buck’s shoulder and Buck’s cheek is pressed into Eddie’s hair. There’s a shelf next to the window that houses three cactus plants that Christopher insisted Eddie couldn’t kill and a small bookcase with dog-eared paper backs and Eddie’s impressive CD collection he kept stashed away in his closet. He even has throw pillows on his bed that Buck bought as a joke, but Eddie insists are stupidly comfortable for napping.

Eddie turns down the bed and changes into sleep clothes, shorts and loose fitting shirt that Buck suspiciously thinks used to belong to him. Buck pulls out one of his hoodies and shorts from Eddie’s dresser, ignoring the way Eddie chuckles when he keeps his socks on. He expects to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, but he rolls on his side, catching Eddie’s profile in the semi-darkness, and he thinks of the envelope sitting in his locker.

“Do you think I made the right decision?’ He asks quietly, knowing Eddie is still awake.

“I do,” Eddie says immediately, facing Buck, “having doubts?”

Buck shrugs, “I feel like I’m missing something, but there’s something telling me not to open it either.”

“You don’t think she’s in trouble, do you?” Eddie asks.

That anxious thought has continuously crossed Buck’s mind all shift, sowing doubt and making dread pool in his stomach. He believed Evie when she said there’s nothing bad, so stop thinking that, but there’s a reason she didn’t want her dad to ask about the envelope in her hands. He has half a mind to run back to the station and rip it open. As if he knows exactly what Buck is thinking Eddie lays a tentative hand on Buck’s waist.

“No,” Buck blows out between his teeth, “well, maybe, I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice is teetering on the edge of sleepy, “if she doesn’t come back for it in a few days then we can take a look at what she gave you, see if she needs help, okay?”

“Okay.”

He’s not fully convinced, but Eddie’s thumb is rubbing soothing circles over his skin where his hoodie is riding up and even the thought of leaving the bed suddenly seems impossible. He falls asleep with Eddie’s hand still hot against him and the blurred images of his car nightmare looping on repeat.

“Turn, Buckley, turn!” Chimney groans, hands gripping the back of the couch behind Buck’s head, his voice a touch too loud in Buck’s ear. “For christ sakes use the red shell!”

“I’m waiting until I’m out of the danger zone before I use the triple mushrooms, Chim,” Buck manages through his clenched jaw, his full attention on the Mario Kart game unfolding on the television.

They’ve split into teams; Hen and Eddie, Buck and Chimney, Ravi and Lucy — losers are on cleanup duty after lunch.

Buck gets annihilated by a CP with a star, causing Princess Peach to fall right off the track, allowing Ravi’s Waluigi to soar past him into third place behind Hen’s Yoshi. Chimney groans again and Buck takes the opportunity to use his mushrooms to gain ground as they move into the final lap.

“You know,” Eddie sidles up next to him, hip checking Chimney out of the way, his breath hot against Buck’s ear, “it would be a shame if you fell off on the next curve again.”

Buck is most definitely still breathing normally, he swears, but the chaos of Mario Kart mixed with the Rainbow Road music is lost beneath the pounding of his heart, the rush of blood in his ears.

“This is the hardest one, Eds,” Buck frowns as he successfully dodges a banana, “shouldn’t you be cheering on Hen or something.”

“Why?” Eddie pouts. Buck does not think about taking the man’s lower lip between his teeth. “Am I distracting you?”

He decks Waluigi with a green shell, him and Chimney whooping in sync as Ravi scoffs in outrage. He glides in right behind Hen, nearly blocking Eddie from his entire line of sight as he narrows his focus. He feels more than sees Eddie retreat, and he takes it as a victory as he bumps Yoshi out of the way as he accelerates into the next curve.

“Oh my god we could actually win this,” Chimney says from somewhere behind him and he doesn’t have to know that his almost brother-in-law has his hands on his knees, snapping his gum nervously.

He can see the finish line in the distance, but suddenly there are fingers, warm and familiar, tracing across his neck, scratching at the base of his scalp, and a shiver runs down Buck’s spine. He doesn’t mean to lean into the touch, it’s practically involuntary, especially where Eddie’s concerned, but it also means he relaxes a little too much and lets up on the accelerator.

“Diaz!” He faintly hears Chimney hiss before he says, much louder, “Buck watch out!”

The blue shell decimates him immediately. Hen and Ravi pass him to take first and second place respectively. Chimney collapses into the nearest chair dramatically and Buck drops his head back on the couch with an exasperated sigh. Eddie is bracketing Buck’s head with his arms, grinning down mischievously. Buck’s lips part slightly, a small puff of air escaping into the space between them. It’s late afternoon and the sun is filtering lazily in over the windowsills. The way the light glints into those beautiful brown eyes reminds Buck of bottled honey, dark and sticky sweet. They’re close. Like noses almost brushing against each other close, but Eddie doesn’t pull back, and Buck catches his Adam's apple bobbing slightly when he swallows too hard.

“Okaaaaay,” he thinks Hen says, the couch jostling him as she gets up from where she’s sitting.

“Are you sure Eddie can’t take my place for cleanup duty?” Chimney not so subtly whispers to Hen as they move towards the kitchen where Bobby is finishing up lunch.

“Rules are rules, my friend,” Hen grins, not sounding very sorry about it.

“Hi,” Buck says after what feels like an eternity.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs.

His fingers are still pressed into Buck’s skin, a grounding touch that would make him weak at the knees if he wasn’t already sitting down. Buck thinks the apocalypse could happen right now and they still wouldn’t move.

“Hey Buck,” Ravi appears from the staircase, his cheeks flushing as they both look up at Ravi, still too close for just friends, “there’s someone here to see you?”

Eddie finally straightens up and Buck is on his feet when he sees Evie hop up onto the top step behind Ravi. She’s not really looking in their direction, eyes too busy taking in the loft with a pleased expression on her face.

“Evie,” Buck says, his heart suddenly in his throat now, “you’re here.”

Evie finally looks at him, grinning as she flips a braided pigtail over her shoulder, “My dad’s station doesn’t look anything like this, not as cozy.”

“Your dad’s a firefighter?” Buck asks, a smile coming easy now as Ravi lets her pass, moving towards the table where everyone is settling in for lunch.

“He works at the 122,” she says with a nod, “on the other side of town.”

“The 122,” Bobby smiles as he drifts over, hands on his hips, “I know their captain, she’s a good friend of mine.”

Evie’s eyes go a little wide at that, her grin growing, “Sofia,” she nods, “she’s known me almost my whole life.”

“What’s your dad’s name?” Bobby asks.

“Parker Bailey,” she answers, “he’s been a firefighter a long time.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

Bobby has that glint in his eye, the one that tells Buck he’s shifted into full dad mode, and it becomes all the more brighter when Evie ducks her head and lands a fake cough into the crook of her elbow.

“Not exactly,” she admits sheepishly, “but it’s only a twenty minute bike ride and I am thirteen, I can go places by myself, you know.”

Buck stifles his laugh behind the back of his hand as he looks between Bobby and Evie, and Buck feels the way Bobby full body sighs, like he’s dealing with one of his own teenagers instead of a complete stranger. Evie just grins in the way any thirteen year old does when they know they’ve won.

“Well,” Bobby says, amused now, “you’re here just in time for lunch, we’ll set a place at the table for you.”

“Thank you,” she says genuinely, “family dinners are my favorite part of visiting my dad.”

Bobby’s smile grows a little as he turns, patting Buck’s shoulder before he heads back towards the kitchen. When Buck pulls his gaze away from where everyone is sitting at the table he finds Evie is blinking up at him expectantly.

“The envelope,” Buck snaps his fingers, pointing towards the stairs, “I’ll be right back.”

He jogs down to his locker, his heart hammering in his sternum so hard it hurts. He did an initial once over, looking for anything that might indicate something is wrong. By all accounts she looks perfectly healthy, no weird bruises or ribs poking out. She smiles easily and it reaches her eyes and while he finally believes she isn’t in immediate danger Buck still feels like there is something he is missing. The envelope is heavy in his hands, like it had been when she gave it to him three days ago in the middle of the road. He looks down at the blank stretch of beige, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t want to keep anyone waiting so he tucks away the anxiety clawing through his chest and heads back to the loft. Evie is seated next to Hen, an open chair on the other side — his place next to Eddie. He sits down, Eddie’s knee knocking into his before it settles there, a balm to Buck’s frayed nerves.

“Here you go,” he steadily hands the envelope over as everyone begins to dig into the fajita casserole.

Evie cautiously takes it, turning it over in her hand, checking the seal with hard concentration. After a long stretch of silence, only cut by silverware against plates, Evie looks up at Buck with a furrowed brow.

“You didn’t open it?” She asks and he’s reminded of how she watched him with some kind of awe when he asked to look at her wrist.

His skin begins to itch again, hot and irritating as he swallows the swelling anxiety.

“Why would I open it,” he says carefully, like this is some sort of test, “it’s not mine.”

Evie considers the answer for a moment with a small hum. Buck is quite aware that all eyes are on them right now and he tries not to squirm in his seat. Eddie’s knee presses further into his. Buck exhales deeply, not realizing he’d been holding his breath since he handed Evie back the envelope and starts, “Evie, are you sure—”

“Most babies are born as accidents,” She says suddenly, like she’s decided that Buck has passed, that she can trust him with this.

Buck doesn’t really have an answer because that question hits way to fucking close to home. A year or so ago he would have said, yes, I was an accident, so I know how that goes, but Buck knows better now. Knows that he would almost give anything for that answer to still be yes. Evie’s finger works under the seal to rip it open, a stack of important looking papers dumping out onto the table in front of her.

“Not me,” she says without looking up as she organizes them into a neat stack, “I was engineered.”

And.

And Buck’s pretty fucking sure a giant, cataclysmic hole has ripped right open, dragging him down to the earth’s core where he vaporizes into dust.

“What?”

Evie clearly doesn’t hear the devastation in Buck’s voice as she hands him the papers. The entire firehouse seems to be frozen, wide eyes and dropped jaws all pointed right in Buck’s direction.

“I was born to save my sister,” she shrugs her shoulders, but there’s a bitter twist to her mouth that Buck feels in his gut, “a savior baby. That’s what they call us.”

Buck’s hands are a trembling mess as he takes the papers. He’s vaguely aware that Eddie’s hand is squeezing his thigh, Bobby is now standing, hovering just behind them, and everyone else is still staring in silent shock.

“Dani, my older sister” Evie continues and Buck’s amazed with how calm she sounds, almost resigned, "was diagnosed with acute promyelocytic leukemia when she was four and since no one was a match,” she shrugs again, her lips pursing unhappily in the corner, “my parents had me.”

Buck doesn’t cry. He doesn’t. But he’s pretty fucking close because the words on the paper Evie hands him blur and he feels so goddamn nauseous he has to choke back the bile rising up his throat. He very much can not do this. His eyes flutter shut and when he leans back he feels a line of heat he knows is Eddie, who somehow moved closer to Buck despite the probably awkward angle their chairs are set at. Bobby’s hand is on his shoulder now too and he’s pretty sure if they could Hen and Chimney would somehow find a place to touch him. It’s incredibly grounding, but also makes everything feel too real and he has a terrible urge to run right out of the firehouse and never look back.

“Buck?” Evie asks, very concerned, “I’m — sorry, did I —”

And when he opens his eyes they lock onto each other’s gaze. Something passes between them, like a hard truth coming to light and suddenly Evie’s eyes begin to gloss over.

“Oh,” her voice is small, “you too.”

Buck feels like he needs to make a joke, lighten the mood before everything becomes too fucking heavy to hold, but all of his words are caught in the back of his throat and he barely manages to nod his head in confirmation.

“Okay,” Evie scrubs her eyes, “right, okay, I knew there was something about you.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks when it’s clear Buck still can not manage to open his mouth without getting sick.

Evie smiles, but it’s sad, “Just the way he asked for my permission to look at my wrist,” she explains, “or how he didn’t open up my letters, there’s something about having your choices taken away from you that makes you sure others won’t have to go through that.”

Buck finally reads what she’s given him.

Evelyn Bailey would like to sue her parents Parker and Mary Bailey for medical emancipation…

He sharply looks up, and his voice is rough as he says, “You’re suing your parents for rights to your body?”

There’s almost a collective gasp, like the air has been sucked right out of the room.

Evie swallows, her leg swinging anxiously as she picks at her nails. “Dani’s kidneys are failing,” and the gut wrenching sensation twists harder, he immediately thinks about their conversation on the curb, “and mom expects me to donate a kidney to her, but I —” she blows out a harsh breath of air, “I don’t want to.”

Kidneys are important, aren’t they? But you shouldn’t have to, right?

“Evie…” Buck says, and it hurts. Everything fucking hurts and Buck feels like his chest is going to explode if he doesn’t get out soon.

“All my life I’ve been used for cells and tissue and marrow,” Evie continues, almost sounding desperate now, “and I’ve had to deal with surgeries and sleeping pills and growth hormones and opioids and infections and I’m just so tired.”

“Yeah,” he nods because he knows.

Because Buck’s been tired his entire goddamn life.

Buck can’t remember if he actually eats any lunch. Everything feels so off-kilter, like someone knocked him right off his axis and now he’s seeing everything slightly upside down. Evie stays through lunch and gives Buck a hug before she leaves, her pale blue eyes so, so sad. As soon as she’s gone Buck just packs it all up and puts it away. He’s good at it. Has mastered it, considering everything that’s happened the past few years let alone the last few months. It’s how he’s survived this long. It’s how he’s been able to help carry the weight of everyone else around him. Eddie, Christopher, Maddie, Bobby — they’ve needed him to be strong, to give a helping hand, and shine a light in the darkness. And Buck would do it again and again and again, but he has to put everything away first.

So, this. This. He can put this away too.

At least, until his shift is over.

And he knows he can talk to his team, his family, but he just wants to make it through the fucking day. He takes his few moments to gather himself in the bathroom before he carries on like he normally does. Light smiles, easy jokes, focused out in the field, teasing Chimney and arguing with Hen and Ravi over who gets the last dessert after dinner. Of course, he can feel it building, building, building beneath his breast bone. Squeezing in the space between his ribs. Wrapping like a hot coil around his lungs. They can all see it. See that he’s grasping at the last thread of sanity as they near the end of their twenty-four hours. Eddie rarely leaves his side and Bobby keeps a close eye on him, but there’s not much they can do except let him ride it out.

Buck will talk when he’s ready, he hears Bobby say to the others.

He’s grateful they don’t push because he’s pretty sure he’s just a small breath away from toppling over. By the time he makes it to his locker, trembling hands clumsily unbuttoning his shirt, he’s so close to just letting whatever is pushing against every inch of his body go. There’s a steady hand that grabs his wrist, pulls his shaking fingers away, and Eddie carefully undoes the last few buttons so Buck can trade his dirty LAFD shirt for a hoodie.

“Come home with me,” Eddie says quietly, “we can nap, pick up Christopher from school, he’s been begging for that mac and cheese casserole I still can’t seem to get right.”

“Dijon mustard,” Buck tries for a smile, but he’s still tipped sideways and everything takes more of an effort than he’s willing to give, “secret ingredient.”

“Huh,” Eddie says, scratching at his chin absentmindedly, a flex of his nervous energy.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes and it hitches in his throat when those doe brown eyes crinkle in corners, “I just need an hour or two, okay?”

“Buck,” Eddie says so soft, he leans forward, runs his fingers over the frayed edge of his hoodie string, and Buck feels Eddie’s warmth all the way down to his toes, “take all the time you need, you know I’ll be waiting.”

“Just need to clear my head,” Buck carries on, because he feels like he needs to explain despite Eddie’s quiet acceptance. It’s something he hasn’t grown out of yet. Explaining why he needs to do things. Why he is the way he is. Why he’s missing pieces and a little broken and still stumbling in the dark. “But, I promise, I’ll come right over afterwards.”

“You don’t hav—”

“No,” Buck bravely takes Eddie’s hand in his own, thumb brushing over sun-warmed skin, “I want to.”

I need to. I sleep better in your house. I feel safe and wanted and loved.

“Besides,” he says, the half grin he’s finally managed genuine now, “we have a date at the Science Museum tomorrow and we promised Christopher we would get there right when it opens.”

Eddie groans, dropping his head into the crook of Buck’s neck which is definitely too intimate considering the locker room is encased in glass walls and half of their friends are still changing just a few feet away, but Buck just presses his cheek against Eddie’s hair, breathing him in.

“What genius decided that nine am was an appropriate time to open child-friendly spaces on a Saturday?” Eddie mourns into Buck’s skin and Buck is sure he isn’t blushing until he catches Hen’s shoulders shaking in a quiet chuckle while Chimney just smacks his forehead.

“Psychopaths, clearly,” Hen says as she pats Buck’s shoulder, flicking Eddie in the ear with a mischievous grin that makes Eddie’s cheeks turn a pretty pink, “see you all on Monday.”

In the absence of Eddie’s heat Buck feels a sickly cold settling over his bones and he’s acutely aware that he needs to leave before the entire firehouse rattles with his screams. Eddie must know, of course he does, as he squeezes Buck’s arm and says, “I’ll wait up for you.”

Buck just nods his head, afraid that something horrible and devastating will spill over his lips if he opens his mouth. He doesn’t run to the Jeep, but it’s a near thing, and he doesn’t really know where he’s going, but it’s definitely not to the loft. He just drives and drives and drives until he comes towards a small cliffside outlook with two parking spots and one bench. He pulls into the spot, flings the door open, and moves toward the safety railing, leaning his weight against it. The Pacific Ocean is a dangerous dark blue, tints of grey and white foam crashing against the shore in the morning sunlight.

And Buck hates how beautiful it looks, but he marvels at the horizon all the same, the last hues of sunrise, magenta and indigo, fading as the sun climbs into the sky. It’s here as the ocean reaches for him, seeking what it was once robbed of a few years ago that Buck finally lets it go. He unpacks the box he’s stored away all day and just fucking screams into the vast span of water before him. His throat is rubbed raw by the sound, but he doesn’t stop until his chest is heaving and the pressure against his ribs eases just a little. He collapses back onto the bench and lets his eyes fall shut.

It could be hours or minutes, but he startles in his seat when he hears a familiar voice say, “Hey Buckaroo.”

Buck blinks a few times, the sun suddenly too bright as Athena rounds the bench to sit next to him. He tries for a smile as he says, “Hey, ‘Thena” He clears his throat frowning when he sees that she’s in uniform. “Did Bobby send you to check up on me?”

Athena chuckles as she leans back against the wood, slinging her arm over the top, “No, I saw your Jeep cruising at a speed just below dangerous in this direction.”

He has the decency to look sheepish as he ducks his head, “Sorry.”

“I heard you had a visitor today,” Athena says, and the way she looks at him — all knowing and motherly — makes him squirm just a little.

“I — I don’t —”

She raises a hand and he quickly falls silent. She leans forward patting his cheek affectionately, “You don’t need to explain anything to me,” she says, warm, voice like honey, “I just thought you might want the company.”

“Thanks,” he says, suddenly glad that she’s here with him.

Athena nods her head and turns to face forward, relaxing in her position just next to Buck. They sit in companionable silence with the quiet collapse of waves and calls of sea birds. With each passing minute Buck feels a little more like himself, like he’s almost on steady feet again. There’s still that terrible something nestled in his bones, but it fits right in with everything else he’s still hiding from, so he exhales, long and slow, and accepts Athena’s offer for breakfast and coffee, her treat. He almost manages not to tear up when she hugs him goodbye.

He lets himself into Eddie’s house, rubbing at his tired eyes and his pounding head. They have a few hours before they need to pick Christopher up from school and even the worn, Diaz couch sounds heavenly right now. Eddie meets him in the hallway and he looks as exhausted as Buck feels. He’s pretty sure neither of them got much sleep on shift.

“Eddie,” he says around a yawn, stepping out of his shoes, “you could have gone to bed, I know where the blankets for the couch are.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but it’s cut by the shy smile on his face. “I told you I would wait up,” he says, taking a step forward, “and I have your back, remember?”

“Yeah,” Buck smiles, “I know.”

“So,” Eddie nods in the direction of his bedroom, “let’s go to bed. Christopher is going to have way too much energy when he sees you and there is not enough coffee in the world to get me through the evening.”

Buck laughs, a wet sound that almost hurts on the way out, but he doesn’t put up a fight. And maybe it’s selfish, because he knows it can’t be like this forever. He’s learned he deserves to be happy, to find someone that makes him happy, and while he wishes on every single goddamn star in the sky that that someone was Eddie, he’s not quite sure he deserves him.

Buck feels a stitch in his side as he tips sideways into Eddie, burying his snicker into his best friend's shoulder. Eddie is shaking with barely contained laughter, which makes Buck laugh even harder. Lucy is using her hand to stifle any sound from leaving her lips, but Buck can see the biting grin, which is reflected in Ravi’s face. Hen has given up all pretenses, her laughter loud and joyous much to Chimney’s chagrin.

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “laugh it up everyone.”

“Aw Chim,” Buck manages with a wheeze as he peeks up at Chimney, “no need to wine about it.”

This sets everyone off into a fit of giggles and laughter again. Even Bobby makes some sort of coughing sound to cover up the startled laugh from the front of the truck. Chimney just blinks back at Buck severely unimpressed. There’s at least three different types of wine soaked into his shirt, four different cheeses — Eddie, why does that one smell like a foot? — and a smidge of apricot jam dried in his dark hair. Their most recent call came from a wine bar full of drunk rich ladies that proceeded to turn into a wine brawl when someone unwittingly spilled one too many secrets. Chimney was, unfortunately, caught in the middle of a flying charcuterie board and glasses of expensive wine being tossed onto ungodly white outfits.

“Chim,” Ravi pipes in and Buck knows this is going to be good, “you sure you’re gouda?”

The cab of the truck ramps up again and Buck has practically fallen completely into Eddie as he holds onto his stomach. Hen is wiping tears from her eyes and Lucy’s lost most of her composure as Ravi beams from the success of his pun.

“Cap,” Chimney says loudly to be heard over his teammates laughter, “I’d like to go on vacation forever, thanks.”

Their laughter eventually subsides as they start to pull back into the station. Buck tilts his head up at Eddie, mesmerized by the sparkle in those doe eyes. He loves seeing Eddie like this — happy and carefree. He wants Eddie to smile like that everyday for the rest of his days.

“Chim,” Bobby says after they’ve all quieted down, “are you saying you’re feta up with us?”

“Jesus christ.”

The roar of laughter nearly shakes the cab and this time Buck and Eddie are falling into each other, while everyone else doubles over. Chimney, for his part, eventually joins in. They pile out of the truck, Chimney heading towards the showers and Bobby to the loft to start dinner as everyone else begins to put their equipment away.

“So,” Buck says as he falls into step with Eddie and Hen, moving towards the stairs, “do you think the blonde lady was bluffing about sleeping with the red head’s husband?”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie says with glee, “rich housewives are just like that.”

“And how would you know that, Diaz?” Hen asks with a raised eyebrow, a knowing smirk on her lips.

“Eddie’s watched every episode of Real Housewives,” Buck rats him out instantly, earning him a playfully smack in the arm.

“Buck.”

“Come on, Eddie,” Buck grins, “there’s no shame in it. Maddie, Chim, Albert, and I watch The Bachelor religiously.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose.

“Tell me you don’t have trashy reality television standards,” Hen snorts.

“It’s not my fault the only thing on daytime TV was housewives when I was recovering,” Eddie sniffs.

“Oh,” Buck leans in, bumping his shoulder with Eddie’s, “so the DVR recordings for the new season just got there by accident?”

Eddie tries to splutter out a reply, but Buck and Hen are already throwing their heads back in laughter. Buck feels — better. Still not great. Still not sleeping, but when he gets a solid five hours everything feels a little lighter. He’s trying his best not to think about how they’re moving through April. How he still wakes up from nightmares he can’t quite remember. How they leave him a little breathless. How they slowly, but surely chip away at his resolve. He pretends he doesn’t see the cracks in the concrete. The way water is beginning to trickle out, weakening the supports of the dam. He’s trying to pretend like he’s not one more revelation away from falling apart.

He nearly face plants, tripping over the last stair when he spots Evie sitting on the counter, chatting away with Bobby. Eddie just manages to catch his arm, saving him, brown eyes wide with concern until he follows Buck’s startled gaze.

“Hey Buck,” Evie grins, hopping off the counter before she crashes against him in a tight hug.

“E — Evie,” he stammers, tries for a smile when she looks up at him, and has to breathe out slowly through his nose, “what are you doing here?”

Her grin immediately drops and she rubs at her eyes, a mix of quiet anger and sadness.

“I um, told my parents,” she answers after a minute, “or, well, they got served with the papers and my mom, she — “ Evie huffs out a harsh breath, “she didn’t take it well.”

Oh.

Buck swallows. He can’t help, but think of his own mother. The way she looked through him all his life. The way she looked at him and wished he were someone else. Margret Buckley took it worse than anyone and sometimes Buck wonders if she ever loved him. Or if, even in the womb, he was always just a means to a tragic end.

“I think she told my dad,” Evie continues and there’s that bitterness Buck grew accustomed to growing up, “and I quote ‘Get her out of here I don't want to look at her face anymore.’”

There’s a sharp inhale from Hen beside him, Bobby’s face morphs into something that looks terribly pained, and Eddie, Buck chances a glance at his best friend, clenches his jaw so tight, features hard and almost unforgiving. Buck has to stop the hysterical laughter that blooms behind his breastbone, pressing against his ribcage so unforgiving that he has to rub at his chest to disperse the pain.

We live with a reminder everyday, staring us in the face.

“Your mom and my mom would get on just fine,” Buck says when everything hurts too much, “because she said something similar about me.”

The horrified expressions all whip in his direction. He told his team everything he learned about Daniel, but some things he buried down with every other terrible thing his parents gave him just so he could survive. He doesn’t register the tight grip on his hand until his eyes fall down to where Eddie is holding onto him, fingers laced. Buck gives him a reassuring squeeze, but he can not look at Eddie right now. Not with all of his messy childhood feelings spilling out of his chest, not when he knows Eddie will scoop them up and carry them for Buck, even when he knows they’re too heavy to lift alone.

“Evie,” Hen asks in her motherly tone, “where are you staying?”

“Dad took me to his firehouse,” Evie says and she’s smiling again, but just barely, “but, mom came by and they were arguing so I just wanted to get away for a while.” She holds her phone up, “Don’t worry, I texted him.”

“Why did you come to our firehouse?” Buck asks, but deep down, he thinks he already knows the answer.

“I feel safe here,” Evie says honestly.

Buck doesn’t want to cry in front of this girl who is so much like himself, so he tries his honest to god’s best to put it away.

“Also,” Evie isn’t looking at him when she speaks again, but there’s no doubt that she’s still addressing Buck directly, “and if this is totally out of line or off limits, I get it, but maybe you could tell me about your brother, Daniel?”

Buck hopes, one day, he’ll reach a point when he hears his dead brother’s name and won’t have a near full body reaction. One that tenses all of his muscles, prepares itself for a blow you can’t recover from. He doesn’t talk about Daniel. Not really, anyway. Maddie’s been more forthcoming, a few stories here and there, a sad smile when she’s reminded of things he used to do. It feels like an old ache, similar to the flares he gets in his leg, when Maddie talks about their brother. He thinks it could be a good hurt, other days — worse days — he feels like it’s just to make him suffer.

Faintly, he feels another crack in his dam.

“I — uh — yeah, sure, w—we can do that,” he stammers out eventually.

“Buck,” Eddie’s voice is a murmur against his ear, a solid presence next to his side.

“It’s okay, Eds,” Buck squeezes his hand and this time he looks. Eddie’s face is soft, full of open concern and support and Buck is in love with him.

Eddie just nods his head and lets go of Buck’s hand, moving into the kitchen where Buck knows he’s on his way to make coffee. The rest of the team meander behind Eddie and Bobby, to give himself and Evie some space on the couch, although he knows they are all going to be acutely listening the whole time. Evie sits cross-legged on the couch, waiting patiently for Buck to start. He clears his throat a few times, drums his fingers against his knee, and thinks about whether he wants the bell to go off or not. When he was still seeing Dr. Copeland she told him it was okay to talk about Daniel and it was okay to feel the onslaught of emotions that came with it. Anger. Bitterness. Guilt. Sadness. Longing. He’s never asked too many details about what he was used for. All he knows is that Daniel started getting sick at six years old and he barely made it past his ninth birthday. Two years. Two years for pieces of Buck to be stripped away in order to save his brother. Two years for his parents to realize that playing god doesn’t always work.

“Daniel—” Buck stops, huffs out a slow breath, tries again, “my brother died when I was young, just two years old.”

“Oh.” Evie swallows, pulls her knees to her chest, “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“The funny part,” Buck laughs without humor, “is I don’t even remember him. My parents were so wrapped up in their grief, you know, that they pretended he didn’t exist.” Evie looks horrified and sometimes Buck thinks he’s over it, but the reality of the situation crashes down on him like a collapsed building every now and then, reopening wounds that have never fully healed. “So, all my life, until over a year ago, I never knew he existed. I never knew what I was made for.”

“That doesn’t seem very funny to me,” Evie says angrily, pale eyes burning.

“No,” Buck rubs at his jaw, “‘suppose not.”

He tells her about Maddie and how she was caught in the middle of it all. How she raised Buck and loved him even when he was difficult to love. He tells her stories Maddie has recounted over the last year. How Daniel and Buck have the same eyes. How their hair curls when it’s wet or too long. He tells her that even at seven years old Daniel loved Buck too. Always wanted to hold him, especially when he was sick. How they would sit on the floor together and Maddie would read them stories and Daniel swore that when they were older he would teach him how to throw a baseball. How Daniel would share his favorite dinosaur stuffed animal when Buck cried too hard.

Evie listens with rapt attention and when Buck prompts her about Dani, she eagerly spills into stories about trips to the beach, making cookies together at one in the morning when Dani couldn’t sleep. She tells Buck about how Dani wants her to play soccer and go to the Redwoods to see the trees. But her smile slips as she talks about the not so great parts. How awful it is to watch Dani throw up blood, the late nights in the hospital wondering if she’ll pull through. She and Matty, her older brother, forgotten at school when an emergency with Dani comes up. And of course the endless suffering of giving everything she can to ensure her sister’s survival.

When Buck was born his cells from the umbilical cord were used to treat Daniel; he learned that much in his late night spiral deep dive when he found out about his late brother. He knows all about the things savior babies can give because they’re considered the perfect match. He knows he was probably used for other things, but he was so young that he doesn’t really recall much and he hasn’t asked because he’s not so secretly terrified of the answer. But, now, hearing Evie talk about everything she’s been through the last thirteen years makes Buck wonder if he should open up that box. If Daniel were alive would Buck still have his kidneys? His lungs? All of his marrow? All of the things you can survive without some of, but never fully be the same? How much of him were his parents willing to take? And if it ever came down to a choice, well, Buck knows where he stands.

When Evie leaves Buck barely has any time to sort through his messy thoughts in his even messier head before they get called out to an emergency. It’s a car crash. A fatal one. The driver is a young man, only twenty-two. His license informs them he’s an organ donor. Chimney and Hen get him to the hospital as quickly as they can.

Buck throws up behind the firetruck as everyone else clears the scene.

It’s hot.

The sun is merciless, never ending.

There’s not a cloud in — no. Buck can’t remember. He can’t remember if there are clouds in the sky. It’s hot. He knows this. There’s the sun. He knows this too. But he doesn’t know if there are clouds in the sky. He should. He should. He can remember everything else. The ringing in his ears. The way the pavement sears his skin. The underlying fear of the firetruck collapsing on top of him. He remembers all of those things, but the clouds. He can’t—

It’s hot.

Which is fitting, because everything about this moment burns and burns and burns. The blood in his mouth. The blood on his face. The blood in his hair. The blood on his skin. Burns burns burns. He’s standing still, watching, doing nothing. That burns. Hitting the ground, watching, doing nothing. That burns too. Clawing and crawling and screaming until his hand wraps around Eddie’s.

Oh god, Eddie burns.

His skin and his unfocused doe brown eyes. The way he asks Buck, Are you hurt? There’s more blood on his hands and Buck has half a mind to tell them he’s a five-alarm fire they need to put out.

J — Just hang on, Eddie.

Eddie’s blood slips through Buck’s fingers like smoke, black tendrils that curl around his skin, leaving little scorch marks. He presses harder even though it burns.

Stay with me Eds, stay with me.

Someone is saying his name, but it’s far off, distant. Fingers wrap around his wrist, trying to tug him away, but Buck refuses. He’s on fire and it burns and he can’t remember if there are clouds in the sky, but Buck will never, ever let go. He applies more pressure, feels the way Eddie’s blood, like flames, lick at his palms, his flesh melting into ash.

He’s not going to let Eddie die.

He’s not going to let Eddie die.

He’s not going to let Eddie die.

“Buck.”

That’s not in the script. That’s not part of the memory. And Buck remembers everything. Everything except — except for the clouds. Buck doesn’t let up the pressure, but the pads of fingers dig a little more insistent into his skin, and he blinks a few times. The cab of the 133 engine grows darker, faded, the sirens dying out, replaced by the quiet hum of crickets.

“Buck.”

And that voice, that voice. Buck knows that voice. It’s the same voice that asked if he was hurt. Buck blinks again, but he’s still pressing his hand down on the gunshot wound. Eddie still burns. Buck still burns, but there’s no sun. And Buck remembers the sun. He just can’t remember the clouds.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, soft and slow and not bleeding out beneath Buck’s hands, “I’m here, I’m right here, Buck. It’s okay.”

It’s dark. They’re in Eddie’s room and it’s too early for the morning rays to pour in through the crack in the curtains. The covers are a twisted mess at the foot of the bed and Buck is straddling Eddie’s waist, pressing the man into the mattress right where his scar is on his right shoulder.

“We’re almost there,” Buck says in a panic, still halfway stuck in his nightmare, “just — just hang on, okay Eds?”

There are tears stinging his eyes, but he doesn’t wipe them away, his grip on Eddie still hard and unrelenting. He watches as Eddie’s mouth twists in pain, eyes shiny in the darkness as he squeezes Buck’s wrist.

“Buck,” Eddie says with so much conviction and heartbreak that Buck recoils a bit, “I know you’re scared, but listen to my voice. I haven’t been shot. I’m not bleeding out.” He makes a small choking sound, like he’s trying not to sob, “We’re home, okay? We’re at home and we’re safe.”

And that makes sense. Because there’s no sun or pavement or fire or the sound of sirens. But, Eddie still burns and Buck can not do this without him.

“Eddie,” his own voice sounds rough, like he’s been screaming for too long, “Eddie, I can’t.”

“Look at me,” Eddie reaches up with his other hand, cupping Buck’s cheek, “it’s okay to let go.”

“Eddie.”

“Buck,” Eddie huffs, a little pained, “you have to let go, you’re hurting me.”

And that snaps him out of it. He falls back onto the bed so quickly, scrambling until his back hits the wall. He looks around the room and tries to remember how to breathe, but his chest just heaves and heaves and heaves.

He was hurting Eddie.

It’s been so long since he could remember his nightmares. He still gets them, almost daily now, but he can never quite recall what they’re about. This. This felt so fucking real that his entire body trembles. He can still taste Eddie’s blood in his mouth.

“Buck,” Eddie’s voice is so small, hesitating just in front of Buck, like he’s terrified to touch, “it’s okay.”

“Eddie, I’m — I’m sorry.”

And that breaks him, just a little. He reaches out and it’s all the permission Eddie needs to pull Buck into his chest, wrapping them in a tight embrace. Buck is crying and he thinks Eddie is crying and they’re both just holding onto each other and it burns.

“I can’t remember if there were clouds.” Buck hiccups. “How can I not remember if there were clouds?”

“I think you had more important things to worry about that day,” Eddie murmurs, fingers feather-light as he traces random patterns on Buck’s back.

Buck manages a wet laugh, which echoes in Eddie’s chest. They’re home, in Eddie’s bed, and they’re safe. They’re safe. Buck closes his eyes, wishes he were better than this. It’s been a little over a year and they’ve talked about the shooting. It was awful and hard, but Eddie’s a little more open and Buck’s never been one to deny Eddie anything. It helped, brought them closer together when, at first, all it did was drive them apart. And Buck knows it’s okay to not fully be over it. He’s not sure he ever really will be. Not completely, at least. He knows Eddie gets nightmares too. That sometimes it’s hard to eat things with red sauces or drink red wine.

But this?

This is too much. Buck is too much.

“Evan,” Eddie says seriously, pulling back to hold Buck’s face in his hands, “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re not, okay?”

“Not what?” Buck asks, sheepishly, but his voice cracks.

“Too much,” Eddie smiles and Buck absentmindedly wipes away a lone tear with the pad of his thumb. “We’re in this together, yeah? You have my back and—”

“And you’ve got mine,” Buck nods.

“Always.” Eddie says steady and true.

And it’s not a love confession or anything. But something swells in Buck’s chest, that good kind of fire flickering at the base of his spine. He still doesn’t think he deserves this. Deserves Eddie. But maybe he can get there. Maybe, just maybe, if Eddie holds out a little longer. Because he’s starting to really see all the ways Eddie has quietly said, I want you too.

“We have to be at work in like five hours,” Buck groans, rubbing his eyes.

He knows, without a doubt, he will not be going back to sleep, but he feels wrung out and exhausted.

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs, “want to make breakfast?”

“At four in the morning?” Buck huffs.

“Plenty of time to make banana fosters french toast,” Eddie grins, “Bobby just gave me the recipe.”

“Christopher is going to be so excited he won’t need the sugar to be bouncing off the walls.”

Buck tilts his head to catch Eddie’s eye and his heart aches to kiss him. To taste something other than his blood. But he doesn’t. Not yet. He wants to get better first. Eddie seems to read him, like he always does, and presses his lips to Buck’s temple, before tugging them both out of the bed.

“More.”

Buck raises an eyebrow, the can of whipped cream hovering over an incredibly high white peak of sugar. Hen just stares at him, unblinking, challenging, and Buck wonders how long he can hold out before he gives into her demands.

Not long, apparently.

“Jesus christ,” he mutters as he swirls the can around until it nearly topples over the side of the mug from the weight.

“Don’t patronize me, Buckley,” Hen hisses as she pinches his side, “it’s three in the morning and if I want an ungodly amount of sugar then that’s my business.”

“Yeah,” he teases as he hands over the mug, “would you like some hot chocolate to go with that?”

Hen takes the mug and somehow maneuvers over to the table without spilling a drop. He stashes the near empty can away and joins her, taking the seat just across from where she is. They’re the only ones up. Hen has insomnia and Buck refuses to sleep, the nightmare from last night still too fresh, too raw. He’s waiting for it to catch up with him. The shitty, awful feeling of not sleeping in nearly twenty-four hours. Hen, surprisingly, doesn’t look much better than he feels, which worries him extensively.

“So,” Hen says and Buck bites back a groan, because he knows that tone of voice, “should we both pretend like we're just peachy on this lovely Tuesday morning?”

Buck snorts into his drink. He fidgets with the edge of the table where the laminate is starting to peel and he knows Hen is giving him the floor, letting him decide where this conversation is going to go.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” He finally says. “Everything is — is normal. We got our partners back and there hasn’t been any life altering catastrophes in months,” he knocks on wood, “and yet it all feels…” he trails off, not really sure how to describe the ever growing ache in his chest.

“Heavy?” Hen suggests with a knowing, sad smile.

Buck’s shoulders slump as he collapses back into his seat. “Yeah,” he sighs, scrubbing at his face, “why does it feel like that?”

Hen hums in contemplation for a moment, her finger tracing the rim of her mug. Buck presses the pad of his thumb into the table, listens to the buzzing of the refrigerator and the drip of the faucet. He likes the quiet sounds of the loft. The chirping crickets and the cooing birds that nest in the rafters. The shuffle of feet in the kitchen or the bay, because there’s always someone awake. It’s soothing, to have constant noise. Buck exhales loudly, because he can, letting it melt into the walls.

“We’ve all gone through a lot the last couple of years,” Hen says, leaning forward, “and I sometimes wonder if we ever really leave that sort of survival mode we’ve put ourselves into.”

Buck pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, but keeps his gaze hard on Hen’s face. Survival is something they’re all too familiar with. Something they’ve all probably been doing a lot longer than they’ve been at the 118.

“When we’re just trying to make it to the other side,” she continues, voice low, “it can be exhausting, but we don’t stop. We pack everything away and we keep going.”

“We tell ourselves it’s going to get better,” Buck adds, he gently taps his knuckles against the table, “that once it’s all over we’ll finally be able to breathe.”

Hen huffs a laugh, but it’s humorless, “Maybe when we finally do stop it all catches up to us. In the slow, quiet moments when everything is okay, we start to process exactly what we’ve been through to get here.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair,” Buck echoes her smile.

Hen reaches out and Buck slowly slides his palms into her waiting and capable hands. She gives a small squeeze, “No, it doesn’t.”

She looks like she wants to say more, like the thoughts that are preventing her from sleeping are right on the tip of her tongue. Buck knows the feeling. There are things tumbling around his ribcage, like a dryer with a broken dial, that he still hasn’t put into words yet. But, maybe he can trust Hen with them. Maybe she can understand and in return he can help her sort through whatever is knocking around in her head.

That, of course, is when the alarm sounds.

Hen squeezes his hands again, but she gets up. Buck quickly deposits their mugs into the sink and jogs down the stairs to catch up with her. The rest of the team stumble out of the bunk room, bleary-eyed and half awake. Eddie frowns because Buck was most definitely still in the bunk room when he fell asleep, so Buck just half shrugs as he gets into his turnouts, because if Eddie hasn’t put it together yet, he will soon. When they get into the truck Eddie knocks his knee into Buck’s and keeps it there.

It’s always the simple calls that catch them by surprise. A domino that falls precisely in the right direction to have the rest of them come tumbling down. Of course, the domino is a minor car accident, nothing Buck and most of them are even needed for except for clearing the scene. The tipping point, the thing that knocks the domino over, is a mini-quake small enough that half the city won’t even notice, but big enough that where they are standing comes down like a house of cards.

And, the thing is, Chimney and Eddie are okay. They’re just unceremoniously squished in a sinkhole beneath some perfectly placed rubble where the road gave out. Getting to them will be relatively easy and they’re both unharmed, just got the wind knocked out of us, Chimney jokes into the radio. They’re fucking joking about it. Eddie quips that Chimney makes a great pillow and Chimney groans that Eddie needs to lay off the second helpings at dinner. They’re fine. They’re fine. Fine enough that Bobby can tell them to hang tight for a few minutes while they get another crew out to help them safely move everything.

They’re fine.

They’re joking.

So, it’s fine.

It’s fine.

Except — except. Buck is panicking. Or, well, he’s trying really fucking hard not to panic, but he’s so goddamn exhausted and wrung out that he can not get that part of his brain that kicks every piece of him into overdrive when Eddie is in danger to shut the fuck up. Chimney is the added bonus to his already mounting adrenaline rush. He’s about two seconds away from lifting the very large and precariously balanced pieces of asphalt by hand if it means he can get to them faster. Bobby sees it, Hen does too.

“Hey Buckaroo,” Hen says calmly, a warm hand on his arm, “I need a hand by the ambulance real quick.”

Buck just gives a short jerk of his head that’s supposed to be a nod because if he stands here any longer he is going to do something incredibly stupid and dangerous. Just beneath the panic, the surge of adrenaline, the underlying fear of losing people — losing Eddie — something white hot and wicked burns. It’s familiar. Something he’s learned to live with since he was a child, learned to bury deep in his marrow so it can’t destroy him. In his exhaustion he hasn’t been careful. Hasn’t stopped it from slipping out of its cage where it sits just behind his teeth, lies underneath his tongue. He bites the inside of his cheek, lets his blood, warm and thick extinguish the fire.

They’re the only ones by the ambulance. Hen pulls the door open and climbs inside, rummaging around for a few moments before she steps back out with two water bottles. She hands one to Buck and makes a gesture to the open vehicle, indicating she wants him to sit down. He does. His chest rattles with each breath he tries to take, hands shaking as he chokes down a sip of water. He wishes he could get a fucking grip because Eddie and Chimney are fine, but something warped and terrible wraps around his body, squeezing all of the oxygen out of his lungs and—

“I thought Eddie died that night.”

That’s not what he thought he was going to say and the incredulous look on Hen’s face tells him she wasn’t expecting it either.

“When he was in surgery after the—” Hen starts, confused.

Buck furiously shakes his head.

“No, no, uh,” Buck swallows, his throat suddenly so dry it hurts, “after Eddie left the 118, he got into his head, or maybe he was already so buried deep in his grief and guilt, that he was lost.”

Hen listens with rapt attention, her fingers pressed into Buck’s forearm.

“But he got some bad news, about his old army buddies,” Buck continues, looking down at his hands. They’ve always been so big, too big, he’s never really known what to do with them. “And he locked himself into his room, took a bat to everything he owned.”

Buck sniffs, blinks rapidly to rid himself of the tears stinging his eyes. He’s so fucking tired of crying.

“Chris called me,” he shakes harder, Hen’s grip becomes tight, “and I could hear Eddie on the other end of the line. Christopher was so scared, I ran out of the apartment half blind. I stayed on the phone the entire drive and by the time I got there,” he looks up at Hen now, “there was only silence.”

“Buck,” Hen says with wide, sad eyes, putting the pieces together.

“I told Chris to wait in the hallway,” Buck half whispers, “and I broke down the door. For one unbelievably terrifying moment I thought I was too late.”

“Buck, you can’t carry that forever,” Hen says kindly, but there’s a waver in her voice, and Buck has a feeling he knows why she’s not sleeping either.

“Neither can you,” he says in turn, holding onto her like she’s holding on to him.

“It’s not the same,” Hen defends immediately.

“What Jonah did,” Buck says carefully, “was not your fault.”

“I watched him die, Buck,” Hen snaps, tear treks on her cheeks, “and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“I guess we’re both in the I Watched My Best Friend Almost Die Multiple Times club,” he croaks, covering up the near sob crawling its way up his throat.

“What a shitty club,” Hen half laughs, half cries, “I want my money back.”

“No refunds.”

Buck can’t tell who reaches out for the hug first, but they’re quickly pressed into each other, a mix of hysterical chuckles and tears. It doesn’t quiet all of the tumultuous thoughts and feelings carving a hole in his chest, but he doesn’t feel alone in the storm anymore.

“Hey Hen, Bobby says you need to—” Chimney stops, his mouth falling open as he takes in the sight of the two of them sitting in the ambulance. “What the hell happened?”

“Chim!” Hen smiles as she pulls away from Buck, moving to hug her best friend.

“Okaaaay,” Chimney says, confused, but returning the hug anyway, “clearly we missed something.”

“Buck?”

Eddie is suddenly right next to him, dirty and rumpled, but very much unharmed. Buck reaches for his wrist, pressing the pad of his thumbs into the skin until he can feel Eddie’s pulse, steady and sure.

“We’re okay,” Eddie smiles, running his free hand through Buck’s curls before his brow furrows in concern, “if anything we’ll have light bruising.”

Buck just nods his head because he knows as soon as he says something he may never stop. Everything he feels about Eddie, every moment of happiness and joy and anger and sadness will come spilling out of him until they’re all standing waist deep in the sea of Buck’s feelings.

So he packs it away for now and ignores how it feels like his time is running out.

“Maddie,” Buck huffs good-naturally as he watches his sister refill his wine glass almost a little too generously, “I do have to drive home at some point.”

He tries to swat her away, but she ducks out of his range, swiping her finger along the wine bottle so as not to spill any on the table.

“It’s only seven-thirty,” Maddie says with a grin, “and you promised you would stay to watch a movie.”

Buck turns to look at Chimney, who just raises his hands, “Don’t look at me, Buckaroo.”

“Fine,” Buck says in feign annoyance, but he smiles at his sister over his glass, his eyes softening in the corners.

If he’s being honest he owes Maddie this. He’s not so subtly been avoiding her ever since he learned Evie is a savior baby. Of course she texted him that night, thanks to Chimney’s inability to keep things on the downlow, but Buck was not ready to face her. He’s still not ready to face Maddie with this, because his sister, more than anyone else, is so closely tied to the Daniel of it all that Buck just knows he’ll unravel as soon as they talk about it. But Maddie is hardly someone Buck can run from forever and there are things pressing against the back of his teeth, demanding to be asked. There are things he finally feels like he needs to know.

Even if they break him.

So, he lets Maddie fill his glass as they eat dinner together, him and Chimney recalling some of their funnier stories from the week, Jee’s coos and giggles filling the spaces between them. Maddie’s smile is bright and happier than he’s seen in a long time.

“Okay,” Maddie says, cheeks tinted pink from the wine, “I’ll put Jee to bed and we can start the movie.”

Buck swoops Jee from her chair, giving her a big kiss. Her tiny hands pinch his cheeks, but he is grinning so hard that it doesn’t bother him. He passes her off to Chimney, who hugs and kisses his daughter so tenderly it makes Buck’s chest ache. Chimney is a great dad — one of the best next to Eddie, Bobby, and Michael and he wishes he could put into words how much Chimney means to him and Maddie. How grateful he is that his sister found someone that will fight for her the way she deserves.

“Alright there, Buck?” Chimney pats his shoulder as Maddie disappears from the room with Jee.

Buck ducks his head, a soft smile spreads across his face, “Yeah, sorry, I’m just —” he stops, takes in a deep breath, exhales slowly, “I’m happy you and Maddie found each other.”

When he meets Chim’s gaze he finds a slightly surprised, but warm expression there. Buck knows Chim and Maddie are still working on finding solid ground, but he can see the way they look at each other, how they acted when they broke up. He knows that kind of love always finds its way home again.

“What’s got you so sentimental?” Chimney asks, but Buck can see that he’s trying to blink away the sudden mist in his eyes.

Buck just shrugs, because he’s in one of those moods where if he opens his mouth everything holding him together will come tumbling out. He’s saved from having to answer when Maddie returns to the dining room to pester Chimney about making popcorn. They settle onto the couch, Maddie tucked safely between both of them, and Buck tries to pay attention to whatever movie Chimney picked out (Buck, I swear I am going to give you the moviecation you and Maddie deserve), some romantic comedy that has Maddie laughing in-between bites of popcorn.

He knows it’s coming.

With every passing second he feels more tightly wound, like a rubber band that is being stretched too far. He fumbles with his phone, rereads the last text Eddie sent him three times before he really comprehends it.

Feel free to come over after you’re done at Chim and Maddie’s

It’s the only thing that’s keeping the rubber band from snapping apart.

It’s a surprise that he’s caught off guard when it finally does happen. Chimney pauses the movie to use the bathroom (No, you can’t play it without me, I need to watch you watch Jenna confess her love to Matt over the dollhouse) and Buck is suddenly facing Maddie’s serious, but concerned gaze.

“Maddie.”

“I know it’s not easy to talk about,” Maddie says softly, “and if you really don’t want to, I won’t push.”

“But,” he prompts with a raised eyebrow.

Maddie licks her lips, carefully setting the nearly empty popcorn bowl down onto the table. “But, I’m your sister and you can talk to me about anything,” she reaches out, takes one of his hands in her own, “anything.”

Buck grips her hand.

“What all did they take from me?”

If she is surprised or startled by the question she doesn’t show it. In fact, Maddie’s eyes grow a little sad and it reminds him that they’re nearly nine years apart. She takes a moment to gather herself, but never lets go of Buck’s hand.

“When you were born they took your umbilical cord,” she says, her voice steady, but only just, “and that worked, for a while. The cancer came back a few months later so they took marrow and blood over a period of time.”

Buck grits his teeth. This is what he wanted. He wanted to know, had a sinking suspicion, but actually hearing the words makes the fire he’s tried to keep contained roar to life. It snaps and bites at his insides, sinking its blackened teeth into his flesh.

“I should have stopped them,” Maddie sniffs, her composure breaking.

Buck swallows his anger. He can’t do this to Maddie. Not her. And even though it’s harsh and bitter and makes him want to choke he swallows it down and reaches forward to wipe the falling tears away with the pad of his thumb, “Maddie, this isn’t your fault,” his voice comes out rough, “you couldn’t have stopped mom and dad.”

“I could have tried harder,” Maddie argues, squeezing his hand so tight that it hurts, but Buck doesn’t dare pull away. “There was this time they had to put you under to take more marrow and you fought so hard against dad’s hold. I remember watching you kicking and screaming, almost two years old, because you didn’t want to do it.”

Buck doesn’t know what to say. He feels his jaw tremble. The way his lungs burn because he’s forgotten to breathe. The feel of Maddie’s hands, small and delicate, in his own as she holds on to him. He doesn’t remember any of it. Too young, he’s always imagined, but now he wonders if there is some part of his brain that has buried these memories so far down in his subconscious just to save him from the pain. He forces himself to exhale, focus his eyes on Maddie’s face, because he knows that this hurts her too.

“It’s okay,” he says, “Maddie, listen to me, you did everything you could, no hey —” Maddie tries to pull away, but Buck isn’t having any of that, “look at me, Mads.”

It takes her a moment, but she does, dark lashes wet with tears.

“You did everything you could,” he says, gentle, but firm, “you loved me when no one else did and you took care of me.” Maddie starts to cry harder and Buck is pretty sure he’s two seconds away from joining her, but he needs to get this out before words fail him, “Whatever they took from me is on them. Not you and certainly not on Daniel.”

And that name will never fit quite right on Buck’s tongue. A relationship that was, thanks to his parents, only ever one way. Buck never had any right to Daniel, but Daniel had every right to him. He’s still getting used to it, the idea of who Daniel was. That he is allowed to mourn the brother he never knew. He believes Maddie when she says that Daniel would have loved him too.

He pulls his sister into a hug, letting the last, pressing question slither between his ribs a moment longer. He thinks about Evie, just thirteen years old, fighting her mother so she doesn’t have to go through another dangerous and life altering surgery to save her dying sister. He thinks about the way his own mother looked at him all his life. Cold and assessing, like she wanted to cut him open and see where it all went wrong. Harvest the remains and bring back the only son she ever wanted.

“Maddie,” Buck whispers as he pulls back slightly, “how did Daniel die?” Maddie opens her mouth, but no words come out as she tilts her head to the side in confusion. Buck shakes his, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Sorry, I know, in general it was from the cancer, but was it specifically because a certain organ failed or I couldn’t give him something in time?”

“Oh,” Maddie’s voice is small, “honestly, I’m not sure. I was only ever told it was the cancer. You’ll have to ask mom or dad if you want the specifics.”

Buck bites the inside of his cheek. He’s been dreading hearing that answer. The last thing he wants to do in the middle of all of this is call his parents. He’s supposed to be trying to get better and talking to them will undoubtedly make it worse.

“Right.”

Maddie hugs him again and they have a few, quiet moments of holding onto each other before Chimney tries to casually deposit himself back on the couch so they can finish the movie. Because he’s already stupidly raw and vulnerable he cries during Jenna’s love confession and Matt choosing his fiancé over her. He cries when Jenna wakes up on her thirteenth birthday and finds out she still has time to make things right. And he cries when they come out of the pink house and eat razzles on the couch together.

Crying is safer than the alternative. Crying can’t hurt or destroy everything in its path. It’s a healthy way to express his feelings. Except, as Buck digs his knuckles into his eyes it feels more like something is building than being released. Like they’re just about to tip him into dangerous territory.

Buck takes a second to glance at the calendar on their refrigerator. April glares back at him in dreary, grey letters with little rain clouds painted around it. Buck closes his eyes and while he doesn’t wish to be thirteen again he’s not really looking forward to thirty either.

“Buck,” Bobby eyes him from the head of the table, “is there something wrong with the casserole?”

Buck presses his lips firmly together, shakes his head, and reaches for his fork. He’s fine. He’s okay and he’s going to prove it to Bobby by taking a very large bite of the food right now. Except the hand that is currently holding the fork does not lift from the table and it takes every ounce of Buck’s self control not to hurl all over his plate. He reaches for the glass of water, the condensation dripping onto his blistering skin and he downs the entire glass in one go. It, unsurprisingly, makes him feel worse. He sets the glass back down onto the table a little too hard, grip tightening on the silverware, determined to eat what is in front of him.

“For the love of god, Buck,” Chim says around a mouthful of rice, “if you so much as dry heave in front of us while we’re eating we will permanently ban you from the table.”

“Chim,” Hen hisses, hitting him playfully.

Buck gives up after a particularly nasty roll of his stomach nearly makes the water come back up. He drops against his seat, letting his eyes flutter shut. It’s suffocatingly hot in the loft and his body aches and his head is pounding and this is entirely Denny’s fault. Technically speaking. Denny got the flu from school and not only gave it to Karen who gave it to Hen, but he also (unknowingly, Buck can’t actually blame Denny he is the sweetest kid) gave it to Christopher who gave it to Eddie and Buck just got whammied by both Hen, Eddie, and Christopher. He’s got triple flu, or whatever.

So he feels downright awful. He was mostly fine when he got up this morning, a little head cold, nothing medicine wouldn’t be able to fix. But as the day wore on it just got worse and worse and Buck kind of wants to crawl into the supply closet and sleep for ten years. He feels a warm hand press against his forehead and he instinctively leans into the touch even though it makes him even more sweaty and gross than he already is.

“Jesus, Buck,” Eddie says, “you’re burning up.”

“Your fault,” Buck murmurs before popping an eye open, “Hen too.”

“Ah,” Hen smiles, “it got you too, huh Buckaroo?”

Buck would like to point out that his pathetic excuse for a sleep schedule and his stress over taking care of two sick Diaz boys weakened his defenses. And he has triple flu. Triple flu. How was he supposed to stand a chance against that?

“Okay,” Bobby says firmly, but gentle, “Buck, head home and get some rest.”

He thinks about insisting that he’s fine for all of two seconds, but his stomach lurches again and he’d rather not become an emergency in the middle of the firehouse.

“I’ll let Carla know you’re coming home early,” Eddie says as he pulls out his phone, “and to tell Christopher to let you sleep.”

No one calls them on it. No one has a silent conversation with their eyebrows or gives them that look Buck’s learned to recognize when it comes to anything they do these days that suggest they’ve slipped past best friend territory. Buck doesn’t argue either. He doesn’t tell Eddie he’ll just go to the loft where he’ll be alone because he wants to go to Eddie’s house. He wants to crash in Eddie’s bed and breathe in the scent of fresh laundry and the warm, musky scent that is so distinctly Eddie. He wants to wake up and eat dinner with his two favorite people at the kitchen table and hear about Christopher’s day and fall asleep on the couch halfway through whatever animated movie gets picked. He wants Eddie to tug them to bed where the distance between them is erased when they wake up tangled in each other’s arms and pretend that it doesn’t mean anything just yet.

“Yeah,” Buck rubs his eyes, “okay.”

Now that he’s really acknowledged that he’s sick, he feels ten times worse than when he was in denial. He pulls over once on the way to vomit on the side of the road, the sun beating down mercilessly on his neck. He knows the back of his shirt is completely drenched in sweat, his curls matted and wild around his forehead, but he makes it with seconds to spare. The bathroom tiles are cool as they dig into his knees while he retches into the toilet. He manages to splash some cold water on his face and a half hearted hello to Carla who just pats his cheek affectionately and guides him to Eddie’s bedroom. He blindly pulls on a hoodie and sleep shorts before collapsing onto the bed. He could kiss Eddie on the mouth for splurging on the blackout curtains that keep the room cool and dark in the middle of the warm afternoon.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Carla says, setting a glass of water down next to him.

He hums his acknowledgement and pulls the covers over his shoulders, suddenly shivering and chilled to the bone. He sinks into the mattress, and blinks, long and slow until he can’t manage to keep his eyes open anymore.

It must be mere minutes when he’s forced into consciousness again, but he’s not in Eddie’s room. He — can’t remember where he’s supposed to be, actually, but he doesn’t think it’s here. Wherever here is. His eyes are still closed, but it smells like bleach and rubber gloves, burnt coffee and stale air. There’s icy laminate beneath his bare feet and he’s sitting in an uncomfortable chair. There’s the low murmur of conversation and the lights are bright, even behind his closed eyelids. Buck puts a hand over his face to block it out. He wants to go back to sleep.

An ear shattering scream makes him bolt right out of his seat.

He stumbles forward, eyes flying open, and everything hurts as he rams into a pillar. He shakes his head, the dizzying images slowly fading into focus. His surroundings look vaguely familiar, but he doesn’t recognize where he is. A waiting room of some kind, a hospital that doesn’t look like his hospital. The walls are covered in baby pink wallpaper with white flowers, the tile a faded turquoise with speckled dots. There’s a television in the corner, a children’s program in the middle of a jingle that makes him nauseous the longer he watches it. The people sitting on the other side of the room either can’t see him or don’t care. He wants to ask them where the nearest bathroom is, but the words don’t make it past his tongue as the scream rings down the hallway again.

Buck follows the sound.

He passes an empty desk, the telephone lights blinking unpleasantly, like a broken Christmas tree. He can hear people talking, but there’s no one around save for the blank faces that were sitting in the waiting room looking past Buck, like he’s a ghost. He bumps into the walls as he tries to stay vertical, fingers slipping on the slick surface of the plastic paneling. He needs help, he thinks, because he doesn’t know where he is or how he got here or if he’s supposed to be somewhere else. The floor is cold, but sweat pools into his collarbone beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

Bring him back he doesn’t want to do it!

And that voice sounds — familiar. But he can’t place it. Not when it feels like his brain is drenched in syrup and everything is a little foggy, like he’s looking through a tinted window or frosted glass.

It’s not a choice, Maddie, he’ll understand when he’s older.

That voice sounds familiar too, but in a way that makes Buck’s teeth grind together, fingers and toes curling unpleasantly.

But it hurts him.

Buck trails after the sniffle, the small hiccup that accompanies the words still lingering in the empty hallway. But it hurts him. He’s not sure who this girl — Maddie — is talking about, but she sounds scared and angry.

Well, Daniel is hurting more.

Daniel.

He should know that name, but it’s fuzzy on his tongue, like he’s swallowed too many poprocks. Maddie. Daniel. Someone is missing. He can’t think too long about it because there are two people suddenly standing in front of him, their backs turned and facing in front of a set of doors where that scream rings and rings and rings. There’s an older woman with short blonde hair and a young girl, probably around ten or eleven years old, with long brown hair braided in pigtails, swinging over her back.

Hey, can you help me, Buck wants to say, but when he opens his mouth no words come out.

He can still hear them arguing and watches the older woman grab the girl by her arm, keeping her from running through the door. Buck doesn’t like how hard she’s holding onto the children and he pushes himself off the wall to face them. He nearly jumps out of his skin, stumbling back into the doors because the two people standing in front of him don’t have faces. There’s just a smooth expanse of skin where their features should be. They’re still shouting, the girl’s crys growing louder, but there are no tears, and Buck can feel his heart pounding right out of his chest. He takes an unsteady step back, the doors swinging open and fucking christ they’re look at him.

Buck doesn’t hesitate as he turns and runs. He crashes through the doors, but instead of a long hallway it’s a room. Sterile and white, but bathed in shadows and doctors in scrubs, but they don’t have faces either. Buck backs up against a wall, his breaths so shallow his lungs burn when he heaves.

No! No! No!

The doors on the other side of the room burst open and a man with no face carries in a small child, only two years old, kicking and screaming. His eyes are shut tight, face a blotchy red and tear stained cheeks, the beginning of blonde curls pooling over his forehead.

Evan, that’s enough, it will all be over soon and you’ll be okay.

Evan. Evan. Evan.

Maddie. Daniel. Evan.

“Stop,” Buck says, reaching out, but he can’t move from where he’s standing, “hey, let him go.”

Daddy, no!

His tiny fist beat into his father’s chest and he cries harder, thrashing like an animal. Buck’s jaw trembles. The white hot rage starts in the tips of his fingers, spreading like wildfire through his veins.

“Stop!” Buck tries again, knocking over the cart next to him, metal tools and equipment crashing to the floor, “STOP!”

He keeps screaming and the boy keeps screaming, but no one hears either of them and Buck feels the fire take hold and and and—

“Buck.”

Something’s not right. He’s not supposed to be here, at this hospital that’s not his hospital. The pink walls and turquoise tile and the people with no faces.

“Buck,” a plea, voice trembling because whoever is speaking sounds close to quiet devastation, “come on, blink those eyes open.”

Buck can do that. He can follow that voice out of this room out of this hospital out of this nightmare. The screams still ring in his ears. Still reverberates around his skull, and he wants to keep telling them to stop stop stop. There’s a hand on his chest, light pressure that moves in a circle, and it helps disperse some of the pain he didn’t realize was building beneath his breastbone. He’s shivering, but he’s so fucking hot and it probably won’t be long before he’s retching the contents of his stomach again.

“Buck,” Eddie says, firm, but laced with so much concern it makes Buck whine, “look at me.”

Buck finally manages to open his eyes and he’s in Eddie’s room again. It’s dark, but he can still see the outline of Eddie hovering over him, and Buck swears his lashes are clumped together with tears, but he can’t be too sure.

“There you are,” Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s short lived, “you’re burning up, we need to cool you off now.”

Moving sounds like a herculean effort and Buck presses himself into the mattress because he’s afraid that if he gets up he’ll stumble right back into that waiting room.

“Buck, if we don’t lower your body temperature soon I’ll have to take you to the hospital,” Eddie huffs, like he’s frustrated, but mainly he looks worried.

That makes Buck panic.

“You can’t,” Buck wheezes, “you can’t take me there.”

“Whoa, hey,” Eddie gently grabs his wrist as Buck tries to scramble away, “it’s okay, Buck, it’s okay.”

Buck just shakes his head, willing his thoughts to tumble into place so he can make sense of everything.

“I don’t — “ He starts, breaks off, and looks hard into Eddie’s face. The mark below his eye, the curve of his jaw, and slight tremble of his bottom lip. The way his eyes are a dark, dark brown. Eddie isn’t like the others. The ones without faces. Buck focuses on that, turns his hands over so he can grip the sleeve of Eddie’s shirt. “I don’t want them to take any more from me.”

Eddie’s face shutters at that. Buck feels like he’s stuck between two places. Still looking through the frosted glass. He needs to get it together. He needs to think. Eddie said something about lowering his body temperature.

But it hurts him.

“Shower,” he blurts out, “cold shower.”

“Okay,” Eddie tries for a smile, and Buck latches on to it as they slowly get out of the bed, “let’s start there.”

His hoodie is drenched and everything aches, but Buck makes it to the bathroom, supported by Eddie, and manges not to throw up on the floor. Eddie helps him strip down and the cool spray of water provides an instant relief that has him sighing as he leans against the shower wall. He can hear the soft cadence of Eddie’s voice, rambling about things to keep both of their minds busy. Buck somehow manages a weak chuckle that earns him a grin from Eddie as the latter helps him towel off.

“Can’t go back to sleep,” Buck murmurs tiredly as he pulls a clean shirt over his head.

“Fine,” Eddie teases, light and easy, but Buck can still hear the concern, the worry in his voice, “but that means you get to watch the next episode of Christopher’s favorite show.”

Buck groans, but he doesn’t put up a fight as they move out into the living room. Eddie deposits him on the couch with a glass of water and medicine that he, blessedly, keeps down. Christopher occasionally runs his hands over Buck’s back in random patterns as he watches his show, whispering you’re okay, Buck, every now and then.

Buck falls asleep pressed into Eddie’s side with his fingers running through Buck’s hair and Christopher tapping absentmindedly against his knee.

“Don’t you dare put peanut butter on that hot dog,” Buck narrows his eyes, nose scrunching as he points a cheesy wooden spoon in Christopher’s direction.

Christopher just grins, shark-like, and carefully dips his spoon into the jar of creamy peanut butter. He cackles as he spreads it across his hot dog, eyes darting up to watch Buck’s horrified expression before he sticks the spoon in his mouth to eat the rest.

“You’re gross,” Buck informs him, dividing the pot of macaroni and cheese into two bowls.

Christopher laughs again, “Buck,” he says, slightly exasperated in a way that reminds Buck his teenage years are rapidly approaching, “remember the hotdog with mac and cheese and fruit loops.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Buck sniffs as he sets the food down on the table, taking the seat across from Chris and his monstrosity of a hotdog.

Chris throws him a sideways glance and Buck knows his phone is just in reach where the boy can pull up Buck’s Instagram and prove its existence. Buck snatches his phone before Chris gets a chance and he sets off into another fit of giggles.

“Fine,” Buck concedes, “but it was good! Fruit loops don’t have a strong flavor and they provide great texture.”

Christopher just shakes his head, “I think that makes you the gross one.”

“I’m telling your dad you put peanut butter on your hotdog,”

“He does it too,” Christopher states matter-of-factly.

Buck clutches his chest dramatically, falling over like he’s been injured. Christopher’s laugh is infectious as he reaches out and pokes Buck’s arm.

“Betrayed by my two best friends,” Buck sighs.

He pulls out his phone to shoot Eddie a text.

Buck: we can’t be friends anymore

It only takes a minute or two for Eddie to respond and Buck wonders if they’re having a slow day.

Eddie: I’m sure I’m going to love whatever you have to say next

Buck grins, imagining Eddie huffing in fond annoyance.

Buck: you and chris put peanut butter on your hotdogs

Buck: PEANUT BUTTER EDDIE

Buck: that is a CRIME

Eddie: 🙄

Eddie: Says the guy who eats fruit loops on mac and cheese on a hotdog

Buck: it provides amazing texture thank you very much

Eddie: 🤢

Buck bites his lip, trying hard to contain the unbridled joy that wants to pour out of him, but it can’t be fully contained as his mouth curls up in the corner. There’s a warmth that pools in his chest and spreads through his entire body as he stares down at the silly little green faced emoji Eddie sent back. He tucks his phone away and turns to his food.

“He called you gross too, didn’t he?” Christopher asks, the shark grin back on his face.

“It’s not fair for both of you to gang up on me,” Buck pouts, which just earns him a put upon sigh and a clumsy pat on his hand.

Buck eats slowly, making sure nothing upsets his stomach. He’s been living on a diet of chicken soup, applesauce, crackers, and ginger ale the past four days. He’s ready to get out of the house and back to work, the extra time with Christopher the only thing keeping him from completely losing it. The one good thing to come out of having the flu is that he’s been knocked out by sleep medicine so he hasn’t had a nightmare since his fever dream that first night.

“You and dad make it easy,” Christopher laughs, but it’s cut off when he scrunches his face in pain.

Buck drops his fork into his half empty bowl, moving so he’s right in front of Chris, “Hey buddy,” he breathes, his heart rate spiking, “you okay?”

“My side,” Christopher pinches at his skin through the fabric of his shirt, "it’s been bothering me all day.”

“Chris,” Buck frowns, gently pressing into Christopher’s ribs to gauge his reaction, “why didn’t you tell me earlier.”

“It’s not that bad,” Christopher deflects, nose scrunching again. “I think I accidentally ran into the doorframe yesterday.”

“Have you told your dad?” Buck asks, already knowing the answer.

“I didn’t want to worry him,” Chris shrugs a bit sheepishly.

Buck huffs a small laugh, like father like son, apparently.

“So,” Buck says as he ducks his head to catch Christopher’s gaze, “here’s the deal: I’m going to text your dad about your side hurting and we’ll keep an eye on it.” Christopher sighs, but nods. “If it still hurts tomorrow or gets worse we’ll make an appointment, okay?”

“Fine,” Christopher pouts, but his shoulders relax, and a small smile curls over his face as he says, “Thanks, Buck.”

“Anytime, buddy.” Buck ruffles his hair before he retakes his seat at the table to finish dinner.

They take it easy the rest of the night. Christopher works on a drawing while Buck reads on the couch. He makes them hot chocolate and popcorn for a movie and Christopher, tired and clearly not feeling the best, cuddles into Buck’s side. Buck remembers reaching for a blanket under the basket to drape over them. He remembers watching the scene with the piano in The Goonies, Christopher’s pick for the evening (Chim: Tell that kid he has good taste), and he remembers Eddie texting him a funny picture of Ravi sleeping with his head in his palm at the dinner table. But he doesn’t remember falling asleep. He doesn’t dream, which he’s more than thankful for, but he still wakes up feeling a little disoriented and like something is wrong.

He’s still on the couch, for one, which means he probably never put Christopher to bed. The blanket that was over both of them is now on the floor and Chris’ crutches are laying in a heap by the table with their empty mugs and popcorn bowl. The room is dark, but there’s a hint of grey light peaking in over the window. Buck fumbles around for his phone, which is also on the floor, and he quickly checks the time. Two minutes past six in the morning. Eddie isn’t off for another two hours and Buck has been asleep a lot longer than he initially thought considering they put the movie on around ten.

“Chris?” He calls out into the darkness, a slight headache sitting just behind his eyes.

He hears a pained whimper and Buck shoots off of the couch so fast he rams his knee into the coffee table. It hardly stops him from stumbling into the hallway where he finds the half cracked open door of the bathroom with the light on. Buck all, but crashes into the room, his heart in his throat as he spots Chris sitting on the closed toilet, doubled over in pain.

“Chris, hey,” Buck kneels down, running his hands over Christopher’s arms, “what’s going on, is it your side?”

Christopher nods his head.

“Okay,” Buck says gently, reminding himself that he needs to stay calm, “okay.”

“I woke up on the couch with you,” Christopher grimaces, “and I needed to use the bathroom, but once I got in here it started hurting so bad I threw up in the trash can.”

He points to the tiny bathroom trash can and Buck scrunches his nose as he catches a whiff of whatever is in there. He swallows his guilt, bracing himself for the answer to his next question.

“Chris, how long have you been in here?”

“Only a few minutes,” Christopher answers, letting his sweaty forehead hit Buck’s shoulder.

Buck exhales slowly, the guilt easing out of his chest. He didn’t leave Christopher alone for too long, by all accounts he was right behind him. Christopher groans in pain again and Buck carefully examines him, pressing in the places Christopher says it hurts. He’s terrified that it might be his appendix, the pain and area of discomfort are pretty similar to what he experienced as a kid.

“Okay, Chris,” Buck runs a hand through his curls, “I’m going to take you to the emergency room so we can get you checked out.”

“Dad?” Christopher asks through a glazed over expression.

“I’ll call him on the way,” Buck reassures him.

“Okay.”

Buck scopes Christopher up and only stops to grab his keys, wallet, and to stuff his socked feet into the first pair of shoes he finds by the door. Since he fell asleep on the couch he’s still dressed in his hoodie and old workout shorts. He probably looks like a hot fucking mess, disheveled hair and pale skin since he’s recovering from being sick, but it’s the least of his concern right now. His headache continues to build, but his focus is clear and sharp as he bundles Christopher into the backseat. He wants to break every traffic law known to man if it gets him to the hospital faster, but getting Chris there in one piece is just as important.

This is Eddie Diaz I can’t come to the phone right no—

“Shit.”

Buck ends the call for the third time, pressing the redial button once more. More than likely the 118 are out on a call that makes it impossible for Eddie to see his phone. When his answering machine plays over the speaker again Buck has to reign in his self control to continue to call Eddie until he answers. If he really is stuck in the middle of a rescue the last thing he needs is to look at his phone and see that Buck tried to call him a million times.

“Hey, uh, Eddie,” Buck starts, he has a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel and it’s hard to keep his voice steady, “I just wanted you to know I’m taking Chris to the hospital. He’s got a terrible pain in his side and I’m worried it’s his appendix, so, when you get this just meet me at Memorial, okay?”

“What’s an appendix?” Christopher asks.

Buck’s laugh is shaky, and a little wet as he peeks up at Chris in the rearview mirror.

“An organ that is more trouble than it’s worth.”

He goes through the motions of pulling into the parking lot and getting Chris out of the Jeep. He doesn’t get a call or a text from Eddie and Buck’s worried they’ve run into some sort of emergency that might keep them in overtime for a few hours. All Buck can do is laugh at the shitty luck they never seem to run out of. The waiting room is surprisingly empty save for one couple sitting down opposite of the television in the corner which is playing some stupid kid’s jingle. He feels unnerved by it, but he heads towards the front desk to be greeted by a woman he knows is on the tail end of a long twelve-hour shift. He checks Chris in, tries not to get frustrated when he has to prove he’s listed as an emergency contact, and relays the importance that it could be the appendix.

He doesn’t need to wait long before a doctor comes out to take Christopher back for scans, but it does mean he has to stay behind. Emergency contact privileges only get him so far.

“I’ll see you soon, buddy,” Buck squeezes Christopher’s hand, his voice breaking just a little.

“If it’s my appendix do you think they’ll let me keep it in a jar?” Christopher asks as they wheel him through the doors and out of Buck’s sight.

Now that he’s alone, or mostly alone another crack rips through his dam, water trickling down the concrete at an alarming rate. There’s still nothing from Eddie and it takes everything in Buck not to start hyperventilating in the waiting room. He leans against the nearest pillar, jamming the heels of his hands in his eyes to stop the sting of tears. His heart is a war drum in his chest and his head pounds so terribly he can almost see black spots. He knows he made the right call, that there’s not much more he could have done, but the guilt eats away at him nonetheless. He pulls out his phone and takes a shuddering breath as he places it next to his ear.

“A little early to be hearing from you,” Maddie greets warmly, a smile nestled in her words that makes Buck want to cry. He doesn’t, but the sound that escapes him before he can compose himself has Maddie shifting gears so fast he has whiplash. “Buck, what’s wrong?”

He takes a few deep breaths, glad that Maddie is waiting until he responds. He still has one hand pushed into his socket, and he absentmindedly rubs until it becomes a little irritated.

“It’s uh,” he licks his lips, steeling himself to repeat the words he told Eddie, which seems harder now that Chris isn’t in his line of sight, “it’s Christopher.”

“Is he okay?” Maddie’s voice is gentle, soothing.

Buck shrugs his shoulders before he remembers Maddie can’t see him.

“We fell asleep on the couch,” he explains, “and Chris woke up with this terrible pain in his side. I thought it might be his appendix so I rushed him to the emergency room.”

“Buck,” Maddie lets out a small breath, a touch too much like relief, “you did the right thing. If it is his appendix then it sounds like you got him there in time.”

“I know, Maddie, I know.”

And he believes it. He does. But it’s hard when all of the things he’s usually so good at locking away are just bleeding out of him like an open wound that refuses to heal over. It tumbles around his too tired body like broken glass; chipping away at his already waning composure. It doesn’t help that he feels so on edge being in a hospital waiting room. He checks to make sure that the walls aren’t covered in pink wallpaper with white flowers. That the tiles aren’t a faded turquoise with speckled dots.

“—call Eddie?”

“What?” Buck blinks, not realizing he hasn’t heard anything Maddie’s been saying the past few minutes.

“Did you call Eddie?”

“I left a voicemail,” Buck lets his head fall back against the pillar, the impact pings around his skull sharply, “but I think the 118 is caught up in something big.”

“I’m on my way,” Maddie says decisively.

“Maddie,” Buck whines, but she cuts him off sharply.

“Evan,” her voice is firm, but the edges are tinged with concern, “we’re not playing this game. It’s okay to ask for help and I don’t have to be at work until this afternoon.”

“Okay,” he replies miserably, “see you soon.”

He hangs up feeling worse than when he first called her. Seeking comfort from his sister is second nature for Buck because Maddie always has the answers, but the idea of her being in this waiting room with him somehow makes his fever dream all the more real. A sharp laugh escapes him, a hysterical thing, because he has the most unfunny thought of the nurse sitting at the desk removing him from Christopher’s emergency contact list for having a panic attack in the waiting room.

“Buck!”

And just like that Buck finds steady ground again. He exhales, long and slow, his entire body coming down from an adrenaline high he is unaware of having as he turns and finds Eddie jogging towards him still in his uniform pants and LAFD shirt. He places one hand on Buck’s waist, the other in the crook of his neck, thumb dipping below the fabric of his hoodie, pressing into his collarbone. It’s so achingly gentle that Buck finds it hard to remain standing. He looks exhausted, but Buck can read the fear and worry in the lines of his face.

“They took Chris back for some scans,” Buck finds his voice, “just a few…” He trails off because he suddenly realizes he has no idea how much time has passed between Christopher disappearing behind those swinging doors and Eddie arriving. “Um, I don’t know, actually, how long I’ve been waiting here, but—”

But you’re here now and it’s keeping me from falling apart

Eddie just nods his head, squeezes Buck’s shoulder, and lets his eyes flutter close as his head drops to his chest. Buck quietly watches him. He can see that Eddie is trying to stay calm, but since therapy he’s not very good at hiding it anymore, least of all from Buck. Before Buck can offer any sort of comfort Eddie pulls him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” Eddie breathes into his skin.

Buck melts into Eddie, his fingers curling into the back of Eddie’s shirt as he holds onto his best friend like he’ll disappear behind the hospital doors too. They eventually separate, but don’t fully let go as Eddie drags him over to a set of seats that allows them to be pressed into each other. Buck tells him about their evening and how he found Christopher in the bathroom this morning, feeling like it was close to his own experience with appendicitis. Buck is, at least mostly sure, that if it is Chris’ appendix they probably haven’t ruptured yet based on how Chris was responding to Buck. Eddie seems to relax just a little at that and he, in turn, tells Buck about the awful emergency they were called out to around five in the morning.

“I didn’t get your message until we were heading back to the station.” Eddie’s fingers tap against the top of Buck’s knee where they are restlessly sitting. “I probably should have called you, but I came straight here as soon as I managed to get the truck keys from my locker.”

“And how many traffic laws did you violate?” Buck asks with a slight grin. He takes it as a win when Eddie huffs a small laugh.

“Don’t tell Athena.”

Buck makes a dramatic motion of zipping his lips and throwing it away and is rewarded with one of Eddie’s sunshine grins that make his insides flutter like he’s fifteen again. Any warmth he feels by having Eddie at his side vanishes when he sees one of the doctor’s step into the room to call out, “Family of Christopher Diaz?”

They both scramble to their feet so fast they practically knock into each other. The doctor, Buck notices, has kind eyes, forest green with flecks of gold and wrinkles in the corner showing his age.

“Good news,” he addresses both of them, “it is not Christopher’s appendix, although that was very smart of you to worry about,” he says with a warm smile in Buck’s direction.

Buck lets some of his weight fall into Eddie, the relief nearly taking him out at the knees.

“So, what’s the bad news?” Eddie asks in a voice so tight that Buck reaches for his hand without thinking to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“Not bad news, necessarily,” the doctor explains, “it seems that Christopher is experiencing the unfortunate pain of passing a kidney stone.”

“Kidney stone?” Buck blinks.

The doctor nods, “They’re fairly common and luckily for Christopher he won’t need surgery to help it pass. Just lots of fluids and he should be able to go home this evening.”

Buck waits for Eddie to exhale in relief, but he’s still as rigid as ever and Buck knows what he’s thinking.

“Eds,” he says gently, “it’s not your fault. Chris might not be getting enough water or maybe his calcium intake is off.”

“It happens to children more than you think,” the doctor says kindly, smiling in Eddie’s direction, “don’t worry Mr. Diaz, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a twelve year old say their favorite drink is water.”

Eddie just nods his head, his fingers curling and uncurling next to his sides. Buck leans into him and he vaguely wonders if his exhausted mind is playing tricks on him when Eddie's shoulders drop and he presses just a little bit closer into Buck’s side.

“We’re setting up a room for him now and we can take you back in a few minutes,” the doctor says, still smiling.

“Thank you,” Eddie finally manages, shaking the doctor’s hand.

The doctor gives one last nod to both of them before turning and heading back towards the doors he appeared from. Buck immediately, but gently, grabs Eddie’s shoulders, keeping him from running like Buck knows he wants to.

“Hey,” he says, waiting until Eddie meets his gaze, “Christopher is okay and he gets to come home tonight. No surgery and he gets to keep his appendix.”

“That may actually disappoint him,” Eddie huffs a tired laugh, “he thinks it would be cool to be just like his Buck — sans appendix.”

Buck barks a laugh as he brushes his thumb over Eddie’s warm skin.

“I promise it is not as glorious as it sounds,” he grins, breathing more easily now that Eddie doesn’t look like he’s going to shoulder the blame, “besides it’s supposedly a useless organ.”

“I think cavemen would disagree.”

“Oh,” Buck teases, “he’s got jokes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waves him off with a yawn, but he doesn’t pull out of Buck’s touch.

“Coffee.” Buck states, giving Eddie a quick squeeze before he regretfully lets go. “The best shitty coffee in all of Los Angeles.”

“You’ve really got to step up your dating game,” Eddie says around another yawn, and Buck’s not entirely sure if Eddie knows what he says as he drops into the nearest seat.

His cheeks burn and he half-heartedly throws his thumb in the direction where he knows a small break room that serves coffee and has a few vending machines is. He pulls his phone from his pocket with the intent to, hopefully, head Maddie off and let her know she doesn’t need to come by anymore now that Eddie is here. He’s not paying much attention as he beelines towards the coffee maker which is, thankfully, freshly made. There are a few other people milling about, but it’s too early for any loud conversation and most of them seem to have the same thousand-yard stare. He tries to one hand a text message as he fills two styrofoam cups, leaving enough room for cream and sugar in his own. There’s a dull thud from behind him, the creaking sound of a vending machine dispensing something that sounds like a bag of M&Ms or maybe Skittles, but he only turns when he hears his name being called from across the room.

“Buck?”

He nearly spills hot coffee all over the counter and just manages not to burn himself as he unceremoniously shoves the pot back where it belongs. He turns, rubbing his eyes to make sure he isn’t dreaming, and blinks several times when he sees Evie standing by one of the vending machines with a handful of M&Ms.

“Evie?”

She carefully folds the end of the bag down and tucks it away in the pocket of her jacket. She walks over to where he’s standing, placing her elbow on the counter and her head in the palm of her hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“Christopher,” Buck says as he starts to add sugar to his coffee, cursing when he realizes he accidentally added some to Eddie’s, “he’s my best friend’s son, and we just found out he has kidney stones.”

“Kidney stones.” Evie hums, her gaze falling out of focus for a moment. She frowns and shifts on her feet almost nervously, “Is he okay?”

“Yes,” Buck offers a small smile, believing the words, “I thought it was his appendix.”

This makes Evie grin.

“The useless organ,” she teases.

“Unless you’re a caveman,” Buck says, stealing Eddie’s joke.

Evie snorts a laugh, her free hand covering her mouth to stifle the sound. Buck doesn’t have to wonder too hard why she’s here and it makes the deep ache that’s permanently settled in his bones radiated through his entire core. Evie seems to read him. The bright look in her eyes fades, her smile becoming incredibly sad. He hasn’t seen her since they talked in the firehouse a little while ago. He’s thought about her. If her case with her parents is going well — or, maybe well isn’t the right word, because he knows that no one is coming out of it unharmed in some way — because he fully believes that she should be able to make her own choices. Because she matters too.

“I don’t think Dani has much longer,” Evie says truthfully, “at least, not without a new kidney, and even then, who knows if she would survive the surgery.”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to break or his grip on the sugar to become so tight he hears the glass begin to crack. “Evie, I’m so sorry.”

“We’re breaking her out, today.” She says, still smiling, but it carries the weight of someone who has seen too much, been through too much. “A beach day.”

“A beach day,” Buck hums, ignoring the way something hot and dangerous begins to wrap around his lungs.

“Yeah,” Evie nods, “Dani asked to go and the doctors told dad a super secret way to sneak her out and get her back in.”

“It’s a great day for the beach.”

Buck can’t quite tell if he’s lying or not. For all he knows another tsunami could be rolling its way through the streets of Los Angeles. He only barely managed to see the sunrise in his panic rush to the hospital and he wouldn’t be able to tell you if there were clouds in the sky. Evie doesn’t call him on it. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the bag of M&Ms, dumping a pile into her hand. She quietly hands him a blue, green, and yellow M&M before she pushes the rest around her palm.

“Hey Buck,” her voice is lower now, her gaze dropped to the ground, “can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, of course,” Buck says, trying to chew the candy-coated chocolate — they taste sharp and metallic in his mouth.

“What if I wanted to—”

“Evie,” a warm voice says from the door, “there you are! We’ve got to get going, kiddo.”

They both turn and Buck spots the man he saw a few weeks ago ducking beneath the police tape to pick up his daughter from the bus crash. It’s almost a little jarring how young Parker Bailey looks, especially in the fluorescent hospital light. Buck’s own father is much older, greying hair and wrinkles that Buck once thought could have been laughter lines on his forehead. His dad was the picture perfect suburban father who worked to support his family. The kind of guy that didn’t look like he knew a terrible secret or would only give his kid attention when he was coming home from the hospital with a little more bruises and a little less pieces. Parker faintly reminded Buck of Chimney. A dad who looked a little bit in over his head, but was trying his goddamn best despite it all. Buck could see that he loved Evie and not just because she was made to save her sister.

“You must be Buck,” Parker says with a tired smile as he steps into the room, holding out his hand for Buck to shake, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Buck takes it, hoping he conveys some soft or warm emotion, but he’s so fucking exhausted he thinks he just about manages not to grimace. He can hear the unspoken things when he shakes Parker’s hand.

I know you and Evie are the same. I know your brother didn’t make it. I know what you must think of me.

“All good things I hope,” Buck tries to joke.

Parker pulls Evie into a side hug and Evie rolls her eyes, a very teenaged dad pressed into his flannel. “Only the best,” he says and Buck can tell he’s being honest, “I also hear you work at the 118. I’ve heard Captain Nash is a great man, you’re very lucky to work with him.”

“He is,” Buck says proudly. “He’s probably saved my life in more ways than one.”

“Sometimes all it takes is the right person,” Parker says softly, squeezing Evie’s shoulder. “Okay, kid, if we’re going to do this we better get going.”

“Right,” Evie looks like she wants to continue whatever they were going to say before her dad arrived, but she puts a smile on her face and turns away from Buck, “Operation Beach.”

“Matty is waiting with your sister,” Parker smiles, “so we better get going before your mother locks us all in the supply closet.” He shakes Buck’s hand again and Buck can’t find it in him to be resentful towards the guy who looks like he’s just walked out of a five-alarm fire, “It was nice to meet you, Buck.”

Evie giggles and they turn to leave the room, still tucked into her dad’s side.

“Bye, Buck!” She waves and Buck can only half-heartedly wave back, all of his messy thoughts and feelings trapped in the back of his throat.

It isn’t until everyone else leaves the small break room does he realize that he never sent his text to Maddie and that she’s here, with Eddie, in the waiting room.

Buck needs to do this.

Buck needs to do this now.

Because if he doesn’t, he may very well never have the courage to do it again. It seems trivial and Buck almost laughs at himself  — self-deprecating, of course, because it’s just a phone call. It’s just a phone call. To his parents. To his father, specifically, since he’s pretty sure his mother would just scream at him and hang up the phone. He’s not sure his dad will be that much better, but he’s always been the more docile one between his parents and if he is ever going to get an honest answer Philip is his best shot.

His thumb hovers over the call button, right below the name Philip Buckley. Not father. Not dad. Philip Buckley. His mother’s contact name is the same way. A guy he hooked up with at the ranch found it amusing and a little rebellious. A girl in Oregon called it cold and detached. But that’s the truth, isn’t it? Buck wanted to be separate from Philip and Margaret Buckley. He didn’t want those familial ties that came with calling them mom and dad. Not when they could barely look at him or call him son.

There’s a quiet buzz, a text message from Eddie popping up in his notifications.

Pizza or wings tonight?

Buck bites his lip, a grin growing in the corner of his mouth despite the cold pit of dread in his stomach. Christopher is at a sleepover with Denny which means it’s just the two of them tonight. It’s probably one of the reasons Buck chose this day to do it. Even without the heavy context of the phone call anytime he has to deal with his parents it’s uncomfortably bearable at best and cataclysmic at worst. Being with Eddie, even if they’re just sitting in the Diaz living room with a sports game on neither of them are watching, pressed together from knee to shoulder, is like a balm to the frayed nerves. Eddie doesn’t know he’s planning on calling his parents. No one does. He can’t give anyone the chance to talk him out of it. He needs to know. He needs to know and he’s terrified of the person he’ll become afterwards. So he’s alone. He’s alone because it’s safe. Because he can release whatever fallout is bound to happen in the empty space of his loft before he picks up the pieces and moves on like he always does.

What’s one more crack in his dam?

He sends Eddie a quick reply, wings definitely, and takes a deep breath.

He hits the call button exactly eight seconds later.

It rings and rings and rings. For one hysterical moment Buck thinks his dad might not actually answer, which, honestly, par for the course, but just as he’s about to hang up and never try again Philip’s voice crackles over the receiver.

“Evan?” He sounds confused, because when has Buck ever called him willingly that wasn’t life or death or Maddie related? “Is everything okay with your sister? With Jee and Howard?”

Buck laughs. A humorless huff of air. Of course that would be the first thing his parents worry about. He’s not even an afterthought, which shouldn’t surprise him anymore, but it still stings all the same.

“Why is Evan calling?” He can hear his mother in the background, and to his great horror, his father puts him on speaker phone. “Surely, he knows it’s dinner time here.”

He can still hang up. It’s just one button. The swipe of his thumb over his screen. But Buck has never been one to know when to cut his losses until it’s too late.

“Sorry,” he says, voice rough, “I didn’t mean to interrupt dinner,” he waves his hand like he thinks they can see him, “three hour time difference got away from me.”

“Is something wrong?” His father asks again and Buck’s tongue feels too big for his mouth, like he’s doomed to choke on it at any moment.

“No, no,” he says, forcing himself to stay calm, even as the bars of the cage in his chest bang open, “everyone is fine.”

He’s met with an awkward silence and if he couldn’t hear the sound of soft music floating in over the receiver he’d be convinced that they simply hung up.

“I — can,” he stops, already getting frustrated with how the words he needs to say get caught in his throat. For all that therapy he attempted with them over a year ago their communication never got any better and Buck still feels like he’s reduced to the twelve year old child that could never get it quite right. “If I ask you a question about Daniel, will you be honest with me?”

He hears his mother’s quiet gasp and his father clears his throat. There’s the sound of a chair scraping against a wood floor and Buck knows without seeing that his mother has left the room. She was the first to bail out of Buck’s therapy, citing that it was too hard, and his dad just followed suit like he always does.

“Go ahead,” his father finally answers.

“Maddie said Daniel died of cancer,” Buck starts, the words tumbling so fast out of his mouth because he’s suddenly afraid he won’t be able to get it all out, “which, yeah of course he did, but was there something specific? Did it spread to his brain? His liver? Did something fail or—” He cuts off when he realizes how hard he’s breathing.

“Daniel,” Philip’s voice wavers, “he died of kidney failure.”

And that—

“Kidney failure.” Buck echoes.

The dam cracks.

The water spills and spills and spills.

“You were too young,” Philip continues, “to give Daniel a kidney. They’re not mature enough until about six years old and the waitlist was too long.”

“But you would have,” Buck doesn’t recognize his own voice, it must be someone else who is speaking for him, “taken my kidney if I was old enough.”

“Of course,” His mother cuts in shrilly, “is that even a question? If it could have saved Daniel we would have taken—”

“Margaret.”

Everything.

Buck knows that’s what she wanted to say. Everything. If Buck was six years old instead of two they would have taken his kidney. He thinks about Evie, who’s just thirteen, going through a major surgery, losing one of her vital organs you presumably only need one of to survive. And his parents were willing to do it at half that age.

“Well, he wanted to know.”

He wanted to know.

Like this is all his fault. And, maybe, it is. He opened the box. He asked for the truth. And here it is with a shovel, digging into his marrow and releasing all of his pent up and righteous fury. He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until his eyes drop down to his free hand trembling against the granite of his kitchen island. He needs to end this phone call now or else he’ll probably just be screaming into the receiver forever. He’ll fill his parent’s quiet house with all of the hurt and anguish and anger they carved into him. Years and years of it splintering the walls, peeling away the wallpaper and paint, shattering the windows and all the mirrors. Maybe if it’s loud enough the entire thing will collapse in on itself.

A pile of rubble like a grave marker.

Here lies Evan Buckley, made up of useless organs and unforgiving anger.

“You’re right,” his voice is deadly calm, “I did want to know. Thank you for your honesty.”

And there’s that small, tiny part of him that still hopes they’ll say something. That he’s always been more than the sum of his parts. That he matters too.

But it doesn’t come.

And that’s okay. That’s okay. That’s okay.

“If there’s anything else,” Philip begins.

“No.”

“Give Maddie and Jee our love then,” Margaret coos, voice softer now, more delicate.

“Sure.”

They hang up first and Buck is left with the silence. He carefully sets his phone down and just sits there, hands curling into tight fist. It’s okay, he has to remind himself, it’s okay. He’s fine. Everything is fine. Bobby is fine. Maddie is fine. Chimney is fine. Hen is fine. Christopher is fine. Eddie is fine. It’s all fine. There’s nothing to be upset about. Nothing has happened — nothing is happening. Bobby isn’t crushed beneath the remnants of dispatch. Maddie hasn’t been swallowed up by the ocean. Chimney is back in his life and forgives him. Hen is going to be a doctor. Christopher isn’t in surgery for his appendix. Eddie survived the sniper.

Eddie is alive and breathing and not silent and unmoving in a decimated bedroom.

Buck looks out into his loft. The wide spaces he’s always craved because he thought they represented freedom. A place he could be loud and noisy and unapologetically himself and yet it has never felt like home. Buck is starting to understand why Eddie took a baseball bat to everything he owned. Buck doesn’t have a bat, but he does have his hands. And they’re shaking with all of the anger that’s always, always simmered just beneath the surface.

The closest thing to him is a stack of dishes he was putting away this morning, left forgotten on the counter. Buck grabs one, holds it too tight before he flings it against the wall, watching the dark blue ceramic shatter into pieces. His chest heaves, but it feels good. So fucking good to break something. So he does it again. And again. And again.

He should have known his dam busting wide open would rival that of a tsunami.

He doesn’t stop with the plates. He shoves things off of shelves, uses a table lamp to smash into framed decorations, flips over the coffee table until it breaks in half. He pulls stuffing from pillows and puts holes in the drywall, his knuckles bloodied and bruised. And he screams. God, does he scream into the vast emptiness until he’s sure it’s permanently saturated into the brick and floorboards.

He’s waiting for the catharsis to come. Because surely they’ll be something after ripping his soul from his body. For letting the poison bleed out through all of his open wounds. For giving into all of the anger and hurt he’s carried for days, weeks, months, years. He’s waiting as he throws a glass against the ground. He’s waiting as he rips apart a barstool. He’s waiting as he looks around the room, at the warzone he’s dug himself into. He waits and waits and waits. Because he’s perfected the art of waiting for things he knows will never come.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie’s voice is light and easy, a private grin tucked away in the corner of his mouth that Buck just knows is there, “I was just getting ready to order the food.”

Buck doesn’t remember calling Eddie. But he’s here, standing in the middle of the aftermath of his tsunami, Eddie’s gentle, smile-soaked voice in his ear and something splinters further. It cracks down the middle of his ribcage, leaving his bleeding, aching heart exposed to all of his destruction. He can’t stop the wrecked and wounded noise that claws its way up his throat.

“Buck,” Eddie sounds almost equally wounded and Buck hates himself, just a little, for hearing that roughness in his voice, “are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

Are you hurt?

Buck doesn’t mean to laugh. And maybe he doesn’t, not really. Maybe the hysterical sound that comes out of him is the sob that’s been lodged in his chest since his parents hung up the phone.

“I’m on my way,” Eddie says in a way that’s meant to be calm, but Buck knows him and he can hear the fear there, “Buck, did you hear me? I’m on my way right now, do not hang up the phone.”

Buck just nods his head even though Eddie can’t see him. He’s too terrified to open his mouth, not sure what will come out. Eddie starts talking. Nonsense things. Things about Christopher, the new cookie recipe Linda gave him, the most recent PTA gossip. Things Buck probably already knows and some he doesn’t. It isn’t until Eddie lets him know he’s ten minutes out that Buck realizes, fully, what he’s done. He takes a shuddering breath, dropping to his knees so he can attempt to clean up the mess he made. He doesn’t want Eddie walking in here to see just how much he’s shattered. How terrible and awful he is because he couldn’t control his anger. He puts Eddie on speaker and sets the phone down so he can hurriedly shove glass shards and broken ceramic into a trash bag.

He hisses when a sharp piece cuts deep into his palm. He hears Eddie curse and there's a jumble of words that sounds like I’m almost there. Buck rocks back on his heels and clumsily grabs a kitchen towel, wrapping his profusely bleeding hand. He eventually maneuvers himself so he’s sitting with his back against a cabinet, knees to his chest, and blood dripping on the tile. The tears prick the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall. He doesn’t deserve the kindness they’d bring.

“Buck!” Eddie’s voice rattles through the loft, “Jesus, Buck.”

“I’m here.” He manages. “I’m here, Eds.”

Eddie is in front of him, his hands careful and a touch too gentle as they move across Buck’s face, cradle his jaw, and assess the damage. And Buck thought he couldn’t break anymore. It’s now as Eddie holds him, looks at him with those beautiful brown eyes, that Buck really fucking let’s it go.

Tsunamis always have more than one wave. Earthquakes always have aftershocks.

“Hey,” Eddie says, brushing the tears away with his thumbs, “it’s okay, Buck. Just let it out. I’m here.”

“I’m so tired, Eddie,” he heaves, “and everything feels so goddamn heavy.”

“I know,” Eddie’s eyes gloss over, bottom lip trembling, but he’s a warm, steady presence kneeling in front of Buck, “I know.”

“I should be happy,” Buck is close to hyperventilating and the only reason he hasn’t spiraled completely is because of Eddie’s hand pressed against his chest moving slowly and methodically, like he’s trying to ease the pain. “I should be happy because everyone is where they should be. Everyone is home. Everyone is okay, but I can’t fucking sleep.”

“Buck—”

“I can’t sleep, Eddie.” Buck cuts him off, applying pressure to his wound just to feel the sting, “and when I finally close my eyes all I see is how I’ve almost lost everyone that’s ever meant something to me.”

Eddie runs his fingers through Buck’s curls and tries to reach for his injured hand, but Buck jerks away from him. He half expects Eddie’s eyes to flash with hurt, but there’s just soft understanding and Buck almost thinks that’s worse.

“I’m so angry,” he says, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks, “look what I’ve done. I’m so scared that I will never be anything other than this.”

Eddie’s hands are warm and callous against Buck’s cheeks, and he waits until Buck gives in and looks into those eyes that remind him of bottled honey or the bark on pine trees.

“Listen to me,” Eddie murmurs, “it’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to scream and cry and curse the world, but don’t think for one second that you aren’t more than that.”

“Eddie.”

“I know you, Evan Buckley,” Eddie says, sure and true. “I know you like I know my own name. You are good and kind. You’re mine and Christopher’s best friend. You love so selflessly and you’ve always, always been the braver one between the two of us.”

Buck shakes his head, but Eddie doesn’t let him pull away.

“You can be angry and all those terrible, messy things,” Eddie wipes away another tear, “because you’re human and you’ve been through so much.”

“I want to be better,” Buck hiccups, his good hand squeezing Eddie’s wrist, “I want to be better for everyone. For you and Christopher. For myself.”

“Then I’ll help you,” Eddie smiles and Buck catches a lone tear slipping from the corner of his eye. “You helped me, now let me help you.”

“You always have my back, Eds.” Buck tries to return the smile, and he mostly succeeds.

“Always.” Eddie grins, bright like sunshine.

Buck tips forward and Eddie catches him, pulling him against his chest. They stay like that for several moments, Buck breathing in the scent of sandalwood and something that is so distinctively Eddie his heart flutters in his chest.

I love you, he thinks, I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it

Eddie holds on tighter, as if he can hear Buck’s thoughts. As if he is responding with, I love you too.

He thinks about kissing Eddie as he shifts his head, turning so their lips are only a breath apart. He knows Eddie is thinking about it too, but they don’t close the distance. Buck doesn’t want their first kiss to be in the middle of his warzone. He doesn’t want it to be when he’s still too rough and teetering near the edge. He wants to kiss Eddie when he can savor every moment of it.

“Why don’t we start with you letting me take a look at your hand,” Eddie says, reading him like he always does.

“Yeah,” Buck nods his head, silently mourning Eddie’s warmth as they pull away, “I think that’s a good place to start.”

Buck lets out a slow exhale, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie as he leans back into one of Eddie’s back patio chairs. It’s big and comfortable, lined with a cushion that has funky, giant green leaves and blue flowers. His iPad is set up on the table in front of him, a cup of still hot coffee cooling just to the right of it. It’s nearing lunch time and Buck can hear Eddie and Christopher moving around the kitchen, their quiet laughter tinkling out from the crack of the back door. He knows they’re currently working on making mac and cheese and Buck smiles, remembering the box of fruit loops sitting on the counter as he passed into the dining room to head outside.

He feels content, mostly. There’s still the lingering buzz of anger, the quiet ache of sadness in his bones, and the heaviness only pure exhaustion can bring, but it’s not as cutting or sharp. He’s home. Really, truly, home, with two of the people he loves most in the world. And Buck isn’t better, not quite, but he’s taking the steps to get there. He knows it might get worse, considering where they are in the month of April, but he’s not alone. Logically, he hasn’t been alone in a while, his family — the 118 — have been there, will still be here as he climbs his way out of this black hole, but it hasn’t felt like something he fully deserved. Not when they were all going to places Buck felt like he couldn’t reach. Not when he thought he would just drag them down with him and fuck up whatever semblance of peace and happiness the universe had finally, graciously, bestowed upon them.

“Evan,” Dr. Copeland’s voice is professional, yet soft, as she smiles over the screen, “it’s good to see you again.”

Buck clears his throat, tries not to rub at his eyes as he says, “Hi, Dr. Copeland, sorry it’s been so long.”

“No need to apologize,” she explains, patient as always, “life is complicated that way.”

“Yeah,” he huffs a humorless laugh, “maybe a little too complicated.”

Dr. Copeland just smiles and waits for him to continue. Buck grabs his coffee and takes a long, slow sip just to help get all of his thoughts together. He thought he would be better at this, considering he’s already met with Dr. Copeland before, but it’s been a while. He quickly dropped off after the sniper because it felt like a betrayal to talk about something that hurt Eddie more than it hurt him. He hadn’t been the one shot afterall. Even now, with his still messy head, he knows that wasn’t fair to himself. That watching his best friend get shot while he stood there on a bright, sunny day (he still can’t recall if there were clouds) is single-handedly one of the worst days of his life. That he needs just as much help as Eddie to sort through it all. That it’s okay to ask for that help. Of course, it’s just the tip of the iceberg, and Buck’s head is rattling with all the things that keep him up at night.

“I met this girl, on a call,” he starts, “someone who’s like me.”

“In what way?”

Buck swallows, his voice only wavering slightly when he answers, “She’s a savior baby.”

If Dr. Copeland is surprised, she doesn’t show it. There’s just a slight lift to her eyebrows and she writes something down on her notepad. “Okay,” she looks up at him and Buck has never been more grateful that she has kind eyes, “tell me about her.”

“Her name is Evie,” Buck starts, “and she was born to save her sister.”

After his appointment with Dr. Copeland the smallest feeling of catharsis fills him, the one he was so desperately chasing when he smashed dinner plates into the brick walls of his loft. He also feels extremely worn out, like he’s run a marathon in his turnout gear, but he knows that’s just how therapy goes sometimes. He thinks about napping out on the porch, letting the mid-afternoon sun warm his cheeks, as the sounds of music and Christopher happily chatting away to Eddie lull him into a peaceful slumber. His stomach growls, though, and he hears his name — Buck! — from the door. He looks around and sees Christopher’s smiling face and something warmer than the sun blooms in his chest.

“Lunch is ready,” Christopher announces waving a spoon that is slightly stained orange around in the air.

“If I catch you or your dad slathering any peanut butter on your hotdogs I swear I’m moving to Alaska and never speaking to you two again,” he grins as he gets up from his chair.

Christopher just cackles as he waits for Buck by the door.

“No you won’t,” Christopher says, “you love us too much to do that. Besides,” he scrunches his nose, looking deadly serious, “I don’t think you can get fruit loops in Alaska.”

Buck laughs, ruffling Christopher’s hair, because he’s right. About loving Christopher and Eddie, not the fruit loops part. He’s sure Alaska can import them. Or at least have some weird name off brand. He joins them for lunch, Eddie’s knee pressed into his, Christopher talking a mile a minute about the species of bears that live in Alaska as he puts a generous helping of peanut butter on his hotdog. When they’re done Christopher goes off to play video games with Harry and Denny online and Buck has just enough energy to help Eddie do the dishes.

“Buck, go nap,” Eddie says softly, a fond smile on his face as he dries the pot they made the macaroni in, “I can finish up here.”

“I want to help, Eds,” Buck smiles, carefully rinsing the mug he was drinking out of earlier.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling so brightly all Buck can do is watch the way his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I know you do,” he finally murmurs.

Buck sets the mug down, drying his hands before he takes a careful step forward. Eddie says he’s the brave one, but it’s only because Eddie makes him feel that way.

“No one knows me better than you,” Buck says, fingers hooking in Eddie’s belt loops, tugging him forward.

Eddie easily falls into Buck’s pull, hands coming up to gently grip Buck’s arms, “Ditto.”

“That was so romantic of you,” Buck laughs, “same level as LA’s best shittiest coffee.”

“How’s this for romance?” Eddie grins before his face suddenly becomes serious, his hold on Buck tightening. “You’re it for me, Buck.”

“Eddie.”

“I mean it,” Eddie says in a way that’s so casually honest Buck has to blink back tears. “I loved Shannon, I did, but you’re the love of my life, Buck. My best friend, my partner, Christopher’s second dad. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and I don’t know how I got so lucky, finding you but—”

And Buck does the thing he’s wanted to do ever since he took Eddie to pick up Christopher after the earthquake. He kisses him, slow and sweet, cradling Eddie’s jaw with a gentleness he didn’t know he still possessed. Eddie’s hands move to Buck’s waist, pulling him closer and he licks into Buck’s mouth with so much want and desire that Buck’s head is a little dizzy with it. They get to have this.

They get to have this.

And Buck knows he isn’t the only one who thought he didn’t deserve to be loved like this. He kisses Eddie harder, deeper, with everything he has. He never wants Eddie to doubt how much he loves him.

“I don’t think I’ve loved anyone the way I love you,” Buck breathes in the space between them, their foreheads pressing together.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, nuzzling his nose against Buck’s, soft and enduring.

“Yeah,” Buck answers, kissing the corner of his mouth, the mark below his eye, the hinge of his jaw, until he captures Eddie’s lips into another syrup slow kiss that tastes like forever.

“Buck,” Bobby claps him on the shoulder just as he shrugs out of his turnout coat, “meet me in my office when you’re done.”

Buck’s teasing grin falters slightly, eyebrows knitting in confusion as he immediately tears his gaze away from Eddie to look at Bobby. He quickly replays their last call, making sure he didn’t do anything unnecessary or reckless. It seems highly impossible considering their last call was at a petting zoo where Buck’s primary job was to distract the group of children. Ravi, Lucy, and Eddie were on escaped goat duty while Chimney and Hen triaged the unfortunate parents who got caught in the stampede. If anything it’d be related to the mother who was unashamedly flirting with him, asking if he did birthday parties (And not just the PG kind, she added with a wink) which caused Eddie to “accidentally” release the goat he managed to wrangle, knocking the woman clean off her feet.

Bobby seems to read him, an easy smile on his face, “You’re not in trouble.”

Buck relaxes, but only just, a nervous hum still in his veins as he hangs up his gear. Eddie reaches over, giving his wrist a gentle squeeze.

“Coffee?”

“Yeah,” Buck’s lips tug up in the corners, “thanks.”

Eddie’s thumb brushes over the back of Buck’s hand before he lets go, heading for the loft with the others. Buck takes a deep breath and heads towards Bobby’s office. Bobby is already sitting behind his desk, pencil scratching against paper quietly. He doesn’t look up when Buck comes in and Buck shuffles towards the chair directly across from Bobby. The last time he was here Eddie was next to him and they signed their HR forms together. Buck carefully sits down, right on the edge of the chair, fingers drumming against his bouncing knee.

“Buck,” Bobby laughs, eyes warm and crinkled in the corners, “relax, I just want to talk with you and see how you’re doing today.”

Buck lets his breath hitch for a moment before he counts to three and exhales long and slow. He lets himself fall back into the chair aiming a weak, but genuine smile in Bobby’s direction.

“I’m doing okay,” he says honestly, “better than I thought I would, all things considered.”

April 20th.

Daniel’s birthday.

Bobby rotated their schedules so they would have Earth Day off to do volunteer work with Buck for his birthday. While it means Buck can’t just bury his head in the sand and forget the date all together, he finds that work hasn't been all bad. They’ve mainly had light calls, most of them ending with laughter ringing in the cab of the truck as they head back to the station. He still aches and the weight on his chest is pressing harder than it has been of late. He didn’t sleep well, but he did wake up tangled in Eddie’s arms and they had enough time to have a proper breakfast with Christopher. Maddie and Jee stopped by for lunch and the rest of the team has easily kept him distracted enough that he doesn’t feel like the world is going to come crashing down around him at a moment’s notice.

When it felt like it was getting hard or when the overwhelming doubt and guilt tried to eat him away he quietly asked for help. He found Bobby in the kitchen and asked what he could do to prepare lunch. He roped Ravi and Lucy into a couple of rounds of video games in between calls. He took up the mantle of helping Hen study for an exam. Chimney showed him photos from the weekend getaway he took with Maddie and Jee. And of course Eddie remained a solid, steady presence by his side. It was enough. It was more than enough and every new breath he took in these twenty-four hours felt easier than the last.

“Glad to hear it,” Bobby says. He clears his throat and waits for Buck to hold his gaze, “I’m proud of you, Buck.”

“Bobby,” Buck says hoarsely as he tries to blink back tears.

“I know the past few years haven’t been easy,” Bobby continues, “but I’ve watched you fight and survive and grow. You should be proud of yourself.”

Buck huffs a laugh that’s almost self-deprecating as his chin drops to his chest. “I’m not quite there yet,” he admits, “but, hopefully soon I will be.”

“I know you will, kid.” Bobby assures him, “I know you will.”

Buck can’t stop the couple of tears that slip down his cheeks and as he stands, Bobby does the same, pulling him into a tight embrace. Buck holds onto Bobby, putting in all the things he can’t say into the hug.

Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for never giving up. Thank you for seeing something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. Just. Thank you.

“Alright,” Bobby smiles as he pulls away, “let’s get out there before Chim swipes the last of the Rocky Road I’ve been hiding in the back of the freezer.”

Buck just laughs following his Captain back out into the loft where the rest of the team is milling about. He spots Eddie first, beelining straight for him and the warm mug of coffee that he knows is the perfect shade of brown. He takes a sip, grinning at Eddie over the chip in his favorite mug, letting the heat seep through the pads of his fingers. Eddie gently squeezes his arm and Buck follows his gaze to see Evie standing between Hen and Chimney, a manilla envelope in her hand.

“Evie,” he says, moving towards her.

“Hi, Buck.”

There’s a smile tucked in the corner of her mouth, but Buck can tell it’s weighed heavily by grief. Her eyes are the same, slightly puffy and red, but she’s still standing tall, her grip on the envelope tight. He knows that it hasn’t been long and that Evie’s sister passed away the same night he smashed dinner plates and glasses against the walls of his loft. Buck thinks there’s probably something to that and that the universe works in mysterious and unforgiving ways.

“Could we…” Evie begins and Buck motions to the table for them to take a seat.

The rest of the team moves over to the sitting area, the television turning on at low volume, as the couches and comfy chairs creak with their weight. Evie pulls out the chair next to where Buck sits down, placing the envelope down onto the table.

“Evie,” Buck says after a moment of silence falls between, “I am so sorry about your sister.”

Evie nods her head, face scrunching up as she tries not to cry. She wipes at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve before taking a shuddering breath.

“I lied to you,” she says, which takes Buck by surprise.

“About what?” He asks, fingers tapping against the tabletop.

She takes a few more breaths and then looks up at him with those sad, pale blue eyes. “I wanted to give Dani my kidney.”

Buck raises an eyebrow and something deep inside aches and aches and aches.

“I know that I’m more than just spare parts,” she says with a sniff, “and that I matter, but I wanted to do this. I wanted to give this to her.”

Realization hits him so suddenly, like a ladder truck crushing down on his leg.

“Dani didn’t want you to.”

Evie shakes her head, “She was so tired,” there’s a small sigh, “and she fought for so long. She didn’t want them to take from me anymore, not when she felt like she wasn’t truly alive.”

Buck thinks of all the people he’s given himself to. How he breaks himself into pieces if it means someone can live. He thinks about how he was only two years old when Daniel needed his kidney. How his parents wouldn’t have let it be a choice. How he would have chosen Daniel anyway. How he and Evie are still here when the reasons they were born are not.

“Only she and Matty knew,” Evie continues, “and I wanted to tell you, because even after everything I think you would understand.”

She meets his gaze and he can read the silent plea in her eyes: What now?

“It’s not easy,” Buck smiles sadly, “moving forward. Living without them. But after everything, I think they would want us to choose ourselves.”

“I think so too,” Evie says, her hand pressing into the envelope on the table, “although, I may not always believe it.”

“No,” Buck huffs, “some days are harder than others.”

“I won, by the way,” she pushes the envelope towards him, “full medical emancipation from my parents.”

Buck nearly laughs at the irony of it all.

“And how are things at home?” He asks, the edge of his fingers resting against the corner of the envelope.

Evie’s smile is faint and distant, but it’s true.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says. “I know my parents did everything they thought was right to avoid it all, but I think we’re going to come out of this better.”

Buck returns her smile. A year ago and maybe even just a few weeks prior the bitter bite of anger would sink its teeth into his flesh. It briefly flickers beneath his skin, a barely there touch that’s gone just as quickly as it comes. Even though his parents never truly loved him — and probably never will — he’s found a place where he is always wanted. Always loved. He feels it in his bones when Evie says everything will be okay. He’s seen the way her father loves her, knows that she has Matty, and that deep down her mother will get there too.

His eyes briefly dart over to the couch where Eddie’s sitting. He’s leaning into Hen, showing her something on his phone. He catches Buck’s gaze, offering a private smile, one he only reserves for Buck, before his attention falls back on Hen.

“You know I think you might be right,” He finally says.

Evie grins now, eyes lighting up as she sits up in her seat. “I was hoping,” she says earnestly, “I know your birthday is coming up and you do volunteer work on Earth Day.”

“You remember that?” He asks more amused than anything else.

“Of course,” Evie nods her head. “I thought, well, maybe my family could join you. We could plant two trees.”

Buck raises an eyebrow, but something warm, like sunshine, blooms in his chest.

“One for my sister, Dani,” she says with a deep breath, “and one for your brother Daniel.”

He can’t be blamed if his eyes go a little misty, his voice cracking as he says, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Buck, wake up!”

Buck blinks his eyes open in the semi-darkness. There’s soft, morning light spilling in through the blackout curtains where they’ve been pulled back in the middle and the quiet sound of song birds trickles in over the hum of the air conditioner. Christopher is standing just in front of him, smiling as he leans his weight onto the bed. He feels a warm puff of air against the back of his neck, a hand tightening around his waist as Eddie presses himself further into Buck, grumbling something that is lost in Buck’s skin.

“Hey buddy,” Buck manages around a yawn, “you’re up early.”

“It’s your birthday!” Christopher replies cheerily.

It is also six in the morning.

“Did you hear that, Eds?” Buck grins as he turns, nose brushing against Eddie’s, “It’s my birthday.”

“It will still be your birthday in another two hours,” Eddie mumbles, latching onto Buck like an octopus.

“Dad,” Christopher sighs and Buck just knows the kid is rolling his eyes, “you said we had to make Buck’s birthday extra special.”

“Is that so?” Buck asks, his smile growing by the second.

Eddie swears under his breath in Spanish and Buck manages to kiss his forehead before Eddie untangles himself from Buck, propping up on his elbow. He looks so sleep-soft and beautiful that Buck has to use all of his restraint to not kiss him senseless considering Christopher is standing right there.

“Okay, boss,” he says, “what’s the plan.”

“Cake for breakfast?” Christopher’s expression turns impish and Buck can’t help the too loud laugh that escapes him.

“Why don’t we start with french toast,” Eddie amends, shaking his head.

“The fancy one Bobby taught you how to make?” Christopher perks up.

“The fancy one Bobby taught me,” Eddie agrees before his words die off into a yawn. “And maybe a lot of coffee.”

“Okay,” Christopher says as he pushes himself off of the bed, “let’s go.”

He leaves the room with impressive speed and they’re both left laying in the bed with their door wide open. A few seconds later they can hear the kitchen radio coming to life, which they both take as their cue to follow.

“Extra special birthday, huh?” Buck says as he tugs a hoodie over his head.

Eddie’s face melts into something fond as he walks around the bed, his hands encircling Buck’s waist to pull him close.

“You deserve it,” Eddie murmurs, tilting his head to kiss Buck. They linger in each other’s arms for a moment, trading soft and slow kisses. Eddie squeezes Buck’s hip, pulling back as he says, “Even if it means I have to be awake at an ungodly hour.”

“Sunrise breakfast,” Buck hums, “besides, I didn’t wake you up.”

“He gets that from you,” Eddie points at him before he drops his arm, taking Buck’s hand to lead him into the kitchen.

They spend the morning together, making breakfast and watching the sunrise from the back patio. Christopher points out all the birds flitting about in the yard and Eddie pretends like he can tell the difference between them while Buck tries not to laugh. Buck and Eddie take too long in the shower together while Christopher watches cartoons and they’re almost late meeting the rest of the team for Earth Day volunteering.

“I swear, Buckley,” Kelly, the older volunteer coordinator with grey hair and matching eyes, says with a smile, “your group gets bigger and bigger every year.”

She has her hands on her hips, a big, yellow sun hat shading her from the morning sun, and pink floral print gloves slung over her shoulder. She’s standing behind a foldout table, her eldest daughter seated next to her, and all of the check-in information splayed out on the plastic.

“I could give your team an entire park and I bet the work would be done before lunch,” she teases as she hands him a set of nametags and sharpies.

“We’re just happy to help,” he replies simply as he writes a nametag for himself and then one for Christopher before he passes it off to Eddie and Maddie. “Where do you want us?”

The park hums to life with activity as volunteers set to work. Karen and May oversee Denny, Chris, and Harry planting seedlings at one of the large picnic tables as Hen and Athena help out in the community vegetable and herb garden. Ravi, Albert, and Lucy get assigned to invasive species removal duty while Michael, David, and Bobby work together to plant native flowers in open beds. Chimney, with Jee-Yun strapped to his chest, and Eddie gather up shovels from the equipment tent as Buck, Maddie, Evie, and her family follow Kelly down a row of trees waiting to be planted.

“Lemonade Berry is fire-resistant,” she says with a wink in Buck’s direction, “they curb erosion and adapt to a variety of soil types. They are a very effective fire barrier."

“Do their berries taste like lemonade?” Evie asks with a smile as she runs her finger over a bright red bud.

Kelly nods her head, “Once they are boiled and steeped for a couple of days they can make a drink that tastes just like lemonade.”

“Oh Buck,” Maddie tugs on her brother’s arm, her face brightening as she points to a particularly beautiful set of trees just on the other side of a bundle of common buckwheat plants, “what about that one?”

“Ah,” Kelly grins, “Coast live oak, a wonderful native oak tree.”

They all stop around the group of trees. They’re all relatively small, only reaching just above Maddie’s height and well under Buck’s. Evie and her brother Matty excitedly run their fingers over the bark, turning towards their parents with almost matching smiles on their faces.

“Not many of these long-lived and giving trees exist anymore,” Kelly explains. “They’re considered keystone species. They provide suitable habitat for wildlife and sequester large amounts of carbon.”

“Dad, Mom,” Evie says, hand already around the tree she wants, “this is the one.”

“Yeah,” Maddie agrees, “I think so too.”

Buck basks in his sister’s warmth, her face soft, eyes a little misty as she runs her thumb over a bright, green acorn.

“Coast live oak it is,” Buck says, tugging his sister into a side hug, squeezing her shoulder.

With Eddie and Chimney’s help they get the two trees moved to a spot Kelly designated as the perfect place for the them to thrive and grow over time. The money used to purchase the trees goes to habitat restoration and Buck happily hands over a little extra to Kelly’s daughter, Veronica, when purchasing his and Maddie’s tree. He’s pleasantly surprised to find the rest of the team heading over, each of them carrying a Lemonade Berry in their arms.

“We hear they’re great fire barriers,” Bobby explains, setting his plant down in the spot Kelly directed him to, the row of bushes from the 118 making a line that looks like it’s almost protecting their chosen trees.

They all get to work, the sound of shovels digging into the ground and the movement of dirt humming in the background of the quiet conversations and laughter. Maddie holds onto Jee and Chris watches over their tree as Buck, Chimney, and Eddie dig. Buck bites his lip to stop himself from smiling too much when he and Eddie inevitably bump into each other from standing so close, Chimney rolling his eyes despite knowing it isn’t anything new. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Evie and her family doing the same. Once their hole is deep enough he and Eddie carefully lower it into its spot.

“Maddie,” Buck holds out his shovel to her, “would you like to do the honors?”

Maddie smiles, handing Jee-Yun to Chimney. She places her hands over his, guiding him to the pile of soil.

“Together,” she says and all Buck can do is blink back tears as he nods his head.

After the first scoop of soil Chimney and Eddie join in, helping them cover the roots while Christopher patiently waits next to them with a watering can. Buck smooths out the fresh soil with his fingers and helps Christopher water the tree before they all take a step back to admire their handy work.

“It’s perfect.” Evie grins, hands on her hips as she looks at both trees and the line of Lemonade Berry the rest of the team are finishing planting just behind them.

“Yeah,” Evie’s mother, Mary, says quietly as she pulls her daughter into a hug, “it is.”

Buck watches as Matty and Parker join them, the four of them wrapping around each other in a tight embrace. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t apprehensive about meeting Mary Bailey. She reminded him so much of his own mother that he couldn’t stop the hot coil of anger and bitterness from wrapping around the space between his ribs. Evie looked just like her, dark hair and pale blue eyes, but he could see Mary’s were shadowed in guilt and grief. Despite everything — the pushback, the unkind words, the desperation to save one child at the expense of the other — it was clear that Mary loved Evie. That there was still a chance, a spark of hope, that things will get better. Buck swallows his sadness, knowing he shouldn’t dwell on the things he will never get from his own parents.

The coil loosens, replaced with a warmth Buck has grown intimately familiar with when he feels a calloused hand in his own, thumb brushing over his skin feather-light and comforting. He tilts his head, catching Eddie’s soft gaze. The world around him fades as he looks at Eddie, letting himself get lost in those doe brown eyes. It’s probably why he’s taken by surprise when the rest of the team comes over, singing Happy Birthday with a platter of cupcakes shaped and decorated to look like a tree. Buck groans, dropping his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, cheeks flushing from equal parts fond and embarrassed.

“You didn’t think we would pass up an opportunity to sing very loudly and very off-key to you in public, did you?” Hen asks with a mischievous smile, her phone out to record the whole thing.

“When has anyone here ever passed up the chance to embarrass me?” Buck says with a raised eyebrow.

“Never.” Chimney grins, patting Buck on the shoulder.

They finish up the rest of their assigned task before eating lunch and cupcakes at the picnic tables set aside for them. Buck thinks it might be his best birthday yet, his smile never fading and his chest blooming with unbridled joy surrounded by his chosen family. Evie pulls him aside just as they are about to head out for the day.

“There was one more thing I wanted to tell you,” Evie says as she tucks her hair behind her ears, the smile she’s been wearing all day still bright on her face.

“What’s that?” He asks as he kneels down so they’re facing each other.

“Thank you,” she says, “for everything.”

Buck blinks in surprise, but before he can respond Evie throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Buck squeezes her gently and just like that, one of the crushing weights he’s been carrying around for too long lifts from his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he says in return.

“Don’t go losing anymore organs, firefighter Buck,” Evie teases as she pokes him in the shoulder, “you don’t have any useless ones left.”

“No promises,” he grins. “Take care of yourself.”

She gives him a small salute and then turns and catches up with her family who are waiting by the check-in tent. They all wave a goodbye at Buck before heading towards the parking lot. Buck exhales slowly before heading back to the tables where the rest of his friends and family are sitting.

“Okay,” Bobby claps his hand, a sparkle in his eyes, “since we’re all done here, we can head out to the cabins.”

“Cabins?” Buck asks, raising his eyebrows as he looks between Maddie and Eddie, who are somehow wearing matching grins.

“Buck,” Maddie says innocently, “months of planning and you really expected it to only amount to cupcakes shaped like a tree?”

“Well,” Buck shrugs sheepishly, because he’s learned not to expect anything for his birthday and hasn't wanted anything except to share it with the people he loves the most. He narrows his eyes as he looks at Eddie, “This explains why you wanted to drive.”

“Surprise,” Eddie says casually as he leans in, kissing Buck oh so softly on the lips.

Buck melts, smiling against Eddie as he chases another kiss. The rest of the team begin to clean up and head to their cars to start the mystery drive to wherever they’re going for Buck’s birthday. He knows Bobby somehow had to pull some strings for all of them to have a few days off together and he silently reminds himself to give Bobby the biggest hug when they get to their destination. Kelly thanks them, beaming from ear to ear, and promises that next year they get their own park.

Buck hangs back for a moment, watching the leaves of their Coast live oak flutter in the cool breeze. He’s not surprised when he sees Eddie flood his peripheral. They stand together in a comfortable silence, Eddie a line of heat pressed into his side and Buck’s fingers reach out until they tangle with Eddie’s.

“You okay?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Buck murmurs, turning to look at Eddie, “I am.”

Eddie’s face breaks out into that sunshine smile and Buck closes the distance between them just so he can taste it. Eddie holds onto him like he always does — like he never plans to let Buck go.

And Buck finally, finally, believes it when he says that everything will be okay.