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“Hello?”
“Hi, am I speaking to Mrs. Athena Grant?”
“This is She. May I ask who I’m speaking with?”
“Mrs. Grant, my name is Jordan, and I’m calling regarding your application to house a soldier through our Blue Heart Program.”
“Oh, okay. How can I help you then?”
“Ma’am, congratulations; you and your husband have been chosen to house a soldier of our United States Navy whilst he is between deployments. His name is Evan, he is nineteen years old, and is a Navy Seal. Are you willing to accept?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Wonderful. Now, I just have a few things to go over with you…”
. . . . .
Evan is nineteen when he returns from his first deployment, and he’s nervous.
He hasn’t been this nervous since he was seventeen and sneaking into his dad’s office to find his birth certificate when his parents went on a weekend getaway. His palms are sweaty, the collar of his fatigues is scratchy, and there’s been a never-ending lump in his throat since he stepped off the plane. Every breath ends with a shaky exhale, and more than once he’s swallowed back the bite of vomit burning his lungs. He can do this.
Oh god, he can’t do this.
“Seaman Buckley, right this way.”
Evan tries his best to school his expression, hoping against all things holy that his nausea doesn’t show on his face. He follows the kind officer (Peterson, was it?), shoving his hands deep in his pockets, curling into himself on instinct. Make yourself small. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t speak. His parents were often cold and cruel and their words were so sharp they could cut your throat, but that advice hasn’t failed him yet.
They stop outside of a nondescript door, and Evan can faintly hear the sound of voices coming through the thick walls. Officer Peterson nods to him, offering a faint, encouraging smile, like he knows how hard this is for him. Maybe he does, on some level; after all, there’s plenty of guys like Evan that join the military to get away from their demons. It’s not exactly uncommon.
Drawing in a deep breath, Evan opens the door, the chatter stopping abruptly. He enters, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the warm, brown eyes of a woman–Mrs. Grant. She looks the same as she does in the picture he had been shown. She smiles at him, big and wide and warm, and Evan’s stomach flips. He can’t decide if he wants to fall into her arms or spin on his heel and hightail it back to base.
“Evan,” the man–Mr. Grant–says. He extends a hand and Evan forces himself to copy him, and his handshake is firm but friendly. “It’s great to meet you. I’m Michael, and this is my wife, Athena.”
“Hello,” Evan says. He wonders if they pick up on the way his voice shakes.
Athena steps forward. Evan goes to offer his hand to her, but instead of a friendly handshake he’s being pulled into a hug, something fierce and protective, and his eyes burn. He blinks away tears as he hugs her back. He feels the rigidness in his spine deflate as he sinks into it, however he pulls away after a few moments. He finds himself unable to stray far; being close to her warmth is enough to calm the storm in his head.
“You’re taller than you seem in your pictures,” Athena laughs softly, reaching to pat his arm. “I know Michael said it already, but it really is wonderful to finally meet you, Evan.”
“Likewise,” Evan responds. He clears his throat. “Thank you for offering your home to me,” he says, “it means a lot. Truly.”
Athena shakes her head, still smiling. “Of course. Let’s get out of here, yeah?” She goes to move towards Michael, but hesitates, turning back to Evan. “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask–do you have all of your things? Or do we need to stop somewhere before we leave?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Evan says, shrugging the shoulder his duffel is thrown over, fingers tightening on the strap stretched across his body. “I have all I need.”
Michael claps his hands together with a throaty laugh. “Great,” he chuckles. “Let’s go. Are you hungry, Evan?”
Evan smiles. “I could eat.”
The Grant home is everything Evan ever dreamed of growing up. It’s spacious but has enough clutter that proves it’s been lived in. It’s clean, but not pristine–there’s dirty shoes in the mudroom and old receipts and junk mail on the table with their keys. There’s a healthy mixture of fake plants and real ones, the bookcases are somehow messy in an organized way, and the walls are covered in pictures; family photos, portraits, everything and anything else in between.
It’s perfect, in a non-perfect way.
“And through here is your bedroom,” Athena says as she leads him down the hall. “This is technically the guest hall, so there’s only another empty guest room over here; all of our rooms are on the other side of the house–I hope that’s okay?”
“Of course it is, Mrs. Gr–Athena,” Evan quickly assures ( Athena, because she insists that’s what he calls her) .
At Athena’s nod, Evan pushes the bedroom door open, and he stops in the doorway, leaning against the frame to take it in. It’s an average size, has a large window with a sturdy-looking desk beneath it and a wall lined with bookshelves. The bed is a queen and has so many pillows and a blue comforter; cerulean blue, his favorite color, the same color as his eyes. It’s plain and simple, but it already feels like his .
“Do you like it?” Athena asks from behind him, her voice hesitant. “It’s not much, but we figured we’d let you decorate how you see fit. The bedding is brand new, and I’ve already washed it, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
Evan tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. “It’s perfect,” he manages to choke out, once again blinking away tears. He wasn’t lying–it truly was perfect. “Thank you so much; I really appreciate it.”
Walking into the room he slips his duffel from his shoulder, dropping it carefully by the closet. He spins slowly, taking in the cream-colored walls and rich, dark wooden furniture. It’s been nearly two years since he’s had a bedroom to himself, let alone a real bed. This was everything and more.
“I’ll let you unpack,” Athena says, and Evan turns to look at her. “May and Harry will be home from school around four, and we’ll eat dinner around six-thirty; you aren’t required to eat meals with us or anything, but you are always welcome to, Evan. You’re a member of this home now.” She smiles at him. “Feel free to explore the house and yard if you’d like. The Wi-Fi password is in the notebook in the nightstand.”
Evan nods. “Sounds good. Thanks, Athena.”
Evan spends the next couple of hours unpacking his duffel (which took no time at all really; his closet is now the proud owner of four shirts, two pairs of pants and three and a half pairs of socks, and no, he doesn’t know where the other sock is at), exploring the house, and he even has enough time to take a quick nap in his new bed. Six o’clock rolls around and, after mustering up the courage, Evan heads towards the kitchen.
“Hey there, kid,” Michael says in greeting, looking up from where he was bent over the stove. “You like your room alright?”
Evan nods and leans his elbows on the island counter. “It’s great,” he tells the man, smiling. “Thank you for it, by the way. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” Michael says. He uses a pair of tongs to flip a piece of bacon. “We’re having breakfast for dinner tonight. Would you mind setting the table for me?”
“Of course,” Evan replies, and he moves to do said task, but he hesitates. “Um… where do you keep your plates?”
Evan’s cheeks hurt from smiling.
These past few weeks have been the best weeks of his life. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this place, of the life that flows through the home every single day. Hell, they eat nearly every meal together–Evan hadn’t had a true, home-cooked meal since he left Hershey, surviving on shitty MREs and, before those, rushed meals in a rowdy mess hall back in basic, and now he eats like a king every night. Michael is a great cook, and even if the food hadn’t been delicious, the energy that radiated around the table could’ve more than made up for it. Conversation flowed during mealtime so easily, everyone jumping from topic to topic but constantly being invested in every new story. It was such a far cry from the lonely nights Evan spent as a teenager, heating up leftovers after getting home late from practice while his parents watched the news channel in the lounge, ignoring his existence.
Even after the meal was completed, everyone would still be happily interacting as they all worked to clean up. The table would be cleared, the dishwasher loaded, and the leftovers packaged and placed in the fridge, ready for a quick snack tomorrow.
Now tonight, even after dinner was complete, the Grants weren’t ready to wind down. Before he knew it, Evan was being ushered into the backyard and into a seat as Michael lit the fire pit.
“Here, Evan,” May says as she hands him a marshmallow. He takes it gratefully. “You get the first one.”
Evan smiles. “Thanks.”
After eating too many s’mores, Evan can’t help but relax back into the chair, belly full and skin warmed by the fire. May and Harry had retired to their bedrooms somewhere between his third and fourth, and now he was left with Athena and Michael, basking beneath a cloudless, starry sky.
“I love it here,” Evan mumbles, mostly to himself. However, the quiet night does nothing to smother his words, and he sees Athena perk up from the corner of his eye.
“Harry and May adore you already,” she says with a laugh. “You’re great with them.”
Evan hums. “I love kids,” he admits with a shrug. His shoulders press into the soft cushions. “I’d like to have my own, someday.” He doesn’t know why he tells them, but it’s so easy to talk to them.
“Do you have any siblings?” Michael asks.
Evan nods, and he finally turns his head so he can fully face the two of them. “A sister–Maddie,” he replies. “She’s nine years older than me.”
Athena whistles. “That’s a big age gap,” she notes, but her words aren’t malicious. She studies him, and Evan can’t help but meet her eyes as hers bore into his. “Are you two close?”
Evan snorts before grimacing. “Used to be,” he says. He swallows, and there’s a sudden weight on his chest. “She, uh, moved out when I was eleven. She lives in Boston with her husband.” He frowns. “I haven’t talked to her since I graduated high school.”
Evan watches as Michael and Athena share a look. “You enlisted shortly after you graduated, right?” Michael asks.
“Technically I enlisted in March of my senior year,” Evan answers. “My recruiter had me enter a delayed entry program, so I took all of my placement tests and whatnot, so by the time I graduated I was able to just… leave.” He shrugs. “I uh… didn’t tell anyone I was leaving; nobody would’ve cared anyway, honestly. That’s why I entered the Blue Heart Program. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Athena starts, and Evan already knows he won’t deny her an answer. “What about your parents? Or anyone else in your family?”
Just the idea of his family makes Evan’s stomach flip. He can’t help but scrunch his nose in distaste but he quickly schools it, his mother’s rants about wrinkles and decorum echoing in his ears.
“I don’t have a great relationship with my parents,” Evan admits. Athena and Michael share matching frowns, and Athena looks like she wants to say something, but Evan plows on. “We never really saw eye-to-eye when I was growing up, and they were just… I think they loved controlling me more than they actually loved me . It was always them either molding my life to what they wanted or ignoring me completely, and it… just wasn’t the best.” He sighs and turns his eyes to the sky. “As for my extended family, I never met them. Maddie told me once that we moved towns when I was a toddler, and we were essentially cut off from the rest of our family. I don’t know if they ever tried to reach out; they never did to me, at least.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, kid,” Michael says softly. Something akin to concern swims in his eyes as they bore into Evan’s. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”
Evan shakes his head and lets his gaze fall. “It’s not your fault,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “If it’s anybody’s, it’s mine; I wasn’t a good kid. I acted out a lot.”
His eyes begin to burn with a wave of tears, and he feels a single one roll down his cheek. He doesn’t know why he’s unloading onto the Grants, especially since he hasn’t even known them a month–it all just feels so natural . Being in their home, being in their presence , it’s like he was always meant to be there, something like fate.
An arm wraps around Evan’s shoulders and he looks to the side to meet Athena’s eyes as she perches on the arm of the chair. She smiles at him, bringing her free hand up to run her fingers through his hair, and she lets her touch fall to his cheek. Her thumb swipes beneath his eye, catching another tear, and he leans into it, a stuttering breath passing through his lips.
“Every child deserves to be loved,” she says, her voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “I know that we’re not your parents, and that we can’t go back and change the past, but we’re here now, Evan.” She pauses, and she lets out an incredulous laugh. “This sounds crazy, but it feels like you were always meant to find your way to us. You’re the missing piece in the puzzle that makes up our family.”
Evan can’t help but smile. “Is it weird that I feel the same way?” he asks, laughing wetly. “I wish you guys were my mom and dad.”
Michael stands and steps closer, reaching out to place his hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Who says we can’t be?”
Two months later, Evan gets called back to duty.
. . . . .
Evan is six weeks shy of being twenty-one when he returns from deployment. He’s exhausted from the flight and he can barely keep his eyes open as he wanders off the plane and into the airport. He’s so exhausted that he almost doesn’t hear the chorus of excited cheers.
“Evan!”
Before he knows what’s happening, Evan has an armful of May and Harry. He staggers, flailing wildly as he tries to keep his balance, and his duffel falls unceremoniously to the ground as he wraps his arms around the two kids. He laughs, something loud and boisterous, squeezing them tight.
“Hey guys!” he says. He pulls away to crouch down before pulling them back into his arms. “I missed you two.”
Harry giggles as he wraps his arms around Evan’s neck. “Missed you more!” he declares seriously, or as seriously as any five year old can. “Did you bring me a present?”
“Hm… did I?” Evan pretends to think about it, furrowing his eyebrows. However, he’s only able to do it for a few seconds, Harry’s puppy eyes cracking his resolve. “Of course I did, kiddo.” He gives May a good shake, looking up at her. “And you too, May.”
She smiles sweetly at him, and Evan gasps. “What?” she asks, but her smile gives away her fake confusion.
“You got braces!” Evan exclaims. “You look so cool.”
“You really think so?”
“Of course, Mayday.”
The grin May gives him can light up a room. “I got blue and white for you,” she says proudly. “Because of the SEALS.”
“Oh my gosh,” Evan says, jaw dropping. “Thank you! I’m so honored.”
Evan presses a kiss to May’s cheek before looking up, finally catching Athena’s eye. She stands a couple of feet away with Michael, eyes shining and a smile on her face. He offers her one of his own as he stands.
“Hey, ‘Thena,” he greets.
She slips away from her husband and steps forward, quickly drawing Evan into a hug. “It’s been too long, baby,” she sighs. Her arms tighten around him and Evan just sinks into it, resting his cheek against her head. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“So am I,” Evan says. “I missed you guys.” Michael wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Evan leans into the touch.
“Let’s get you home, kid.”
Evan collapses onto the sofa, letting his duffel hit the ground with an unceremonious thump . He groans as he sinks into the cushions, and he can hear Athena laughing somewhere behind him, but he’s too exhausted to fake offense; it had been too long since he had been on something so soft .
“Comfy there?” Michael chuckles, sitting in the empty spot next to Evan’s feet. He grips onto one of his ankles.
“Definitely beats freakin’ sand,” Evan mumbles into the cushions.
Michael continues to laugh. “I bet.”
Eventually, Evan pulls himself up and settles cross-legged on the couch. Somewhere between falling face first into the cushions and his subsequent revival, the Grants had gathered around the living room. Michael hands him a bowl of popcorn (when had they managed to make that?) as he himself settles back, and they stare at him expectantly.
“What?” he asks, looking around. “Do I have something on my face?”
Harry giggles. “You said you had presents?”
“Ohh, I see; you all just want me around for my gifts.”
Athena smirks. “Well when you put it that way…”
“Okay, okay,” Evan laughs. He leans down and grabs his duffel, hauling it up into his lap. “Let’s see what I’ve got in here…”
Evan pulls out a bundle of wrapped items, and he huffs another laugh when Harry rises slightly in his seat, craning his neck. He carefully begins to unwrap it, and as he does so, he lifts his gaze.
“So I can’t tell you guys much,” he starts, “but I can tell you that I was in Ethiopia for a little while. Did you know that Ethiopia is Africa’s oldest country?” The Grants shake their heads. “Well, it was founded in 980 B.C. Ethiopia is also the birthplace of my favorite thing in the world: coffee.”
Evan holds up a bag and extends it towards Michael. “Authentic Ethiopian coffee for you, Michael,” he says as the man takes it from him. He smiles at the reverent look in his eye. “One hundred percent Arabica beans, roasted dark. If I remember correctly, there should be notes of cocoa and… pecans, I think.
“And for you, Athena,” Evan unfolds a tinier wad of cloth, “some earrings. They’re made from Ethiopian opals, handcrafted by the nice woman who sold them to me.” He hands them to her as he speaks. “White opals; they’re often viewed as symbols of love and protection.”
Athena holds the jewelry with care. “They’re beautiful,” she says softly, voice full of awe. “Thank you, honey.”
Evan smiles. “You’re welcome. And then for you, May,” he hands her a necklace, “a black opal necklace. Black opals symbolize inspiration and creativity, while also protecting the wearer.” He unwraps the final gift and extends his hand towards Harry. “This is a washint . It’s a wooden flute–it makes the most beautiful music.”
Evan sits back in his seat and Michael wraps an arm around him. He watches, smiling, as the family admires their gifts, and he can’t help but feel proud of himself; he thinks he did a pretty damn good job.
“Happy birthday, Evan!”
Evan’s smile is so wide it hurts. Confetti rains down on him, the multicolored pieces of paper landing in his hair and on his shoulders, and he wants to gather it all up in his hands and put it in a frame, tack it onto the wall, remember it forever. He blows out the twenty-one shaped candles, wishing that he gets to stay here forever, surrounded by the people he loves more than life itself.
“Birthday boy gets the first piece,” Michael declares, cutting a big slice out of the corner. He hands it to Evan who takes it gratefully. “Red velvet–your favorite.”
Evan takes a large bite, and he can’t help the satisfied groan that forms in his throat. “Ohmygod,” he mumbles through a mouthful, eagerly shoveling another forkful into his mouth. “This ‘s so g’d.”
Athena swats his arm with an empty confetti cannon. “Boy, don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Evan cackles and sidesteps another swat. He grins around the cake in his mouth and Athena gives him an exasperated look, which only makes him smile wider.
“Happy birthday!” Harry says as he presses himself into Evan’s space. Evan’s free hand automatically reaches down to ruffle his hair. “You’re so old now.”
“Hey,” Evan whines, pouting down at the boy. “That’s mean.”
“That’s just the truth.”
“He’s right, you are old,” May chimes in. “You can like, do stuff, like buying fireworks.”
Evan frowns. “Twenty-one isn’t old.”
May raises an eyebrow at him, and he squints at her. However, he fails to notice the small hand reaching up towards him, and before he knows it, there’s frosting being smeared across his face.
“Hey!” Evan yelps, jumping away from Harry’s hand, but it’s too late; it’s up his nose and in his mouth, and he thinks he can even feel some underneath his chin.
Harry lets out a squeal of laughter and peels away from Evan, running around to the other side of the table. Evan, freshly twenty-one and totally mature, takes the high ground–he takes a chunk of his own cake and with only a few large strides he’s rounding the table and smearing cake crumbles on Harry’s nose.
By the time the impromptu food fight ends, Evan thinks he has more frosting on his shirt than he’s actually consumed. When he emerges from his bedroom after changing into a clean shirt, he finds the Grants posted up in the living room, clearly waiting for him.
“Do you guys feel up for a movie?” Evan asks, collapsing into the armchair that has become his chair.
“A movie sounds great,” Michael answers, nodding his head. Evan goes to grab the remote, but the man grabs it first, tucking it into his pocket. “But before that, we have one final present for you.”
Evan’s eyebrows furrow. Another gift ? They had already given him so much; he was now the proud owner of a new pair of fancy earbuds, two pairs of insane looking shoes, and a relatively big collection of new research material. If he was being honest, just celebrating the day was enough, not that he wasn’t grateful for the presents, but now they were giving him more?
He doesn’t deserve them.
“You shouldn’t have,” Evan protests, shaking his head. “You’ve gotten me so much already.”
Athena smiles at him. “Good thing this isn’t really a physical thing, then,” she says.
“What’s that mean?”
Michael and Athena share a look before Athena reaches behind herself to unveil a thick, manila envelope. Cautiously, Evan takes it from her.
“Open it, kid,” Michael prompts eagerly.
Evan does as he’s told, carefully tearing the seam. He pulls out a stack of folded papers, and with one final glance up at the Grants, he reads the top piece; his breath catches in his throat.
“These are a-adoption papers,” he stutters, his mouth dry. His gaze flickers between Michael and Athena in disbelief. “You guys… you guys want to adopt me? Me ?” He laughs incredulously. “I-Is that even l-legal?”
“Adult adoption,” Michael says, like that explains anything . Obviously sensing Evan’s bewilderment, he lets out a laugh, and he takes pity on him. “With your consent, Evan, we’d like to officially adopt you–make you a Grant.” He pauses, considering his words. “That first day we met you, it felt like you were always meant to be here with us. We want to make it permanent.”
“We love you,” Athena adds, drawing Evan’s gaze. Her eyes pierce into his. “We love you so, so much, and you already feel like a son to us. You are our son. This would just… make it official on paper.”
Evan doesn’t know what to say. His eyes sting with the burn of tears, and he can feel his nose starting to run, and oh god , he’s crying.
“A-Are you sure?” he breathes, staring down at the papers in his hands. “‘C-Cause if you’re not, that’s like, totally fine, I-I really–”
“Evan.”
His mouth clamps shut with an audible click.
“You’re already a part of this family,” Michael says softly. His eyes are full of love, more love than Evan had ever seen in actual father’s eyes, and that fact makes the back of his throat burn with a sob. “And we are one-hundred percent sure about this, more than one-hundred percent sure.”
“Yes,” Evan says after a moment, sniffling. “Yes, I’d love to be a Grant.”
Harry and May cheer loudly, and before Evan knows it he’s being tackled back into the cushions of his chair, arms full of the two kids, his two siblings . He’s a blubbering mess but he laughs through the tears. Michael and Athena are quick to make their way over, and they lean down, encompassing him in their arms.
“I love you guys,” Evan cries, leaning into their touch.
“We love you too, kid. God, we love you.”
Evan James Grant. It has a nice ring to it.
. . . . .
Evan turns twenty-three when he’s on a deployment in the middle of Afghanistan. He and his team have a small celebration, using a chocolate protein bar in place of a cake, and even though it’s gritty with sand, Evan happily enjoys the extra treat. He falls asleep in the Humvee afterwards, intent on catching an extra hour or two of shut-eye while they travel across the desert.
The world has other plans.
Evan comes to with a scream. Fiery hot pain races through his blood and he gasps, dizzy with nausea and agony. The roar of fire surrounds him, the flames warming his skin to a near unbearable degree. He scrambles at the sand beneath him, bloodied fingertips unable to make purchase as they slide uselessly.
“Blue!”
There’s hands on his face, on his shoulders, his back, and Evan whines. He blinks through the haze of smoke and dust, choking on it, metallic on his tongue. His leg is on fire, he’s being scorched from the inside-out.
“Hopper, get the fucking–the fucking kit, come on!” Hands grip his own. “Blues clues, just hold on, you hear me? Fight, kid.”
There’s a flurry of movement around him, but Evan can barely lift his eyes from the sand. He presses his cheek into the ground as he gags, unable to stop the vomit from climbing up his throat. He distantly registers someone cursing before he’s being shifted away from his own sick, but the movement only increases the throb and torment in his body.
“St-Stop,” he begs, crying out. Tears run down his face. “Pl-Please.”
“Blue,” he hears, and he blinks up at the blurry figure above him. “We’re going to free you, okay? But it’s going to hurt like a sonofabitch . You’ve got to hold on. We’re going to get you out.”
The weight on his leg shifts, and Evan howls . Red-hot pain floods from his calf and he sobs, choking and gasping on his breaths. The pain only increases as more weight is removed and he writhes on the ground despite the hands trying to keep him still. He can’t do this. He’s going to die from the agony. His vision blackens around the edges.
The weight lifts fully, and Evan succumbs to the darkness.
Two weeks spent in an infirmary at a random army base in Afghanistan, an honorable medical discharge, and a week-long ride on a well-timed cruise ship later, Evan is settled back in Los Angeles. Athena and Michael fuss over him and he allows it, their love and worry unknowingly working to mend his shattered soul. The doctors believe he will walk again but not without difficulty, and the terror that fills him when he’s told that information makes his blood freeze in his veins; but he forces himself to hope, to hold faith.
He will recover.
“Here, baby,” Athena says, handing him a warm blanket, clearly fresh from the dryer.
Evan takes it gratefully, shooting her a smile. The fabric feels like heaven against his skin; keeping warm has been a constant struggle since returning stateside.
Michael perches on the edge of his bed. “Are you feeling alright?” he asks, ever the worrier. “Do you need anything?”
“No, but thank you,” Evan replies. “And I’m feeling… fine, I guess; as fine as I can be.” He tries to joke a bit, but the words fall flat on his tongue.
Athena frowns and steps closer, reaching over to run her fingers through his sleep-knotted hair. Evan leans into the touch, humming contentedly as her nails scratch lightly at his scalp, expertly avoiding the stitches hidden by his curls.
“We’re so glad you’re okay, Evan,” she says softly. Her eyes are full of warmth, and Evan yearns to draw it out and hold it in his chest, to let her love heat him from the inside.
Michael nods in agreement. “You gave us quite the scare, kiddo.” He places his hand gently over the thick plaster cast on Evan’s leg. Evan shrugs as a guilty feeling washes over him, and Michael seems to sense it, adding, “We’re not mad at you, we know it was out of your control.” He lets out a light laugh. “But that doesn’t make the phone call we got any easier.”
Evan can only imagine how that call went. He wasn’t aware for a lot of the time he spent in the field medical tent, drifting between bouts of consciousness, carried along by the cocktail of drugs they were pumping into his system.
“Sorry,” he finds himself whispering.
Athena shakes her head, and her fingers trail down the side of his face to gently caress his cheek. “Shh, baby, don’t apologize. Like your dad said, it’s not your fault.”
Your dad . The term makes Evan’s stomach flutter with butterflies, because she’s right. Michael is his dad, and Athena is his mom. He has parents that love him, parents that would do anything for him, no matter what. He wants to kick his feet and giggle like a schoolgirl but the cast prevents him from even trying, and that realization sobers him slightly.
“Okay, momma,” he sighs.
As if reading his mind, Athena clicks her tongue, and she pats his cheek before moving her hand to his shoulder. “You will recover from this,” she says pointedly. “No matter what the future holds, you will prevail–you’re a Grant, after all.” Her smile is kind and gentle. “Don't forget that, okay? We believe in you.”
Evan nods, and Athena draws him into a hug. He rests against her as he reaches for Michael’s hand, tangling their fingers together in a tight grip. The smile Michael offers him could light a thousand skies, and Evan knows that he’ll be alright.
. . . . .
Evan is twenty-five when he graduates from the fire academy–or should he say Buck graduates from the fire academy. Because that’s who he is now; Evan “Buck” Grant. Too many Evans in his class led to his new nickname, and while it isn’t his original call sign, he’s happy with it. He gets to honor his old self, honor his big sister even if they haven’t talked in nearly eight years.
He’s still Evan at home, but he begins to introduce himself as Buck to the people he meets. He tells the kind baristas at the coffee shops that his name is “Buck, like the animal, yeah!” and he even changes his nickname on his Instagram and Facebook profiles. Buck is a new man, and he hasn’t been this happy since Michael and Athena asked to adopt him.
He gets offered a job at firehouse 118, and he eagerly accepts it. That night he goes to his mom’s home to celebrate, and Michael brings his boyfriend, David. It was a little awkward with the man at first, since his parents got divorced and Michael moved out, but their dynamic didn’t really change much. David is nice, and Buck doesn’t have an issue with him, even if a part of him wishes his mom and dad were still happily married. At the end of the day, he’s just grateful they’re still his parents, no matter if they’re together or not.
Athena has even started seeing someone, but Evan hasn’t met him. He’s curious, but he knows better than to push; his momma will introduce him when she’s ready.
Evan drinks too much wine and has to stay the night in his old bedroom instead of heading back to his apartment. It’s worth it when he wakes up Harry jumping on him to wake him up for breakfast; he misses it. But he’s happy in his apartment, with his own space, his own pots and pans and cleaning products. He feels like a true adult, feels truly independent.
That doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy the Mickey Mouse shaped waffles Athena makes for breakfast, though.
Two weeks later Buck walks into the fire station, an excited thrum of energy buzzing beneath his skin. He gazes around the open space in wonder, and then he’s heading up to the loft, following the sound of chatter. As he rounds over the top step, he notices the table full of firefighters who in turn notice him, and for a couple of seconds he stands there, bewildered.
“H-Hi,” Buck says, nervousness nestling its way between the excitement in his body. “I’m looking for Captain Nash?”
“Do you guys know a Captain Nash?” a man asks as he glances around the table.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Me neither.”
Evan swallows audibly. Did he seriously show up at the wrong fire station? Was the GPS app he used outdated?
The man who spoke originally lets out a chuckle. “I’m just messing with you, kid. I’m Captain Nash.” He stands from his seat and advances towards Buck, extending a hand.
“Evan Grant, Sir,” Buck says, sighing in relief. He shakes the captain’s hand. “Everyone calls me Buck, though.”
“Buck, then,” Captain Nash grins. “Come eat; we’ll get you sorted after breakfast.”
Buck enjoys being a firefighter. While it doesn’t compare to the SEALS, it gives him purpose, something he thought he would never have again after his injury. The first couple of weeks he does a lot of shadowing, helping when asked and following everyone else’s lead. However as he gets more settled, he becomes more comfortable, more self-assured. He starts taking charge when he can, using his knowledge to get the job done, and if the proud look on his captain’s face is anything to go by, he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job.
“Ma’am, you need to stay as still as you can, okay?” Buck watches the woman nod at his words, and he quickly checks his harness. “Alright, I’m going to come down to you.”
With a final glance back at Bobby, Buck is being lowered down the side of the freeway bridge. Chim is handling the rope, lowering him down with skill, and Buck is level with the victim before he can recite the ABC’s. With careful movements, he slips a second harness over her shoulders and snaps the buckles together over her ribs.
“My name is Buck. What’s yours?” He carefully threads another strap beneath her underarms.
“F-Fiona. Fiona H-Hill.”
Buck smiles. “Fiona, I like that name–it suits you,” he says conversationally. He buckles the strap. “Okay Fiona, I need you to listen to me now. I’m going to pull towards me, but my friend Chim will keep your rope taut. You need to move very carefully, though. Can you do that?”
Fiona nods and Buck proceeds to do as he says, extracting the woman from the bridge supports. But as soon as she’s hovering over the empty air, a strong gust of wind blows by, jostling their lines. Buck’s shoulder slams into the bridge followed by his head as he scrambles to get a good grip on Fiona’s harness. He winces, letting out a groan before shaking his head, blinking away the black spots. Fiona is trembling in his arms, eyes full of fear.
“Hey, hey,” he pleads. “We’re fine, it was just a little wind.” He swallows the lump in his throat and reaches for his radio. “Chim, pull us up.”
They’re moving and within minutes they’re safely back on solid ground. Hen’s immediately at his side, gentle fingers prodding the spots of his body that connected with the bridge, and Buck lets her fuss. He’s a bit dizzy, if he’s being entirely honest, but he’s had worse; he’ll live. A light shines into his eye and he hisses away from the offending brightness, causing Hen to click her tongue at him.
“Stay still, Buck,” she chastises, using her free hand to hold his jaw in place. She shines the light in both of his eyes. “Good pupil reaction,” she says. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”
Buck sighs. “A little dizzy,” he admits, causing Hen to briskly lower him to sit on the ground. He swats lightly at her arm. “I’m good, I swear; I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“Just sit for a moment,” Hen insists, and Buck does as he’s told. She grabs an ice pack from her bag and hands it to him. “Hold that to your head, too.”
Buck presses the compress to his temple and watches as Hen heads over to check on Fiona with Chim. He’s probably going to be man-behind for the rest of the day, at least until they’re sure he doesn’t (or does) have a concussion. The idea makes him pout a little, but he understands the risks of head injuries.
He gets lost in thought, staring off into the distance as he waits. He gets so lost, in fact, that he entirely misses the sound of sirens getting nearer until there’s blue and red lights flickering in his periphery. His gaze trails towards the squad car, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise when Athena exits the driver’s side.
She moves to head towards Bobby, but as she turns her head she and Buck make eye contact, her eyes widen, and Buck sits there like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She immediately starts towards him with large strides, and even from such a distance he can see the worry lines between her eyebrows.
“Evan?” she calls out.
Buck raises his free hand to give her a slight wave. “Hi, momma.”
She crouches down in front of him, and her hands shoot out to cradle his face. She peers at him, eyes flickering from his own to the ice-pack he’s still holding to his head. She frowns.
“What happened?” she asks. She tilts his jaw to the side to inspect further.
Buck shrugs, only to immediately regret it as pain blossoms in his shoulder. “...wind knocked me into the bridge,” he mumbles, embarrassed. It sounds incredibly dumb when he says it out loud.
Athena sighs, and gently runs a hand through his hair. “ Only you, baby,” she says, voice fond. She presses a quick kiss to his hairline before standing up. “I’ll be back–I need to talk to the 118’s captain.”
Buck furrows his eyebrows at the statement. “Momma, you know you can say my captain, right?” he says.
“What?” Athena replies, crossing her arms. “I need to talk to Captain Nash, baby.”
Buck nods slowly. “Yeah… he’s my captain?”
They stare at each other for a long moment, long enough that Hen, Chim, and Bobby make their way over to them. Chim drops to the ground beside him to perform his own assessment while Hen and Bobby join the staring contest.
“Hey Athena,” Bobby finally says while he glances between her and Buck. “I didn’t know that you two knew each other…”
Buck blinks a couple of times. “Yeah, she’s my mom.”
“Your mom?” Hen asks, although it comes out somewhat strangled. She turns more towards Athena. “Wait, Buck is your Evan?”
“It seems so,” Athena sighs. She gives Buck her patented ‘Mom’ look. “Boy, why didn’t you tell me you joined the 118?”
Buck splutters. “I thought I did!” he exclaims. Chim takes the ice-pack away and he uses his newfound freedom to throw both of his hands up in the air. “I like, showed you the offer letter, didn’t I?”
“No, you said you were going to, but you never did.”
“Oh… well, I joined the 118.”
Athena’s lips turn into an exasperated smile. “I see that now, baby.” She reaches down to carefully ruffle his hair, mindful of the side that hit the bridge.
Buck turns towards Bobby to see him making a face. “Cap? What’s wrong?”
“Buck…” his captain starts, quickly trailing off.
“Evan,” Athena cuts in, and Buck shifts his attention to her. “This… isn’t how I wanted to introduce you two, but you know how I’ve been seeing someone recently?”
Buck nods. He doesn’t really understand where she's going with this; how is that relevant?
“Bobby is that somebody.”
Buck stares. He stares for what he feels like forever. Bobby? His mom was dating his captain ? He finally turns to Bobby, and he can feel a horrified expression morphing together on his face. His captain ?
“Ohmygod. Ew! Ew, ew, ew.” He covers his eyes with his hands. “Momma!”
Athena’s laughter rings out across the bridge.
. . . . .
Buck eventually gets over the fact that his momma is dating his captain. It took a little bit, mainly because he just couldn’t seem to wrap his head around it, but he’s proud to say that he did. In fact, he and Bobby were getting closer; Bobby showed him recipes and let him help make the meals for the team at work, and they even went out for coffee and lunch when they weren’t on shift.
He and Bobby are about to start breakfast when Chim and Hen come sprinting up the stairs. They bound their way over to the island, gasping for breath and eyes wide. Buck twitches, wanting to reach out to calm them; what was wrong?
“Cap,” Chim finally says after regaining his breath. “You didn’t tell us the probie has an eight -pack.”
Probie? Eight-pack?
Realization dawns on Buck; he completely forgot that they were getting a new probie. It makes sense, since he just finished his probationary year and Bobby had mentioned he needed a partner. He relaxes, and shakes his head with a little laugh.
“Why is that such crazy information?” he asks, causing Hen and Chim to swivel to him with wide eyes. He fights the urge to shrink under their gazes. “Eight-packs aren’t exactly abnormal? Why were you looking at his abs anyway?”
“Because we have glass-walled locker rooms and he’s in their changing like it’s a scene straight out of a po-”
“Okay,” Bobby cuts, chuckling. “Let’s not go there, alright?” Chim and Hen huff childishly. “Come on, sit down. Let’s welcome him properly, yeah?”
The two paramedics begrudgingly follow their captain’s advice, sliding into the open seats at the island. Buck starts chopping up an onion per Bobby’s request, and is halfway through when the familiar sound of boots hitting the steps fills the air. He risks a glance between slices, and holy shit, that man is gorgeous .
Familiar, oddly, but gorgeous.
“Diaz?” Bobby calls out, causing the man’s gaze to swivel towards them. Their captain waves him over. “Welcome in, welcome in. We’re just starting breakfast. Take a seat.”
The man, Diaz , makes his way over. Buck studies him, from his hair to his eyes to the curve of his muscled shoulders, but it’s not until they make eye contact that it clicks in his brain.
“Diaz,” he says dumbly. His team shoot him with odd looks. “Eddie, Diaz?”
“Yeah…” Eddie says. “How did you… wait.” Eddie peers at him. “Buckley? Blue’s clues ?”
Buck lets out a disbelieving laugh. “No way,” he says, and he rounds the counter to clap his hand in Eddie's in the odd way that men typically do (personally, Buck’s always been a hugger). “Shit man, it’s good to see you.”
“You too,” Eddie says. He gives Buck an appraising look, and suddenly the skin beneath his collar is too warm, and Buck tugs at his shirt awkwardly. “Man, you’re looking good. Much better than the last time I saw you, that’s for sure.”
“God I’d hope so.” Buck smooths out his shirt. “I don’t even want to know what I looked like–I barely remember what color the fucking cot was.”
Somebody clears their throat, and Buck swivels to meet Chim’s confused expression. “Is this another one of your secret family members?” the paramedic asks, crossing his arms.
Buck shakes his head. “No?” he replies. “Eddie and I met in Afghanistan…” He pauses, making a face. “Well, ‘met’ is a strong word. He was one of the medics who took care of me when my leg got crushed by a Humvee. His base was closest.”
“I’m surprised you even remember me,” Eddie adds, drawing Buck’s attention back to him. “We had you on so much morphine you could probably see sounds.” He laughs. “You were high as a fucking cloud.”
“It was the good stuff, too.”
“Okay, hold on for a damn minute.”
Buck and Eddie turn towards Chim simultaneously.
“I am so confused, concerned, every single emotion you could ever say,” the man says. His hands are on his head, palms pressing into his temples. “Afghanistan? Humvee? Blue’s clues? What the hell is even going on?”
Buck laughs. “Blue’s clues is my old call sign, Blue for short,” he explains. At the odd look he gets from Hen, he continues, “You know, from my SEAL team? We had call signs for the field.”
“Okay, but why on Earth would your call sign be Blue’s clues ?” Chim asks incredulously.
Buck grins. “Well, everyone tells me I act like a golden retriever–yes, I’ve had the comparison for many, many years before I met you guys–and I have blue eyes, which everyone says is the first thing they notice about me. So, Blue’s clues .” He does little jazz hands.
“But what about everything else? You never mentioned you were a SEAL,” Hen adds, pointing towards him.
“It’s in my file,” Buck says with a shrug. At her blank stare, Buck sighs. He grabs Eddie’s wrist and drags him over to a chair, sliding into his own. “Fine. So it all started when I was seventeen…”
. . . . .
Buck is twenty-seven when he falls in love with his best friend.
They had been on the track for a while, getting closer and closer as each day went by. People joked that they were codependent, spending nearly as much time together outside of the station as they did inside of it. They were right, to an extent; Buck really did spend most of his free time in the presence of the other man.
But Buck is too nervous to say anything. After all, what if he was imagining it? What if the soft looks, the hand pressing to the small of his back, the arm slung around his waist when they stood together, all of the little signs weren’t what he thought they were?
Buck’s exhausted. They’re fourteen hours into a twenty-four and Buck is so tired that he can’t actually fall asleep, so he sits on one of the couches in the loft, staring mindlessly at the muted television, eyes seeing no more than the changes in color. He’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t notice the cushions dip next to him, doesn’t notice the warm body next to his until there are fingers snapping in front of his face.
“Buck? You in there?”
Buck blinks. He turns towards the voice to see Eddie, worry-lines between his eyebrows and bags beneath his eyes.
“Hey–sorry. I’m… yeah,” he says dumbly.
Eddie looks at him then, the worry turning into something akin to fondness, and a warmth fills Buck’s chest, spreading between his ribs and around his heart and in his lungs. His fingers twitch from their place in his lap, and he wants to reach out, to smooth the tiny curl on Eddie’s forehead back behind his ear, feel the softness of his skin beneath the pad of his thumb.
“Are you alright?” Eddie asks him, ever concerned. His hand moves to rest on Buck’s shoulder, warmth spreading from his fingertips and down Buck’s shoulder, mixing with the heat in his skin.
Buck wets his lips nervously, eyes flickering from Eddie’s own lips to his honey-colored eyes. “I-I’m fine,” he says softly. “Just, um tired.”
“Why don’t you go lie down in the bunks, then?”
“I tried,” Buck admits, shrugging. He finally pulls his gaze away from Eddie’s turning to face the television once more. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Eddie’s hand moves slowly down Buck’s shoulder until it’s creeping along his ribs and around his back. Buck lets himself be pulled into Eddie’s side, eager to soak in the cedary smell of his aftershave and the toasted notes of his cologne. Eddie’s hand pushes his head onto his shoulder, and Buck melts against him.
He can’t be imagining it, surely?
“Try and sleep, Buck,” Eddie says, his words slightly slurring with his own tiredness. “We’ve gotta…” he yawns, “…keep up our energy for… calls.”
Buck tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. “O-Okay,” he whispers. He closes his eyes, nosing the crook of Eddie’s neck, and he lets out a content sigh. “Night, Eds.”
Buck is nearly asleep already, and almost misses the gentle press of a kiss to the top of his head. He stiffens, suddenly wide-awake, and he feels Eddie jolt beneath him. Neither of them say anything for a long moment, seconds stretching into minutes. The bright light from the television dances in colors across Buck’s skin and he stares at it, unable to move.
“Sorry,” Eddie finally says, his voice strained. It cracks on the end of the word. “Sorry, Buck.”
His words kickstart Buck’s brain. “I-It’s okay,” he stutters out. He has yet to move his face from Eddie’s neck. His forehead presses into the man’s cheek. “Don’t be sorry. Please .”
“Buck…”
Buck finally finds the courage to sit up, turning his body to face Eddie head on. He looks into his eyes, sees the nervousness swimming around in them, the slight bit of fear mixed in. He inches forward, eyes never leaving Eddie’s own, and leans closer.
“...Can I?”
Eddie nods minutely, and Buck leans in all the way, pressing their lips together, something chaste and sweet. His eyes flutter closed, and a hand sneaks up his side to rest on his waist, and Buck reaches up to place his hand on Eddie’s cheek. His three-day old stubble tickles his palm.
Eddie’s brain seems to click online, and then Buck’s being pulled forward, dragged into Eddie’s lap. His knees bracket Eddie's thighs and Buck wraps an arm around his neck, their chests pressing together. Eddie’s lips taste like toothpaste and the tiniest remnants of the strawberries he ate after they got back from their last call, and Buck is already addicted. The hand on his waist slips to his hip and another finds its way around his back, palm pressing between his shoulder blades, keeping them impossibly close.
“Eddie,” Buck breathes against Eddie’s lips. He swallows. “Eddie.”
Eddie hums and kisses him again, and Buck gets lost in the dizzy feeling swarming his head. Fireworks explode in his chest in time with the thump of his heart, and he swears this is what heaven feels like.
After what feels like eternity they finally part, but neither pulls back far. Buck lets his hand trail from Eddie’s cheek to the spot where his ear meets his jaw, fingers pressing gently into the skin behind his ear. He feels kiss-drunk and flayed open and raw, but also like he’s just figured out the key to time travel and the cure to cancer. Why did they stop kissing, again? Buck leans in to kickstart round two but is stopped by Eddie’s hand moving from his hip to his chest, holding him back a fraction that feels as big as a cavern.
“Buck, I…” Eddie starts, sucking in a trembling breath. His lips are swollen and his pupils are blown wide. His jaw shakes with the tension of holding himself back. “I think I’m in love with you.”
Buck can’t help the airy laugh that slips past his lips. “You think?” he says, causing Eddie to grin. He presses their foreheads together. “I think I love you, too.”
“Thank God,” Eddie sighs. He presses a kiss to Buck’s cheek, to his nose, the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been… so scared to tell you. I love you so much that it hurts .”
Buck smiles. “I was afraid I was making it up in my head,” he admits.
Eddie pulls him in closer and kisses him again, and their lips slide together like the last two puzzle pieces. His teeth sink gently into Buck’s bottom lip, making him gasp into the space between them, and Eddie swallows it, and they feel fused together. Buck never wants to leave this moment.
“We should… stop before Cap comes up here,” Eddie says as they finally part once more.
Buck nods in agreement. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” He doesn’t make any effort to move.
Eddie seems to mull it over for a moment before he sighs. “It’s my funeral, I guess,” he says with a shrug. “What a way to go.” He pulls Buck back into a searing kiss, and all is right in the world.
Buck has never been happier that he signed up for the Blue Heart Program.