Archive of Our Own ^beta

Evan is five years old, and his kindergarten teacher has them sitting in small groups at even smaller tables, so low to the ground that she has to squat down to check their work.

It’s a short little worksheet, fill-in-the-blank style, with large, open spaces to write down their answers. There’s a mess of communal crayons scattered on the table, and Evan’s eyes are drawn to a soft cornflower blue one. He picks it up with clumsy little fingers, eyes dragging over every printed letter to carefully read each word.

My name is: ‘EVAN’ he scrawls in big, block letters.

My favorite animal is: he sits and contemplates the answer, ducking his head to look at his classmate’s papers next to him. Angela S. wrote down “pony.” He grimaces. Greg L. wrote down “dog,” and that seems like a better answer. He really loves their neighbor’s black lab Jessie. ‘DOG.’

When I grow up, I want to be a:

Evan chews at his lower lip, the skin peeling away where it’s cracked and dry. It’s a hard question. He thinks about his favorite heroes from his favorite books and TV shows, but he remembers the amused eye-roll he always gets from his sister whenever he says something like, I want to be a pirate. I want to be a knight.

I don’t think that’ll pay very well, she’d say with a grin.

Mrs. Radzinsky is circling around the table next to him, pointing at other kid’s worksheets and smiling at the answers and doodles. He panics, trying to come up with an answer, sifting through his memories; definitely neither of his parent’s jobs. Their work stories were always boring, if not non-existent.

He thinks about the argument they’d had just last night, his father missing dinner, finally walking through the door well after Maddie had tucked him into bed. The yelling had awoken him where he’d been half asleep, and he’d stumbled in the dark over to his bedroom door and cracked it open, the harsh light of the hallway making him squint.

I need you to be there for me, his mom had yelled, voice pitched with hysteria and trembling. Do you have any idea what it’s like? I feel like I’m on my own here, Phillip. I need you to step up and act like a father. I need my husband.

That was the flavor of most of the arguments Evan overheard these days. The ones he didn’t tune out, anyway. He thinks about the romcoms he watches with Maddie, tucked to her side on the couch, legs tangled together underneath the throw blanket. Those movies made marriage and love look so easy. He wanted that; an easy, carefree family.

Mrs. Radzinsky crouches down next to Evan with a warm smile. Her hair is pinned up with plastic butterfly clips, and the waft of her perfume smells cloyingly sweet. Vanilla, like his sister’s. “What’ve you got so far, buddy?” she asks gently, using the soft press of two neatly manicured fingers to angle his worksheet towards her.

When I grow up, I want to be a: ‘HUSBIND.’

“Husb—? Oh!” she exclaims with a twinkly laugh. “Husband. Oh, that’s so sweet.” She squeezes Evan’s shoulder and adds, “and what do you think you might want as a job?”

Evan shrugs, and he feels oddly embarrassed. Like he got the answer wrong. His eyes scan the room, and he sees a poster on the far wall of a cartoon man in a spacesuit, floating aimlessly through the galaxy. Reach for the stars!

“An astronaut,” he offers, and her smile grows wider with an encouraging nod.

“Do you want some help with spelling?” she asks, and he nods gratefully, picking up a firetruck red crayon to cross out his first answer.

“I’m going to go lie down for a bit,” his mother sighs as soon as they walk in the door. She wanders down the hallway while Evan toes off his sneakers, struggling a bit where the laces are still tight. Maddie, embarrassingly, still ties them for him.

His sister heaves a sigh behind him, dropping her book bag to the floor with a thud. “Do you want a snack?” she asks, a bit annoyed. She’s long since stopped phrasing it as, are you hungry?, because the answer to that was always a resounding ‘yes.’

“Yes, please,” Evan replies, following her into the kitchen, his own backpack still resting on his shoulders. It’s lightweight, practically empty, and his mother had blinked down at him in the store with an impatient expression when he pleaded for her to buy it. Will you even need one, Evan? Be practical.

Oh, just get it for him, Maddie had sighed.

Putting that squeaky, plastic backpack adorned with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles into their cart was nothing short of a victory. That had been a banner day for one Evan Buckley.

Maddie rummages through the cabinet, pulling out bread and peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. Evan deposits his backpack onto the kitchen table and unpacks his possessions; his half-empty pouch of fruit snacks. His Star Wars pencil sharpener. His worksheet, folded and slightly crumpled from getting squished where it lay at the bottom. He unfolds it and tries to smooth out the imperfections, and when Maddie places his sandwich down she looks at it with a curious expression. “What’s this?”

Evan hands it to her, digging into his sandwich with all the moxie of a ravenous predator. “Did it today at school,” he says through a mouthful of peanut butter.

Maddie’s eyebrows pinch together, and she tilts the paper towards his line of sight, pointing down at the third question. “What’s this one say?”

“Astronaut.”

“No, the part you crossed out,” she says. “What was your first answer?”

Evan swallows his mouthful. His mouth feels sticky and dry, thick peanut butter clogging up his words. “Husband.”

Maddie turns to look at him fully, and her face melts a bit, going soft and sappy at the edges. Evan has to resist rolling his eyes; she could be such a girl sometimes.

“Oh, Evan,” she says softly, and Evan stuffs more of the sandwich into his mouth. “You will be, you know? You’ll make a really great husband someday. Promise.”

She extends her pinky. Evan picks his own sticky pinky up and wraps them together, smearing them both with marshmallow. Maddie grins down at him, her eyes warm and brown and sincere.

“Can I have some milk,” Evan says with his mouth full, spewing damp crumbs onto the table in front of them.

Maddie rolls her eyes, a smile still planted firmly on her face, but she straightens up to get him a glass.

Buck is thirty-three years old— almost thirty-four— and he’s crawling into bed with the love of his life to press a minty kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Eddie hums contentedly, turning his head to slot their lips together properly. Buck hears the dull thud of Eddie’s phone blindly hitting the nightstand where he’s tossed it aside, his sole attention on Buck and the wet press of their lips. Buck sighs into the kiss, pulling away and nuzzling at his cheek.

“You know, as I was brushing my teeth just now, I realized I haven’t been to the dentist in, like, forever,” Buck chuckles. “Feels like such a waste considering how good the LAFD dental plan is.”

Eddie nips at his jaw, prickly against Buck’s stubble. “Great, and now I’ve also got whatever deadly organisms you’re cultivating in there,” he says sarcastically.

“I’d argue it’s been a joint effort,” Buck says, tilting his head back with a sigh when Eddie’s lips drag over his neck. “You’ve contributed your fair share of questionable fluids.”

Eddie pulls back to level him with a deadpan expression, and it startles a genuine laugh out of Buck.

“At least I know what I put in my body, Mr. ‘I-Can-Just-Mix-The-Pre-Workout-In-My-Mouth’,” Eddie replies. “Disgusting.”

Buck preens, digging his fingers into Eddie’s ribs and earning a ticklish yelp. “You love how disgusting I am. Admit it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth are dimpling, that closed lip smile that makes his cheeks go round. “I did know what I was getting myself into,” he concedes, and then he’s leaning in to slip his tongue past Buck’s lips.

Buck grins into the kiss, sucking softly at the pink muscle of Eddie’s tongue. It’s warm in their bedroom, the rest of the house quiet where Chris has already gone to bed, the traffic outside hazy and distant. His heart pounds in his chest at the small noises that escape from Eddie’s mouth, content little sighs and grunts pulled from deep in his gut. 

It all still feels like a fever-dream, sometimes, their new life together. Largely the same, but with a twist: Buck and Eddie, cohabitating, but they’re no longer just Buck and Eddie. It’s evolved into something new and exciting and terrifying, but at the core of it, it’s still just them.

Their lips pull apart with a wet smack. They don’t move far, heads resting on the pillow, a close-up shot of the dreamy expression spreading across Eddie’s face. Buck thinks maybe he can blame the late hour for his lack of filter, because he hasn’t even really processed the thought before he blurts out, “can I be the one to propose?”

Eddie’s eyes widen in shock, blinking furiously, brows flying to his hairline, and Buck knows his own face is doing something mortifyingly similar. His own mouth drops open, gaping around the words like he could take them back, suck them out of the air and swallow them down.

The bewilderment clears from Eddie’s face when he smooths out his expression and laughs breathlessly,  his thumb reaching up to playfully press at Buck’s chin. “If you’re using me for my dental, you should know we have the exact same coverage.”

Buck snorts, nipping at Eddie’s thumb where it’s inched up to his lips. “Sorry, that was, like— not eloquent at all.”

“The Buckley standard,” Eddie says fondly. He drags his thumb over Buck’s tongue, the skin salty and calloused over Buck’s taste buds, and he adds, “where, uh— where did this come from?”

Buck shrugs sheepishly. They’ve talked about it before, in the abstract— never quite sat down formally and said, hey, we’re gonna get married someday, right?— but like most things between them, it always felt like an unspoken truth. An undeniable eventuality. Eddie still struggles on occasion with asking for what he wants, but Buck thinks he’s always been pretty damn good at setting boundaries for things he does not want. And marriage was never one of those things.

God, at least Buck hopes it’s not. If there’s one thing he can pride himself on, it’s his uncanny ability to accurately read Eddie Diaz.

“It’s… been on my mind,” Buck says carefully. “I know we haven’t exactly, uh, discussed it in detail, but— you’d want that, right?” You’d want me?

Eddie leans in to press a reassuring kiss to his lips, and Buck sags with relief, melting into the pillow. “Yeah, Buck, I’d want that,” Eddie grins. “You’re pretty much it for me.”

“‘Pretty much?’” Buck teases, grin sharpening.

“Well, you know, if we ever ran into a young and curious Tom Cruise—” Eddie starts, the laughter bubbling over when Buck slaps a hand over his mouth, playfully jerking when his fingers ticklishly fly over Eddie’s ribcage.

“I’ll call Scientology HQ and ask how expensive their venues are,” Buck says flatly, his smile stretched wide at Eddie’s squirming. He looks gorgeous like this, pink and grinning and stuttering around his laughter, hair spread out on the pillow. God, Buck wants him so badly.

“Don’t forget to use an untraceable pay phone,” Eddie says, muffled through Buck’s palm, and truly, Buck is only human. He keeps his hand over Eddie’s mouth, firmly locked in place, while he scooches down the bed to be eye level with Eddie’s half-hard cock in his boxers.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie grunts into his hand, hips popping up to help Buck remove the fabric, in-sync as they are with everything. They really do make such a good team.

Buck’s never seriously considered proposing to someone before, so he actually has no idea where to even start. He thought once that maybe Abby was forever, and then he was pretty confident he could share a life with Taylor, but he’d never made it far enough to put the plans in motion. Usually he didn’t make it past, do you want to move in together?

Hell, who was he kidding? Usually he didn’t make it past, that was fun. I’ll call you sometime.

But now Buck was settled, and he had his person, like the person, and he feels the certainty of it more strongly with Eddie than he ever has with anyone else. This is it for him— which actually puts a lot of pressure on the whole thing. What if he irrevocably fucks it up? What if he embarrasses himself? What if a camera crew pops out to tell him he’s been Punk’d?

I’m not gonna punk you, Eddie reassures with two soft smacks to his cheek. I don’t even know Ashton Kutcher.

Buck, like with most things, takes it to Google. He squints at his phone in their bed reading forum after forum about the best ways to propose, with Eddie oblivious to Buck’s turmoil a mere foot away, stretched out and leaning against the headboard with a paperback in his hands.

“Hey, what’s your ring size?” Buck says, turning to his side to prop his head against his fist.

“Absolutely no idea,” Eddie drawls, licking his forefinger to turn the page.

“Well, do you own any rings?” Buck prods.

“Nope,” Eddie says unhelpfully.

Buck sighs, patience thinning. “Well, what am I supposed to do, then?”

Eddie closes his book and scooches down to mirror Buck’s position, side by side in the bed. “You know, you don’t have to get me a ring.”

“I know,” Buck insists. “I just— always pictured doing it with a ring, y’know? Or any kind of offering, period.”

“Aww,” Eddie coos, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face. “Been dreaming about your proposal since you were a little boy?”

Buck playfully smacks his chest with the back of his hand. “Dickhead,” he complains, and then he pulls Eddie in by the chin to press their lips together, just a quick, wet smear. Eddie’s not even wrong, is the thing. He’s just— kind of a dickhead.

Their lips pull apart with a soft smack, and Eddie’s expression has turned idyllic. “You could always propose with something other than a ring,” he suggests.

Buck tilts his head in consideration. “Hmm. Such as?”

Eddie shrugs, and then his hand inches towards Buck’s shirt, smoothing the hem between his fingers and the warm skin that lies beneath. “I dunno. A really nice watch, or a bracelet, or something. Ooh,” his eyes light up with mirth, head coming up off his fist. “Remember my cousin Alysia’s engagement story?”

Buck parses his memories. “I am not proposing to you with a sword,” he says definitively, but the grin stretches over his face regardless.

“Just saying,” Eddie sighs, thumb rubbing over the soft pad of Buck’s belly. It tickles, but in a way that makes his skin feel tight and hot. Buck squirms into the feeling, spreading his legs wider on the mattress. “Don’t put too much pressure on it, y’know? You’ll come up with something.” He reaches across Buck’s torso to turn the lamp off, encasing them in darkness.

“Right,” Buck mumbles, the stampede of his restless mind still battering away at the walls of his skull.

Two weeks before her due date, Buck starts a daily check-in with his sister. Frankly, he’s not sure who’s worse, him or Chimney— but Maddie is still stubbornly going into work, despite the fact that it takes her at least two tries to get up off the couch these days. Hey, if anything happens, at least I know what number to call, she’ll say with a fond eye-roll, waving away any concerns.

Buck knows she’s being taken care of— knows that Chimney dotes on her properly— but he just can’t help himself. He’s excited, okay?

[Buck 9:12]

Any movements on the western front

[Maddie 9:15]

In this scenario is my uterus the western front?

[Maddie 9:15]

No, also.

[Buck 9:16]

Gross

[Buck 9:17]

But let me know 😃

During a rare lull at their next shift, Buck sneaks away from the upstairs loft under the guise of needing to use the bathroom and wanders down to Bobby’s office, knocking on the open door with a soft rap of his knuckles. “Hey, Cap, you got a minute?”

Bobby lifts his head up from his paperwork, peering up at Buck from beneath his reading glasses before smiling gingerly. “Sure, take a seat,” he replies, gesturing to the chair across from him and settling his glasses on the desk.

Buck closes the door behind him, falling into the seat and slapping his hands together uncomfortably. Bobby raises one clean eyebrow at him, tilting his head quizzically. “Something bugging you, kid?” Bobby asks.

Buck’s tongue darts out in a nervous tic, mouth parted while he searches for his words. He rests both his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepling his hands together. “When you proposed to Athena…” he starts, and Bobby’s expression melts into something sweet and indulgent. “Were you nervous?”

“Are you kidding?” Bobby scoffs, leaning back in his chair with a dimpling grin. “I was petrified. My voice didn’t stop wobbling until she shut me up mid-sentence to accept.”

Buck smiles at that, exhaling softly. “Did you think she was gonna say no?”

Bobby crosses his arms over his chest, rocking his head from side to side contemplatively. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a solid yes in my mind. She thought I was scared to become more serious and I… may have overcompensated.”

Buck smirks. “Yeah, I’ve seen her ring.”

He shrugs playfully. “Woman like that deserves some fine jewelry.” Bobby eyes Buck for a moment, nodding to himself like he’s figured something out, and teasingly says, “got marriage on your mind?”

“Ah… something like that,” Buck says sheepishly, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. His free hand flails wildly to emphasize his words. “I-I guess I’m just a little nervous because… it’s not just about the two of us, you know? I’d be marrying into a family. And Chris should come first always, y’know, I get that. I want it like that. It just… adds this layer of pressure, though.”

Bobby hums. “Trust me, I understand.” He purses his lips for a moment, as if deep in thought, and says, “you remember what I said to you after Eddie announced he was leaving for Texas?”

Buck’s nose scrunches up, pitiful and embarrassed. He remembers how he’d felt that whole weekend, wandering around his loft like a ghost, emotions seesawing violently every hour. The way he’d stewed in misery on his couch, bingeing competition shows and feeling sorry for himself and getting angry that he felt so sorry for himself. How anytime he’d get up to rummage through his fridge, he’d see the card Christopher had drawn him, years ago, lovingly framed in magnets on the door, and he’d swallow the lump in his throat and try not to bawl.

He remembers the way he’d acted at work, avoiding Eddie like the plague, petulant and bratty and holding back the tantrum. He’d felt so delicate, like a shattered plate held together with a child’s glue stick, and when he hit his limit on being the supportive friend and snapped he’d gone home and miserably pulled the sheets up to his chin. He remembers how he’d agonized over whether or not he should call Eddie, his thumb hovered over his contact info while he swallowed down bile, when Bobby had called.

-----

“Hey, kid,” Bobby says, his voice comforting even through the phone despite the low, tinny quality. “Just wanted to check on you. Looked like you had a hard day today.”

Buck sighs dejectedly, swinging his legs off the bed and hunching over, his elbows resting on his knees. “Was I that obvious?”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” is all Bobby says to that, and then he adds, “Chimney told me about your spat with Eddie in the locker room.”

Buck scoffs. He fiddles with the hole in his sweats just over the knee, stretching it wider around his fingers. “Sorry. I was just so— angry.”

“At Eddie?” Bobby asks.

Buck shrugs to himself, and then his eyes cut away to the big, open windows, sunshine beating down on him like a spotlight. He feels hot and uneasy, gut roiling in restless little flips. “He’s just being so—” stupid, “stubborn.”

“He’s thinking with his heart, right now. Children don’t make us act logically.”

“It’s like Eddie’s forgotten that Christopher still loves him,” Buck says, voice pitched up. “I know he doesn’t want to push him, but I just— want to shake Eddie’s shoulders and tell him to go talk to him. Why has he allowed this to go on for so long?”

“I think you know why, Buck,” Bobby says firmly, and then sincerely he asks, “Why haven’t you talked to him about it?”

Buck just shrugs despondently again, despite Bobby not being able to see him, shoulders sagging with the effort. “I— I don’t know. I feel like it’s not my place.”

“No, it probably isn’t. But you’re his best friend, Buck,” Bobby reminds him. “You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time. You can be honest about the way you feel.”

Buck hums doubtfully. His honesty was usually clouded by fear, too obvious by the clench of his jaw and the bright-wet panic of his eyes. His heart starts racing painfully when Bobby adds, “you’ve been there for Christopher for almost half of his life. You might not be a blood relative, but you’re still important to him. You’re allowed to worry about his well-being. Don’t doubt your place in his life or Eddie’s.”

And those words— despite the miasma of doubt and insecurity and rejection— give Buck enough comfort and self-assurance to pick himself back up. “You think so?”

Through the phone line, Buck was sure he could hear Bobby’s smile. “I know so.”

Buck had ordered that plane ticket, and he’d driven over to Eddie’s house with a desperate plea, and he’d sat in Eddie’s driveway and thought to himself how tired he was of being left behind— how tired he was of people patting him on the cheek and saying, take care of yourself, Buck. At least Eddie had gotten angry— he’d rather have that than pity. Buck had pushed for a reaction and he’d gotten one.

But then Eddie had come out of his cold house and knocked on the window of his Jeep, and he’d watched the sunset while they drove down the five, and he’d promised Buck that he would come back.

And he did.

-----

“I remember,” Buck says in the present, throat tight at the memories.

“Not to toot my own horn, but it’s pretty solid advice,” Bobby says cheekily, grin widening. “Be open and honest with Chris about your intentions and the way you feel. I think he’ll surprise you. You’re not just any old date.”

Buck sighs, slumping back in his seat. “I dunno, Bobby. He kind of has a history with… not reacting well to this kind of news. I don’t want to upset him.”

Bobby hums thoughtfully. “Was he upset when he found out about the two of you?”

“Uh…” Buck starts, mouth gaping like a fish, brows furrowing together. “No, actually,” he realizes.

“I know you wanna treat Christopher with kid gloves. Protect him from anything that could harm him,” Bobby says, and Buck’s heart sinks into his gut, thinks about screaming himself hoarse on tsunami-battered streets. “But he’s a young man now. I think he’d like it if you talked to him one-on-one. Treated him with respect.”

“Yeah,” Buck croaks, smiling faintly and nodding at Bobby’s words. “Yeah, okay, I’ll do that. Thanks, Bobby.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bobby says, a twinkle in his eye, and just before Buck slips out the door he says, “and— good luck.”

Buck salutes him with two fingers.

The next day, after his sacred ritual of sister pestering, he putters around the house while the Diaz boys sleep in. Her phone is still set on ‘do not disturb,’ and he can’t help but check it incessantly while he preps things for dinner later. Quieter than the vacuum or the lawn mower, at least. He drops his phone back onto the cutting board, picking his knife up to resume dicing potatoes for the crockpot stew, when Chris blearily stumbles into the kitchen with a yawn.

“You’re up early,” Buck notes, grinning when Chris slumps into the chair with an exaggerated groan. “You want eggs?”

“Cereal’s fine,” he mumbles, stretching his neck out. “I’m meeting Charlie and Lewis down at the park for a public tournament.”

Buck whistles lowly. “Before ten a.m. on a Saturday? That’s some serious commitment,” Buck says. “Do you need a ride?”

Christopher shakes his head, gratefully accepting the bowl and spoon Buck hands him. “Charlie’s dad is swinging by to pick me up on the way, but thanks.”

They sit in comfortable silence in the warm morning light of the kitchen, Buck’s knife thudding dully against the cutting board as he chops, broken up by intermittent slurps. It’s habit, routine— which is what makes the metaphorical ring in Buck’s pocket weigh even heavier. Buck swallows against the rising trepidation that inches its way up his spine, throat bobbing thickly against the choking sensation. It feels swollen and inflamed, like he’s been swallowing sandpaper. “Hey, uh,” he starts, clearing his throat awkwardly when his voice breaks. “You’ll be done around lunch, you think?”

Christopher crunches his cereal obnoxiously, audibly swallowing down a half-chewed mouthful. “Yeah, probably 1:00 at the latest. They said they could give me a ride home since Dad’ll be at basketball.”

“No, no, uh,” Buck starts, waving his knife carelessly. “Why don’t I pick you up? We can go get lunch after. Just the two of us! My treat.” He winces at the overeager pitch of his voice, turning back to the cutting board to frown down at his half-chopped potatoes.

“Yeah, sure,” Chris says, almost bored.

“Cool,” Buck grins. “Uh— Archie’s? We can get shakes.”

Christopher hums amicably, getting up to dump his empty bowl at the sink. “We’ll have to bring one home for Dad, or he’ll throw a fit.”

“Peanut butter malted with extra whip,” they both say at the same time, laughing in-sync and shaking their heads.

Eddie rounds the corner with sleep crusted eyes just as Christopher is leaving the kitchen, ruffling his hair as he makes his escape. “Are you two scheming again? Two against one isn’t fair.”

“It’s in your best interest,” Chris responds, disappearing down the hall to his room. Eddie turns to level Buck with one dubious eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. Buck just ducks his head sheepishly.

The waitress drops two plates in front of them, one cheddar mushroom burger with waffle fries and one grilled ham and cheese, hold the tomato. “Enjoy,” she says in a bored tone, snapping her gum obnoxiously and wandering back over to the counter. Chris devours his burger with jaw-stretching bites in-between highlighting his match-winning play, and Buck grins and nods while picking at his substituted onion rings. Buck’s pretty sure it’s anxiety making his stomach turn, but the congealing cheese on his plate isn’t exactly helping.

“...and then he threw his hands up and started grumbling about a minimum age requirement,” Chris says, slurping at his shake. “Which is insanely cringe behavior after losing to a fourteen year old. Like, try not being bald.”

Buck snorts at that, shaking his head in amusement and pinching his brows together, perplexed. “What does him being bald have to do with anything?”

“You either get it or you don’t,” Chris says cryptically. He wipes his face with a napkin then, eyeing Buck warily while he plays with his food. Buck feels those calculating eyes on him and tries not to visibly bristle, forcing down water just to occupy his mouth. When it goes down wrong and he starts spluttering and smacking his chest, Chris says, “are you good?”

“Yeah,” Buck wheezes weakly, holding his hands up placatingly when the guy in the booth next to them turns around to check on him. “Just, uh, wrong pipe.”

“Not that,” Chris sighs, tone turning accusatory. “You’re acting weird today.”

“Am I?” Buck squeaks, shrugging wildly. What’s the opposite of nonchalant, he thinks, incessantly licking at his lips. Chalant? He’s being pretty fucking chalant right now. “No, I just, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something. Just you and me.”

Christopher’s shoulders sag then, elbows falling wider where they were resting on the table. His face falls, just for half a moment, before correcting itself into something carefully neutral. “You guys broke up,” he says flatly.

“What? No,” Buck emphasizes his words with his hands, shaking them both definitively. “We didn’t break up. Uh, kinda the opposite, in fact.”

“Oh,” Chris says, blinking, and Buck’s heart breaks for the little boy who’s had adult after adult enter his life just to leave it. A different kind of abandonment than the one Buck grew up with, but no less painful. He wonders, for a fleeting moment, if his child self would’ve been great friends with Christopher. “Wait, what?”

“Well, no, we haven’t actually— ugh, I-I’m doing this all wrong.” Buck shakes his brain out, pinching his eyes shut before cracking them open again to meet Christopher’s. “I want to ask your dad to marry me.”

Christopher blinks, processing the information for a handful of agonizing moments, seemingly stretched out to eternity. When a grins spreads across his cheeks, Buck feels his face light up in an echo. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Buck breathes in relief, smile stretching wide and bright. “But I wanted to make sure you were okay with it first. I want the Diaz boys in my life forever, but only if you’ll have me.”

“So, the burger was a bribe?” Chris teases. “You could’ve just bought me a PlayStation.”

“Smartass,” Buck ribs. “I really mean it, though. If you’re not okay with it, you can tell me,” he says sincerely, catching Christopher’s eyes and consciously holding the contact. “No hard feelings.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Chris mutters, and then the waitress comes around to drop the to-go milkshake on the table. It’ll definitely be completely melted by the time they get home, extra whip and all, but Buck knows Eddie will light up at the treat regardless. “I’m okay with it. As long as I don’t have to change my name.”

“No name changing required,” Buck promises.

“Then you have my blessing,” Christopher says dryly. He stuffs a waffle fry into his mouth, and when it’s half-chewed he says, “does this mean you’re gonna be my step-dad?”

Chris, chew your food before you start talking, he can practically hear Eddie chide in that stern, capital-D Dad voice, and he bites down the fond smile. “Uh— yeah, I guess it does.”

“Weird,” Chris says. “But I guess it won’t be all that different.”

Memories swarm Buck’s brain— the good, the bad, and everything in-between. Picking Chris up from school, arranging pictures on poster board, glitter and markers and hot glue making a mess of his kitchen table. Taking him to the zoo, Chris propped up on his shoulders when he was still young, his small hands painfully clamped in Buck’s hair to hold on tight. Playing Mortal Kombat and Mario Kart and yelling at the TV screen, sheepishly grimacing when Eddie warns them about their volume with just a disapproving tilt of his head. Helping him with girls, helping him study for his exams, helping him pick the perfect gift for Eddie’s birthday. 

Chris, annoyed and frustrated and angry, running to Buck’s loft when the feelings grow too big. Chris, gutted and hurt and scared, shaking his head when Buck pleads for him to stay in California. Chris, a figment of his imagination in a horrible reality, begging Buck to help him reunite with his dad.

Decorating gingerbread houses on the couch. Opening gifts on Christmas morning, huddled in their pajamas at Bobby and Athena’s house, the warm smell of nutmeg and sugar cookies and hot apple cider. Thanksgiving dinners and Easter mornings and Fourth of July barbecues; love and laughter, good food and better company.

Pressing his cheek into Christopher’s curls, waterlogged and bleeding, turning his head away from the gore and the death and the despair. Clinging until he can’t cling anymore.

Buck’s heart swells with all the love he has for his boys, fit to burst with it. As he watches Chris dig for the cherry at the bottom of his milkshake cup, Buck finds himself thinking:

He can’t wait for all the rest.

[Buck 7:42] 

👀👶❓

[Maddie 7:58] 

🙄🙅‍♀️

[Buck 7:59]

😅👍

So Buck, of course, is paralyzed with indecision once he’s given the go-ahead. Eddie’s on-board, Chris is on-board, so really— what’s the hold up?

He just can’t decide, is the hold up, desperate to give Eddie the proposal he deserves. Buck is giddy at the prospect of a big romantic gesture, and his head floods with visions of flowers and string quartets and hot air balloons, but then he pictures Eddie’s face and loses his nerve. Would Eddie hate a public proposal? Would he get embarrassed? He’s out of the closet now, but it hasn’t been that long. They haven’t even told his parents yet. 

Buck’s palms get sweaty, scrolling through site after site looking at bouquet arrangements and fancy restaurants and limo services. No, wait— a carriage, maybe? Would that be too old-fashioned for Eddie’s tastes?

Buck wants to tear his hair out a bit. Eddie is a romantic, too, loves romcoms and love songs and acts of service just as much as the next guy, but he’d never quite gone out of his way to woo any of his past dates. He was fairly low-key in that regard.

They were all women, Buck laments. Maybe that was part of the problem.

Usually, Buck would turn to his best friend for advice on the matter, but, well— that’s kind of the issue. He can’t get advice from Eddie because it’s for Eddie. …Right?

Buck turns to crane his neck down the hall, straining his ears to listen. Eddie was in the bathroom, indulging in a hot shower after their trip to the farmer’s market, humming and belting out off-key notes that carry throughout the house. He hears the squeak of the shower knob being turned off, the rattle of the curtains against the rod, the humming clearer now without all the white noise. Something classic, a rock ballad Buck can’t quite put his finger on— a Queen song, probably.

A mischievous idea pops into his mind, and he twists off the couch to slink down the hallway, knocking on the bathroom door before inching his head inside. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Eddie answers, towel wrapped around his waist while he slathers his face with shaving cream, catching Buck’s eyes in the mirror and grinning.

Buck slips into the bathroom properly, shutting the door with the weight of his body and slumping back against it. He watches Eddie apply the finishing touches, running his razor under warm water and tapping it on the sink’s edge, bringing it to his cheek.

“So,” Buck casually drawls, rocking on his heels. “I’m, uh, thinking I’m gonna propose to my boyfriend.”

Eddie pauses and cocks one eyebrow in the mirror, squinting at him before catching on and resuming his shaving. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Gonna buy him something super classy.”

Eddie snorts, tapping his razor against the sink to rid it of excess foam. “Your boyfriend a classy guy?”

Buck dramatically hems and haws, pinching his face up playfully. “Eh, not really. He thinks smothered pork chops are high brow.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, dragging the razor down his chin. “Well, some would argue not thinking that is snobby.”

“We’re eye to eye on that,” he says, mouth watering at the memory of abuela’s recipe. He makes a mental note to add pork chops to the grocery list. “Anyway, I’m having some trouble coming up with when and where to do it.”

Eddie hums thoughtfully, carefully scraping his razor over his upper lip. When he’s done and he can properly talk again, he reassuringly says, “you’re a romantic guy. You’ve always been good at big gestures.”

Buck clicks his tongue, pushing off the door and making his way over to lean on the wall next to the sink. “Yeah, but this isn’t just any guy. Or any other date. I mean, this is the date.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” Eddie drawls, still staring at his reflection in the mirror. “You thinkin’ he’ll say no?”

Buck shrugs and dismisses the idea with a shake of his head. “Nah, that’s not the issue. I just… want it to be special for him.” He thinks about the story Eddie had regaled him with of his first engagement— pressured by his mother, pressured by the church, pressured by the ticking time bomb in Shannon’s uterus. A time bomb that ended up being the best thing that ever happened to Eddie, sure, but he hadn’t known that when he was nineteen and terrified to the point of nausea.

Buck wants this to be the opposite of that. He wants Eddie to be so sure and so full of warmth that he’s positively bursting with it. He wants someone who will shut him up mid-sentence to tearfully accept.

Eddie wipes away the residual foam with his hand towel, his face baby-smooth underneath. “He probably doesn’t need it to be special,” Eddie says, dropping the towel into the laundry basket and turning to meet his eyes. “Just needs you.”

Buck’s stomach flutters, light and airy like he’s full of bubbles and sunshine. He loves being on the receiving end of that look, warm eyes and pink cheeks and a soft smile. “Yeah, but he deserves special. He deserves so much.”

Eddie’s expression melts, and the sun that comes in through the window makes his eyes a golden honey color. “Buck, you know I’m a sure thing, right?” he mutters, leaning in and pressing soft lips to Buck’s. Chaste and sickeningly sweet, but still somehow searing hot. When they pull apart with a soft sucking noise, Buck’s brain struggles a bit to remember what they were talking about.

“Uh, you know I have a boyfriend, right?” he jokes, snorting and giving a faux-affronted yelp when Eddie playfully smacks his chest with the back of his hand. He rubs at the spot and says, “seriously though, maybe just like, a baseline would help? On a scale of ‘alone in the woods’ to ‘on the jumbotron,’ how public can it be?”

Eddie shakes his head in amusement, reaching for his aftershave. “No jumbotrons. Knowing our luck, a blimp would fly into the stadium.”

Buck laughs, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep his hands to himself. He’s really itching to whip that towel off. “Okay,” he concedes. “But, like— a restaurant?”

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully, wetting his hands and slapping his cheeks. “A restaurant would be fine. It’s classic.”

Classic, Buck thinks. Right. He’s overthinking it. He should just give Eddie a simple experience— what else does he have to compare it to? It’s gonna be perfect no matter what. It’s them.

This was a disaster.

Buck had managed to book a reservation for them for a nice restaurant, miraculously securing them for a Friday night. He’d breathed a sigh of relief when the hostess said they just had a table open up, and though he’s sure he skipped a long line of people on the cancellation list due to what he can only assume was laziness, he’s grateful regardless. 9:30 on Friday night— they were scheduled to work, but it gave them just enough time to run home, shower, and change.

So he’d thought.

When the alarms go off a quarter after 7:00, a mere forty-five minutes before the shift change, Buck and Eddie look up at the sudden noise and then lock eyes. They don’t say anything, don’t possibly want to jinx it with words, but the expression they share is similar— maybe it’ll be quick?

It’s not quick. One car accident turns into another and another, and what was initially a 3-car pile up turns into a 12-car pile up, the engine inching through a frustrating sea of traffic stuck on the highway. Buck fitfully checks his watch every two minutes, in-between sawing off car doors that have crumpled like origami and putting out small engine fires and pulling disoriented people to safety. It’s almost ten o’clock by the time they’re relieved of duty, sooty and sweaty and reeking of tar and gasoline.

“I was kinda tired anyway,” Eddie lies— though maybe it isn’t a lie anymore, the strength sapped from their bodies after hours of back-breaking labor. “We can just grab some Noodle House on the way home.”

Buck looks up at him from his spot on the bench, face no doubt pitiful and simpering like a kicked dog.

“C’mon,” Eddie encourages, wiggling his eyebrows tantalizingly. “Chow mein. Walnut shrimp. Extra spicy mustard sauce,” he coos. “You know it sounds good.”

It does sound good. And it is good— they stumble through the front door with an overflowing brown bag of food, jeans quickly discarded for sweats. They pig out in front of the TV and fall into each other’s arms with full bellies, drifting off, swathed in the neon glow of the television screen. When Buck cracks his eyes open to a prompt asking if they were still watching, he drags a still half-asleep Eddie down the hall to their bedroom, pushing him onto the mattress and wrapping one heavy arm around his waist. Eddie mumbles something resembling, “love you” into his pillow, his breaths evening out not long after, and Buck is fast to follow.

Buck gets them a reservation at a slightly-less nice restaurant for Sunday night, eagerly yelling out “I’ll take it” when the host mentions they have a two-top available at 5:00. It’s early, but Buck will take what he can get— and more importantly, they don’t have any shifts to worry about that will interfere.

He hasn’t had time to buy a ring yet— or a watch, or a necklace, or even a sword. He’d snuck down to the mall one afternoon with the excuse of getting a gift for the birth (his future niece or nephew adamantly staying put in Maddie’s uterus, he might add, despite now being two days past her due date. “It’s definitely a boy,” Maddie had grumbled over the phone. “Only a boy would be this stubborn.”) But the display of jewelry had been overwhelming, decision paralysis freezing Buck in place while his eyes carelessly wandered over row after row of sparkling gold and shimmering diamonds and smooth platinum. Was Eddie more of a silver guy?

He’d come home empty-handed— metaphorically speaking. Buck’s arms had been quite full, actually, struggling through the front door with a cellophane wrapped gift basket for Maddie, overflowing with snacks and lotions and scented candles. It made a home by the front door near his keys, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Buck fiddles with his hair now while he primps in the bathroom, the steam from his shower still fogging up the glass. He’s dressed to the nines, ironed slacks and a crisp new button up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He even steals a couple spritzes of Eddie’s date night cologne. His nerves are making his heart race dangerously, and his fitness watch keeps buzzing at him with elevated heart rate alerts, despite the fact that Buck knows he really has no reason to be so nervous.

Eddie’s waiting for him by the front door, and god—

“You look hot,” Buck blurts out. It’s absurd, really, how hot he is, weaponized handsomeness designed in a lab to make Buck weak at the knees.

Eddie smirks, smoothing one hand down the front of his shirt. He’s got a pair of nice dark jeans on, a form fitting short-sleeved button down tucked into the waist and showing off the cut of his hips, the sharp contours of his body. Buck is not subtle about the appreciative once-over he gives his boyfriend, mouth dry when he salaciously drags his eyes over the arch of his lower back where it melds into the shape of his ass. Eddie flushes with the praise, bright and happy and just a bit sheepish. Buck wants to take a bite out of him. He’s almost tempted to cancel dinner altogether.

“Back atcha,” Eddie smoothly replies, grabbing his keys and the leather jacket on the hook by the door. “Ready for our blue plate special?” he teases, pointedly looking down at his watch. It’s only 4:30.

“Lead the way,” Buck grins.

What the host neglected to mention over the phone was that their available two-top was situated right next to the door to the kitchen.

Buck feels like a sardine shoved in a can, his chair scooched up as far as their small table will allow. He’s got his long legs tangled around Eddie’s chair just to accommodate them, and his eyes glaze over with annoyance every time the kitchen door swings open and bumps the back of his chair. Noise from the busy kitchen drowns them out every single time, sizzling oil and shouting sous chefs and upbeat pop music.

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind— that or he doesn’t notice— because he just hums to himself while he peruses the menu, eyeing the list of wine like he knows anything about wine. Buck just always gets the house red wherever he goes, ever hopeful that his lack of expertise isn’t too obvious. “You wanna split some oysters?” he asks, oblivious to Buck’s souring mood.

“Sure,” Buck says curtly.

They place their order— house red, oysters, ricotta gnocchi for Buck and veal and pork bolognese for Eddie— and he calms down a bit when Eddie rests his chin on his fist with a playful grin.

“Nice place,” he says.

“Not as nice as I was hoping, but… it’ll do,” Buck huffs, leaning forward on his forearms and closer into Eddie’s space. Their table is pathetically small, so they’re practically sharing the same breaths as it is.

“Not gonna make me wait ‘til dessert, are you?” Eddie asks. “Maybe we’ll get some free champagne if you do it now.”

Buck hums, bringing one finger up to shyly rub at his mouth, grinning boyishly. “I dunno. Dessert seems like the perfect course to pop the question. You know, they say chocolate is an aphrodisiac.”

“So are oysters. And wine,” Eddie adds, jerking his chin at the waiter when he approaches with their drinks. “Plus, I’m really more of a tiramisu guy.”

“That’s got cocoa powder, I’ll take it,” Buck smirks, lifting his wine glass to his face to take a sip. “You know, everyone will be looking at us all night if I do it now.”

Eddie playfully purses his lips, smelling his own wine and swirling it around before he tries some. It stains the inside of his lips a rich mahogany that Buck wants to lick away. “I think they’re looking at us anyway, we’re the youngest people in here by several decades.”

Buck snorts, glancing over his shoulder to survey the rest of the room. Eddie’s exaggerating, of course, but a lot of the clientele is older. Not exactly the audience he was expecting. “Think they’ll keel over from shock?”

“They better not, we’re off-duty.”

The waiter comes around with the tray of oysters, and Eddie’s eyes light up, digging into them with moxie. He’s generous with the hot sauce and the horseradish, savoring each one with a barely-audible groan of delight, and Buck is kind of hopelessly mesmerized, a fond grin stretching his lips. Eddie slurps up the next one obnoxiously, and Buck’s stomach flutters, like there were butterflies hatching in his guts, awestruck at his boyfriend’s beauty. He can’t believe this is his life. You gonna eat that? Eddie garbles out through a mouthful of food, gesturing to an uneaten oyster with his tiny fork, and Buck has never felt luckier.

“All yours,” Buck croaks out, lifting his hands in surrender.

He was gonna wait until dessert— no, really— but the still as of yet nonexistent ring is burning a hole in his pocket. Buck thinks if he doesn’t get the word vomit out now, he’ll explode. “Eddie,” he starts, his tone firm and serious, and Eddie looks up from where he was dabbing at an infinitesimal speck of lemon juice on his shirt, eyebrows raised. Buck nervously clears his throat and tries to remember the speech he’d written on his phone, practicing it in the car when he was alone. “Eddie, I, uh— words mean nothing.”

Eddie squints at him, still looking at him expectantly.

Shit. “Wait, no, that’s not right. What I meant to say was— words have meaning. And I’m not always so good with them, so sometimes I don’t say what I really mean. And…” his mind goes painfully blank, grasping for the next sentence and coming up empty. “Uh,” he says dumbly, licking over his lips in a restless tic, face heating up the longer Eddie stares. He fumbles for his phone in his pocket. “Hang on, just let me, uh—”

He opens up his notes app. “My grandmother made this in 1944 while trying to escape the— no, wait, shit, that’s, uh, that’s a focaccia recipe, sorry,” he grits out, hitting the back button and swiping down to the right note. The back of his neck is getting sweaty. Man, they really crank the heat in these places. “Here we go,” he mutters. “Love is one of those words I thought I knew. It’s one of those words I think everybody might have wrong, actually, because— because when I’m with you, and Chris, I—”

Eddie delicately touches his wrist, three gentle fingers resting on his pulse, and Buck drags his eyes up from his phone, his expression no doubt nervously pinched together. But Eddie, he’s just— smiling fondly at him, a teasing twinkle in his eye.

“Put those doe eyes away, let me finish,” Buck says, earning a laugh from Eddie. He lost his place, but he’s so flustered now that he just shakes his head and slaps his phone face down on the table. “Fuck it,” he mutters, scooching his chair back and preparing to get down on one knee. “Eddie, will you—”

The door to the kitchen slams open just as Buck is standing up. An overwhelmed waitress comes out carrying two overflowing trays of food above her petite head, and her vision must be blocked because she crashes right into Buck and stumbles, dumping both trays all over Buck, Eddie, and their table. It’s a mess of red sauce and olive oil and grated cheese, unpleasantly warm where it soaks into Buck’s shirt.

She gasps, holding both hands over her mouth and comically widening her eyes, face going unnaturally white. Buck dejectedly scoops up a handful of sauce from his shirt, flinging it away from his fingers with disdain.

“Can we get the check, please,” he weakly rasps.

“We’re home,” Eddie calls out from the doorway, and Christopher immediately pokes his head out into the hall.

“How did it—” he starts, before taking in the state of their clothing, mouth dropping open in shock. “...Go,” he finishes dazedly.

“Bad,” Buck sighs, shoulders slumped as he makes a beeline for the bathroom. “It went bad.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it, bud,” Eddie says in bed later, pressing a placating kiss to Buck’s cheek. “I mean, who could’ve predicted a saucy avalanche?”

“It wasn’t just the sauce, Eddie,” Buck grumbles, pouting up at the ceiling. “It was a disaster even before that waitress exploded all over us. It just happened to be the cherry on top.”

“Let’s just call it a test run, then,” Eddie says, propping himself up against the headboard. He crosses his hands over his lap comfortably. “No biggie.”

“No biggie?” Buck scoffs, craning his neck to look up at him incredulously. “So, you really don’t think this is bad karma or something?”

Eddie sighs, reaching for his pen and the book of crosswords he keeps on his nightstand. “No, Buck, I think it was a freak accident.”

“And our first dinner getting cancelled?”

“We ran late at work, that happens all the time,” Eddie shrugs.

“Okay, you know what? Let’s make a wager,” Buck dares, sitting upright in bed. “I’ll make another reservation for Friday, and if nothing happens, then I officially denounce the concept of the universe interfering. No such thing as bad karma.”

Eddie smirks, shaking his head in amusement and gripping Buck’s hand where he firmly holds it out. “Deal,” he says, maintaining his hold to haul Buck closer and smack a wet kiss on his lips.

[Buck 8:10]

Morning!

[Maddie 8:15]

Trust me, you’ll be the first to know.

[Buck 8:16]

I didn’t even say anything 😥

(Seen)

Their shift the next day has them responding to a fire at a factory, big enough to require two stations. All the employees have evacuated, sitting miserable and grimy out on the curb, coughing into their fists. Hen, Chim and Eddie help triage them while Buck, Ravi and Bobby pile inside with the hose and canisters of CO2, and the first thing Buck notices is the smell. Burnt tomatoes and peppery vinegar, creating noxious fumes that makes his eyes water even through the mask. “What do they make here?” he calls out, aiming the hose at the flaming machine in the center of the room.

“Spaghetti sauce,” Bobby answers, and Buck groans disheartedly. Too soon.

It takes both of the trucks’ water supplies but they manage to put everything out, and a handful of guys from the 133 trail in to keep an eye on hot spots while Buck steps outside with a sigh of relief, squinting into the sunlight. He rips his helmet off of his head, running one gloved hand through sweat-soaked curls, and when he looks around the scene it takes him a minute to spot Eddie. He’s hunched over talking to a fancy-looking guy sitting on the lip of the ambulance, stethoscope pressed to his back beneath his rucked-up shirt.

Buck approaches them cautiously, unhooking his jacket to let his skin breathe. “Hey,” Buck says, sizing up the guy in the most nonchalant way he can muster. “Need a hand?”

“Nah, I got it,” Eddie says breezily, taking the stethoscope out of his ears and wrapping it back around his neck. “Tom, this is Buck. Buck, you’ll never guess what we were just discussing,” he says, tilting his head down to gesture at the guy.

“Tom Marino,” he says, holding his hand out for Buck to shake. Buck takes it, shaking his hand robotically for a few seconds before it clicks. “I own the factory.”

“Oh, wait, Marino’s like the restaurant?” Buck says, looking back and forth between him and Eddie. Eddie’s gloved hands rest on his hips, nodding smugly.

“The very same,” Tom says, pulling his hand free with some effort. He wipes it on his button-down shirt. “It’s a family business. My father started jarring our sauces decades ago to sell in the restaurant, and well… here we are,” he finishes, gesturing to the smoldering building behind him.

“Oh, I-I love that place,” Buck says, exhaling with a soft smile. “I tried to make a reservation there last week, actually, but you guys have a crazy waitlist.”

“Hey, after saving my factory and all my employees, I owe you one. Name the time and place, I’ll get you in there,” he says, flipping through his wallet to grab a card. He passes it to Buck who accepts it with a shocked expression, blinking down at the small text. “We got a new chef recently and you’ve got to try the calamari— the man is a genius.”

“Uh, wow, thanks,” Buck says, stuffing the card into his turnouts. “I might just take you up on that.”

When they’re heading back to the engine later, Eddie knocks their shoulders together and says, “bad karma, huh?”

“Dinner hasn’t happened yet, Diaz,” Buck warns, wagging a gloved finger at him.

Buck calls the next day and makes a reservation for Friday night for six-thirty. “And nothing by the kitchen, please,” he adds, grimacing to himself. “If that’s possible.”

He makes sure everything is in order— the gas tank is full, his clothes have been dry cleaned, Chris has money for a pizza. He spends the week nervously waiting for something to happen, knee bouncing uncontrollably, only stilled by the patient weight of Eddie’s hand. Eddie catches him practicing his speech in the mirror at home, and he reiterates to him that it’s fine for Buck to speak from the heart. Or not at all, if he doesn’t want to.

When Buck cracks his eyelids open on Friday morning and the sun is still hanging in the sky, he relaxes a little. Eddie drools softly on his chest where he’s still dead to the world. They’ve got a pretty leisurely day mapped out— laundry, changing the bedsheets, mowing the lawn out back. Buck even finds time to fit in a run in the afternoon, popping his ear buds into place and losing himself to the rhythmic cadence. He gets so lost in it that he almost doesn’t notice when his headphones chime with a text alert, the robotic voice relaying a one-word text from Maddie that just says, “baby.”

He keeps moving, knitting his eyebrows together and waiting for the rest before his eyes widen in realization. Baby. Baby. Oh, shit.

Buck picks up a frantic pace, doing a sudden 180 and going back the way he came. “Excuse me, coming through, make a hole, people,” he shouts, narrowly dodging a wayward toddler wandering to the middle of the sidewalk. “Siri, text Eddie,” he huffs, running in place when he gets to a red light at a crosswalk.

“Okay, what would you like to say,” she says.

“Baby! Baby’s on the way. I’m running home,” he pants, breaking out into a sprint as soon as the light changes to the walk symbol. “Get everything ready so we can go as soon as I’m there. End text.”

“Okay, your message says, ‘baby, baby, on the way, I’m running home. Get everything ready so we can go ass soon as I’m there.’ Is that right?”

Fuck it. Good enough. “Yes,” Buck says, weaving in-between pedestrians, pushing through the stitch at his side. His ear buds ding again to let him know Eddie responded with the eyes emoji and a thumbs up emoji.

His chest is heaving by the time he makes it home, hunched over to rest his hands on his knees while he catches his breath. “‘M home,” he shouts hoarsely, voice cracking as he wipes the sweat from his brow. Eddie comes around the corner looking far too unhurried, eyeing Buck up and down and giving him a salacious grin. And he’s not wearing any fucking pants.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Buck heaves, looking at him quizzically.

Eddie frowns, his own face screwing up. “Uh, I thought you wanted to…” he pauses, mouth working soundlessly around the shape of his words. He shakes his head, crossing his arms over his naked chest. “I think maybe I misinterpreted your text.”

Buck blinks, pushing past Eddie to jog into the bedroom, throwing open the dresser to find clean clothes. “The baby is coming,” he says, ripping his sweaty tank top over his head and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. He misses. “We gotta meet them down at the hospital. Do you have the gift basket?”

“The— oh,” Eddie breathes, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor and tugging it back on, smoothing out his hair. “Thought that was a, uh, y’know. Booty call.”

Buck’s eyes cut to the mattress, and the raggedy sex towel so pristinely laid out in the center of it. A bottle of lube adorns the nightstand. “No, but, uh— table that thought for later,” he huffs, tugging on a pair of jeans. “That’s really hot that you just went along with it.”

Eddie flushes, fiddling with the wristband of his watch to get the hook into place. “Alright, alright, go get the keys, you menace,” he laughs, hurrying him through the doorway with an impatient gesture.

On the way to the hospital, when Buck’s brain calms down long enough to register the time, he gasps out, “ah, shit.”

“Hm?” Eddie says from the passenger seat, thumbs flying where he’s getting updates from the group chat from Hen and Karen.

“Our dinner reservation,” Buck groans, leaning forward to frustratedly knock his head into the steering wheel. Eddie pats him on the back with one pacifying hand.

After hours in the waiting room, Chimney finally comes out holding a small blue bundle, his eyes red and his voice thick with tears. “It’s a boy,” he coos, and everybody ‘aww’s in delight, standing up to crowd around him to get a look.

“Okay, everybody back up, I get uncle privileges,” Buck says, shouldering his way to the front.

“Um, excuse me, what about best friend privileges?” Hen scoffs, affronted, tilting her head like how dare you.

“Uh, then I qualify too,” Josh interjects from somewhere behind him.

“Okay, okay, enough,” Chimney lightly scolds, tightening his grip. “Since our Captain is sitting so politely while you all act like a bunch of children, he gets first dibs.”

“Aww, man,” Buck groans, watching with undiluted envy as Chimney lowers his nephew into Bobby’s arms. His chest still gets fuzzy with static regardless, blooming with warmth at the sight of Bobby smiling down at the baby, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with the effort.

“Hey, little guy,” Bobby softly murmurs, leaning in to smell his head. Athena rubs one soothing thumb over his arm where the baby’s head is propped up. “Everyone’s really glad you’re here. You kept us waiting.”

“That he did,” Chimney sighs, hands finding the notch of his hips, the bags under his eyes heavy and pronounced. “Maddie was right. Only a boy could be this stubborn.”

“Maybe it’s genetic,” Karen teases, wrapping her arm around Hen’s. “You should name him ‘Buck.’”

“Hey,” Buck protests weakly, frowning, before considering it. “Actually, yeah, you totally should. Buck Junior’s got a nice ring to it, eh?”

“BJ?” Chimney scoffs. “Yeah, I’ll take a pass on that suggestion. You’re not topping the list of coworkers I’d name my son after anytime soon, Buckaroo.”

Buck shrugs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Worth a shot.”

The baby gets passed around the group, everyone cooing and marveling at the tiny human life, and by the time it reaches Buck he feels like his heart’s about to leap up out of his throat. “Hey, buddy,” he whispers, supporting the baby’s head against his arm. His vision swims a bit, overflowing with the love that pumps through his veins, chest practically exploding with it. Everybody else falls away— for all he’s aware, it’s just the two of them, Buck and this beautiful little human that he gets to love for the rest of his life. “You and I are gonna be thick as thieves,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to his nephew’s temple. “And I promise that I’ll always be there for you.”

Chimney gently prods him on the shoulder after a few minutes, pulling him from his reverie. Buck reluctantly gives the baby back, wiping at the corner of his eyes where moisture is starting to leak out. He swallows thickly and laughs, meeting Eddie’s eyes where he’s hovering just a few feet away, and Eddie—

Well. He looks almost… sad.

They collectively decide to let Maddie rest, exhausted as she is, but Buck is eager to get to the hospital bright and early in the morning. They all agree via the group chat to come bearing food, splitting up the responsibilities between them, and the bounty they set out in Maddie’s hospital room is one for the ages. Iced coffees, freshly squeezed orange juice, bagel sandwiches, fruit salad— Buck even brought a tray of cheese danishes from Maddie’s favorite bakery, self-satisfied at the way her eyes light up when she sees them.

“Guys, this is too much, seriously,” she laughs, looking pale but grateful. “I can’t even drink coffee yet.”

“That’s for me for waking up at eight o’clock on my day off,” Josh quips, smiling around his straw.

“Oh, hush,” Karen says, dismissing Maddie’s words with a wave of her hand. “Let us spoil you, you brought a human life into this world. It’s hard work. And often underappreciated.”

“Amen to that,” Athena snickers, passing Bobby a paper cup full of juice.

Athena launches into a story about her first labor, which makes Eddie interject with a story about Shannon’s, which makes Hen recall a story about Karen’s IVF treatment that ends with howling laughter. They get a bit rowdy after that, stuffing themselves to their heart's content and yelling excitedly over each other where they’re chatting in smaller groups, and then Chimney comes back with Jee-Yun in tow who dives into her mother’s arms with a delighted squeal. Maddie kisses her forehead over and over, little mwah mwah mwah’s that have Jee giggling and squirming. 

“Did you meet your brother?” Maddie asks her, smiling radiantly, and Buck perches himself at the edge of her bed with a fond grin.

“He’s so little!” Jee exclaims, looking back at her father. “He was sleeping, but I got to touch his hand.”

“Very gently, I might add,” Chimney says, snapping his gum and grinning proudly.

Maddie tucks Jee-Yun’s hair back, smoothing it down where it’s gone a bit crazy. “Good job, sweetie. Already looking out for your baby brother.” She turns to look at Buck then, eyes melting while she runs a hand through his curls, too, thumb rubbing affectionately at his cheek. “Even when he’s big and strong and a pain in the butt, he’s gonna need his big sister to watch out for him.”

Buck smiles softly, wrapping one long arm around Maddie and bringing the both of them in tight, pressing his cheek to the top of his sister’s head. “Love you, too,” he murmurs.

He glances over at Eddie from across the room while he rubs comforting circles on Maddie’s arm, watching him for a handful of uninterrupted moments before Eddie notices and looks back. He’s spread out in a chair by the wall, juice cup held firmly in one hand and an empty paper plate in the other, laughing with Hen and Karen where they flank him on both sides. He gives Buck a small smile when they lock eyes, his expression warm and affectionate, but there’s a hesitant quiver to his lips that Buck can’t quite decipher.

He should feel warm, surrounded here by the people he loves most, but Buck feels—

Not cold. Never cold. But maybe just a little weird.

@eb191: Uncle² 📸 @eddiebodywantssome 

[Image: Buck perched on the side of the hospital bed, cradling his bundled up nephew next to an exhausted but smiling Maddie.]

@RobertNash1004890200: Beautiful picture. -BN

@itsgonab5may!: cuteness overload!!! can’t wait to meet him

@drkwilson: ❤️❤️❤️

The drive home from the hospital is devoid of conversation.

It’s not an uncomfortable silence, necessarily— Buck has sat in enough of those in his lifetime to know the difference— but there’s a weight and tension to Eddie’s shoulders that belies a level of unease that Buck doesn’t really know what to do with. Nothing bad had happened at the hospital, so whatever’s wrong, it’s coming straight from Eddie’s brain. Buck knows all too well how dark it can get in there.

“Uh, is everything okay?” Buck asks when they’re stopped at a light, taking a hand off the wheel to lean over and squeeze Eddie’s knee.

“Hm?” Eddie distractedly hums, turning his head to face Buck, brows pitched up high on his forehead. “Yeah, yeah, just… thinking,” he dismisses with a wave.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Buck teases, and Eddie huffs a laugh, but it’s still—

Something’s off.

Eddie drops a hand to reassuringly squeeze Buck’s hand, cupping his palm gently over Buck’s knuckles. It’s warm where their skin connects, Eddie’s fingers hooking into the gaps between Buck’s, stitching them together.

Buck won’t push. He’s trying to get better at that, at letting Eddie arrive at his own conclusions before he comes to Buck. Still, Buck has to fight the nagging desire to nervously bounce his knee, the unceasing desire to fix everything, to be included. How can I help? Eddie, what do you need?

The car behind them honks its horn impatiently when the light turns green.

Buck is dicing up carrots and potatoes to throw into the crockpot when he hears Eddie come to a stop behind him, hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Do you think biscuits are overkill?” Buck asks after a pause, still methodically chopping.

Eddie sighs, and Buck turns his head over his shoulder to look at him. He’s leaning against the archway, hands and feet crossed, the perfect image of nonchalance if not for the stiffness of his shoulders. “I think you passed overkill after the third tray of enchiladas. They had a baby, they’re not bedridden.”

Buck smirks, and it causes a matching grin to stretch over Eddie’s cheeks too, dimpling at the corners. “Hey, I’m trying to win favorite uncle, here. Did you see that crazy stroller Albert bought them? I looked it up and it’s eight hundred dollars. Low-blow.”

He scrapes the contents of his cutting board into the pot, twisting the lid and breaking the seal on a box of beef stock, when Eddie awkwardly says, “we should talk.”

Buck’s movements falter, but he finishes dumping out the stock, shaking it to get every drop. “Uh, usually those words are followed by, ‘you’re great, Buck, but I think we should see other people.’ Which I have had the displeasure of hearing a lot.” He chuckles, trying to ease— whatever emotion was swirling around the room, but then he’s turning his head to catch Eddie’s eyes, and—

Oh.

“Oh,” Buck says quietly, face falling. His heart feels like it’s going to jump right out of his chest— or maybe just crack in two entirely. “You’re actually—”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts insistently, cutting him off. He rubs an anxious hand over his face. “Can you stop— jumping to the worst conclusion possible? Just sit, please,” he implores, gesturing to the kitchen table, eyes frantic.

Buck robotically unties his apron, moving to sit at the table, his movements heavy and unnatural. He feels like he’s underwater, limbs and head submerged, as he slumps into the chair at the head of the table. Eddie sits in the chair nearest to him, scooching the legs closer so that their knees knock together, and he grabs one of Buck’s hands with both of his own.

Eddie looks directly at him, his warm brown eyes affectionate but serious. Buck hates when he looks so serious. He prefers when Eddie is having so much fun that his eyes are wrinkling at the corners and his cheeks are dimpled; when he’s pink with joy, sweaty and breathless with the euphoria.

Buck feels like he’s gonna be sick.

“Buck,” Eddie starts, visibly gulping, the bob of his Adam’s apple a welcome distraction from the repressed agony on his face. Buck’s sure his own is no better. “Shit, I don’t even know how to start this.”

“This is absolute torture,” Buck says dryly, and it startles a humorless chuckle out of Eddie.

Eddie squeezes his hand, trapped tightly between the heat of his own, and the intensity of the eye contact is almost too much. “You’re… really great with kids, you know that? I mean, seeing you with the baby yesterday, and with Jee… like, your whole face lights up.”

Buck can’t help the small smile that breaks out over his face at the mention of his niece and nephew. Loving them is as easy as breathing. He knows Maddie and Chim are determined to give their kids a better childhood than they had, and Buck is onboard with that every step of the way. He doesn’t want them to feel unloved or unwanted for a single second of their young, young lives. Buck was only around Jee’s age when he really started to notice it— the gap in his parent’s love that just wasn’t normal.

“And with Chris,” Eddie continues. “I mean, shit, from day one with him, and you don’t even share blood. You just—” Eddie looks away, a little frown pinching his eyebrows together, expression smoothed out in an instant. “You just loved us like it was so simple.”

“Eddie,” Buck says, voice thick where he’s getting choked up.

Eddie closes his eyes and shakes his head, and Buck clenches his jaw shut until his molars squeak. “Buck,” he says seriously, opening his eyes and catching Buck’s, and the tether between them feels strong, pulled taut. “Do you… do you want kids?”

Buck’s brows squeeze together. He blinks, shaking his head incredulously, mouth dropped open again. “I— what?”

“Will you, someday, want kids of your own? Because I—” Eddie’s breath hitches, and Buck can see the way Eddie is swallowing down the emotion, the determined grit of his brow and teeth. “I don’t know if I can give you that.”

“What do you mean?” Buck asks, quiet, almost hushed.

“I mean… I don’t know if I want more kids. Not— not for a long time, at the very least.” Eddie’s eyes are welling up now, and Buck so desperately wants to squeeze his face, his cheeks, to run his thumb under the delicate skin of his eyes, but his hand is still trapped between Eddie’s, and the other one is dead weight in his lap. “I saw you yesterday holding the baby, and you had this look in your eyes, and I just…” he meanders, his mouth twisting, the emotion bubbling to the surface as he fights the tears. “I don’t know if I can give you that,” he repeats.

Buck’s breath escapes his lungs with one sharp exhale. “Oh, Eddie,” he sighs. “That doesn’t ma—”

“Don’t say it doesn’t matter, Buck,” Eddie interrupts. The tears haven’t fallen, but his eyes are wet and rimmed red. “Do you know how much I would— I would hate myself if you woke up in thirty years full of regret?”

Buck can feel the way his face melts. “Eddie,” he breathes. “What would I possibly have to regret? Making a life with you and Chris? That's all I want.”

“But if the circumstances were different,” Eddie says insistently. “If I were different. Kids would be a no-brainer, right?”

Buck flounders. “I— shit, Eddie, I don’t know. What if the world was made of pudding? I’m not in some weird alternate reality. I’m here with you.”

Eddie’s nose scrunches up in confusion. “Pudding?”

“Never mind,” Buck dismisses. “Look, I’m not with you for some—” he picks his free hand up, gesticulating wildly, “hypothetical future family. You get that, right? I want to be with you because you’re… my best friend in the entire world.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches. “You say that, but I know that you also…” he trails off, lifting one hand up to pinch the space between his eyes. “You like to… make other people happy. Sometimes at the expense of your own feelings. And you want somewhere to… belong.”

Buck swallows the words like knives, sharp and cutting all the way down. Eddie’s being polite, but Buck hears the message: Don’t let your abandonment issues cloud your judgment.

“But you’ll belong with us no matter what,” Eddie continues. “I meant it when I said you were stuck with me forever. Even if… even if you decide that… you need more.”

“Eddie,” Buck scoffs, but Eddie cuts him off with a wave.

“Just, please, promise me you’ll think about it?” Eddie begs, eyes wide and shiny. “Like, really actually think about it.”

Buck’s shoulders sag. When he exhales, he feels all of his energy go with it, sapped from his bones while he slumps in his chair. “Okay,” he promises, and Eddie nods, but he looks miserable.

He stands up on shaky legs. Eddie follows suit, his chair scraping against the tile floor, and Buck is pulling him into an embrace without a second thought. It’s a tight hug, too tight maybe, squeezing all the air out of Eddie’s body while he buries his face in his neck.

“Love you,” Eddie says quietly, muffled into Buck’s shoulder where his mouth is tucked.

“Love you, too,” Buck manages, adjusting his arms as if to somehow try to impossibly pull Eddie closer.

Neither of them move to pull apart for a long, long time.

Buck stares, unblinking, at the wall that night.

He would be staring at the ceiling, but his arm is possessively wrapped around Eddie’s waist, heads tucked closely together on the same pillow. Eddie’s soft breaths come out evenly, which tells Buck he finally fell asleep after hours of restlessly touching each other, delicate and reverent, as if to say, I’m still here.

Buck tucks his nose into the back of Eddie’s neck, softly so as not to wake him. God, Buck loves him so much. More than he thought it was possible to love a person. He’d already loved Eddie and Chris before everything, but now it feels like a helium balloon expanding in his chest, growing and growing until he’s sure to pop.

He nuzzles the skin gently, breathing in Eddie’s scent. Clean, like laundry detergent. Sharp and metallic, like the remnants of his hair gel. Comforting, like sweat and hot blood beneath warm skin. Buck presses his lips to that skin, just a whisper of a touch, barely-there, and Eddie sighs in his sleep.

Buck thinks about holding Connor and Kameron’s baby in his arms, that day in his loft, sticky and small and wailing its way into the world. He remembers looking down at that perfect little human and thinking to himself, someday soon, I’ll be looking down at my own kid, and nothing will ever matter as much as them.

Eddie shifts in his arms, sleepy and solid and tangible, and Buck thinks that losing this might be just as devastating. Maybe more.

“I could use a hand,” Buck calls out, precariously balancing an unsteady handful of tupperware on his knee. “You don’t want me dropping your precious stroganoff, right?”

“Don’t you dare!” Maddie calls out, rushing around the corner with wide, panicked eyes. “I will seriously eat it off the floor, I’ve been thinking about it all day.” She grabs the tower of containers from him with a toothy grin, eyes squinting with the force of it. She looks good; happy.

“Well, you’re in luck, because I made a double batch,” Buck says, kicking the door behind him shut with a little flourish. “And enchiladas, and beef stew, and some turkey tetrazzini. Oh, and I made biscuits this morning, too.”

Maddie squints warily at him, turning from her spot at the counter with the stack of tupperware. “What’s wrong?”

Buck blanches. “What? Uh, nothing. Can’t a guy just love his sister?”

She raises one neat, judgmental eyebrow at him.

He sighs. Damn Maddie and her Buck-ray vision straight into his brain. “Okay, so maybe I needed a little distraction.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, unimpressed, tilting her head as if to say, and?

There’s a girlish yelp from the other room, followed by squeals of delight, and the unmistakable sound of Chimney groaning. Buck busies himself with making room in the freezer for everything. The cold air on his face helps. “Eddie and I just had a— little thing.”

“A little thing,” she echoes.

“Yeah, you know,” Buck says unhelpfully, gesturing nonchalantly with his free hand while his other one wades through ziploc bags of freezer-burnt meat. He squints at illegible sharpie squiggles. Chicken? Maybe? Might as well just toss it.

Jee-Yun comes barreling through the kitchen doorway, crashing into Buck’s legs with a slam. “Uncle Buck,” she shouts, lifting her hands up, the unspoken and universal sign for up. Buck slams the freezer door shut, bending over to hoist Jee up with a groan, settling her on his hip. Her arms wrap around his neck and shoulders, clinging to him like an octopus. “Guess what I am?”

Buck takes in her attire with a thoughtful hum. She’s wearing a frayed tutu and a plastic tiara, glitter-gold star stickers adorned all up and down her arms and face. “An astronaut?” he teases.

It makes her giggle, her feet kicking out wildly. “No, dummy, I’m a fairy princess.”

“Jee,” Maddie admonishes, affronted but trying to hide her smile. “Do not call your Uncle Buck a dummy.”

“Sorry,” Jee says, kissing his forehead with a loud mwah.

“Apology accepted,” Buck says, looking around the room. “And is the young princess unaccompanied?”

Chimney rounds the corner with a sigh. “No, she’s got her loyal knight-slash-steed. Whose back is killing him, in case you were wondering.” He wanders over to the fridge to grab a soda, the slump of his shoulders making his exhaustion obvious.

Buck hitches Jee up on his hip when she starts slipping down, dead weight in his arms. “Daddy was giving me piggyback rides,” she says, tightening her arms around his neck, and Buck has to inch one hand in to ease the death grip. “But he’s not as high up as you.”

Chimney leans in to dig a few playful fingers into her side to tickle her, and she squeals and squirms in Buck’s arms. “Oh, I see. Someone taller comes along and old Dad is chopped liver, huh?”

Jee turns to Buck inquisitively. “What’s liver?”

Buck hums. “Uh, it’s like this yucky organ meat.”

“Buck,” Maddie sighs, shaking her head fondly. To Jee-Yun she softly says, “it is not yucky. You’ve never even tried it.”

Buck leans in to stage-whisper. “You’ll thank me in twenty years when nobody is fighting you for the neck or giblets at Thanksgiving.”

“Remind me to set a timer,” she says sarcastically. She takes Buck’s place to load the rest of the food containers into the fridge and freezer, and Chimney sighs gratefully.

“I owe you one,” he says sincerely, taking another swig and muffling a belch. “As it turns out, two kids? Twice the work.”

“Who could’ve known?” Buck grins, pinching his eyes shut when Jee-Yun peels a sticker from her arm to squish onto his forehead, the adhesive struggling to hold. “Happy to help. Matter of fact, uh, you should go take a nap. You look beat.”

Chimney perks up at that, looking between him and Maddie. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, go rest, seriously,” Maddie encourages. “It’s my turn after though, so no messing around on your phone.”

Chimney blows out a stiff breath in relief, depositing his can on the counter and moving towards Buck and Jee. “The greatest words I have ever heard in my life,” he says sincerely, and then he’s pressing a kiss onto Buck’s cheek, jovially patting Jee on the back, and ruffling Maddie’s hair with his fist. Buck and Maddie look at each other with matching raised eyebrows. Halfway to the door, Chimney cocks his head back and says, “I did those wrong, didn’t I?”

“Just a bit,” Maddie intones with a bitten down grin.

Chimney silently raises his hands in surrender before backing out into the hall.

“Can we watch Frozen?” Jee asks, squirming now in Buck’s arms. She’s getting more fidgety the older she gets, which makes Buck’s heart ache a bit, content to hold her to his hip for the rest of her life.

Maddie gives her a smile, catching her hand where Jee is reaching out for her mother. “Yes, but remember, we have to keep it down because…?”

“Because of the baby,” Jee finishes.

“Exactly,” Maddie says, proudly beaming. “He’s very little and he needs lots of rest.”

“Just like when you were that small,” Buck adds.

Jee whips her head back to Buck, and then she cups her small hand over his ear and loudly whispers, “I'll be quiet.”

Buck fights the snort itching its way up his throat.

When the opening sequence has started playing, Jee firmly planted on the floor and staring up at the TV with enraptured eyes, and Buck has safely lowered his guard, Maddie clears her throat quietly to grab his attention.

“So,” she says in a hushed tone, inching a basket of unfolded laundry towards him. “This ‘little thing’ with Eddie.”

Buck fights the grimace threatening to screw up his features. He smooths his expression, grabbing a shirt off of the pile and very casually says, “yeah, it’s— you know.” He stares down at the shirt, putting every ounce of concentration into folding it crisply.

Maddie ducks her head down to try and catch his eyes. “Your first fight?” she offers.

Buck frowns and shrugs. “Uh, Eddie and I have had plenty of fights before.”

“When you were best friends, sure,” she concedes, smoothing her hands over the crease of the linens in her hand. “But this is your first fight as a couple.”

Buck tilts his head to her. “We’re still best friends,” he points out.

She levels him with an unimpressed expression. “You’re being pedantic.”

“And you’re being presumptuous,” Buck bites, sarcastically scrunching up his mouth at her. “See, I can bust out a word-of-the-day calendar, too.”

Maddie lowers her laundry, expression annoyed now. “Evan.”

“Maddie.”

Jee-Yun shushes them loudly, and they both startle where they’d begun to lean towards each other in an unflinching standoff. There’s a small coo from the crib that makes everybody hold their breath, but then it’s quiet again save for the faint singing coming from the TV.

Maddie tilts an eyebrow up at him, and her face is no-nonsense. “What was the fight about?” she asks, and her voice is hushed but firm.

Buck sighs, grabbing another shirt. “It wasn't a fight. I mean- not really. It was just—”

“A little thing?” she finishes with a sly grin.

Buck stares blankly at her. “I can’t believe I woke up early to make you cheddar biscuits.”

Maddie hums, squinting at him skeptically, her lips pursed. “Did you do that for me? Or was it just to avoid Eddie?”

Buck opens his mouth to deny it, but his lips can’t quite form the words, gaping like a fish around the shape of his rebuttal. He comes up short; he blames the formidable power of big sisters. “Touché,” he unhappily concedes. Buck rolls his shoulders out with a frustrated grunt. “Okay, fine, the other day when we were visiting you and the baby, he got kind of quiet. A-And then when we got home he said… he asked if I wanted kids. And then he said he was pretty sure that… he didn’t want any more.”

Maddie’s eyes widen in shock, head rearing back, and she blinks rapidly. “Oh. Uh, wow.”

Buck grimaces. “‘Wow’?”

“No, no, not ‘wow,’” she quickly says, shaking her hands in a desperate attempt to pacify him. It’s offset by the still slightly stunned look on her face while she absentmindedly grabs a pair of Jee’s pajamas. “Sorry, I’m just… processing. Definitely not what I would describe as a ‘little thing’ though.”

Buck groans, slumping on the couch, arms hanging between his spread legs where his elbows rest on his knees. He drops the folded shirt onto the coffee table with a dejected sigh. “He basically asked me to break up with him.”

She scoffs. “Seriously? That doesn’t sound like Eddie.”

Buck picks nervously at his stubble, other hand gesturing wildly to articulate his every word. “Not in as many words, but you know how Eddie gets. Anytime there’s a problem to solve, he jumps straight to self-sacrificing.” His knee is starting to bounce.

It’s quiet for a moment. On-screen, young Anna and Elsa are singing to each other through a door. Maddie passes him a child’s sized pair of leggings. “Well, is there? A problem to solve?”

Buck’s mouth gets stuck around his words again, and he considers her words with a head tilt. “Well… I don’t know. Maybe.” He meets her gaze again, and he can feel the helpless pinch of his brows where his anxiety is kicking up, a thunderous uproar in his chest. “‘Cause now I’m sitting here with all these doubts, right?” he babbles, nervously licking his lips. “Like— Eddie thinks it’s this big thing I'd be giving up for him.”

Maddie hums thoughtfully. “Well, it would be. If kids were something you really want.”

The million dollar question that has been haunting Buck all night. All morning, too, if he’s being honest, a thousand-yard stare into his stand mixer, blinking unseeing as the biscuit dough had formed.

“I don’t really know anymore,” Buck confesses. “Like, when I was— when I thought I was straight,” he corrects. “Dating women, it’s like— that’s what’s expected, right? Get married, buy a house, have a few kids. Maybe in reverse order for some,” he adds cheekily.

Maddie rolls her eyes fondly, lobbing a ball of socks at him. It hits him square in the chest, but he manages to catch it.

Buck swallows back the dry cotton feeling in his mouth, chasing the rapid expulsion of his thoughts and feelings, bursting out of his throat like the squeak of escaping helium. He can feel the pressure begin to deflate. “But then Tommy happened and this whole realization and there was this kind of— burden lifted. Like, I was always searching for something in those relationships, or fitting the mold for what I thought they needed, you know?” When Maddie nods encouragingly, Buck can’t help the fond smile that pulls at his lips. He feels seen. “But I don’t feel that way with Eddie. I just feel like… me.”

You make me feel like me, Eddie had once confessed to him, and his lovestruck expression had been crystal clear even through the blur of drunken tears.

Maddie smiles at him sweetly. “I can see it. You’re more settled with him. Like you fit in your skin better.”

Buck grins then, cheeks dimpling, and he nods in agreement. “Yeah, right? It’s just— good between us. It's so easy. And I can’t even begin to imagine starting a family with someone else when I…” he ducks his head shyly, rubbing over the back of his neck sheepishly. “I already have one with him and Chris,” he finishes.

Maddie moves one hand to his knee, and when she squeezes it he puts his own hand over hers, squeezing back. “I think you have your answer, Evan,” she says knowingly.

She pulls him into a tight hug at the door before he leaves, her head tucked comfortably under Buck’s chin. “Oh!” she exclaims, pulling back and looking him in the eyes. “I almost forgot. Mom sent me a box of stuff from the house that I want you to look through. Some of it’s yours.”

“Anything useful?” he asks, following her to the master bedroom where the box and half of its contents are laid out on the duvet.

“Define useful,” Maddie says with a cheeky squint. “Not sure why Mom thought I would need—” she picks up a stained and decrepit vinyl bag, grimacing at the contents inside. “—a bag full of expired makeup, a bunch of old report cards, and a broken friendship bracelet. Oh, and a thirty year old Seventeen magazine with a bunch of the pages missing. I think she just dumped out my entire desk drawer into a box.”

“Missing, or cut out and taped to your wall?” Buck teases, wading through the box with only half-mustered interest, and then his eyes catch on a bright blue and green boondoggle lanyard buried at the bottom. “Hey, look at this,” Buck grins, holding it up to the light and blowing the dust off. “I made this for you.”

“Aww, that’s right,” Maddie coos, running delicate fingers over the braided plastic. “How old were you, seven? I didn’t even have any keys to hook it to yet.”

“Something like that,” Buck mutters, thumb rubbing over the textured loops. He feels oddly melancholy, standing there in the warm afternoon sunlight of Maddie’s bedroom, staring down at the plastic trinket. Decades passing in just the blink of an eye. He sees Maddie smile at him from his periphery, and she moves one hand over to comfortingly smooth over his back.

“Do you want it back?” Maddie offers. “Maybe Christopher would like it.”

Buck huffs a laugh, stuffing the lanyard into his pocket. “You’re just trying to unload your crap onto me.”

She grins sheepishly, the shrug of her shoulders playful, like, you caught me.

It’s quiet when he gets home.

Down the hallway to his right he can hear the quiet murmur of Chris in his bedroom, chatting away with his friends on his phone. In the kitchen, he can hear the quiet clank of dishes in the sink, a just-barely-there hum under Eddie’s breath. Buck drops his keys in the bowl by the door, wandering towards the noise with lead in every step.

“Hey,” he says quietly, leaning against the doorway, one leg crossing over the other. Composure, feigned for nobody’s benefit.

“Hey,” Eddie replies, eyes still glued down to the sponge in his hand, sleeves rolled up to his elbows while he scrubs vigorously. “How’re Maddie and Chim?”

“Exhausted, but grateful for the food.”

Eddie hums, tucking the wet plate into its notch on the drying rack. Buck sits there and observes him, the moment stretched out in the tranquil space of the kitchen. It feels like a time warp, Buck’s throat tight while he tries to find the words, Eddie scrubbing at a stubborn piece of crusted food on the pan in his hands.

A memory washes over him— Buck and Eddie in the dark kitchen, illuminated by the soft light of the stove. Eddie, washing dishes and waving away Buck’s attempts to help. Buck, feeling every tick of the clock’s hands, the internal countdown back to normalcy. Back to a cold, empty loft, devoid of Eddie and Chris and the seamless way they’d slotted Buck into their life. Like they wanted him there.

He thinks of Eddie’s bravery in that moment, stunning Buck into silence, and he wants to return the favor, now.

Buck pushes off the doorway and walks towards Eddie, heart leaping up into his throat. He hesitates before smoothly sliding his hands around Eddie’s waist, bringing them around to rest on his stomach, slotting them together tightly. He knocks their heads together gently, Buck’s breath hitting the back of Eddie’s neck, and he feels the way Eddie physically relaxes, leaning into the embrace.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice trembling with nerves.

“Hey,” Eddie responds, hushed down almost to a whisper. He drops the sponge and pan to bring his own hand up, lacing his fingers with Buck’s and squeezing it reassuringly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck sighs, nosing gently at the back of Eddie’s ear. “I talked to Maddie today. About… what we talked about,” he says clumsily.

“Yeah?” Eddie says, encouraging him to go on. His thumb rubs over the back of Buck’s hand.

“Eddie, you’re it for me,” he says, exhaling shakily. “And I don’t mean in some ‘destiny, soulmate, universe-interfering’ kind of way. Because even after all the ways it’s knocked us down and pulled us apart, I still…” he swallows nervously, gulping against the lump in his throat. “I still know that we’re meant to be together. Not ‘cause the universe said so, but because we said so.”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and he turns around in Buck’s arms to face him, brows knitting together and mouth corkscrewing like he’s fighting a cry. “Yeah?” he says.

Buck nods, eyes glued to Eddie’s, syrupy. Warm, rich caramel, dissolving on his tongue and making everything taste sweet. “I know you want me to have— a family. But I don’t think you realize that I do have a family. I don’t think you realize that you gave me one.”

“Buck,” Eddie whispers, his voice growing thick.

“When you were… when you were buried alive,” Buck chokes out, sniffing wetly when Eddie’s jaw pulses. The pain of that still feels fresh, agony and fear at the sight of all that mud falling down on the well. Helplessly clawing his way to Eddie. This feels a lot like that— clawing at the filth and the muck that separates them. “You told me in the ambulance after that you kept fighting to come back to Chris. To come back to your family. And then— god, Eddie. Then you changed your will and you made me a part of that family. You gave me what I wanted before I even knew that I wanted it.”

Eddie nods, mouth pinched together. His eyeline is getting wet.

It’s there, standing in the kitchen, that Buck realizes Eddie does like grand gestures. Giving Buck his son, and trusting him with his life— Eddie just didn’t realize how grand it was. Giving Buck his heart, and then offering to take it back, to let Buck make this choice; that was a grand gesture. Selflessness that only real love can inspire.

Maybe it was time to sink into the small gestures. Cooking dinner together, one person stirring while the other chops, the setting sun bathing them in golden light. Blinking awake to the smell of Eddie’s cologne on the pillow, Buck stretching on sun-dappled sheets, pleasantly groggy after Eddie let him sleep in. A fresh towel waiting for him after his shower, still warm from the dryer, soft and clean. Eddie kissing him at the door, no matter the circumstance, even when Buck is just going out to run errands on a lazy Sunday.

Buck’s heart pangs with the epiphany— that he has somebody that loves him so much that they’ll miss him while he’s out buying milk and eggs. That they just have to kiss him before he goes.

“I love you,” Buck says, more sure of that than he’s ever been of anything in his life. “I love you so much, and I love Chris, and— nothing could ever make me stop. Nothing could ever replace what I already have. If it’s just— just the three of us, for the rest of our lives?” Buck grins and exhales a laugh, thick and watery, and Eddie echoes it. “Well, I’d be the luckiest guy alive.”

“Rest of our lives, huh?” Eddie chokes out, smiling despite the tears. One slips from the corner of his eye and Buck wipes it away with his thumb.

“And all eternity in the afterlife, if it exists,” Buck adds, earning him another wet chuckle. Eddie pulls him in for a tight embrace, sniffling against his neck where they’re pressed ear-to-ear, and Buck melts at the blossoming warmth in his chest. Eddie’s arms feel strong and safe. They feel like love.

“What is poking me in your jacket,” Eddie mumbles into his skin.

“Huh? Oh,” Buck laughs, pulling away and fumbling for his pocket. He pulls out the lanyard and lays it flat in his palm, holding it up for Eddie. “Maddie gave it back to me. I, uh, I made it when I was a kid.”

“Cute,” Eddie says, a dreamy smile on his face, curling his fingers around it protectively.

Buck’s heart pounds against his ribcage, a steady drumbeat in his chest. “I know it’s not a ring,” he starts, and Eddie’s eyes pick up to meet his own again. They look hopeful. “But it’s something from the heart. A little piece of me, back when… I was still searching for a place to belong.”

“Evan,” Eddie whispers.

“Eddie,” Buck says, fighting the tremor of his voice. “Marry me.” It’s not a question— it’s a statement. 

The moment stretches out into eternity— eons pass, stars flashing bright and fading away, the universe ebbing and flowing all around them— before Eddie’s face melts, a fond grin tugging at his lips. And then Eddie says the two greatest words Buck will ever hear in his life: “I will.”

Here it is, Buck thinks: the denouement. Here comes the swell of violins, the chorus rises, the curtains close. But this wasn’t a movie— what happens is much simpler. Eddie takes his hand, still wet with soap and dish water, and he squeezes them tightly against his chest, and he looks at Buck with forever in his eyes. Outside, a jet plane overhead drowns out the blood rushing in Buck’s ears.

Buck kisses Eddie, because he’s not sure what else to do with all the relief soaring through his veins. Eddie kisses him the same right back.

They pull apart when they hear crutches thudding against the hardwood, and Buck is grinning ear-to-ear, still trapping Eddie against the counter. Eddie’s got the lanyard held tightly in the hand not holding Buck’s, rubbing one reverent thumb over it like it’s something worthy of being cherished.

They both turn to look at Christopher where he hovers in the doorway, both eyebrows quirked up expectantly like he’s saying, Well?

“He said yes,” Buck announces, and Chris grins and moves to join their huddle, wrapping his arms around both of them.

“Finally,” Chris grumbles, ducking away in protest from the hair ruffling he receives.

“Let’s go out to celebrate,” Eddie says, still in their three-person huddle, not-so-subtly wiping at his nose. He presses an obnoxious mwah into Chris’ hair. “My treat.”

“Anything but Italian,” Buck quickly interjects, and the cozy kitchen is filled with warm laughter.

If Eddie’s arms had felt like love, then this, wrapped in a tight embrace with him and Chris in the soft afternoon light of the kitchen, well—

That feels like home.

@eb191: He said yes 💍‼️

[Image: Buck, Eddie, and Chris squeezed into a vinyl booth at a diner, each of Eddie’s arms thrown around his boys. Half-eaten burgers adorn the plates in front of them, ketchup smeared on cheap yellow melamine.]

@thebrotherschimm: Ayyyy!

@itsgonab5may!: SHUT UP CONGRATS!!!!

@drkwilson: So happy for you two!! Let’s talk venues ASAP!!

@madmaddie2: ❤️❤️❤️❤️

@RobertNash1004890200: Wishing you boys the best. What a momentous occasion. Athena sends her love.

@miami_firefox: I had a hunch ;) Congratulations! Dinner’s on me next time you guys are in TX 💪

@connorwithan_o: and the young boy becomes a man 🙏 happy for you brother!

Bobby and Athena host a brunch at their brand-new house, and it fulfills two functions— one part housewarming, one part engagement celebration. It’s not quite the crazy party Buck had in mind, what with all the kids running around, but hey— that’s what the bachelor party was for. They’ve got three tables pushed together in their new dining area to make one long table, and everybody squeezes together as May and Harry bring out plate after plate of Bobby’s cooking; spinach and feta frittata, belgian waffles with honey pecan syrup, bacon and pear egg tarts, homemade hollandaise. The adults load up their plates with twinkling, expectant faces; the kids eye it warily.

They’re not even gonna need to hire a wedding planner, as it turns out, because Karen approaches them with a wildfire in her eyes that has Buck cocking one bewildered eyebrow to Hen like, is she good?

Hen wearily shrugs in response.

“Oh, this’ll be so much fun,” Karen crows, grabbing Eddie by the forearm and leaning in. The mimosa in her hand sloshes precariously; not her first, clearly. “What are you guys thinking? Hotel ballroom? Or maybe somewhere outdoors. The beach? Oh,” she gasps, turning to grab Hen’s shoulder. “We could use our backyard again!”

Buck and Eddie blink and glance at each other. “Uh, honestly we haven’t really thought that far ahead yet,” Buck says.

“Yeah, we’re… not really in any rush,” Eddie agrees with a nod.

“Preemptively veto-ing the beach, though,” Buck adds, shaking his head with wide eyes and blowing out a stiff breath as he recalls an unpleasant memory. “Connor and Kameron’s wedding was on a beach and sand was blowing in everybody’s eyes the entire time. Even the wedding party.” He cringes, remembering the way he’d kept rubbing at his irritated eyes; he’d never been more jealous of a veil in his entire life.

“Ooh, the wedding party!” Karen exclaims, leaning back in her chair. “What color theme are you thinking? If it’s in the fall, you really can’t go wrong with a nice burgundy.”

“Karen,” Hen sighs, exasperated. “They’ve been engaged for one week. Let them breathe a bit.”

“Oh, alright, alright,” Karen huffs, waving her hand dismissively. “You’re no fun.”

“When we get serious about venues and catering you’ll be the first person we call, I promise,” Eddie vows, propping his elbow on the table and solemnly raising his hand. “There’s no one I’d trust more to advocate for us against scummy businesses trying to take advantage of our wallets.”

“If only my wife extended that same trust,” Karen says, sipping from her mimosa pointedly.

Hen startles out a laugh, fond and lighthearted. “I just don’t want you bridezilla-ing all over their wedding. Maybe they wanna plan it themselves.”

“No, please, are you kidding? I don’t know the first thing about planning a wedding,” Eddie scoffs, digging into his third waffle. Buck stops himself from playfully teasing Eddie about his sweet tooth; god, he’s so smitten. He’s definitely being so annoying about it lately.

“What?” Hen laughs again, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What about your first wedding?”

Eddie shrugs, head bobbing comically on his shoulders while he chews his mouthful of food. “I was, like, twenty,” he says dismissively, garbled through the waffle. “Our parents did most of the planning. My mom, at any rate,” he murmurs bitterly, stabbing at his waffle again.

“Well, was it any good?” Karen asks.

Eddie hums. “It was very… stiff. Very catholic. Church wedding, reception at my abuela’s house. Food was probably the best part, and that’s just ‘cause she did all the cooking,” he snorts. “Otherwise, we were mostly just… sweaty and nervous the whole time.”

“Think I’d like to aim a little higher than ‘sweaty and nervous’,” Buck teases, wrapping an arm around the back of Eddie’s chair and rubbing at his back soothingly. Eddie relaxes into it. “At any rate, we have all the time in the world to worry about it.”

“Yeah,” Hen says, picking up her own drink. “I mean, you know… as long as you don’t fall off any more buildings.”

Buck blanches, his hand going still.

“Or get shot by a sniper,” Karen adds. Eddie’s spine goes rigid beneath his hand.

“Or get struck by lightning,” Denny chimes in from Karen’s left, turning his head from his conversation with Christopher. Buck is starting to feel kind of sweaty and nervous.

Chris cranes his neck to look down the table. “Or get caught in a—” he starts, before Buck cuts him off.

“Okay, enough,” he scoffs, emphasizing his words with his free hand. “You guys are not funny, don’t quit your day jobs.”

They snicker to each other, twisting their heads back around to continue their previous conversations, and Buck ignores everyone to make eye contact with Eddie. “They’re kidding,” he reassures quietly, and Eddie briefly smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe, uh, we can start with some small stuff, though,” he adds, and Eddie nods vigorously.

“No rush, though,” Eddie says, eyes still locked to the middle distance.

“Yeah, no rush,” Buck affirms. “Something simple. Like the wedding party.” 

He pauses, then, glancing around the room before his eyes stop on Bobby where he’s standing over Athena, seated at the other end of the table. His apron is still draped over his clothing, grubby from years of splattered cooking oil. “Hey, Bobby,” he calls out, waving him over, and Bobby holds one hand up to his wife like he’s saying, gimme a sec.

“What can I do you for, Buck?” he sasses, thick arms crossing over his barrel chest.

“Would you want to officiate our wedding?” Buck asks, and Eddie’s head whips around to look at him. “If— you’re cool with that,” he says to Eddie.

“Copycat,” Chimney chimes in from further down the table.

Bobby barks out a laugh at that, before turning back to Buck with a fond grin. “Sure, kid, I’d be happy to,” he says, nodding politely.

“See?” Buck says to Eddie, gesturing triumphantly with his hand. “We’re already making progress. This’ll be a piece of cake.”

“Ooh, cake!” Karen gasps, clapping her hands together jovially. “What are we thinking for cake? You know, there’s this little bakery on Broadway and 7th—”

“Oh, shit,” Buck exclaims, startling upright in bed later.

Eddie jerks awake beside him, startled from his half-asleep haze, eyes drooping and brain clearly fuzzy. “Huh— wha?” he asks eloquently.

“If I’m marrying my best friend, then who’s gonna be my best man?” Buck whispers, fingers dragging over his face. Eddie sighs and rolls over to fall back asleep, leaving Buck to stew in his dilemma alone, grumbling unintelligibly.

“Raviiiii,” Buck cheers, arms spread wide as he strides into the locker room on their next shift.

Ravi quirks an eyebrow up at him, glancing behind himself, as if there were another Ravi just out of frame that Buck might be addressing. “Buck,” he says cautiously.

Buck clears his throat awkwardly, slapping Ravi on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Hey, man, uh— lookin’ good! You been… exfoliating?”

Ravi squints suspiciously. Buck tries and fails not to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.”

“What?” Buck laughs nervously. “No, I just, uh— h-hey, what are you doing this weekend?”

“Trivia,” Ravi answers cautiously, drawing out the last vowel with an intonation of hesitation.

“Trivia!” Buck exclaims, hands gesturing excitedly, arms spread wide. “Love trivia. Love a fun fact. Ask me anything.”

“Anything,” Ravi deadpans doubtfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

Buck swallows the lump in his throat. God, they need to crank the air in this place. “Uh-huh.”

Ravi sighs, shrugging complacently. “Okay. What’s the capital of New York?”

Buck blinks, slapping a fist into his open palm while he contemplates. “Uh… Old York?” he says cheekily.

Ravi snorts, shaking his head and turning back to his task, spraying at the glass and wiping it down. “Pretty good guess.”

“Seriously, though,” Buck says, following him as he makes his way out into the bay. “We should hang out. Grab a drink or something.”

“Just the two of us?” Ravi asks skeptically, turning to face him.

Buck pauses, fidgeting with his hands. “Uh— yeah, why, is that weird?”

“You’ve just never expressed interest in hanging out before.”

Buck leans against the engine, clasping his hands together and feigning his best impression of nonchalance. “Oh, yeah, well, I’m sorry about that. Uh, to be fair, it took me a minute to warm up to Eddie, too, when he first got here.”

Ravi blinks at him, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “How long?” he asks, almost like a dare.

Buck pauses. “Almost a… a wh-whole shift,” he says dumbly.

“I’ve been here four years,” Ravi replies, turning to walk away again, but he pauses and turns back to point accusingly at him. “Are you using me to fill out your wedding party?”

“Whaaat?” Buck scoffs, swallowing nervously. His mouth shifts soundlessly around his words, grasping fruitlessly. “I-I don’t— I mean, that’s not—”

“Oh my god, you totally are,” Ravi says, mouth dropping in awe. “Eddie can’t be your best man, and Bobby is officiating, so you’re totally scrambling.”

“That’s— insulting,” Buck asserts, no heat behind his words, voice embarrassingly pitched up. “I’ve got tons of guy friends I can ask. You know, you’re very self-centered.”

Ravi smirks, crossing his arms smugly over his chest. “Name three. That you don’t work with,” he emphasizes when Buck starts to interject.

Buck wracks his brain, cringing to himself when he comes up short. He’s got some buddies— Connor and Albert and that guy from his gym who likes to talk about the best lat workouts. John. Or was it Jim? Crap. “Don’t you have a window to clean?” Buck grumbles, moving towards the stairs with a rain cloud hovering over his head.

“Hey, if you want to go out for drinks, I’m game,” Ravi calls after him. Buck pauses where he’s perched on the bottommost step and cranes his neck over his shoulder. “But I should definitely not be your best man. I don’t even know your middle name.”

Buck cracks a smile at that, shaking his head. “It’s—”

The alarm overhead interrupts him, startling him mid-sentence and spurring them into action.

The call they get is from a frantic assistant, who meets them at the office’s door where it’s located on the eighth story of the building. She rushes them towards her boss’ office with hurried little clacks of her six-inch heels, going pale at the pool of blood that sits atop his desk where he’s currently slumped over. She freezes, eyes widening in terror, and Chimney gently pushes her aside so they can rush in and check his pulse.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she says, near catatonic. “One minute we were discussing a strategy for the upcoming merger and the next… blood was flying out of his mouth.”

“Perforated ulcer, I’m guessing,” Hen says, stethoscope checking different spots on his chest while they load him onto the backboard. “Does he have a history of ischemia? Or stress?”

“I’ve only worked here for a month,” she shrugs, hands nervously clamped together. Her eyes can’t pick one place to settle on, and they shift restlessly from person to person. “This job’s got a high turnover rate.”

“So, I’m guessing that’s a yes to the stress,” Eddie drawls, uncuffing the blood pressure monitor. “140 over 90. We need to get him to surgery ASAP, he could still have internal bleeding.”

“Is he going to be okay?” the assistant asks, breath hitching as Hen and Chim quickly load him onto the gurney and start wheeling him away. “Oh, god, I really need this job,” she mutters to herself, rubbing one hand over her arm.

“We’ve got it from here,” is all Buck says, hoping the vague assurance is enough to calm her down. “Is there anybody we can call? A spouse, or kids?”

“No, it’s just me and my dog,” she answers, face still carefully blank, and then she drops her mouth open and wrinkles her nose up in embarrassment. “You meant him, obviously. Ugh. Uh, he has a wife. Here, actually, I’ve got her number written down here. I’ve got it stickied to my desk ‘cause he’s always coming home late.” She hustles over to her desk, ripping the sticky note from her phone and handing it to Buck.

The wife answers after the third ring, and after Bobby has explained the situation to her and assured her he’s in good hands, she audibly huffs a huge sigh.

“The doctor told him to take it easy, but it’s this damn merger,” she says. “I haven’t seen him this stressed since our wedding. He got really sick and everyone thought it was the shrimp, but then he spent half the reception curled up on the floor in the bathroom. I thought we were gonna spend our wedding night in the E.R.”

“That’s what you wanna hear,” Eddie sarcastically murmurs, ripping his gloves off and stuffing them into his med bag. The lanyard Buck gave him bulges in his pocket, securely attached to his belt loops via carabiner. Every time he sees it, he fights (and fails) the urge to grin wildly.

“Hey, all I’m hearing is definitely no seafood,” Buck whispers back, knocking their elbows together.

Eddie hums, hitching his hands to his hips and saying, “mmm, but what about bacon-wrapped scallops?”

“Boys,” Bobby hisses, covering the phone’s receiver with his hand. To the phone he says, “yeah, he’s headed to Mercy. We’ll let dispatch know you’re on your way. Take care.” He hangs up with a pointed look of disappointment, mouth set in a thin line.

“Sorry,” they both sheepishly apologize.

His next target is Chimney, who sees him coming from a mile away and is already armed with an apology.

“Sorry, Buckaroo,” he says, face pinched with remorse. “I already promised Eddie I’d be one of his groomsmen.”

Buck clicks his tongue in annoyance. “You’re my brother-in-law,” he says indignantly, genuinely a little insulted. He shakes his head in confusion. “Wait, when did he even ask you?”

“We went out for a beer after basketball yesterday,” Chim says, snapping his gum. “Look, what does it matter which side of the aisle we’re standing on? We’ll be there for both of you, anyway.”

“Yeah, but—” Buck starts, before stopping mid-sentence to tilt his head and blink. “Uh, who’s ‘we’?”

Chimney’s mouth stutters open, and if Buck weren’t staring straight at him he wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes shift over Buck’s shoulder towards the couches, quick as lightning.

Buck slowly turns to look and sees Hen and Eddie huddled together and laughing at something on Hen’s phone, slapping each other’s knees as they cackle openly.

“You’re kidding,” Buck scoffs. “Hen, too?”

“Ah— sorry, bud,” Chim sighs, patting him on the shoulder with a patronizing sense of camaraderie. “Don’t take it personally. They’ve got that whole— gay bonding thing going on.”

“I am just as—” Buck cuts himself off, shaking his head and ripping that thought away. “Okay, no, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Eddie’s got this neverending list of friends and I am still stuck on the fact that I don’t even have a best man yet.”

“How about your one friend? Uh… what’s his name,” Chimney says, snapping his fingers to try and jog his memory. “The guy you donated your sperm to.”

“Connor,” Buck answers. He shifts uneasily, rolling his eyes and quietly leaning in. “Look, I would, but when he got married he didn’t even ask me to be a groomsman. How embarrassing would it be to ask him to be my best man?”

Chimney hums, quirking his eyebrows up. “Less embarrassing than standing up there alone?” he offers.

Buck levels him with an unimpressed look. “No,” he says firmly.

Chimney sighs, shrugging his shoulders and slapping Buck on the arm again. “I dunno what to tell you, Buck. You ever stop to consider that your best man doesn’t actually have to be a man?” He tilts his head coyly, stuffing his hands into his uniform pocket and strolling over to join Hen and Eddie in front of the TV.

Huh, Buck thinks, staring unseeing at the wall. Doesn’t have to be a man.

“Thanks again for coming over,” Maddie says, sipping at a glass of red wine. Buck had nearly knocked it out of her hand before she’d screwed her face up and held it away protectively, saying, I’ve got like a week’s worth of milk pumped, weirdo, let me have this.

“Hey, no problem,” Buck says where he’s scrubbing at a pan in the sink. “Eddie and Chris are at some end-of-year school thing hosted by the PTA, anyway.”

“God, I can’t believe Chris is already in high school,” Maddie says with a sense of wonder. Wonder, maybe, and also a sprinkle of god, we’re getting old. “I feel like just yesterday he barely came up to your waist.”

“Tell me about it,” Buck laughs, digging into a stubborn stain with the steel wool. “He’s almost as tall as his dad now. But, uh— don’t mention it in front of Eddie, or he gets totally misty-eyed. I think Chris is embarrassed they’re even going to this thing tonight.”

“Definitely not looking forward to that phase,” she mumbles into her glass. She watches Buck from her stool at the counter, oversized sweater falling over her hands where she leans forward onto her elbows. “Is he excited about the wedding?”

“Yeah, you know, as much as a teenage boy can get excited about anything that’s not video games or girls,” Buck snorts. “He’s going to be Eddie’s best man, after all.”

Maddie ‘aww’s, holding a hand over her heart while her lips pout. “So sweet,” she coos, batting her eyelashes. “The three of you are going to look so cute standing up there together.”

Buck ducks his head with a grin, picturing it in his mind. “Yeah,” he says, dropping the now-clean pan onto the drying rack and wiping his hands dry on his pants. He joins her at the island, hovering at the end of it next to the bowl of fruit, knuckles rapping thoughtfully on the formica. “Speaking of which, uh— you know, I was having trouble deciding who would be my best man. And I guess it shouldn’t really matter that much, but, I don’t know…” he trails off, meeting her eyes and cracking a small smile. “I wanna be able to look back on the pictures in twenty years and not have to think to myself: ‘Wow, I haven’t talked to that guy in years.’”

Maddie’s expression melts fondly, like she’s charmed by Buck’s words. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Right,” Buck says with a nod, wetting his lips. “So, it’s like— who do I ask, y’know? Who’s been there for me through everything? Who deserves that spot?” Maddie nods, encouraging him to continue. “But… I couldn’t come up with anyone.”

“Nobody?” she asks, disbelieving.

“Well… not any men,” Buck says, articulating his words with flippant hand gestures. “But then I realized… well, there’s no rule that says it has to be a man. I can have a best woman.”

Maddie barks out a laugh and twitches her eyebrows up once, bobbing her head from side to side. “You make a good point.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, holding the eye contact. “Once I considered that, the answer was clear.”

There’s a momentary pause in conversation while Maddie blinks and processes his words, mouth dropping open in shock. “Wait, me?” she says, pointing to her chest.

“You,” he confirms, and her expression melts again, sagging her shoulders where she’s hunched over on her stool.

“Evan,” she says, expressive eyebrows pushed together pitifully. She might be a mom now, decades separating the woman she is now and the child she used to be, but they meld perfectly together in Buck’s mind; in this moment, all he sees is his big sister, looking up at him where she’s tending to his reckless scrapes.

“If I’m looking for the best, it doesn’t get any better than you,” he says, and she clutches both hands to her chest. “What do you say?”

“Are you kidding, of course,” she says, her voice getting choked up, waving him over for a hug. She wraps her arms around him like a koala when he steps closer, and he buries his head into her hair, feeling paradoxically small despite the way he towers over her. Height, years, none of that matters; he’s always going to be her baby brother.

They embrace for a handful of moments, Buck breathing in the flowery scent of her shampoo, and she says, “I’m so not planning you guys a bachelor party, though,” and Buck barks out a laugh into her scalp.

Buck’s got his feet kicked up on the coffee table watching a baking show when Eddie and Chris finally make it home.

“Hey,” he says, muting the TV and looking over the back of the couch.

“Hey,” they both greet in response, and Eddie strolls over with a dreamy smile, tilting Buck’s head back to press an upside-down kiss to his lips. It lingers for a moment, and when they pull apart with a wet smack Eddie says, “how’s your sister?”

“She’s good,” Buck says, fighting not to visibly swoon and most definitely failing. “I, uh— I asked her to be my best man.”

“What?” Chris says, face screwing up in confusion where he’s still toeing off his shoes, at the same time that Eddie’s eyes light up with an excited, “that’s fantastic!”

“At least now our wedding party isn’t just our coworkers and Chris,” Buck laments.

“This is great news,” Eddie says, leaning down for another kiss, and Buck can just barely make out the mumbled, that makes no sense, she’s a girl, that Chris utters as he makes his way to his room.

They’re alone when they pull apart, and the hand that was on Buck’s chin drags down to his chest, slipping under the collar of his shirt and gently toying with the hair there. It’s still technically chaste, but there’s a heat in Eddie’s eyes that makes Buck’s blood pump faster, rip-roaring through his veins. “Wish we had the place to ourselves right now,” Eddie murmurs, fingernails lightly scratching lines into his skin.

Buck’s eyes dart down to his lips, soft and wet and scarred just at the edge. “Oh, uh, yeah?” he croaks. Smooth. His eyelashes flutter when Eddie’s other hand laces into his hair, scratching at his scalp until his toes curl with it.

Christopher’s bedroom door opens as he makes his way down the hall to the bathroom, and they pull apart slowly, eyeing each other with intent. “So, uh,” Buck starts, wetting his lips, looking back down the hallway. “It’s officially summer vacation, huh?”

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, pursed lips parting minutely, and all Buck can think about is all the privacy they are decidedly not going to have for the next couple months. Their work schedule is hectic and demanding, but all things considered, they did at least always have the house to themselves from eight to four on their days off. Most days that time was spent running errands or doing chores, but there was the odd day where they’d confine themselves to the bedroom, sweat-soaked skin writhing against cotton sheets until they were wringing each other dry. “Gonna have to, ah, get creative.”

Buck thinks back to the night of their engagement, the way they’d fallen into bed and pressed minty-fresh lips into every inch of skin, damp palms clasped firmly over slick mouths. Buck had almost blown it, whining when Eddie had sunk two thick fingers into him while he mouthed over the head of his cock, and he’d given Buck a shit-eating grin before stuffing his own discarded boxers past Buck’s lips. It hadn’t taken much after that.

Buck’s chest heaves shallowly now, basking in Eddie’s wandering eyes, and he rasps out, “I’ve got a few ideas.”

Buck is indulgently tipping his head back into the spray of the shower nozzle when he hears the door crack open.

“It’s just me,” Eddie announces, words slurred where his voice is still thick with sleep.

“Morning,” Buck says, his own voice croaking a bit. He hears the crack of porcelain on porcelain when Eddie lifts the lid of the toilet, blowing out a stiff breath as he relieves his bladder. “You wanna grab breakfast on the way to work? We’re running pretty low on groceries, I don’t wanna leave Chris without any milk for his cereal.”

“Like that kid’s getting up before noon,” Eddie snorts, and Buck hears the clunk of the handle before the sink turns on. “Let’s try that tex mex truck, I think they’ve got breakfast tacos.”

Buck reaches for his conditioner, lathering a dime-sized dollop into his curls. He jumps when the curtain is wrenched open, rubbing the water out of his eyes to give Eddie a questioning grin.

“Need any help?” Eddie crows flirtatiously, unashamedly shifting his eyes down to Buck’s crotch. He resists the deep-seated urge to squirm and cover himself, puffing out his chest instead.

“You offering?” he flirts, preening under Eddie’s gaze. His cock lurches— soft, but interest piqued. “We’ve only got twenty minutes.”

“I only need ten,” Eddie says, pulling at the neck of his shirt and tearing it off. Before he can step out of his sleep shorts, they’re interrupted by insistent knocking.

“I need the toilet,” Chris says through the door. “Can you guys please hurry up?”

Eddie deflates, picking his shirt up off the tile floor. “Yeah, mijo, one minute,” he yells over the sound of the water, rolling his eyes to himself. “First day of summer, and this kid’s up at seven,” he quietly laments.

Buck rinses out the last of his product, turning the handle on the shower while he squeegees out the excess water from his hair. “Give him a couple days,” Buck says, wrapping the towel around his waist. “His sleep schedule will be destroyed by all those energy drinks in no time.”

“Better be,” Eddie mumbles, reaching out to poke at the wet skin of Buck’s chest, finger following the path of hair down until it disappears beyond the towel. He sighs wistfully, consciously taking a step away and cracking the door open. “Thought I was getting a reprieve from having to set an alarm just to use the bathroom in the morning,” he sasses to Chris.

“I can’t control my dumps,” Chris scoffs back, testily gesturing for them to move along.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“I’m totally creamed. My van, too.”

When they arrive on scene, Buck’s the first to run up to the flashy turquoise-colored van where it lays upside-down on the side of the road. He ducks down on the ground, careful to avoid the spray of broken glass, and takes a peek inside.

“I guess this is what you meant by creamed,” he says, wincing at the mess.

The driver is still in the car, tightly secured by her seatbelt and looking wildly unimpressed. She’s got dyed purple hair that hangs down to touch the ceiling, crusted with drying flakes of buttercream like every other inch of her. Every other inch of the van, too, for that matter; cake crumbs co-mingle with the shards of glass, smeared over the seats and the dashboard and the steering wheel, squeaking beneath her white-knuckled grip.

“Take your time,” she says dryly, face red with the flow of blood to her brain. “I’ve only been hanging here for, like, fifteen minutes.”

“Uh, right, sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Just— don’t move, you could have spinal damage.”

“Not going anywhere,” she deadpans.

They secure a c-collar around her neck and gently untangle her from the car, securing her to a backboard. “Can you tell me your name?” Hen asks, shining a light in her eyes to check her pupils.

“Lana,” she says. “It’s written on the van. Whatever’s left of it.”

Buck looks back at the crumpled van, crooking his neck to read the upside down logo, white frosting on a cartoonish cupcake: Whole Lana Love. Just underneath that there’s a constellation of brightly colored stars and smaller, billowing text that says, a never ending cycle of flavors!

“Oh, you own a bakery?” Buck says, eyes bright. He’s been watching a lot of baking shows lately, okay, so sue him— he’s entertained the fantasy of opening his own shop lately. Once or twice.

Lana sighs. “I did. Pretty sure my client might kill me when she sees what happened to her wedding cake, though. If my wife doesn’t kill me, first,” she grumbles.

Buck eyes the mess of white cake scattered in the grass. “Is… there time to make another one?” Buck asks.

“The wedding is in…” she checks her watch, face still neutrally blank. “Three hours.”

“Buck, quit hovering, you’re making her BP spike,” Chim warns, glancing at the cuff’s meter.

“Sorry, sorry,” Buck says, hands held up placatingly. “Hey, uh, if it’s any consolation, it sounds like the accident was totally not your fault, and there’s traffic cams and stuff to back you up. So you should be eligible for federal aid to cover your losses.”

“Bureaucracy. Yay,” Lana mutters dejectedly.

“Sorry, it’s a pain, I know,” Buck laughs. He perks up, then, and says, “hey, you know, we’re actually getting married soon and we totally still need a cake!”

“We?” Lana asks.

“Oh, uh, me and Eddie,” Buck says, pointing to Eddie in the distance where he’s checking on the other driver. “The paramedic, not the guy who t-boned you.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she snorts, and Buck takes that small sign of amusement as a victory. “Yeah, stop by anytime. Other than right this second. Or, like, any time in the next week. I think I might have a herniated disc.”

“Okay, no more exacerbating the patient,” Hen says, impatiently waving him off.

Buck’s only been restocking the supply closet for three minutes when he feels a presence lingering in the doorway behind him.

“Hey,” he greets, reaching up on his tiptoes to slot the box of bulbs back on the shelf. The ones in the bunkroom had started to flicker, and he’d been unceremoniously given lightbulb changing duty— because you’re the only one who can reach with those long legs, Chim had teased. And while you’re in there, maybe check if the med kits need to be restocked. He turns his head when he doesn’t get a response, smirking when he sees Eddie leaning against the doorway, legs crossed while he takes in the sights.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Eddie says, crossing his arms over his chest and making himself comfortable.

Buck chuckles, making a show of bending down to grab the tower of still-wrapped 4x4s, taking his time. Eddie’s chest makes a rumbling sound behind him, and then the light pouring in from the bay is gone as the door clicks shut.

Buck straightens, holding onto the gauze with both hands while Eddie crowds up behind him, big hands finding his hips. “Eddie,” he laughs, goosebumps breaking out over his skin when Eddie’s lips find the top of his spine. “You know, I’ve been fired once before for messing around on the clock.”

“We don’t have to mess around,” Eddie insists, mouth dragging ticklishly over his neck. “Just needed to kiss you,” he says, craning his neck to softly kiss at the corner of his lips, the tip of his tongue just eking out.

Buck shudders in his arms, exhaling softly, relishing the press of their bodies and the way they slot together. “Bobby was very clear about his policy on PDA.”

“Good thing the door’s closed, then,” Eddie says, nose dragging against the soft line of Buck’s jaw. “C’mon. One kiss?”

Buck hums like he really has to consider it, setting down the gauze and turning to face him. Eddie’s hands immediately bracket his hips again. “What’s got you all worked up?” Buck teases.

Eddie huffs, hot air blowing out over Buck’s lips. “Our shower this morning just has me a little antsy, is all.”

“We didn’t have a shower this morning,” Buck reminds him.

“Exactly,” Eddie says impatiently. His fingers flex, thumbs hooking into Buck’s belt loops, but he keeps his distance. Practically bouncing on his feet.

Buck smirks boyishly, tongue poking out between two rows of straight teeth. “You want it bad, huh,” he says, leaning back until he’s flat against the shelf.

Eddie sighs, tipping his head forward and down to knock into Buck’s shoulder, frustratedly gnawing at the fabric of his uniform. “Rosen overheard you talking to that MVA victim earlier. You know what it does to me every time you— you tell people we’re getting married? Or you call me your fiancé?”

Buck grins wildly, tipping Eddie’s chin back up to look him in the eyes. “Yeah? That does it for you?”

“It’s hot,” Eddie says, eyes shifting down to Buck’s lips. His tongue darts out self-consciously. “It’ll be hotter when— you’re my husband.”

Husband. Something trills within Buck, deep in his core, purring like a satisfied cat. He’s going to be Eddie’s husband. His insides suddenly feel fluffy and heady, and he kind of gets the desperation now— why aren’t they kissing yet? Why aren’t they always kissing?

Buck cups his face with one hand, thumb finding the beauty mark just beneath his left eye. Eddie leans into it, dryly kissing the center of his palm, but before Buck can lean in and stake his claim, his phone starts buzzing loudly on the shelf, vibrating against the metal.

He picks it up, if only to stop the noise, but his eyes squint down at the text he just received.

[Chimney 2:38]

You two better not be canoodling in there or I’m telling Cap

Eddie reads it too, and he huffs dejectedly and takes Buck’s phone, typing out a response.

[Buck 2:38]

narc

The second they’re off shift and safely in the car, Eddie crowds him against the seat to kiss the daylights out of him.

Buck softly moans, holding onto his waist and dropping his jaw to let Eddie slip in his tongue. It's wet from the start, frantic but still soft, wet strokes curling up behind his teeth and over his own tongue, lapping at his taste buds. His lungs shudder at the intrusion, hands fisted firmly in Eddie’s shirt to stop himself from pressing the heel of his hand onto his needy half-hard dick, still vaguely cognizant that despite the shadows they’re still in the parking lot at work. Buck sucks at his tongue softly, wet and decadent and syrupy-sweet. His blood goes warm when Eddie stutters out a groan, and it’s audibly sticky when they pull away to breathe.

“God, that shift was torture,” Eddie sighs, relaxing back into the driver’s seat with pinched-shut eyes. “Think Chris would notice if we stopped by a motel first?”

Buck snorts, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, I’m thinking he would. I promised to make him chicken adobo tonight.”

“Ugh,” Eddie groans, jamming the keys in the ignition. “You and your selfless love for my son.”

“Not just your son,” Buck says softly, and Eddie’s lips twitch where he’s fighting a grin.

The adobo turns out great, warm and garlicky atop a hefty bed of rice, and two generous bowls of it have Eddie drooling on Buck’s shoulder halfway through their episode of Breaking Bad, vigorous libido forgotten.

Buck’s eyes wander away from the screen to watch the restless twitch of his eyelids, instead, completely captivated.

Their prayers are answered a couple weeks later when Chris stumbles out of his room just past noon, curls unkempt where he hasn’t showered in a couple days. The stench of summer vacation gaming clings to him in a way Buck politely ignores. He gets it— he was fourteen once, too. He distinctly remembers the Christmas he’d gotten a PS2, days blurring together in front of the harsh glow of the TV, getting lost in worlds far more magical than his own.

“He hath risen,” Eddie teases, burying his smug grin into his mug where he’s sipping his way through a third cup of coffee, crossword spread out on the kitchen table. They haven’t exactly had a productive day, themselves. “When’d you finally get to sleep? You were still going strong when we locked up for the night.”

“You don’t want to know,” Chris simply says, falling into the seat next to him. Buck brings him a plate of warm toast, fresh from the toaster, smeared with soft butter and lightly dusted with cinnamon sugar. He’d popped it in when they first heard Chris stumble into the bathroom. Chris perks up at the sight of it, and he barely spares Buck a passing glance when he rushes out, “thanks,” and stuffs the corner down his gullet.

Chris mindlessly eats his toast while his thumbs fly over his phone, and his mouth is still full of half-chewed bread when he says, “hey, can I get a ride to the movies later? Lewis says his dad can drive me home afterwards if we pick Lewis up on the way.”

Buck and Eddie lock eyes from across the table, gazes meeting instantly. They both cock an eyebrow at each other with interest, and though no words are exchanged, the same thought passes through them both: child-free evening. House to ourselves. Three whole hours.

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” Buck answers immediately, eyes still locked to Eddie’s. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Eddie’s eyes fall down to it, mouth soft and slack. Buck blinks at him, every swipe of his lashes slow and droopy. He tears his eyes away with herculean effort to glance back at Chris, who is entirely oblivious and still honed in on his cellphone. “What— what are you guys gonna see?” he asks, feigning interest, willing his heart to stop racing.

“This horror movie,” Chris says, pulling up a trailer for Buck and turning his phone sideways. “It’s based on a game Lewis streamed for us, although— there definitely weren’t any giants or evil old ladies, so I have no clue what’s going on with this.”

Can you guys even get into an R-rated movie, Buck almost asks, before promptly shutting his mouth with a resounding clack of his teeth. Like he was gonna compromise their chance for some alone time.

“Looks fun,” he says, mouth dry as cotton, meeting Eddie’s eyes once more. Looking at him dead-on, he asks Chris: “so, when do we need to leave?”

Buck is toeing his shoes on and waiting for Chris to emerge from the bathroom when Eddie wanders down the hall, still dressed in comfy loungewear.

“I, uh,” Eddie starts, hands bracketing his hips before fidgeting restlessly up to cross his arms over his chest. He looks behind himself, as if to make sure the coast is clear, before leaning in. “I’ll stay home, I think,” he says, hushed but no less husky. “Take a shower, maybe.”

“Yeah,” Buck breathes, toying with his keys. “That’s— that’s fine. That’ll be nice. A hot shower with no interruptions.”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums, chest rising shallowly while his eyes dart around; Buck’s eyes, his chin, his throat. He can feel the way Eddie undresses him with that gaze, visceral and heady. “I can really… take my time. Get extra clean. All my nooks and crannies.”

Buck swallows, the gulp of his throat embarrassingly audible. “Yeah,” he says uselessly, insides twinging. “Wouldn’t wanna… miss a spot.”

Eddie digs his canines into the corner of his cheek, face flushing with warmth. “I’ll be thorough. Scouts honor,” he teases with a flirty smile. Buck only just prevents himself from checking his own pulse to rule out an MI.

They startle apart when the bathroom door clicks open, an obvious waft of cologne following Christopher’s trail. Buck tries to bite down the fond smile to no avail. “You smell nice,” he teases.

“Charlie gonna be there?” Eddie ribs with a cocksure grin, playfully knocking his son on the chin.

“Daaaad,” Chris complains, slapping his hand away. “Can we just go,” he grumbles, heading for the door.

Buck goes to follow him out towards the driveway, and he hovers in the doorway with one hand tapping at the wall. “Uh… see you in a bit,” he says, voice laced with implication, tongue boyishly poking out through his teeth.

“Count on it,” Eddie says back, rakishly eyeing him up and down, closing the door with a smug expression.

Buck physically shakes himself out of his trance, spine straightening and hurrying to the car when Chris impatiently calls out, come on, let’s go.

The car ride is fine— traffic is a nightmare this time of day, but Chris and Lewis are a good distraction, cracking inside jokes with each other and making pop culture references Buck couldn’t even hope to fathom. He focuses on their conversation and the road in front of him and the quiet dulcet tones humming through the radio, and he decidedly does not think about what’s waiting for him back at home.

Not until he’s alone, at any rate; Chris and Lewis hop out of the car when Buck pulls up to the theater, making their way towards a group of three waiting for them out front. “Have fun,” Buck calls from the car, but it falls on deaf ears, and he can’t help but shake his head fondly. Chris stands next to a girl with bright red hair and freckles adorning every inch of available skin, towering over him by at least four or so inches. She grins down at him, affectionate and shy. It’s sickeningly cute.

Halfway home, he lets the indecent thoughts trickle back in, mind wandering as he brainlessly follows traffic. Was Eddie still in the shower, he wonders, eyes closed and basking in the steady stream of hot water, bliss against his aching muscles. Steam would fill up the small room in no time, Buck thinks, fogging up the mirror and encasing him in warmth, every shuddering breath damp with mist. He hopes Eddie used that new loofah Buck got him, hopes he lathered it up with shower gel, dragging soft, sudsy bubbles over flushed pink skin.

Heat coils low in his gut. He hits the brakes when they come to a stoplight, his left knee bouncing restlessly, index finger fidgeting where it drags over his mouth. He imagines Eddie dragging that loofah down to his cock, half-hard where he’s eagerly picturing what Buck will do to him when he gets home. He’s indulgent, in Buck’s mind, lathering his cock with slick, soapy bubbles, moving down to brush over sensitive thighs. Would he suck in a breath, Buck thinks, armed with the knowledge that he’s home alone? That he can stutter out a moan with no shame, voice echoing in the small bathroom, toes curling against the bath mat that lines the bottom of the tub.

Buck bites down a groan, shifting in his seat and flushing red, his own cock getting thick in his jeans. Can the people in the other cars tell? That thought sends a violent wave of heat through him, shame that tickles at the back of his neck and drips down to his hips, cock twitching where it’s filling out. He drops one casual hand down to his lap, draped over his thigh, the knuckle of his thumb dragging lightly over the shape of it.

Fuck, he’s getting desperate. He mentally urges traffic forwards, praying for the light to turn green, depraved thoughts filtering in one after the other. Would Eddie get himself off, just to take the edge off? Stripping at his wet cock, ass flexing where he fucks into his fist, face screwed up in bliss. Would he save it for Buck?

He honks impatiently when the car in front of him doesn’t pay attention to the light change. His breathing has gotten shallow, foot heavy on the gas as he speeds home, shivering at the heat that pumps through his veins. It’s slow and syrupy, taking its time and simmering him from the inside out.

He has half a mind to call Eddie, to beg him to tell Buck what he’s doing to himself, if he’s slipping fingers into his body. If he likes the press of them, gentle against where he needs it the most. Fuck, Buck’s dick is aching, pulsing where it’s trapped against the bunching fabric of his boxer-briefs.

Looks like it hurts, he can practically hear Eddie say, eyes bright and lecherous where they’d stare shamelessly at his cock in his jeans, and Buck grunts and shifts his hips up. The pressure aches, the zipper unpleasantly tight, but it’s a good ache. It’s a good hurt. He imagines if Eddie were here now, what he’d look like in the passenger seat, inching forward and cupping one big hand over the shape of him and ducking down to mouth at the denim—

He whips his Jeep a little too violently onto South Bedford, tires squealing. He doesn’t care— he needs to fuck Eddie now.

Buck fumbles with his keys after ripping them out of the ignition switch, long legs carrying him up the driveway in record time. He tries the doorknob first and— hallelujah— it’s unlocked.

“I’m home,” he calls out, his voice embarrassingly raspy, ears perked for noise.

Half a beat later, he gets a response: “In— in here,” Eddie replies, followed by a guttural, “oh, fuck, please.”

Buck practically floats towards the bedroom, like a cartoon hobo following the waft of a fresh pie. He bumbles with the handle, ripping the door open when he manages it on the second try, bracing himself for what lies inside. His mouth goes dry at the sight that greets him; Eddie, lying supine on the middle of the mattress, naked as the day he was born. Two thick fingers, shiny with slick, disappearing into his ass.

“Fuck,” Buck breathes, eyes glittering at the sight, hands instinctually moving to rip his own oppressive clothes off. Eddie is hard, his cock thick and pink and heavy where it rests on his hip, but he’s ignoring it in favor of pumping his fingers in and out with wet little squelches. He’s flushed all over, his face and neck and dripping down to his chest. He looks like a dream come true, knees spread wide where he’s spread out on the mattress like a fucking model. “Eddie, fuck—”

“Hurry up,” Eddie bites out, mouth dropping open and panting when Buck’s hands work at his belt, breath hitching around a soft moan. “Need— need a fucking cock in me right now.”

Buck groans pitifully, shucking his underwear and jeans down in one go. Not his cock, a cock. Like any would do. It activates something primal in him, watching Eddie writhe on his own fingers and shamelessly eye him like a piece of meat, and he’s crawling on the bed and crowding into Eddie’s space, pinning him like a moth with the weight of his body.

He squeezes at Eddie’s jaw until his mouth drops open, and then he tilts his head to feed him his tongue, sloppy from the get-go. There is no build-up to it, no soft kisses that gradually turn steamy and quivery. He curls his tongue past Eddie’s lips like an animal, slurping up shared saliva and fucking down into his mouth and smothering their shared groans. It’s filthy and barbaric and so fucking hot that it makes Buck lightheaded, cockhead twitching where it’s pressed against Eddie’s naked thigh. His gorgeous, plush, sensitive fucking thighs— god, Buck needs him now.

“‘M not gonna last very long,” Buck breathes against his wet lips, panting air right into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie’s hands grab at his ass, encouraging him to flex his hips down and drag his cock over his skin. Buck shivers at the shot of lightning that zips down his spine— Eddie looks so fucked-out already, errant strands of hair falling messily into his gorgeous brown eyes, pupils blown wide already. And he’s pink, so, so fucking pink that it makes Buck’s guts twist.

“Me neither,” Eddie says, scratching at his lower back. “Just— just need you, c’mon, just—”

Buck pulls himself away, hands clumsily patting for the tube of lube discarded in the sheets. When he squeezes it directly over the head of his cock it twitches where it hovers in the air, pulsing as if seeking out that wet warmth.

“Fuck,” Eddie grunts, head lolling against the pillow while he watches Buck tug at himself. He shifts his hips against the sheets, writhing, lower lip caught between his teeth. He’s got one arm resting up behind his head, and the other drags down his chest and abdomen, flexing into the heat of his palm where it rests on his lower belly. He steadfastly ignores his own cock, flushed red and dripping onto his hip. “Thought about this all day,” he sighs, dreamy eyes still glued to Buck’s cock, and fuck, fuck, okay, he’s gonna come, like, now.

“Turn around,” Buck says, and then he’s gripping Eddie by the waist and unceremoniously shoving him to his front, Eddie’s surprised yelp buried into the sheets. Before he can ask why, Buck says, “I-I am not gonna be able to last if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Eddie huffs, grinning and panting where his words are muffled in the pillow.

“Like— you’re starving and my cock is the last meal on Earth,” Buck wheezes, tugging Eddie’s hips up. Eddie doesn’t fight him, just melts bonelessly onto the bed, letting Buck manhandle him however he wants. Shit, that might be hotter than the terminal case of fuck me eyes. He slaps the wet head of his cock against Eddie’s hole, mesmerized by the sight of Eddie’s writhing hips, and he sinks in with a pitiful groan.

It’s heavenly, like sinking into a warm bath, his cock smothered in tight, wet heat that makes his teeth chatter. Buck feels like he’s been doused in liquid gold as he helplessly watches the way inch after inch of it disappears, feverish. Eddie’s spine tightens up on a half-bitten gasp, and he reaches one hand up to brace himself against the headboard, pushing his hips back to meet him halfway.

”J-Jesus, Buck,” he stutters, manic laughter bubbling up past his lips. Buck’s vision goes cross-eyed when he sinks in to the hilt, hips tucked up warmly against Eddie’s ass. “God, I can feel you in my fucking throat.”

“Stop talking,” Buck begs, hands flexing where Eddie is undulating his hips in little figure-eight swerves. The visual of it is too much— the cut of his waist, so small in Buck’s hands, thumbs practically touching in the middle. His ass, full and plush and rippling every time he writhes. His biceps, straining where they’re gripping the headboard— “Jesus, dude, your arms,” he groans, swiveling his hips to start fucking him properly.

Eddie sucks in a breath, mouth dropping open to release a shaky breath into the pillow. “My— yeah? You like ‘em?” he grins.

Buck uses his strength to start tugging Eddie back onto his cock, brows pushing together pitifully. “So hot, Eddie, god, you have no idea,” he gasps, heat bubbling behind his navel. A wicked thought enters his mind, and he huffs out a wet laugh before smoothing out the tremor of his voice and saying, “make a muscle for me? Please?”

Buck grunts when Eddie’s body squeezes down tight, his big thighs flexing and splaying out further where they’re spread on the mattress. “You’re ridiculous,” Eddie says fondly, breathless and quivering, but he flexes the muscles in his arms anyway, veins popping as ligaments twist. “‘S this gonna backfire next time we work out together?”

“That’s future Buck’s problem,” he bites out, snapping his hips harder, pulling Eddie up and down on his cock like he’s fucking a toy. The sound that fills the room is obscene, hollow slaps of skin on skin, squelching where Buck’s cock bullies a path through Eddie’s guts. It’s rhythmic and dizzying, heat billowing through his body until his skin is buzzing with it, mindlessly rutting into the body below him. His cock throbs, pulsing in time with the drumbeat of his heart, chest heaving while he sucks down shallow breaths.

“Buck,” Eddie groans pitifully, lips smearing over the pillow, moist breaths smothered into the fabric where he’s panting. “Baby, fuck,” he whines, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, craning his head back to take in the view of Buck’s convulsing, thrusting body.

Buck puffs his chest out despite the blistering heat that stabs at his guts like a dagger, lips parting around a sly grin. “Feels so good, Eddie,” he breathes, looking down at the space where Eddie’s body is stretched wide around his cock. His knuckles go white at the sight, and he’s sure to bruise the skin at Eddie’s waist with the force of his grip, but Eddie doesn’t complain. If anything, he arches into it.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, eyes falling shut when his mouth drops open in bliss. Buck loves sex with Eddie, will greedily take it any which way he can get it, but there’s something about this, about getting Eddie on his back— or his front— that makes his head go foggy. Eddie gets so lost in his own pleasure, overwhelmed as Buck fucks into the give of his body, cheeks flushed and face screwed up in shock like he didn’t know it was possible to feel this good. Buck loves making him feel this good. “So big, baby, fuck,” he whispers, barely audible, like he hadn’t even meant for Buck to hear it. Like he was just marveling to himself.

Something bright blooms in Buck’s belly, warm static making his hips and thighs go fuzzy. He’s losing himself a bit, always prone to a bit of ‘pre-orgasm brainlessness’ as Eddie teases, and he surrenders himself to his body’s natural instincts, eyelids fluttering as he burrows into Eddie’s body and ruts down frantically. He tilts Eddie’s hips with one hand, pressing down on his lower back and encouraging him to arch up, and that new angle makes Eddie let out a shocked little cry.

“Right there, right there,” he gasps, every muscle in his body clenching up tight. Buck lets out a shaky little moan at the sensation, at the fluttering of silky soft guts around his cock, so hot he wants to cry. He wants to cry and he wants to grunt and he wants to whine in Eddie’s ear, wants to mold their hips together and shallowly fuck into him until they both pass out.

“I’m gonna come,” Buck whines, keeping the tempo, teetering on the precipice. Heat attacks him from all angles, sweat beading at his temple and pooling in the crevasses behind his knees. The slick, wet echo of their bodies clapping together is making him dizzy, and the subconscious way Eddie flutters around his cock makes it worse. Buck doesn’t let up for a second.

“No, fuck, not yet, not yet,” Eddie babbles, desperately pleading, ass flexing and dimpling every time Buck’s hips slap down. It makes his head swim. “Buck, just— just hold it for a little more—”

“I-I can’t,” Buck cries, and the molten feeling in his guts overtakes him, fucking Eddie’s hole full of come with a ragged gasp. The sudden shock of heat makes him sway, dizzy as his eyes roll back into his head, hips and thighs flexing with every pulse. He grunts through the aftershocks, burying himself as deep as he can go, and through the haze he can feel Eddie go rigid around him as he succumbs to his own pleasure. It’s tight, too tight, muscles bunching against oversensitive nerves while Eddie wrings his cock dry, but Buck holds onto his waist and lets him take what he needs.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, collapsing fully onto the bed and dislodging Buck’s dribbling, sensitive cock. He twists into his back and throws an arm over his eyes, delighted laughter bubbling up out of his throat while he catches his breath. “That was a good one,” he grins, uncovering his eyes and holding up his fist.

Buck snorts, bumping their knuckles together before collapsing next to him on his side, legs tangling together intimately. “Told you I wouldn’t last long,” he mutters, leaning in to nuzzle at the skin of Eddie’s shoulder, sinking his teeth in softly. He runs one hand along Eddie’s side, warm and intimate, like he just can’t get enough of him; his hips, his waist, his ribs.

“Quickshot,” Eddie teases breathlessly, eyeing his naked body without shame, cheeks pink and temples soaked with sweat.

Buck groans, flipping over to lay flat and stretch his legs out, letting the back of his hand fall onto his forehead. “Can you blame me?” he huffs, laughing at himself. “Give me ten minutes and we can go again.”

“Bet I can make it five,” Eddie dares, sitting up in a flurry of motion and straddling Buck’s waist, pressing his head back onto the pillow with a soft, wet kiss.

Buck’s fingers find the cradle of Eddie’s hips, flexing helplessly. Five. Five sounds good.

“Hey, how was the movie?” Buck asks when Chris finally gets home. 

“It was okay,” Chris shrugs, joining him on the couch. “It barely had anything to do with the game, but there were some cool deaths. What’d you guys do?”

Buck blinks, mind flashing to the Eddie he’d left in the shower not long ago, pink and soft and sleepy. Well-fucked. “Uh, same,” he says, clearing his throat. “Watched a movie.”

“Hope it was better than mine,” Chris sighs, and then he steals the remote from Buck’s hand despite his protested cry of, hey. “Let’s watch some real cinema,” he croons, queuing up The Incredibles, and the opening theme makes his protests die on his tongue.

Well, he might as well go make some kettle corn.

Buck sets the burner to simmer on low, wiping his hands on his apron. The soup is gonna need at least an hour or two to thicken up properly, and he was cleaning as he went, so his job is pretty much done. He could go help Hen and Chim restock the ambulance, but… when in doubt, bothering Eddie was always fun.

Eddie looks up from his phone when Buck pinches his cheek, slapping his hand away with an affronted scoff. “Lunch ready yet?” he asks.

“An hour or so,” Buck answers, bending over the back of the couch to get closer. He jerks his chin at Eddie’s phone. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

Eddie snorts, turning his screen towards Buck. He squints and leans his head in further to try and make out the words, shaping them out silently to himself: Ottawa firefighters rescue baby raccoon from— “ohhhhh my god,” Buck coos, grabbing the phone to zoom in on the image. “He’s so tiny. Why don’t we ever get calls with little baby raccoons?”

“Because we haven’t given you your rabies shot yet,” Eddie teases, laughing and toppling into the pillows when Buck shoves him.

“Boys,” Bobby solemnly says from behind them, and the laughter dies in their throats as they straighten themselves out, consciously separating.

“Uh, sorry, Cap,” Buck says, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“I need to talk to both of you in my office,” he says, speeding right past Buck’s apology.

They turn to look at each other with bewildered expressions. “We weren’t doing anything, I swear,” Buck insists, but Bobby has already turned to walk back down the stairs, wordlessly heeding them to follow.

They glance at each other again, nervous now. They’re shoulder-to-shoulder as they make their way to Bobby’s office, a mere thirty seconds behind him, but Hen and Chim have both stopped what they’re doing to give them matching looks, like, what’s going on?

Eddie shrugs, shaking his head feebly.

“Close the door,” Bobby says, and he heaves a weary sigh when they sink into the chairs on the other side of his desk. Buck feels very oddly like he’s just been sent to the principal’s office. “You’re not in any trouble.”

They exchange another look, faces still pinched up doubtfully. “It kinda feels like we are, though,” Buck says.

“I just got off the phone with Chief Simpson,” Bobby says, clasping his hands on his desk. “There’s been a little spin around the rumor mill about your engagement that made its way back to him, and we had a very lengthy discussion about the LAFD’s fraternization policies.”

Buck frowns, shifting forward in his chair. “I thought that just prohibited relationships between supervisors and their employees. We have the same job.”

“So did I,” Bobby says, mouth scrunching up in displeasure. “But there are also regulations in place to discourage family members working the same shift. Spouses, siblings, parent and child.”

“What?” Buck scoffs. “That’s bullshit.”

“Buck,” Eddie warns, chiding him for his language.

“Eddie, come on,” Buck whines. “We already disclosed our relationship. What’s the difference? A-A marriage certificate? A piece of paper?” He turns back to Bobby with wide, frantic eyes. “I work with Chimney, and he’s my brother-in-law, why isn’t that an issue?”

“Buck, trust me, I’m on your side,” Bobby placates gently. “I went to bat for you, but the Chief was very adamant about it being a conflict of interest. This could potentially open us up to lawsuits, and the department’s budget is already stretched paper thin.”

Buck deflates, helplessly looking at Eddie, who wears his own miserable expression, mouth set in a tight line. “So, what are you saying?” he says to Bobby.

Bobby sighs unhappily again. “As much as I hate to say this… once you two are legally married, one of you will have to either switch stations or work opposite shifts. I’m sorry.”

Buck’s jaw tightens, teeth clacking together with a painful squeak as his temper flares, blistering through him. He storms out of the office with clenched fists, ignoring the dual cries of his name.

Chimney and Hen are standing close and exchanging hushed murmurs just outside the ambulance, and Hen pauses mid-sentence when she notices him leave Bobby’s office. “Hey, Buck, what did—”

“Not now,” he bites out, making a beeline for the stairs that lead to the roof, taking them two at a time. It’s scorchingly hot up there with no shade and the concrete baking from the direct sunlight, the insidious summer heat wave that threatens all of Los Angeles just around the corner. He slumps against the little half-wall, burning his forearms so he can hang his head between his shoulders and groan.

He’s not mad at Bobby. He’s not even really that mad at Chief Simpson. It’s just… unfair. Buck finally had everything he wanted within his grasp; a family, a warm bed to share with the person he loved most, people he would walk through fires for and happily come out singed on the other side. A little bit of it slips through his fingers, like an oppressive breeze against dry sand. Was it wrong to resent the breeze? Maybe not if it’s kicking up sand into his eyes.

The door to the roof opens behind him. It’s Eddie; he knows it’s Eddie without even looking, ears tracking the familiar cadence of his footsteps. He knows everything about Eddie. Even knows the way his feet drag against concrete.

“Hey,” Eddie says, quiet until he’s practically breathing down Buck’s neck. He doesn’t know how long he’s been up here; could be ten minutes or two hours. Buck lost time for a bit to the rhythmic, hypnotizing tempo of his breathing exercises— thank you, Doctor Copeland. “Brought you a gatorade.”

Buck rotates to face him, grasping the still cold drink where it hangs loosely in Eddie’s outstretched hand. “Thanks,” he says, cracking the lid and slugging it down in long, aching gulps. He hadn’t noticed how dry his throat was.

Eddie’s hands bracket his own hips, observing him. When Buck screws the lid back on, he says, “we’re gonna be fine, you know. We’ll figure something out.”

Buck leans back against the wall. “I know,” he says dejectedly, reaching one hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Eddie says, brows knitting together.

Buck gestures vaguely, fidgeting with the bottle in his hand. “I dunno. My reaction, I guess. Old habits die hard.”

“I’ve seen worse from you,” Eddie jokes, and Buck cracks a genuine smile at that. He leans in closer, wrapping one firm hand around Buck’s arm, and in a hushed voice he says, “Don’t apologize for your feelings, Buck. I’m upset, too. I mean… shit. This really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Buck sighs, gaze cutting to the distance. In a small voice, he forces his next words out with an acid-soaked tongue. “I mean… I guess we could always just… not…”

“No,” Eddie says firmly, cutting him off, ducking his head to catch Buck’s eyes. Buck swallows down the bile. “We’re not considering that for even one second, you hear me?” Eddie says, eyebrows high up at his hairline.

Buck sags. “Okay,” he says, and then Eddie is pulling him in for a tender embrace, arms clinging like he never wants to let go. It’s cheesy, Buck thinks, but he can almost feel the way their hearts reach out for one another, a steady drumbeat and the bassline that follows. He tucks his head into Eddie’s neck, soaking up the hug with a shaky exhale. There’s not an inch of space between them— chest to chest, thigh to thigh, feet tangled together where they bracket each other.

“We’ll both leave if we have to,” Eddie says, muffled where he’s pressing his own mouth into Buck’s shirt. “But it doesn’t matter where we work, alright? We’ll still have each other no matter what.”

Buck exhales, amused. “‘Til death, right?”

“And whatever the hell comes after,” Eddie promises, pulling back to look Buck in the eye. He brings one big hand up to cradle Buck’s face, thumb rubbing reverently over the splash of color above his eye. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he says quietly, voice pitched deep.

“What about policy?” Buck asks.

“Screw policy,” Eddie says definitively, and then he leans in to press dry lips to Buck’s birthmark before slotting their mouths together, warm and soft and sentimental.

The next morning, when they’re tangling their limbs together in bed at home for a post-shift nap, they talk about it again.

“You should stay on A-shift,” Eddie says, his voice soft and melancholic, rubbing big hands along Buck’s flank and soothing him.

Buck rears his head back, blinking slow and syrupy at him. “Eddie, really?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says assuredly. “That’s your family, Buck.”

Buck cups his hand around the side of Eddie’s neck, pulling him closer to press their foreheads together, still gently resting their heads against the pillows. It breaks his heart a bit to hear Eddie say that and not include himself. “They’re your family too, Eddie.”

“I know,” Eddie says, toying with the hem of Buck’s faded cotton shirt, thumb rubbing at his hip. “I’ve been gone before and made the adjustment, though. It’ll be easier.”

Buck’s mouth twists unhappily, the crease on his forehead deepening. “Who’s gonna look after you, though?”

Eddie chuckles, cheek dimpling where it’s pressed into the sheets. He moves to grab Buck’s hand, cupping it between both of his own, pressing dry lips to the scar that runs along his palm. “I can look after myself, I promise.”

He doesn’t want Eddie to look after himself, though. Who else will have Eddie’s back like he can? “Honestly, I-I’d rather have the peace of mind that the 118 is watching your back. If you started somewhere new, I’d just spend the whole time worrying about you and I’d never get anything done.”

“I know… some of the guys on B-shift,” Eddie says unconvincingly. He sighs, dropping Buck’s hand to tuck his own under Buck’s shirt and run along his spine, skin on skin. Buck can’t fight the small shiver that zips up his back. “I’d really miss this, though,” he murmurs, leaning in to smack a wet kiss on Buck’s lips. “Post-shift naps.”

“Maybe I could apply to another station,” Buck suggests, their lips mere centimeters apart. “That way we can at least try and work similar hours.”

“To keep our nap schedule the same?” Eddie teases.

“Yeah,” Buck says honestly. “If I only saw you in five minute windows between shifts, I’d probably manifest a crisis just so we could see each other.”

Eddie buries his snort into the pillow, his eyelids heavy and dreamy. “Just don’t get caught,” he mumbles, eyes drifting shut and staying that way. “If you went to prison, we’d only get, like, half a dozen conjugal visits a year.”

“Think they’re just called family visits now,” Buck murmurs, forcing his eyes to stay open as he watches Eddie drift off to sleep. Only after his breathing has evened out does Buck finally succumb himself, still wrapped in each other’s arms, warm and safe and whole.

Work is awkward for a couple days— Hen and Chim catch wind of the news and immediately protest the rule, and the exchange between Chim and Bobby is especially vitriolic. This is crap, Bobby, since when have you ever given a damn about these corporate rules? You know this is bureaucratic bullshit.

Chim, don’t blame Bobby, they’d said, but Chim had just thrown his hands up into the air and yelled, who else am I supposed to blame? He’s the one acquiescing to a broken system.

Bobby had taken it all in stride, with calm words and a calmer voice, but nothing they could say would change his mind.

He’s just stressed, Bobby had said with a wry uptick of his lips. Let’s just give him some space.

Ultimately, it’s a forty-eight off that does the trick. Chimney comes into work looking more rested than he has in weeks, wearing a hangdog look that permeates through every motion of his limbs. I’m an ass, he’d said in the locker room, lips pursing like he’s unimpressed at himself. I’m gonna go apologize.

Buck isn’t privy to that conversation, but the way Chim gratefully accepts a plate of Bobby’s apple spice pancakes— his groveling pancakes, he’d once called them— tells them all they need to know.

You have no idea how badly I need this upcoming vacation, Chim had joked a couple of days later, before screwing up his face with remorse and saying, well, maybe you do, and they’d all gleefully laughed.

“Buckley,” Chim calls out a couple weeks later, rubbing his hands together as he makes his way over to the armchair Buck was half-contemplating a nap in. “How would you like to hear about the offer of a lifetime?”

Buck frowns incredulously, rearing his head back. “Who are you, the wolf of wall street?”

“Hey, this is serious,” Chim scoffs, hands falling to his hips. “I am offering you and your significant bother… a childfree weekend. Or, you know, a forty-eight.”

Buck’s eyebrow perks up, shifting to sit up straighter in his chair. “Go on,” he says dubiously.

“I just need you to… uh… watch your niece and nephew this weekend.”

Buck frowns. “For how long?”

Chimney shrugs his shoulders, eyes darting away. “Just… you know… ‘til Monday,” he finishes quietly, body wilting sheepishly.

“Monday?” Buck clarifies, both eyebrows flying up to his hairline. “Chim—”

“I know, I know,” Chim says, thrashing his arms before sinking into the sofa in a defeated slump. “Our regular babysitter got the flu, and the baby hasn’t had any vaccines yet, and the Lees are in Florida for a funeral and—”

“Whoa, okay, okay,” Buck interrupts, waving calm, placating hands at Chimney.

“I really wanna give Maddie this babymoon, man,” Chim sighs, leveling Buck with big, sad eyes. There’s a startling resemblance to the face Jee-Yun makes when she sees a treat she wants at the store. Buck’s wallet always takes the hit. “She’s given me so much, and we still haven’t even had time for our regular honeymoon, and work has been crazy stressful—”

“Chim, easy,” Buck says, a smile cracking his face. “You don’t have to sell me on uninterrupted Uncle Buck time, man. I’ll do it.”

“You will?” Chim perks up, breathing out a stiff sigh of relief and falling back into the cushions. “Man, that is such a relief. We owe you big time, seriously, just say the word.”

Buck barely hears him, mind already running rampant with the possibilities, and he pulls his phone out to check availability at his favorite campsites.

“Camping?” Eddie asks, eyes temporarily cutting from the road to meet Buck’s. “You wanna spend our childfree weekend sleeping on the ground?”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Buck says. “Fresh air, hiking, swimming. Huddling for warmth in the tent,” he adds lecherously.

Eddie smirks, teeth poking out through his top lip. “That tent’s gonna smell like a gym locker if we fool around when it’s hot out.”

“I’m willing to make that sacrifice,” Buck grins, leaning over the console when they come to a halt for traffic. “We could, uh… partake, if we wanted. Get a couple magic brownies and look up at the stars over the lake.”

Eddie’s brow quirks up with interest, leaning closer. “That does sound like a pretty good weekend.”

Buck’s response dies on his lips as he gets a whiff of Eddie’s scent, clean and musky from his aftershave. He ducks his head down to press his soft mouth to the crook of Eddie’s jaw instead, pillowing dry lips over warm skin.

The car in the next lane honks when a biker starts lane filtering through the sea of traffic. They startle apart at the noise, but grin wickedly at each other, anyway. While Eddie’s eyes turn back to the road, Buck starts entering his contact info on the campsite’s application page.

His weekend with his niece and nephew comes and goes in a blur, and he’s exhausted but grateful by the end of it. He keeps Jee busy and tired with outing after outing, a trip to the aquarium and soccer at the park and dinner at the mall. She can barely keep her eyes open long enough to brush her teeth, tuckered out and snoring before Buck can even finish the second page of the book she picked, cozy and swallowed up by a sea of stuffed animals. His heart beats warmly at the sight of her sleeping soundly, the spitting image of Chim and his sister.

Eddie spends a night after Chris gets invited somewhere last minute, and Buck’s entire body lights up every time he catches Eddie cooing to the baby, wagging brightly colored toys and making silly faces. His nephew gurgles with laughter, cute little full-belly baby giggles that make his whole body shake, socked feet kicking out in delight. Buck is hopelessly, shamelessly endeared.

Later in bed, where they maintain a respectful and fully-clothed distance, Buck mashes his grin into the pillow and says, “you’re really good with him.”

Eddie shrugs with a hapless little smile. “I’ve had a little practice,” he replies, putting emphasis on a little, and Buck knows that guilt still eats away at Eddie for missing the first few years of Chris’ childhood. He’s brought it up in passing, briefly, always shutting down and changing the subject before Buck can prod at it further. Like he feels ashamed.

He drops his hand down from where it laid across his chest to find Eddie’s in the tangle of the duvet, hooking their fingers together. Buck’s hands are clammy; he buries down the default instinct to apologize. “They really love you a lot. Seriously.”

Eddie’s mouth twists bashfully, looking away to gaze up at the ceiling. He squeezes Buck’s palm. “You think so?”

Buck nods, bringing the tangle of their palms up to his lips and kissing the back of Eddie’s hand. “‘Course. You’re their Uncle Eddie.”

Eddie exhales in amusement, tilting his head to the side to meet Buck’s, face melting. “Sap.”

Buck playfully nips at his knuckles.

[Chimney 3:48]

Are you responsible for this?

[Image attached: Jee-Yun leaning against an enormous plushie of a whale shark, cheesing wildly for the camera. It’s bigger than she is.]

[Buck 3:55]

I plead the fifth 🙏

As Buck loads up Eddie’s truck with supplies, the back of his neck uncomfortably damp while he packs in chairs and coolers and the dusty 2-person tent Eddie had stuffed away in the upper echelons of the hallway closet, Chris watches from the doorway with a slightly put-upon expression.

“Do I have to stay with the Hans?” he grumbles, pouting in the way only a grumpy teenage boy can pull off. “I’m fourteen, I’ll be fine by myself for one weekend.”

Eddie grunts as he lifts a heavy cardboard box into the bed of the truck, the battery-powered lantern sticking out of the open flaps. “I know, kid, but just humor me,” Eddie says, slotting his hands on his hips and giving Chris a fond smile. “I’d just worry the whole time otherwise.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Chris sighs, but he accepts the warm shoulder pat that Eddie gives him as he walks past him to grab the sleeping bags by the couch.

“I happen to have it on good authority that Chim has the entire Mission: Impossible box set on blu-ray,” Buck says, tilting his head and wiggling his eyebrows temptingly. “And they’ve got a hot tub, so…”

“Hot tub?” Chris perks up. His eyes cut away in thought, and then he (definitely, totally) shrugs nonchalantly and says, “well, two nights won’t be so bad, I guess.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Eddie grins. He tosses the bundled up bags into the back, wiping his palms together. “Go grab your trunks, they’re hanging up in your closet.”

“‘Kay,” Chris says, turning and disappearing down the hall. Buck does a mental double-check of their inventory— hiking boots, raincoats, flashlights, check— and startles when Eddie bumps him with his elbow, grinning at the affectionate look on his face.

“Got everything?” Eddie says, eyes dipping down to the damp neckline of Buck’s shirt. “You worked up quite a sweat.”

“Yeah,” Buck says sheepishly, tugging the collar away where it sticks to his skin and airing it out. “That cooler is heavier than it looks. Might need a quick rinse before we go.”

“Don’t bother,” Eddie says quickly, and Buck raises one amused eyebrow at him. “I just mean, uh— it’s gonna be hot all day. We’ll just go swimming later.”

“Right,” Buck grins salaciously, tongue flirting out between his teeth. He leans against the side of the truck, crossing one leg over the other. “You are so obvious.”

“Me?” Eddie scoffs, wounded. He crosses his arms over his chest playfully. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You just don’t want to admit you like it musky,” Buck rasps quietly, tilting his head closer into Eddie’s space. He observes with rapt attention the way Eddie’s pupils start to dilate, warm chocolate swallowed up by expanding pools of black.

“Musky,” Eddie laughs, slightly breathless, eyes darting down to Buck’s lips. “You packed lube, right?” he adds, practically whispering.

Buck suppresses the shiver that tickles at his lower spine, looking Eddie up and down appreciatively. “Lube, wet wipes, the whole shebang.”

Eddie grunts, softly, barely there but for the puff of air that blows across Buck’s chin. “Good call. We know how messy you can get.”

“Fuck,” Buck softly curses, breathing out a chuckle, pulling away to put space between them. “You’re evil, you know that?”

Eddie cheekily shrugs, cheek dimpling. “You want to marry me anyway.”

Buck’s heart skips a beat, warmth blooming in his veins where his body is flooding him with endorphins. “Yeah, I do,” he says tenderly, and he’s just about to pull Eddie in by the waist for a kiss when Chris reemerges by the door.

“All done,” Chris says.

Eddie pulls away out of his orbit, and it feels painful, like two magnets being forced apart. “Got your Switch?”

“In my bag,” Chris replies. Eddie moves to go inside and grab the duffel, and when he’s out of earshot Chris goes to open the passenger side door and says, “shotgun.”

“Wha— hey,” Buck complains. “I don’t want to be stuffed in the back with all of our crap. I have long legs.”

“You snooze you lose,” Chris grins triumphantly, hauling himself up and settling in the leather seat. He gestures to his crutches leaning against the door and says, “throw these back there too, will ya?”

Buck snorts, shaking his head in amusement. That hereditary Diaz sass was killer.

Eddie returns, locking the house behind him and throwing Christopher’s duffel into the bed of the truck, slamming the door firmly shut. “All aboard,” he says, corny affectation making Chris roll his eyes. Buck jams his knees up into the back of the seat, spreading them as far as he can, grinning when Chris slaps Eddie’s hand away from the radio dial.

@eb191: In my defense, he was a Boy Scout.

[Image 1: Buck wearing a pinched expression on his face, tongue sticking out in concentration as he struggles with the tent poles.]

[Image 2: Eddie wearing a triumphant expression on his face, smugly gesturing to the now-completed and put together tent.]

@eddiebodywantssome: not pictured: Buck sitting dejectedly on the cooler

     @eb191: I was getting sweaty okay

@thebrotherschimm: Christopher and I laugh at your misfortune atop our throne of Costco cheese puffs

     @eddiebodywantssome: with a side of vegetables I hope

          @thebrotherschimm: Do veggie straws count?

               @madmaddie2: He’s kidding. 😒

@itsgonab5may!: you better be recording the bachelor while you’re gone!!

The hiking trail opens up once they’re near the summit, a flat outcrop that breaks up the trees to allow an unimpeded view of the mountains. There’s a handful of other people there, spread out on rocky inclines or picnic blankets, phones out to record the sunset. Eddie groans as he stretches out his arms in front of him, breathing fast through his nose while he catches his breath.

“Finally,” he grumbles, cracking his neck. “Thought that last incline would never end.”

Buck pauses behind him, digging out his camera from his backpack and setting up the shot while Eddie is turned away. He loves a posed picture as much as anyone, but there’s something about a candid shot that really tugs at his heartstrings. It’s just so much more… authentic.

He snaps a picture, the setting sun hovering just over Eddie’s shoulder, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw. Eddie turns at the sound of the click, grinning when he sees Buck kneeling on the rocks to get the perfect angle.

“Careful, you’re gonna scrape yourself up,” Eddie says.

“I have a medic with me,” Buck replies, focusing the next shot on Eddie’s fond smile. He snaps another one, this time in black and white, the contrast of blinding sun against dark hair where it falls over Eddie’s forehead. “Now give us a twirl,” he says cheekily.

“Jackass,” Eddie snorts, walking over and hauling Buck upright by the arm. “Let’s get one with both of us.”

“Alright,” Buck concedes, turning to face away from the cliff and pulling Eddie closer to him with an arm locked around his shoulders, holding his camera up. “Say cheese.”

“Cheese,” Eddie deadpans beside him, and the shutter clicks obnoxiously. Buck turns the screen back around to check the shot.

It’s slightly out of focus, the lens honing in on the rock behind them, but the picture the two of them make is unmistakable: Buck, a dimpling cheesy grin spread across his face, and Eddie, eyes locked to Buck’s profile, eyes dreamy and tender and undoubtedly lovestruck.

Buck knows exactly where he’s gonna put it just as soon as they get home.

It’s getting dark by the time they’re back at the bottom of the trail, swatting mosquitoes off their calves where the bug spray has sweated away. The campsites near them all have a fire going, one group laughing and blasting music from their bluetooth speaker, the wafting scent of boxed wine and sunscreen tickling Buck’s nose. His stomach grumbles unhappily, and he starts digging through their cooler while Eddie stacks up bits of driftwood and birch bark in their fire pit.

“Hot dogs or chili?” Buck asks, words muffled through his half-chewed mouthful of protein bar.

“Hot dogs,” Eddie says. “And some of that pita and hummus, I’m starving.”

They move around each other in a coordinated dance, stacking twigs onto the growing fire and skewering hot dogs and setting up the chairs. Buck cracks open a sweaty beer and passes it to Eddie who accepts it gratefully, pressing the cool condensation against his neck with a sigh.

Their meal is simple, but satisfying— something about food cooked over a smoky campfire that just hits differently. It reminds Buck a bit of his traveling days, when it was just him and Maddie’s Jeep and an endless stretch of Americana highway. The circumstances are vastly different: back then, Buck had been cradling the shattered remains of his heart behind bruised ribs, scared and sad and angry with his sister, his meals consumed in half-lit parking lots with nary a care for taste or nutritional value. This is warmer, softer, tinged with love— this is Eddie thumbing away yellow mustard where it clings to the corner of Buck’s mouth, licking it away with a fond smile.

Eddie’s reaching for his third hot dog when Buck says, “don’t fill up too much, we still have… dessert.”

Eddie raises a piqued eyebrow at him, tilting his head with interest. “Oh, yeah?”

Buck thinks of the tightly saran-wrapped brownies sitting in the outside pocket of his backpack, no doubt crumbly from being jostled around. “Stopped at the dispensary yesterday when I went out to get extra batteries for the lantern.”

Eddie hums with intrigue, rotating his hot dog skewer where it rests over glowing coals. Buck has just been sticking his right over the flames and burning them to a crisp. “What’s the dosage on those bad boys?”

“Hundred each.”

Eddie whistles. “Maybe just a bite to start, then.”

They finish their meal, packing away the food and trash and securing it in the bear bag. LNT, Eddie keeps reminding him, militant about picking up any stray wrappers. Leave no trace. Buck peeks over at the RV in the campsite beside them, boxed wine swapped out for joints and s’mores, and he’s certain they won’t be following the same motto.

Buck rips one of the brownies in half, leaving the rest in his bag and splitting the remaining half into quarters, passing one disintegrating chunk to Eddie. “Cheers,” they both say, bumping them together and spraying out a mess of crumbs to the ground between them, tossing them back.

“Let’s go swimming,” Eddie declares, clapping his hands together. “I need to wash all of this sweat and grime off of me.”

They change in the tent, laughing as their elbows keep bumping into each other in the claustrophobic space, too-small for two grown men. “Watch it,” Eddie teases, blocking Buck’s knee when it almost collides with his groin. “You’ll damage the goods.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Buck says lecherously, leaning in to press a wet kiss to his lips.

It’s fully dark now, so they grab two flashlights, throwing towels over their shoulders and making their way to the lake. There’s a little beach just down the road from their campsite, just behind one of two cabins available for rent, and they sheepishly wave to the two people at the picnic table out front, their dog eagerly straining against his leash to join them.

The beach is empty— score— and they drop their belongings unceremoniously, dragging their shirts over their heads and rushing down to the water.

“Hoo,” Eddie cries out, foot cringing away before plopping back in. “Son of a bitch, that’s nippy.”

“Just gotta dive in all at once,” Buck says, wading out to deeper water with hulking strides. “Unless you’re chicken,” he throws over his shoulder.

“You little shit,” Eddie laughs, running after him and splashing up water everywhere. Buck dodges him, making it out to hip-deep water, turning to face him and ducking low, waggling his eyebrows like, catch me if you can.

“Whoa, Buck, wait, stop,” Eddie says, face suddenly sober. He points behind Buck out towards the dark water. “Do you see that? What is that?”

“What?” Buck says, whipping his head around and straightening his spine, body on full alert. It’s too dark to make out anything properly, the lake a murky navy, the surface highlighted only by the moon high in the sky. “Where?”

“Right there,” Eddie emphasizes, coming up behind him. “Doesn’t that kind of look like… my fiancé?”

“Wha—?” Buck manages to get out before he’s being playfully shoved into the water, losing his balance and getting totally soaked. He sputters when he surfaces, wiping the cool water from his eyes, Eddie doubled-over where he’s howling with laughter.

“I cannot believe you just Cabin In The Woods’d me, oh my god,” Buck complains, shaking the water out of his hair like a wet dog. “You are so dead for that, Diaz.”

“Wait, wait,” Eddie wheezes, a grin still stretched over his face, but Buck is too quick for him. He ducks down and throws Eddie over his shoulder, grunting with the effort while Eddie thrashes, tossing him towards the deeper water like a sack of flour. Eddie gets completely submerged with a satisfying dunk.

The water isn’t so bad once they’re both in, and they chase each other around in circles, splashing each other with huge waves. Their laughter echoes where it travels over the water, and they wade out even farther, swimming out where it’s too deep to touch the bottom. The lake feels refreshing and silky where it caresses over Buck’s skin, scrubbing away the sweat and the dirt and the thick layer of sunscreen that clings to him.

Eddie floats on his back beside him, and Buck rests one gentle hand on his leg to keep them anchored together. “You can see the stars out here,” Eddie says quietly, wistfully.

Buck hums and cranes his neck up, looking up at the sky. The moon is a bright crescent, silhouetted by grey clouds, and although not every star in the sky is visible there are still a stubborn handful that poke through, light pollution be damned. “Pretty.”

“Reminds me of Texas,” Eddie says quietly, almost wistful. “I used to—”

Eddie cuts himself off. Buck turns away from the stars to look at the side of his face, mouth twisted unhappily. “Used to what?” Buck encourages.

Eddie sighs, chest deflating while he blinks up at the sky. “I used to bring Shannon out to this lake by my house. We’d lay out a blanket in the back of my truck, and— y’know,” he gestures vaguely towards the stars, water splashing quietly with the movement. “Just… realizing that we never did that again after we found out she was pregnant.”

Buck drifts closer, squeezing Eddie’s ankle where his hand is resting. “Sounds romantic.”

Eddie snorts softly, eyes still glued upwards. There’s a beat of silence while he loses himself in thought, floating right next to Buck but still a million miles away. Maybe fifteen years away, Buck thinks. “Yeah. I used to be.”

“You still are,” Buck says, and Eddie finally cuts his gaze away to look at him properly. His eyes are wide and vulnerable in the moonlight. “Hide that inner child all you want, but I know he’s still in there.”

Eddie startles out a laugh, letting his legs submerge and tilting himself back upright to be eye-to-eye with Buck. “That goes double for you,” he teases, dragging him in closer, one big hand around Buck’s waist and one cupping his neck. They feel hot like a brand, searing into his skin, and Buck cups both hands around Eddie’s face to pull him in for a kiss.

They hover there suspended, legs kicking to keep them afloat while they tread water, smearing their mouths together as they trade kisses. Buck’s lips tingle where they meet, warm and bright, Eddie’s mouth thick with the residual taste of cocoa. He gently sinks his teeth into his plush lower lip, dragging it with him when they pull apart, Eddie dazed and breathing a little harder.

“Not too late to give stargazing another try,” Buck says, tilting his head towards the shore. “We can dry off. Wait for our edible to kick in.”

Eddie chuckles, deep and husky. “Alright,” he concedes, squeezing Buck’s waist as he pulls his hands away. “Lead the way.”

The night air against Buck’s wet skin makes his whole body pucker, but they lay out their towels side by side in a patch of grass, goosebump-ridden arms pressed firmly against each other. It’s chilly, but sharing body heat like this means it’s not so bad. Buck points up at the sky and says, “okay, don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure that one right there is the Big Dipper. Hard to see ‘cause, uh, it’s a little faded. But see the bowl shape? And the Little Dipper is right next to it.”

Eddie hums thoughtfully, pointing to a different spot nearby. “And right there is the oft forgotten Medium Dipper. Classic middle child bullshit.”

Buck snorts, smacking him in the arm with the back of his hand. He points to another random spot in the sky and sarcastically says, “and this one right here? That’s Dippin’ Dots. So crazy that they named a whole ice cream treat after it. First of its kind.”

“What, you’re telling me there’s no Cherry Garcia constellation?” Eddie quips.

A breeze blows over them and makes them both shiver, and they huddle even closer, Buck tucking his arm beneath Eddie’s neck so Eddie can rest his head on Buck’s shoulder. They lose track of time like that, whispering to each other in hushed tones so their voices don’t carry, legs tangling together on the soft towels.

“Oh, wow,” Eddie says some time later, bringing his hand up to his face and then dropping it. He snorts. “I am so high right now.”

Buck stops his flow mid-sentence, mouth still hanging open while he does a mental check-in of his body. His head feels floaty when he moves his eyes around, like somebody pumped air into the crevasses of his skull and twisted it around like a balloon animal. “Oh, shit, you’re right,” he says, chortling at himself. “Dude, I didn’t even notice.”

Eddie hums, digging his cheek into Buck’s shoulder like a cat, sighing wistfully. “Think I felt a drop. Let’s go back to the tent. ‘M freezing.”

Buck thinks of their tent, dry and warm and stuffed with pillows and blankets, and he lets out his own satisfied hum. “Totally.”

They lie there for a beat, unmoving. Buck continues staring up at the stars, awestruck at the beauty of the moon, silvery and tranquil where it hangs in the sky, surrounded by stars and planets and galaxies unknown. He loses track of time— seconds pass, or maybe centuries. Who could say? He gapes up at the sky, marveling at its wonder, marveling at the grandness of it all, startling when a fat drop of rain falls and hits his forehead.

“I can’t move,” Eddie says, burying his laugh into Buck’s neck. The vibrations tickle.

“Where are you going?” Buck asks, brain lagging while he parses through their last conversation. What were they talking about again?

“The tent.”

“Oh, right,” Buck laughs, finally catching up. “Jesus, maybe even a quarter was too much.”

“We can do this,” Eddie says, smearing his words into Buck’s throat. “Dry sweats. Warm socks,” he lists, like he’s trying to hype himself up.

“Yes, right,” Buck nods, and pulling himself away from Eddie feels like pulling apart velcro that’s been superglued together. They both sit up, and Buck’s head swims for a second, lightheaded at the sudden movement. “Whew,” he huffs.

They stand with matching groans, fumbling for their towels and shirts and flashlights. Buck starts to lead them back towards the campsite, exaggeratedly tip-toeing past the cabin, every stride feeling unnaturally heavy. Is this right? How does he normally walk? He feels like he’s walking weird.

“Buck,” Eddie hisses, doubling over where he’s trying to contain his laughter. “You look like sasquatch, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Buck whispers back, covering his face with one hand. “I don’t— I forgot how to walk normally,” he says, which sets Eddie off again. “Eddie,” he whines.

“You’re killing me,” Eddie cackles, still whispering harshly.

They follow the light of their neighbor’s still-burning campfire, their own fire pit reduced to embers. They whip off their wet swim trunks outside of the tent— it’s too dark, anyway, nobody can see them— and clumsily drag themselves into dry clothes, falling into the tent with a heady sigh.

“We made it,” Buck cheers, still whispering. Once he started, it was kinda hard to stop. It just felt right to whisper. He clicks on the lantern that sits above their pillows and presses it a few more times to dim the setting, encasing them in a soft light. 

“Just in time, too,” Eddie whispers back, droplets now rapidly hitting the outside shell of the tent. He unzips both of their sleeping bags, spreading them out in the small space so they can lie together under the blankets, cozying up to press the length of his body against Buck’s. Buck preens at the contact. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Buck says back, pressing his smile onto Eddie’s matching one.

Their lips find each other again and again in the dimly lit cocoon of the tent, the deluge of rain splattering the roof in erratic little drops, trickling down the walls in thin lines. It’s a pleasant backdrop to the sensation of Eddie’s lips, wet and sloppy where they’re both a little clumsy with it. They keep grinning and breaking the kiss, smearing each other’s teeth and lips and chins with saliva.

Eddie shifts on their connected sleeping bags, throwing one leg over Buck’s thigh, slotting their legs together with a stilted sigh. Buck manages to lift one hand up to Eddie’s jaw, the stubble prickling against his palm, and he tilts his chin up to fit their mouths together properly this time.

His mind still feels hazy and dreamy, his thoughts slow as he focuses on the feelings in his body: his mouth, bitten-red and warm. His tongue, fat and swollen where it curls past Eddie’s lips. His chest, and the steady thump of his heart beneath his ribs. His limbs, heavy and lethargic. His gut, and the ticklish heat that throbs just below his navel.

Buck shudders, exhaling loudly from his nostrils. He drops his hand from Eddie’s chin to smooth down his neck, his chest, his waist, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He toys with the hem of Eddie’s tank top, smoothing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, before gently rucking it up to make contact with the skin of his hip.

Eddie hums contentedly, breaking the kiss with a wet sigh before tilting his head and reconnecting them, the press of his tongue wet and luxurious where he feeds it into Buck’s mouth. The air outside the tent is relatively still, only the quiet murmur of insects and the breeze blowing through the trees and the erratic fall of rain. Every wet smack of their lips feels amplified in that stillness, a megaphone held up to their mouths, breathless sighs and dry grunts and humming moans.

Buck feels his cock start to fatten up, but he doesn’t feel rushed, doesn’t feel anxious or desperate. It’s just one aspect of the warmth that pours itself into his body, like a bucket of sunshine tipped over him, the warm light sluggishly moving through his veins and soaking his clothes. His head starts to tingle at the base of his neck when Eddie’s hand slips up to his scalp, scratching at the sensitive skin there.

They pull apart to breathe, Buck a bit lightheaded at the lack of oxygen. Eddie ducks his head down to mouth at Buck’s throat, pulling the collar of fabric aside to gently dig his teeth into the soft flesh of his chest. Buck feels like he’s floating as he closes his eyes and tips his head back, sighing softly up at the ceiling of the tent. The hand under Eddie’s shirt drags up his spine, feeling each knob with a reverent sense of awe.

“Mm,” Eddie hums, lapping at the base of his throat, broad wet strokes of his tongue. God, Buck loves Eddie’s tongue. “‘S that all for me?”

Buck opens his eyes with difficulty, craning his neck up to catch Eddie’s line of sight, eyeing the fabric of Buck’s sleep shorts where they’re starting to tent. His cock rests over the curve of his thigh, and it throbs at the dreamy look on Eddie’s face and the soft, slack cavern of his mouth where he’s panting.

The air gets caught in his throat. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly, head falling back to the tent floor with a soft thud. Eddie loves to tease him about this, how he gets so worked up from just kissing, but he can’t help it. Kissing Eddie just feels so right— so good. He wants to squirm at the attention, Eddie unashamedly staring at the shape of him, but he feels so light and drowsy and good that he can’t quite muster up the shame.

Eddie hums again, an easy grin stretching his face and dimpling at the corners. He looks proud. “You wanna show me?”

Fuck. A shot of lightning up Buck’s spine, and he’s shivering at the pinprickles that follow, the heat settling in his hips and groin and navel. He nods wordlessly, and then he’s using both hands to pull his shorts down to his thighs, hips bucking up to get the fabric out of the way. He’s already half-hard, and he sighs when he takes himself in hand. 

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, and then he’s propping himself up with an elbow, temple resting against his fist, his body pressed fully to Buck’s side. He drags the fingers of his free hand up the fuzzy skin of Buck’s quads, teasing at the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, and it makes his gut clench with something hot and spine-melting.

He tamps down a choked whine. “Eddie,” he sighs, breath punching out of him, and he starts to pull at himself with firm little tugs, helplessly surrendering to the ooey-gooey pleasure building in his center. 

“That’s it,” Eddie says, his voice hushed and reverent in the quiet of the tent. His eyes are practically sparkling when Buck speeds his hand up, stripping over his cock from base to tip now, and Buck feels that warm glowing ball of pride in his chest. “Feels good?”

Buck nods desperately, naked hips shifting against the polyester fabric beneath him. He should feel embarrassed, on display like this for Eddie, but his brain is too busy tapping into that bottomless well of need that Eddie stirs up in him. Buck has always been a sexual creature, but the feelings Eddie pulls out of him make him feel almost frantic for it some days. He just wants and wants and wants, and thank god Eddie seems to want him with the same voracity right back. If Buck were the religious type, he’d call it gluttony— shared gluttony, the kind that has them eating out of the palms of each other’s hands, slurping and gulping and messy.

Buck can’t help the wild grin that spreads across his face at the thought.

Eddie softly exhales in amusement next to him, fingers still trailing over bare skin. Buck jolts at the ticklish drag of them over his hip, pumping his fist over his drooling cock, and when a fat glob of precome dribbles out of his slit Eddie sighs and says, “Jesus, look at you. Soaking wet and I haven’t even touched you.”

Buck sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth, molars squeaking at the force with which he slams his jaw shut. His brain feels fuzzy, dizzier with every pulse of heat emanating from his gut, spreading out to his limbs, his toes curling. Buck halts his fist, panting up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to writhe while his hips stutter through abandoned little thrusts.

“I didn’t say stop,” Eddie says playfully, his hand slipping under Buck’s shirt and tucking the fabric up to his armpits, heaving chest now on display. “Keep going. I want to watch you make yourself feel good.”

Buck huffs a breathless laugh, head flopping to the side to catch Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah? You like the view?” he teases, hand resuming. He’s starting to really get wet now, and the sound of his leaking cock in his fist is obscene in their otherwise silent surroundings.

Eddie hums blithely, ducking down to gently gnaw at the plush skin of Buck’s pec. “It’s not bad,” he says cheekily, tongue softly dragging through the hair on his chest. Eddie’s free hand ticklishly skims over the soft skin of Buck’s belly, and it makes his abdomen clench up, makes him moan pathetically and fuck himself faster. Eddie’s eyes are glued to his cock, and Buck tilts his head to look with him, to watch the red, dribbling tip push through the tight hole of his fist together.

“How’d I get so lucky, hmm?” Eddie murmurs, pinching softly at his navel. His gut is an inferno just beneath those wandering fingertips, calloused skin against burning desire, and that heat violently spikes when Eddie rasps, “to get a husband with such a nice, thick cock.”

“Oh, fuck,” Buck whimpers, hips rutting up into his fist. His mouth drops open, brows pinching together, and he can’t help the crazed laughter that escapes his lips. “Keep talking,” he pleads.

“Needy boy,” Eddie teases, clicking his tongue dismissively, and Buck’s stomach swoops. He pumps at himself harder, head tilting back onto the pillow beneath him, panting out hot breaths that trap themselves in the confined space and make everything hotter. “Don’t even need that lube we packed. Definitely gonna need the wet wipes, though. Always make such a mess.”

“Yeah,” Buck whines, wetting his lips while his toes curl in his socks. Eddie shifts on the sleeping bags, head hovering over Buck’s throbbing cock, and he sucks in a startled breath when Eddie’s lips purse and a thick glob of drool escapes. Buck holds his breath while it falls slowly, lungs aching where he’s been sucking down shallow breaths, his body startling when it finally connects with his leaking cockhead. It twitches in his grasp, lurching up like it’s trying to follow the heat of Eddie’s mouth. “Eddie, fuck, feels good,” he murmurs, smearing the saliva down his shaft.

Eddie’s big, warm hand lands on his thigh, fingertips creeping inwards to tease at sensitive skin. Buck tugs at his now spit-wet cock, gritting his teeth against the heat bubbling low in his gut, steaming up the tent with his labored breaths. “Tighter,” Eddie says, and Buck muffles a groan into his bottom lip, fist pulsing over the spongy head.

“Wanna suck you off after,” Buck gasps, feeling the heat spread in tingling waves, blooming out towards his hips and thighs. Eddie’s hand tightens on his thigh, plush skin going white where his fingertips are digging in, soothing over the skin while Buck pulls himself apart. He fucks himself harder when those fingertips inch inwards and further, spreading his legs wider as Eddie digs into the sensitive spot just behind his balls.

“Bet you do,” Eddie coos, but there’s a desperation lacing his words now, eyes restlessly darting over Buck’s form. His bruised mouth, his swollen chest, his leaking cock. He rubs firm circles with two pointed fingers over Buck’s taint, palm brushing over Buck’s aching balls. “Get so— so cockdrunk right before you come. It’s embarrassing.”

Buck exhales like he’s been punched in the solar plexus, abdomen cramping with the blow, squeezing his eyes shut. The shame washes over him, hot and sudden, his face and his ribs and his quivering gut. His hips undulate, twisting into his wet fist and the cradle of Eddie’s palm. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he babbles, the base of his cock pulsing. He uses his free hand to pull his shirt back up where it’s ridden down from all his shifting, making a landing pad for the mess. “You, too,” he gasps, thighs flexing, muscles bunching as he teeters on the precipice. “Get so— so pink, Eds, ‘s so hot, get all overwhelmed—”

“I do not,” Eddie breathes, flush crawling down his neck, and that’s enough— Buck stutters out a gasp while come spills from his dick in thick spurts, tilting the head towards his stomach and chest. He whines at the intensity, his brain and limbs still foggy from the weed, closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the shocky jolt of his nerves. The rhythm of Buck’s hand stutters while he pulls at the shaft, riding the waves of euphoria as he stains himself with come, pumping until the last bit is drooling out onto his thick knuckles. He collapses against the floor of the tent when he’s done, the strength sapped from his limbs, and he pants and grins and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, leaning in to lap at his mouth with his tongue, smearing wet kisses onto Buck’s chin and lips and the delicate skin just beneath where his lashes rest against his cheek. Buck can feel the hard lines of his body where Eddie is mashed against his side, stomach clenching while his hips fitfully grind the tent in his shorts against Buck’s thigh. “Look at you, Buck, Jesus.”

Buck wets his lips again, painfully dry where he’s been panting up at the ceiling, cracking his lids open where his lashes have clumped together. “Wipes,” he croaks out, body unmoving, fist still locked around his sticky, half-hard cock. “Need to clean up before I do you.”

“Wipes,” Eddie echoes, nodding his head. “Right. Where—”

“In my bag,” Buck says patiently.

Eddie tears open Buck’s backpack where it lies at the mouth of the tent, digging through supplies until he finds it with a victorious aha! Eddie rips the package open with trembling hands, grabbing a handful and using them to mop up the mess of come that’s drying into Buck’s chest and his happy trail and pubes. Buck lazily holds up his soiled hand for Eddie to get his knuckles, too, and he can’t fight the whimper at the sensation of cool, wet cotton over his sensitive cock. Eddie dabs at it delicately, eyes glassy as he wipes at it just a bit too thoroughly, wet little circles right over his messy slit that has him sucking in air through clenched teeth.

When Eddie has stuffed them back into Buck’s bag— gross— he lays back in his spot, impatiently tugging his shorts down and rasping, “please, baby, it’s not gonna take much.”

A slow and dreamy smirk spreads across Buck’s face, and he leans into Eddie’s space to curl their tongues together indulgently. It’s wet and glacial and breathless, lips smacking every time they pull apart, Eddie’s breaths hitched around soft moans. Buck curls one hand into Eddie’s scalp, pulling at it playfully, and Eddie rips his mouth away to smear it into Buck’s skin.

“Please,” he repeats.

“I got you,” Buck murmurs, sliding down Eddie’s body, resting his head on Eddie’s hip. He feels drowsy and heavy, and he laps at the wet head where it rests on Eddie’s belly, mouthing at the tip decadently.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps, hips twitching towards the warmth, one big hand scratching over Buck’s curls. That makes his head feel pleasantly fuzzy, ticklish at the top of his spine, and he practically purrs as he mouths at Eddie’s cock. “Buck, Buck, c’mon.”

Buck sinks the first couple inches past his lips, sucking at the thick mouthful with an indulgent groan. Eddie’s hips pop up at the vibration, tangling both hands into Buck’s hair, stuttering out his own pleasure at the sensation.

Buck works his mouth over Eddie’s cock, shallow bobs of his head that make his throat click, spine fuzzy at the fingernails that dig into his scalp. It doesn’t take much— Buck’s cheeks sink in as he suckles again, nursing at the cock that plugs up his wet mouth, and Eddie grunts like he’s been stabbed. “Coming, baby, fuck—” he manages to choke out, and then he’s flooding Buck’s mouth with thick wads of come, legs flailing restlessly.

Buck swallows as best he can, tongue licking up the mess that drools back out onto Eddie’s groin. Eddie is breathless, face flushed red and mouth dropped open, one arm thrown over his eyes while he twitches through the aftershocks. He spasms when Buck laps at the still drooling slit, cleaning him up while he sinks into the recesses of his mind. No need to bring a wet wipe into the equation.

Buck collapses on top of Eddie, nosing at his arm until Eddie lets it fall, pressing their mouths together while their legs tangle. He loses track of time like that, the rain slowing down where it still softly pelts the tent, he and Eddie pressed together like they’re trying to crawl into each other’s skin.

Maybe they can, he thinks deliriously. Maybe one day they’ll become one entity, indistinguishable from the other, two heads and four arms and one soul. It makes his stomach clench, airy and light like it's full of bubbles.

“Crack open the zipper,” Eddie sighs into his mouth, nipping at his upper lip with sharp canines. “Too hot in here.”

“Mkay,” Buck mumbles, smearing their lips together again and again, over and over, until he’s not sure where Buck ends and Eddie begins.

His mouth is totally dry when he wakes up, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like it’s been superglued in place. The sun is already high in the sky, baking them alive in their little polyester sweat lodge, every breath of air oppressively humid.

Buck is sweating already, blankets kicked off sometime during the night. His shirt is uncomfortably damp at the pits and the back of his neck, the small of his back sticking to his sleeping bag where his shirt has ridden up.

“Ugh,” he groans exaggeratedly, smacking his lips to ease the sourness clinging to his tongue. He hauls himself upright with a grunt, pawing at his backpack until he finds his water bottle, twisting off the cap and chugging. It’s warm, but not warm enough to deter the ache in his throat. “Jesus, it’s hot in here.”

He makes for the mouth of the tent, fingers fumbling for the zipper, when Eddie’s hand fists in his t-shirt to haul him back. “Come back,” he says sleepily, eyes still firmly shut.

“Eds, it’s a million degrees in here,” he laughs. “I’m drenched in sweat.”

Eddie cracks one eye open, eyeing him appreciatively. “That’s fine,” he says, a lecherous grin slowly spreading.

“I’m gonna get heat stroke,” Buck scoffs, but he falls back onto the sleeping bags anyway, craning his neck back to let Eddie lazily lap at the sweat that pools in his collarbones.

“Just let me blow you,” Eddie says, moving to press his lips to Buck’s shoulder and lower, nosing at the odorous fabric. He mouths at the damp spot, laving the flat of his tongue against his pits in wide, wet strokes. “Yeah?”

Buck grunts, spreading his thighs wide and cradling Eddie’s body, hips twitching up with a stutter. He loves when Eddie gets like this— when he voices what he wants with no shame. It took a little while to get used to it, this new version of Eddie; not a new model, but more like a software update. “Fuck, okay, yeah,” he nods rapidly, dragging Eddie up by the hair to lick into his mouth. His tongue tastes acrid and sour.

They’re definitely gonna need another dip in the lake after this.

“So?” Maddie says, passing Buck a mug in her kitchen while they wait for Eddie to help Chris pack up his stuff. “What’d you guys do all weekend?”

“Ah, you know,” Buck says vaguely, ducking his head sheepishly. “Hiking, swimming, reading. Took the canoe out onto the lake and had lunch at this little peninsula we found. It had this one crazy tree that was growing, like, sideways, it hung way out over the water. We climbed it so we could dive off of it.”

“Glad no one was injured,” she says impassively, grinning into her mug when Buck rolls his eyes. “Well, I definitely can’t say you don’t look… well-adventured,” she says, cringing at the swarm of mosquito bites that decorate Buck’s calves and forearms, the sunburn that dusts his face and neck. “I take it they didn’t have any showers there?”

“Uh, they did have public ones, but… y’know.” A mischievous thought enters his mind, and his shit-eating grin spreads before he’s even finished voicing it. “My man likes it musky.”

“Okay, ew,” Maddie scoffs, lips curling in disgust. “I don’t need to know.”

“You and Chim have said way worse stuff in front of everyone,” Buck defends, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m just getting a little payback.”

“Save it for the wedding vows, loverboy,” Maddie teases, dodging the packet of sugar Buck tosses at her with a startled laugh.

Buck carefully secures the photo to the fridge with a magnet, stepping back to admire his work.

It was a struggle to even make real estate for the picture, but it makes a home at eye-level, surrounded by other beloved mementos; the honors list from Christopher’s school, his name highlighted 8th from the top. The card he made for Buck, years ago, crayon smeared onto white printer paper. An old polaroid of Eddie as a child, playfully poking the chubby cheek of his crying infant sister. A photo of Shannon and Christopher at the beach, grinning down at the sand castle they’re making, wind whipping their hair. The group picture they took at Hen and Karen’s second wedding, smushed together to fit everyone.

And now, the photo of Buck and Eddie, stuck in place with an old frog magnet made of clay, lumpy imperfections making its eyes bulge.

It looks like it belongs.

Eddie walks out of the dressing room with confidence, throwing his hands up and spinning around to show himself off. “Eh? Whaddaya think?”

Chris and Buck pick their heads up— Chris from his Switch, and Buck from the magazine he’d pilfered from the side table parked between the two chairs, leafing through celebrity gossip with glassy eyes while they waited for Eddie to try on a suit. Before Buck can say anything, Chris says, “I dunno. It’s kind of boring, Dad.”

“Boring?” Eddie scoffs, affronted, jaw dropping in disbelief. “This is a glen check. This is what James Bond wears.” He pulls one hand up to mimic a finger gun, squinting his eyes in a fake-sexy smolder. Buck chortles.

“Didn’t James Bond’s wife die at their wedding?” Chris asks, and Buck smothers his laughter into his magazine.

“This is what I get for giving you two a proper movie education,” Eddie sighs, and then turns around to face the mirror, frowning and tugging at his tie. “Is it really that bad?”

Buck stands up out of the chair, looking Eddie up and down and humming, hovering just over his shoulder. “Uh, I think you’d look ho— great in anything,” he pivots, conscientious of their teenage audience, throat rumbling when he coughs. “But… it isn’t very exciting.”

Eddie clicks his tongue, fidgeting with the lapel. “It’s not supposed to be exciting. It’s a wedding. I’d actually prefer it if the excitement was kept to a minimum.”

“Probably shouldn’t invite our parents, then,” Buck says with faux-chagrin, screwing his face up and meeting Eddie’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Eddie rolls his eyes but smiles fondly, smoothing his lips down into a neutral pout.

“Alright, hotshot, you pick something, then,” Eddie dares, stepping back into the changing room and shutting the door. 

Buck turns to peruse the rack of suits hanging next to the mirrors, flipping through jackets until he finds one he likes. He holds it up to show Chris, lifting his eyebrows and going, eh?

Chris nods with a grin. “Oh yeah.”

Buck knocks on the changing room with two knuckles, passing the jacket to Eddie’s hand when it reaches out blindly. “This is red,” Eddie’s muffled voice comes through the door.

“It’s really more of a maroon,” Buck replies, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I can’t wear a red suit to my wedding.”

“Why not?” Buck says, and there’s a beat of silence after, even the rustling of fabric pausing. It resumes after another tense moment.

“I dunno. You just… can’t,” Eddie finishes lamely.

“Just humor me,” Buck pleads, knocking the crown of his head onto the wall.

Eddie sighs, and then dejectedly says, “at least find me the pants.”

When he emerges from the changing room a few minutes later, Buck’s breath is swept away, heart leaping up into his throat. He looks gorgeous, the maroon bringing out the natural flush of his cheeks, the black shirt underneath molding perfectly to the cut of his waist. Buck shamelessly gapes at him while Eddie turns to look himself over in the mirror, frowning while he fiddles with the jacket’s button.

“Eddie, wow,” Buck breathes when he finally catches his breath, eyes glittering in the mirror. “You look… I mean, you look…” He turns to meet Christopher’s eyes, excitedly gesturing to Eddie with one hand. “Right?”

“What he said,” Chris affirms. “Lookin’ good, Dad.”

Eddie hums indecisively, turning his body this way and that, throwing his head over his shoulder while he takes in his reflection. “It’s not too… I dunno. Garish?”

“You sound like Grandma,” Chris mutters, shaking his head and focusing back on his game.

Buck agrees with a sheepish nod, eyes still glued to Eddie’s form. God, he looks good. If they were alone right now, Buck isn’t certain he could restrain himself from pushing Eddie back into the changing room and messing up the suit. He stuffs his hands in his pockets instead, muscles contracting where he’s squeezing his fists. His tongue is still swollen where it rests in his mouth, but he manages to choke out a breathless, “you look perfect.”

Eddie grins in the mirror, catching his eyes in the reflection over his shoulder. “You have to say that,” Eddie accuses, turning around to catch his eyes. Buck sways into his personal space as if hypnotized, drowning in bittersweet chocolate, lips stretched into a dopey, lovesick grin.

“No, I really don’t,” Buck sighs, tilting his head in closer. His voice drops lower. “Remember when I called the other one ugly?”

Eddie hums and his lips purse slightly, eyes squinting just a fraction. “I think the word used was ‘boring,’ actually.”

“Well, this one’s definitely not boring,” Buck says, voice almost hushed now. He and Eddie are toe-to-toe now, crowded in each other’s space under the harsh overhead lighting.

“No?” Eddie says playfully, lips going slack, and Buck catches the way his eyes drop down to Buck’s lips, to his throat when he gulps, and he’s so—

“Ahem,” Chris says obnoxiously, still mashing away at the buttons and staring down at his screen.

Buck and Eddie cough awkwardly as they separate, both stepping back to put a valley of space between them. Buck’s fingernails dig into his palms where he’s squeezing them too tight. “You, uh, wanna pick one out for me? Fair’s fair.”

Eddie tuts and laughs, walking up to the display of jackets. “I never said I was picking this one,” Eddie says, and Buck knows it’s a lie. He’ll pick it. Eddie exhales in amusement when his eyes land on the next jacket, and he holds up the neck of it just under Buck’s chin.

It’s a beautiful periwinkle blue, and when Buck eyes himself in the mirror he’s drawn to how it brings out his features— the blue of his eyes, the pink of his lips, the splash of color above his brow.

“Hey, if I’m wearing red,” Eddie teases, grinning up at him, and Buck is lost in the divot of his dimpling cheek. Soft and smooth and perfect for Buck’s thumb.

“Maroon,” he croaks out, accepting the jacket and ducking into the stall with minimal fumbling.

Their brand new suits are hanging up in the closet— maroon for Eddie, periwinkle for Buck, a classy slate and burgundy number for Chris— when Christopher comes out of his room with slow, uneven steps.

“Dad?” Chris says hesitantly, his voice small and unsure. Buck and Eddie whip their heads to him in tandem, and Buck fumbles for the remote when he sees the pinched expression Chris is wearing.

“Hey, buddy, something wrong?” Eddie asks, leaning forward out of the warm cradle of Buck’s arm where it rests against the back of the couch. His body language is already on alert.

“Um, Grandma wants to talk to you,” Chris says quietly, holding his phone out. His mouth bunches up, like he just tasted something sour, and it’s so reminiscent of his father that Buck would smile if he didn’t feel so uneasy. Christopher drops his voice down almost to a whisper and adds, “I was telling her about suit shopping today and— I’m sorry Dad, I thought she knew.”

Buck’s heart sinks into his gut, and when he turns to look at Eddie he can see his face going pale, mouth going slack while he blinks. Eddie takes the phone from Christopher’s outstretched hand, swallowing thickly. “Hey, no, you have nothing to apologize for,” Eddie croaks, eyes glazing over as he stares down at the screen. He stands on slightly unsteady feet, chin still tucked down as he looks at the phone, and mutters, “I’m, uh— I’m gonna take this outside.”

Chris and Buck watch Eddie disappear down to the kitchen and out to the back patio, and the only thing they catch before the screen door slams shut is a dejected, “hey, Mom.”

They sit there in silence for a moment, Buck’s heart racing in his chest, and with a slight wobble Chris says, “he’s gonna hate me.”

“What? Hey, no, of course he doesn’t,” Buck says, jumping up from the couch in a frenzy. He rests a reassuring hand against Christopher’s shoulder, and his chest aches a bit at the guilty expression crumpling up at him. Eddie’s voice starts to rise outside, and despite the words being mostly indecipherable, Buck thinks he catches the word confused. “H-Hey, uh, just wait in your room for a bit, okay? I’ll bring your phone back when he’s done.”

Chris sighs and nods, turning back towards the hallway with a melancholy, “okay.”

Buck watches him leave until the door latches shut behind him, and when he’s alone he deflates with a heaving sigh. He’s not sure what to do with himself— part of him wants to eavesdrop, part of him wants to go sit outside with Eddie and give him a shoulder to lean on, part of him wants to give him as much space as he can. He settles for some twisted amalgamation of all three, puttering around the living room and kitchen and keeping an ear out for anything particularly worrisome. He catches small bits of it— that’s exactly what you said when I was a kid, and, therapy, Mom, I’ve been in therapy for years, and, well, maybe I don’t want you and Dad there.

When the silence lasts long enough to indicate the conversation is over, Buck fills up a glass with ice cold water from the brita and steps out onto the back porch, bracing himself for whatever he’s going to find. Eddie is sitting in one of the patio chairs, hunched over with his knuckles pressed against his eyes, Christopher’s phone face down on the table in front of him.

He slides the glass to Eddie, falling into the chair next to him. Eddie pulls his hands away and picks his head up, and his eyes are dry, but they’re— weary. A lifetime of fatigue.

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, accepting the glass with a grateful nod, scrunching up his lips in misery. He sucks down half of it in one go, leaning back and slumping against the back of the chair. “You hear any of that?”

“Bits and pieces,” Buck says. He doesn’t want to ask something dumb like, how are you, so he just extends his hand out instead, palm up.

Eddie sighs, threading their hands together and squeezing it tight. He looks out at the backyard, jaw clenching and mouth corkscrewing unhappily, thumb rubbing fitful little circles against the back of Buck’s hand.

“Chris okay?” Eddie asks after who knows how long, his voice thick with saliva.

“He feels bad,” Buck replies. “I think he’s worried you’re upset with him.”

Eddie sighs, moving to rub his free hand over his brow. “I should go talk to him,” he mutters, squeezing Buck’s hand again, uncaring of the clammy sweat pooling in their palms. He brings their entwined hands up to his mouth, softly brushing his lips over Buck’s knuckles, meeting his eyes. Eddie doesn’t say it out loud, those three little words, but Buck feels them anyway.

He sits out there for another minute after Eddie leaves, watching the breeze rustle the leaves around in the trees, and when he moves to grab the abandoned glass of water he spots Christopher’s phone. He pockets it, moving hesitantly down the hall where Chris’ door is open, the voices inside hushed. Buck leans against the wall just out of sight and listens.

“I didn’t know it was a secret,” he hears Chris say.

“Hey, look, it’s not,” Eddie reassures. “When I said no more secrets, I meant it. I’m sorry I put you in that position in the first place.”

A beat of silence, and then Chris says, “why hadn’t you told them yet?”

Eddie pauses, and Buck hears the squeak of Christopher’s mattress, like Eddie was shifting restlessly. “I don’t know,” Eddie finally admits, heaving a sigh. “I guess— I was afraid of their reaction.”

“You think they don’t like Buck or something?”

Eddie exhales, tutting. “I think… Buck is the first person in my life that they don’t approve of.” He sighs, then, and adds, “well, they weren’t crazy about your mother, either, but at least she was…”

Chris hums once when Eddie trails off. “A girl?” he offers quietly.

Eddie sniffs drily and clears his throat, and Buck can just picture the unhappy scrunch of his mouth. “Yeah.”

Buck’s heart aches at the way Eddie’s voice goes small. He wants to rush in there and wrap them both up in a bear hug; but he stays put and stays quiet, instead.

“That’s annoying,” Chris says, huffing exasperatedly. “Buck is awesome.”

Eddie laughs at that, thick and wet, and Buck’s face erupts in a grin. “Yeah, he’s the best.”

There’s a few more moments of silence, and Chris says, “it’s… not just about Buck, though, right?”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah. You’re perceptive, kid. It’s also about me. Grandma and Abuelo are… pretty old-fashioned.”

Buck can practically hear Christopher’s eyes roll. “You mean ignorant.”

“That, too,” Eddie mutters. “I think they just… thought of me my whole life as one way, and that perception was wrong, so they’re surprised. That’s all.”

Buck gently knocks the crown of his head into the wall, puffing a frustrated sigh out between his lips. Eddie is a saint; Buck isn’t sure he would be so gracious for the sake of Christopher’s relationship with his grandparents. Thought of me one way, he thinks exasperatedly, when it’s really more like, actively discouraged the authentic version of me.

Chris is a smart kid, though. He’s sure he can read between the lines— if not now, then definitely when he’s older. Age brings with it a certain sense of clarity about family dynamics; moments you look back on and say, oh, well, that explains a lot.

Buck’s had enough of those to last a lifetime.

“That’s not gonna happen to us, right?” Chris says. “I don’t want us to end up like you and Grandma.”

“No way in hell, kiddo,” Eddie says, and then Buck hears the rustle of fabric on fabric, like Eddie is pulling him in for a squeeze. “Trust me, you and I share way more with each other than I ever did with my parents when I was your age.”

“Okay,” Chris laughs. “Can I tell you a secret, then?”

“Always, mijo,” Eddie promises.

“I don’t really like chess that much,” Chris admits. “Abuelo just seemed so happy that I was good at it and I didn’t wanna tell him the truth. I didn’t want him to get mad at me.”

Buck exhales softly in amusement; like father, like son. Eddie’s probably thinking the same thing.

“Do you want to quit?” Eddie says. “It’s okay if you do.”

“No,” Chris says quickly. “It’s boring, but I like being able to hang out with Charlie and Lewis after school. And Mr. Willis is always bringing us snacks and stuff. He doesn’t really… put as much pressure on it.”

Eddie snorts. “You’ve got your priorities straight, I’ll give you that. But promise me that if you ever change your mind, or it gets too stressful, you don’t just stick it out for other people’s happiness. You come first.”

“Okay, Dad,” he says. After a pause, he quietly grumbles, “Also… I think I do like Charlie.” Chris groans when Eddie ‘ooh’s teasingly. Buck smirks, grinning to himself and nodding. “Don’t tell Buck.”

“What?” Eddie scoffs playfully. “Why not?”

“Because he was right about her, and he’ll be so smug about it.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Eddie says, though Buck is willing to bet that Eddie knows he’s been listening in the whole time. “But I bet he’d be happy for you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris groans.

Buck smiles to himself, and he breathes a sigh of relief in the quiet of the sun-warmed house, wiggling his toes against the floorboard beneath his feet.

“I love you, kid,” Eddie says, and Buck can picture the embrace— Christopher’s head tucked into his shoulder, Eddie’s big hand rubbing warm lines up and down his back.

“Love you too, Dad,” Chris says, muffled like he’s talking into Eddie’s shirt.

Buck sneaks away as quietly as he can.

“Hey,” Buck says later in the kitchen, softly pitching his voice down. They’re putting away dinner leftovers— beef chili and corn chips, piled high with shredded cheese and sour cream. Comfort food. “You okay?”

Eddie sighs, snapping the lid to the tupperware shut. “Yeah. Or— I dunno. Really glad I have Frank tomorrow.” He passes the container to Buck where he’s playing Tetris with the contents of the fridge, precariously making room for their leftovers.

“Frank is a miracle worker,” Buck agrees, hip-checking the door shut. Eddie steps into his personal bubble, hands coming up to rub at Buck’s arms— seeking comfort. He’s always initiating physical touch when he really needs it most. “Hey, you know I’m proud of you, right?”

Eddie’s eyes meet his own, and they’re a little— distant, almost. Like he was here, standing in front of Buck, but there was a small part of him that was also very far away. “I know,” Eddie says, sighing heavily. “I know I was avoiding that conversation with her. I guess I was kinda just hoping that…” he trails off, twisting his mouth to the side unhappily and cutting his gaze to the sink.

Buck squeezes his waist. “That she’d finally get the picture?”

Eddie nods, lips pursing and scrunching. “That she wouldn’t act so shocked. Like I’d personally wronged her, somehow, or that I was lying on purpose.”

Buck pulls him in for a tight hug, and the exhale that Eddie lets loose into his neck is shaky at the end. “Let’s go to bed,” Buck suggests, noting the exhausted slump of Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie nods but doesn’t let go, clinging to Buck like he’s savoring the embrace.

Buck wakes up sometime in the night to Eddie’s breath on the back of his neck, arm still clinging to him like he’d never stopped.

Buck calls his parents the next day when he has the house to himself— Eddie was dropping by the Wilson household before his appointment with Frank to retrieve their wedding binder at Karen’s behest. Just a little something I whipped up last weekend, she had said. Just think of it as a checklist to work on!

He really does not want to have this conversation, but he figures he may as well get it over with while they’re already ripping off bandaids. His mom and dad already know about Eddie, at least, but remembering that particular phone call makes his stomach clench up, and that makes him think about the ulcer guy, and—

Yeah. He needs to just get it done.

All things considered, it goes surprisingly well. There are no tears— although Buck’s face grows embarrassingly hot like he might cry— and though her tone is flat at best and disingenuous at worst, his mom never actually says anything along the lines of, this is a mistake. Don’t go through with this. Aren’t you rushing into things? like he’d expected. Mostly she just stammers or sits there quietly, occasionally interjecting with something like, well, if that’s what you want, or, will you be signing a prenup?

Maybe his parents have learned a thing or two, after all— like the fact that their children are not actually required to invite them to their wedding. It will be so great to see you two, she says, and though Buck is certain she means him and Maddie and not him and Eddie, he’ll take the small victories where he can get them.

Eddie comes home in the evening looking like death warmed over, the dark circles under his eyes pronounced. Buck’s eyes widen at the binder in his hands— ‘checklist’ his ass. It’s thicker than the firetruck’s safety manual. “Whoa,” Buck laughs, flipping through the laminated pages. “Did she just print out a Pinterest board, or what?”

Eddie snorts, tired but sincere. “Hen was like, ‘she might’ve gotten a little carried away,’ and then Karen came out of the office with this. I was like, ‘a little?’ There’s four whole pages dedicated to just cake.”

“Oh, speaking of cake, actually, I’ve got a place we need to try first,” Buck says, grinning when Eddie lifts one inquiring eyebrow.

“Welcome to— oh, hey, it’s you guys,” Lana says, poking her head up from behind the cake display. “Thought you’d never show up.” She cranes her head towards the kitchen and yells out, “V! I owe you ten bucks.”

A faint voice from the back replies, we share the same bank account.

The bakery is quaint and brightly-lit, tile floors adorned with checkered zig-zags of eggshell white and indigo. The neon sign behind the counter matches the one out front, a dark backsplash highlighted by flickering red. The space itself is small, less than a dozen tables with half as many occupants, seated in tall, lattice-backed antique chairs carved from oakwood. There’s a crooning, melodic voice drifting from the old-school jukebox resting in the corner.

“Sorry, our shift ran late,” Buck chagrins with a remorseful grimace. His eyes wander to the glass case, sparkling at the array of pastries. Next to the tiered plate of mooncakes, there’s a little card that says, a flavor journey that’s out of this world! The smell wafting from them tells him that they’re still fresh. “Not too late, I hope?”

“It’s never too late for cake, my friend,” she says solemnly, gesturing for them to sit at a nearby table.

They bring out intricately decorated plates of china, each adorned with a different flavor of cake, a toothpick flag protruding with labeled tags. Their small table is soon overcrowded with them, but Lana leaves just enough room to fit in two cappuccinos.

“Can’t have cake without coffee,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron. “Although, I prefer espresso, but it makes me a little… jumpy.”

“Uh, well, thank you,” Buck says, eyes widening at the buffet of cake. His stomach gurgles— not exactly the breakfast he had in mind, but it would do. “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

They dig into the first slice— soft lemon cake with layers of curd and raspberry jam, whipped buttercream fluffed to perfection.

“Mmm,” Eddie moans, tongue darting out to catch a stray glob of lemon curd. “Whoa. Way lighter than I thought it would be.”

“It’s good,” Buck agrees, licking his lips. “Little too sour for me, though, I could only handle a few pieces of that until I got sick of it.”

“A few pieces?” Eddie laughs, eyeing the next plate. “Just how much cake are you planning on eating?”

“Leftovers, obviously,” Buck says, grabbing the chocolate slice to set in front of them. “If we’re spending three hundred dollars on cake, we’re bringing most of it home.”

“We’re spending how much on cake?” Eddie squeaks, eyebrows flying to his hairline. “We could get, like— a dozen Costco cakes with that money.”

Buck opens his mouth to rebut Eddie’s statement before conceding his point with a nod. “Well, hey, we already forked out the money for the taste testing, we might as well consider it.” He goes for the next piece, shoving his fork into his mouth— it’s black forest cake, dark chocolate sponge soaked in brandy, cherry vanilla meringue coated in a thick ganache. Buck groans through his mouthful, throwing his head back and nodding. “Okay, that’s good.”

Eddie hums in agreement, sucking his fork clean. “Might be kind of cruel to Bobby. Thanks for officiating our wedding— you can’t have any of the cake.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Buck huffs. “I hadn’t even thought of that.” His eyes scan the flags before he finds one he knows Eddie will love— brown butter almond cake, with layers of sweet french vanilla mousse and almond buttercream. “Hey, uh, this doesn’t have any real amaretto in it, does it?” he says to a puttering Lana clearing a nearby table.

“Just almond extract,” she says distractedly, stacking one more plate onto her precariously balanced armful.

Buck’s fork hovers at his lips, eyes carefully absorbing Eddie’s reaction instead of trying his own, greedy when he knows Eddie’s not looking. Eddie closes his eyes, savoring the bite, chewing thoughtfully while the sweet nutty flavors melt on his tongue, and Buck barely manages to shove his own piece in to avoid getting caught.

“That might be the best cake I have ever eaten,” Eddie says, eyes sparkling and going for another bite. “Can we get one of those to go?”

Buck cracks a grin, swallowing his mouthful and eyeing the way Eddie’s face lights up at the second bite. “Let’s get it.”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head like Buck said something funny. “Yeah, right. A wedding cake with nuts in it? What about allergies?”

Buck shrugs, looking back at the array of cake slices in front of them. “We can always get a small one in a different flavor for anyone who is allergic.”

“Or we could just get something everyone will like,” Eddie says, emphasizing his words with a dismissive wave of his fork. “Seriously. Just something basic is fine.”

“I don’t want you to settle for basic,” Buck says.

Eddie’s expression goes soft, and he puts his fork down to reassuringly squeeze Buck’s knee. “It’s just cake, Buck.”

“It’s not, though,” Buck quietly says, resting his hand atop Eddie’s and squeezing back. “Remember what you said when we were trying on suits? That you couldn’t wear red?”

Eddie blinks, cheeks flushing as he shrugs. “That’s— I mean, you gotta admit, it’s pretty nontraditional.”

“Who cares?” Buck says, stomach dipping at the way Eddie almost wilts. “Eddie, this wedding is about you and me. If people don’t like it, they can go home.”

“Buck,” Eddie chuckles. “I just… don’t want to stir the pot, that's all.”

“We’re not,” Buck says, straightening his posture and leaning forward. “You said your mom basically planned everything for you last time, right? And that it was miserable.”

“Miserable is a bit harsh. But… yeah, it was kind of boring.”

“So to hell with something boring and traditional,” Buck says. “Let’s be selfish. Let’s make it fun. We can literally do whatever we want, there’s no rule book.”

Eddie’s lips part minutely, watching Buck with a sense of wonder in his eyes. “Frivolous joy, right?” he mutters quietly, like he’s talking to himself, and then he nods and laughs wetly. He taps Buck’s knee with his fingers, three steady thumps like he’s saying those three little words without actually saying them. Buck wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it. “Okay. Screw it. Let’s get an almond wedding cake,” he says, intonation pitched with disbelief. He looks back down at the rest of the cake slices and says, “but, uh… let’s try the rest anyway. Wouldn’t want this perfectly good cake to go to waste.”

Buck grins and gleefully grabs the slice labelled ‘coconut.’

One advantage to working twenty-four hour shifts? The bestowed gift of free time, especially during the quieter hours. There’s a mess of papers on the dining table at the station, the wedding binder spread wide at the center.

“…Sophia will probably bring a plus one, actually,” Eddie says, and Buck marks another tally on his yellow legal pad. “Oh, and Sue’s husband. Duh.”

Buck squints down at the paper in his hands with a pinched expression. “Well, uh, unless Hen and Karen knock the fence down and start building into their neighbors’ yard, there’s no way we’re gonna fit that many people. We’re already up to seventy guests. You have a lot of cousins.”

Eddie softly exhales in amusement, bumping their arms together. It’s warm where their skin melds. “Sorry. The Diazes are gonna outnumber the Buckleys like, three to one.”

“Good,” Buck says sincerely. There’s a big bold question mark next to Eddie’s parents’ names, underlined thrice. “Have you talked to your mom since…?”

Eddie sighs, lower lip pinching where he’s digging his canines into it. “Not yet,” he says. “I will eventually, I just… don’t even want to deal with her right now.”

“We don’t have to invite them, you know,” Buck says. He looks back down at the yellow legal pad in his hands. “I mean, we don’t have to invite any of these people, technically. We could run away to Vegas and get married by one of those Elvis impersonators.”

“You may kiss the groom, a-thank-you-very-much,” Eddie drawls, both of them cracking a grin. “A big wedding will be fun, though. Once we figure out where we’re gonna fit these people.”

“Remember that hotel we were looking at for Chim’s bachelor party?” Buck says. “They’ve got another ballroom for bigger parties at the other end of the building, we could totally get everyone in there. With extra room for a band.”

“A band?” Eddie scoffs. “No way, we should get a DJ. Then we could play literally any song. Limitless potential.”

Buck shakes his head fondly. “Okay, but I draw the line at anything from The B-52’s.”

“Your entire road trip playlist is Green Day and Weezer, don’t even start,” Eddie not-so-quietly sighs, laced with an undercurrent of mockery. His eyes light up with an idea, and he enthusiastically points at Buck and exclaims, “oh! We should totally get a karaoke machine.”

Buck makes a note of it in the binder. His wallet is already hurting.

They manage to snag the larger ballroom, but it’s only six weeks out— it was either that or an entire year out— so Buck goes into planning overdrive.

“Who gave Buckley a clipboard?” Chim’s voice echoes out from the loft, hands resting his weight against the ledge. “This doesn’t seem authorized.”

Buck pointedly ignores him, trailing after Eddie while he completes his chores around the station, eyes glued to the paper in front of him. “Okay, so, the florist said while the dark purple calla lilies would be great centerpieces with the burgundy theme, she’d have to special order them from her supplier, so we’d be spending, like, twice as much. What’s your backup: hydrangeas or gardenias?”

Eddie sighs, scrubbing at the engine’s front bumper on hands and knees, pausing to sit back on his heels and blink blankly up at Buck. “I mean this in the sincerest way possible, but it truly makes zero difference to me. Gun to my head, I could not even pick those flowers out of a lineup. Are you planning on helping at all, by the way?” he adds, gesturing with his dirty rag.

“Eddie, seriously, I told her we’d get back to her by the end of the day. Pick one.”

Eddie shrugs, head bobbing indignantly. “The second one.”

“Gardenias?”

“Sure,” Eddie exhales impatiently, bending forward to resume scrubbing. “Grab a sponge, my back is killing me.”

“Can’t, I gotta go call the caterer and give them the list of food sensitivities,” Buck says distractedly, walking away while he’s still scribbling down notes. He pauses and looks back, jerking his chin at the engine with an impish grin and saying, “you missed a spot.”

Buck shrieks with scandalized laughter when Eddie whips the rag at his back, dodging it by the skin of his teeth.

Eddie nuzzles at the hinge of his jaw, lips dipping down to tease at the ticklish spot just behind his ear.

“Gimme one sec,” Buck says, thumbs still flying over his phone. He’s propped up against the headboard in bed, furiously exchanging emails with the photographer. Obviously he wanted physical copies.

Eddie sighs against his skin, despondently backing off and flopping back onto the mattress. “You said that twenty minutes ago. What’s a guy gotta do to get some action around here?”

Buck signs his email with an emphatic and maybe sarcastic please let me know if there are any other problems, hitting send and throwing his phone to the nightstand. He rubs both hands over his face, scrubbing at his skin before looking over at Eddie where he’s lying prone and frustrated. “Uh, sorry, what?” he says, preoccupied.

Eddie rolls his eyes and hauls him in by the front of his shirt, pressing their lips together decisively as if to make a point. “Feeling a little shunned here.”

“Sorry, man,” Buck huffs, tongue boyishly poking out between his teeth before he dips down to gently nip at Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, and Buck feels that bottomless pit of greed stir up inside him. “Any way I can make it up to you?”

“Other than losing the shorts?” Eddie grins, cocking one salacious eyebrow up. “You could let me take you out this weekend.”

“Yeah?” Buck breathes, moving to straddle Eddie’s hips, pressing one hand against the side of his neck to cradle him. Eddie’s hands restlessly move over Buck’s thighs, tilting his face up to accept Buck’s kiss, letting loose another ragged sigh. A sticky web of saliva connects them when they pull apart with a soft sucking noise, and Buck’s eyes shamelessly track it until it breaks. “Where are you taking me?”

Eddie hums and pulls his lip between his teeth, and the flash of white canines makes Buck feverishly want to duck his head down and lap at them with his tongue. “We can go wherever you want,” he husks, cupping his palms around Buck’s hips and dragging him forward, slotting them together. Buck sighs at the pressure.

“Anywhere I want, huh?” he smirks, hovering over Eddie’s mouth and teasingly backing off when Eddie leans up to close the distance. The guttural noise that builds in Eddie’s sternum is broken by his scandalized laughter.

“You little shit,” Eddie breathes, languidly rolling his hips up. “Thought you were making it up to me.” He playfully nips at Buck’s fingers when he drags them up towards Eddie’s lips, the skin of his cheek scratchy where he hasn’t shaved in a couple days.

“I will,” Buck says, voice thready with the promise of more. “Let’s go out dancing.”

“Why, so you can embarrass yourself?” Eddie teases, smothering his laughter into the pillow when Buck belligerently shoves his cheek into it. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I’ll take you dancing. Just gotta get a few drinks in you first so you’re all loose.” His eyes are hot and dark, pupils blown wide where he’s staring at Buck’s mouth.

“Getting drunk might be dangerous,” Buck rasps, and then, “have you ever been fucked in a bar bathroom?”

“Jesus, Buck,” Eddie breathes, and Buck’s stomach swoops at the way Eddie tenderly shakes his head in amusement. “That how you’re plannin’ on making it up to me?”

“Could be,” Buck murmurs, leaning down to drag his tongue over the hinge of Eddie’s jaw. Their hips are still rolling together, a low-grade spread of heat that makes the small of his back tingle. “Unless you’re too scared.”

“Scared of what,” Eddie says, mouth dropping open to let out soft little pants. “Getting caught?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, decadently lapping at the hollow of Eddie’s throat. “Someone could walk in, see you all red with your dick out. See me getting it all sloppy.”

Eddie tilts them over, pushing Buck flat against the mattress with a heaving grunt. “Someone’s gotta do something about that filthy mouth of yours,” he grumbles, catching Buck’s amused huff with his lips. Buck groans when Eddie’s tongue slips into his mouth, licking hot and wet at the back of his teeth until they’re both dizzy with it.

“You wanna clean it out with soap?” Buck says, words garbled and slightly slurred where Eddie is still trying to feed him his tongue. His grin is practically manic, his breathing going shuddery when Eddie straddles his leg, softly rutting down into the press of his thigh. There’s that greed again— he follows the shape of it with two shameless palmfuls of Eddie’s ass, dragging him down onto Buck’s body with guiding hands.

The buzzing of his phone on the nightstand from his email inbox goes ignored.

@eb191: Getting a little crazy tonight bc SOMEone forgot to throw us a bachelor party

[Image 1: A dimly lit photo of Eddie from the back, hand lifting his drink high in the air where he’s doing tequila shots with a group of strangers.]

[Image 2: A red-eyed flash-enhanced photo of Buck at the bar counter, neon lights behind him washing him out. He’s got a bedazzled cowboy hat secured to his head, and a novelty fishbowl cocktail filled with bright blue curacao and gummy fish, adorned with twin miniature umbrellas.]

@thebrotherschimm: I didn’t forget I simply chose not to burden you with a hangover so close to the wedding

     @madmaddie2: He forgot.

          @thebrotherschimm: Whatever happened to the sacred marital vow of honoring your spouse?

@itsgonab5may!: cute hat 🥰 is it yours

     @eddiebodywantssome: I won it for him in a rousing game of quarters. It was a dead heat.

          @eb191: It was like 8 to 1 and they gave up to go throw up in the bathroom

@drkwilson: We’ll throw you a real rager after the wedding. Your first mistake was asking a straight man!! (But we forgive you 😂)

@RobertNash1004890200: Drink plenty of water

They stumble into their Uber just past two in the morning, faces still flushed red from the alcohol and giggling incoherently.

“Alfred, to The Batcave!” Eddie slurs, slamming the door shut decisively. He grabs Buck by the chin with clumsy hands and adds, “and roll up the partition, I wan’ to kiss my hubby.”

“This is a Volvo,” Buck mumbles, cheeks squished between the iron grip of Eddie’s fingers. He makes sure to leave their driver five stars and an extra large tip.

Less than a month out from their wedding, they get a truly disastrous call at work.

It starts off as nothing out of the ordinary; a concerned neighbor out walking his dog smelled gasoline and hurried down the block, helpfully calling 911 and apologizing the entire time.

“If this turns out to be nothing, I’m really sorry,” he’d said to dispatch, hemming and hawing on the line. “I tried calling Bill but it’s going straight to voicemail.”

“Does anybody else live in the house?” Maddie says, fingernails audibly typing away at her computer, the 118 listening in over their headsets.

“He’s got a kid, but only part time. I think he’s divorced? He keeps to himself, mostly. Sorry, I know that doesn’t help. It doesn’t look like anybody is home, though.”

“Every piece of information helps,” Maddie assures politely. She mutes their call and says, “118, I’m getting one other report of a noxious smell coming from that block. You might want to hurry.”

“Copy that,” Bobby says, and he turns around in his seat to face the rest of the team with an assured expression when the sirens turn on. “You know the drill, people. Dispatch says this is a two-story house with a basement. Chim, Hen, Eddie, I want you to each take a floor and scour for anybody on the property who may be unconscious from fumes. Better safe than sorry. Buck, Ravi, I want you to make a beeline for that gas line and shut it off ASAP.”

“Aye aye, Cap,” they chorus.

There’s a small group of onlookers when they arrive, one that grows bigger as nosy neighbors poke their heads out to see what all the commotion is about. The 118 file out of the engine uniformly, and Buck eagerly grabs the battering ram, waiting patiently on bouncing heels while Bobby knocks loudly.

“LAFD, we’ve received several calls about a potential gas leak. Open the door now or we will force our way inside.”

They get no response, so everybody makes a hole for Buck as he swings the ram into position, clobbering the door open on the second try. The smell was obvious as soon as they stepped onto the street, but it’s thicker the deeper they go into the house, potent and nose-wrinkling.

“All clear upstairs,” Chimney says over the radio.

“Basement’s clear, too,” Eddie chimes in.

Buck and Ravi search the backyard for the main gas valve, but they come up short. Buck’s brows knit together in confusion, and he thumbs his radio and says, “hey, uh, Eddie? Any sign of a valve in the basement?”

“No valve, just a couple of dusty old freezers,” Eddie responds.

“Maybe we should go grab the cable locator,” Ravi suggests, turning to head back inside, and Buck frowns and looks at the backyard. Something’s not right here—

He notices a patch of land in the backyard where the grass is more sparse, tiny sprouts that spring up instead of the thick blades that decorate the rest of the yard. His eyes widen, and he slaps the radio button and hurriedly says, “Cap, it’s a propane tank. It’s buried in the yard.”

“Are you sure?” Bobby replies.

“I’m looking at the turned up patch of dirt right now,” Buck says. “The smell— it must be leaking.”

“Everybody out of the house right now,” Bobby yells, authoritative but no less panicked, and Buck breaks into a jog to rejoin the rest of the team out on the front curb. He does a mental headcount, eyes searching for Eddie first, and relaxes when everyone is accounted for. “We need to evacuate the whole block,” Bobby says grimly, jaw clenching when the team stares at him blankly. “Now!”

They all scatter, hustling to the nearby houses and knocking impatiently, explaining the situation to wide-eyed neighbors. They move the group of onlookers farther down the street, assuring them that everything will be fine, the potential carnage all on the back of their minds. If the smell is already this bad, and by Buck’s estimate the tank has gotta be at least five hundred gallons…

Well. He would not want to be caught in the blast radius with all that pressurized air building up.

Buck and Hen are still insistently inching the crowd back when a civilian truck speeds past the emergency vehicles and pulls into the driveway, cutting the engine. A gruff-looking man swings out of the driver’s seat, denim on denim with a grubby looking flannel in between. A young boy exits the passenger side— maybe eleven or twelve, Buck is guessing.

“Someone mind tellin’ me what the hell is going on?” the guy demands, voice pitched up angrily as he looks at the shredded remains of his front door. “The fuck you do to my house?”

“Sir,” Bobby says placatingly, hold one hand up to hover over the guy’s chest. “We got a couple calls from concerned citizens about a potential gas leak and came to investigate. Nobody was home so we had to use extreme measures to get inside. We think your propane tank might have a leak in the line somewhere.”

“The hell it does, I just replaced that sumbitch,” the guy drawls— Bill, Buck thinks his name was. He rudely gestures towards the house. “Cost me 2500 bucks.”

“Sir, just try to remain calm. We need you to stay out here until we’ve secured the area.”

“Oh, first you destroy my property, now I can’t even enter my own damn house? My tax dollars hard at work,” he spits, pushing forward into the steady wall of Bobby’s hand. “Get your hands off of me. Junior, get in the house and check the safe. Wanna make sure these greedy sons of bitches didn’t help themselves to my stuff, too.”

“Sir, you need to back up,” Bobby warns, eyes glinting dangerously. To the kid, he says, “son, do not go into that house.”

The kid wrings his hands together nervously, looking back and forth between Bobby and his father. He looks pale. Small for his age. Bill says, “don’t tell my boy what to do. Son, get inside now.”

The kid hurries inside despite Bobby’s protests, and Buck and Hen break off from the crowd to rejoin Chim and Eddie where they’re making their way back from down the street. “What’s going on?” Chim says.

“Kid!” Bobby yells over his shoulder towards the house, grunting with frustration. “Someone go grab that kid right now. Force him if you have to.”

“Don’t touch my son,” Bill warns, and Buck’s hackles rise at the icy tone the guy’s using. He and Eddie move forward instinctively, bodies primed for danger.

“I’ll talk to him,” Bobby says gently, raising his eyebrows as if to say, are these conditions amenable? “I won’t put a hand on him unless absolutely necessary. This is for his own safety.”

Bobby turns and starts confidently striding towards the house, and Buck is too busy worriedly watching him leave to notice Bill reaching for his waistband.

“He’s got a gun!” Chim cries out, and time moves in slow-motion around him, blood rushing in his ears to drown out all the noise. Buck lunges forward at the same time Eddie does, ducked down into an offensive tackle position, and Bill has barely cocked the trigger when they both slam into him, knocking him to the ground and causing his pistol to go flying.

The crowd of onlookers gasp, some fleeing, some yelling out startled cries. Eddie grunts when the guy thrashes and flails, catching an elbow to the gut, but he manages to pin his hand down to stop it from reaching for the weapon. “Little help here,” he hisses, and Buck twists his leg securely around the guy's calves, holding him down with the weight of his body.

Chim scrambles for the gun, unarming it and taking out the clip, spilling bullets onto the ground. “Jesus,” he breathes, sagging in relief. “You’ve got a gas leak, genius. You know what a spark from a gun could’ve caused? You almost turned us all into paste, man.”

“Get offa me!” Bill spits, sputtering through the dirt in his mouth.

The air, for one lingering moment, feels stagnant. The calm before the storm. And then, with a deafening, ear-shattering boom, the foundation of the porch explodes outwards, showering Buck’s face in an oppressive wall of heat and splinters.

He ducks down instinctively, shielding himself and Bill from the blast. Eddie does the same, hunching down and tucking his face away, holding onto Buck’s arm with a death grip. It’s only a handful of seconds, in reality, but it feels like eons, bracing himself and praying for it to end.

When it’s finally over, Buck hesitantly picks his head up to survey the damage. The house is— Jesus, it’s gone, wood scattered all over the front lawn and into the street like a hurricane passed through. Insulation falls all around them like ash, scraps of flaming fabric burning up into the atmosphere. He looks to his friends— Hen, Chim, flat on their backs where they were blasted back, scalp lacerations bleeding sluggishly and staining the pavement red. Bobby is—

Bobby.

“Cap,” Buck says, voice hoarse and weak, scrambling to get upright. He’s disoriented, smoke and dust making him lightheaded, but he fights through it to weakly yell out, “Cap!” again.

The house. Bobby was inside. Bobby was— he was with the kid.

Buck gets to his feet after a struggle, tripping over himself as he throws his body towards the house, desperation fueling his limbs and carrying his inertia. He drowns out the way Eddie calls after him, pushing through the front door— or whatever used to be the front door— to frantically shift his eyes around the mess piled up. Ash and broken wood and piles of splintered porcelain, glass shards, busted pipes that used to line the walls now dangling precariously and spilling water everywhere. “Cap,” he cries, shoving away debris with wild, unhinged eyes. “Cap, can you hear me? I’m here, just— just call out and I’ll find you.”

He kicks at the mess with blurred vision, overwhelmed and uncoordinated. His throat feels tight and hot and achy, and it won’t let him catch his breath, sucking down shuddering gulps of air that cut into his chest like razor blades. He sinks down to his knees and starts sweeping junk away with huge swipes of his arm, fighting the blubbering cry that works its way up his spine.

“Buck,” someone says behind him, and oh, there’s Hen, she’s looking at him with pity-soaked eyes and gentle concern etched into her brows. “Buck, slow down, you’re bleeding.”

She touches one gloved hand to his temple, a delicate whisper against bleeding, swollen flesh where a bit of debris has lodged itself into his face. He hadn’t even noticed. “Cap,” he says to her, swallowing against the dry cotton lodged in his mouth. “Cap, h-he’s— he’s trapped in here somewhere, we gotta find him, we—”

“Buck,” Eddie says, gutted, rushing in behind Hen to get a closer look at him. His chocolate doe eyes are wide, bright-wet and vulnerable. “Sweetheart, you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Buck insists. “Please, guys, just help me find Bobby.”

Ravi and Chim hover in the doorway, taking in the clutter with stunned expressions, and then everybody moves in a sudden flurry to their own corner, digging and kicking and calling out for Bobby.

Ravi makes it to the back of the hallway— what used to be the bedroom, Buck thinks— when he calls out, “guys, over here!”

Buck hurdles himself over debris to get there first, eyes lighting up at the shock of reflective neon from Bobby’s turnouts. He helps Ravi clear everything away, and when they’re done they find an unconscious Bobby and the scared, trembling kid he’d protected with his body. Hen, Chim, and Eddie squeeze in the claustrophobic space to kneel at their heads.

“Is he breathing?” Buck asks, separating the two and getting Bobby flat on his back. He rips his gloves off with his teeth, holding his ear to Bobby’s mouth while he checks for a pulse at his wrist. The kid coughs and gasps when Chimney rubs at his sternum, curling away while his body heaves.

“Attaboy,” Chim sighs in relief, making eye contact with Ravi and jerking his head towards the door. “Go get a gurney, move!” he barks, eyes crazed and wide.

Buck picks his head up, paling at the sight of Bobby’s unmoving chest. “He’s not breathing,” he says, the pulse weak where he’s got his fingers jammed up against his radial artery.

“C’mon, Bobby, come on,” Hen whispers, struggling with her med kit to get the ambu bag. She secures the mouthpiece while Eddie starts squeezing the bag rhythmically, forcing oxygen into Cap’s lungs. “Don’t give up yet, Bobby, I know you’ve still got some fight in you.”

Buck watches helplessly, limbs going numb as Hen and Chim wrestle the coat off of Bobby and swab at his arm to insert an IV. “Point five of epi,” Eddie says, and Chim frustratedly yells out, “where’s my gurney?!” and Hen cries, “we’re losing his pulse,” and Buck feels numb and scared and empty inside.

“Come on, Cap,” Buck whispers, breath barely leaving his lips. “Don’t go.”

His vision swims as his eyelashes flutter, sinking back onto his heels, the whining charge of the AED ringing hollow in his ears.

Buck is drooling on his fist when he’s awoken by the sound of fabric shifting.

He’s got his elbow propped up on the arm of his dinky plastic chair, and he picks his head up off of his fist with a startled intake of air, straightening his spine and leaning forward. “Bobby…?”

Bobby blinks awake, squinting against the harsh lights of the hospital room. His eyes settle on Buck, and he’s struck by how frail Cap looks like this, pale and hooked up to machines and washed out by the wretched hospital lighting. “Hey, kid,” Bobby croaks, coughing to clear his throat. It’s probably sore from being intubated, an unceasing tickle in the back of his throat that Buck is all too familiar with.

“Bobby,” he breathes in relief, reaching one hand out to squeeze his wrist where it lies limp on the bed. “Thank god you’re alright.”

“I miss anything?” Bobby teases weakly, a wan smile lifting the corners of his dry mouth.

Buck huffs out a laugh, grin stretching wide over his teeth. “Oh, you know. A minor explosion, some epinephrine, paddles on your chest.”

“Nothing out of the usual, then,” Bobby says, and then picks his other arm up to rub at his sternum. “Explains why it feels like an elephant’s sitting on my chest.”

Athena walks in then with two cups of cafeteria coffee, and the first words out of her mouth at the sight of her alert husband are, “Oh, baby, there you are.” She settles the coffee down on the table and rushes over to the other side of the bed, holding Bobby’s face in her manicured hands. “No more heroic measures from you for at least a year, you hear me? I want twelve solid months of peace, Bobby. I mean that.”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” Bobby teases, crows feet wrinkling with the effort of his smile, accepting the chaste kiss she presses onto his lips. “So the kid’s okay?” he asks, looking between the two of them.

“Oh, I-I’m fine,” Buck assures, touching the edges of the bandage currently taped to his forehead. “Just a minor laceration. Should heal up in no time flat.”

“I meant the child,” Bobby deadpans, and Buck’s mouth drops open awkwardly.

“Oh, uh, right,” he chuckles bashfully, wetting his lips. “Yeah, the kid’s fine, he’s with his mom. Dad is, uh… currently secured to his own hospital bed.”

“With my cuffs,” Athena scoffs. “Pulling a gun on a captain of the Los Angeles fire department… his sorry ass is gonna wish he’d saved that propane money for a good lawyer.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Bobby says, smiling fondly up at her.

Buck gets up to give them a few minutes alone under the guise of grabbing everyone from the waiting room. Well, he does eventually do that— but he loiters around the corner first, carefully examining every drink in the vending machine while he not-so-subtly glances through the glass windows of the hospital room, eyeing the hushed murmurs Athena and Bobby share. Athena won’t stop touching him, caressing his hair and his cheek and pressing their foreheads together. They’ve only been married for six years, but— they come together like old souls, a lifetime of wanting in both of their eyes. His heart aches for Eddie’s, right now.

He walks into the waiting room with his meticulously chosen blue Powerade, breathes out, “he’s awake,” when everyone looks up at him expectantly. They all sigh in relief, hugging whoever’s closest, and Eddie pulls him in extra tight when he stands to embrace Buck.

They all crowd into Bobby’s room— uh, excuse me, there’s a two visitor maximum policy, the rookie night shift nurse had squawked out— and Buck stands back and grins as everybody takes their turn to embrace Bobby in their own way. A relieved hug, a pat on the leg, a squeeze of his hand. They’ve gotten too good at this, too practiced at holding their breath until they can finally deflate and exhale. Everyone is smiling, but exhaustion weaves itself in thick layers just under the surface.

Buck lingers behind when everyone minus Athena begins to make their way home. With his mouth, Eddie says, I’ll go get the truck. Meet you out front? and bumps his fist to Buck’s shoulder, but the look in his eyes says: take all the time you need.

Athena wanders down the hall to the bathroom, her own obvious twinkle in her eye, and Buck clears his throat awkwardly where he stands at the foot of Bobby’s bed.

“You okay, Buck?” Bobby asks, and Buck can’t help but laugh. Of course Bobby is asking him if he’s okay.

“Still a little shaken up,” Buck answers honestly. He swallows against the lump that manifests in his throat, suddenly tight, and says, “I really thought we lost you there for a second.”

“I’m gonna be just fine, Buck,” Bobby assures.

“Yeah, I-I know,” Buck says, exhaling with a tired smile. He grips the foot of the bed with both hands. “I just… don’t know what I’d do if something ever happened to you.”

Bobby hums quietly, and Buck certainly isn’t expecting him to quietly say, “you know, Buck, I won’t be around forever.”

Buck’s heart leaps into his throat. After a tense pause, he says, “are… you dying? Oh my god. What is it? Cancer?”

“What?” Bobby laughs, squinting with a baffled little tilt of his head. “No, I’m not dying. I just meant that I’m not always gonna be your captain. I’m almost sixty, you know.”

“Oh,” Buck says, bringing one hand up to scratch nervously at his stubble. “Right. I knew that.” He frowns, then, processing Bobby’s words. “Wait, are you saying you’re gonna retire?”

Bobby shrugs. “I mean, one day. Hopefully,” he grumbles. “I can’t keep doing this forever. And you’re all gonna have to learn how to operate as a team without me.”

“I know,” Buck says. “But, I mean… even if you’re not our captain, you’ll always be… our Bobby.”

Bobby’s expression melts fondly. “Same here, kid,” he smiles.

There’s a firm knock at the door, and they both turn in surprise to look at their new guest. “Uh, Chief Simpson,” Buck says, gulping nervously.

“Chief,” Bobby acknowledges with a solemn nod.

“Captain Nash,” Simpson says, nodding back. “Glad to see you’re still standing. Metaphorically.”

Bobby tuts out a laugh, gesturing to Buck. “I probably wouldn’t be if it weren’t for the brave men and women at the 118.”

“That’s some team you’ve got there,” Simpson says, extending his hand for Buck to shake. He takes it with an awestruck expression, eyes shifting back and forth between him and Bobby. “Firefighter Buckley, is it? I saw your resumé show up on my desk a few weeks ago.”

“Uh, yes sir,” Buck nods, still shaking his hand. He drops it in surprise, wiping his clammy palm on his sweatshirt. “I saw that the 133 needed a position filled.”

“You’re unhappy at the 118?” Simpson asks, a frown marring his stoic features.

“No, sir, not at all,” Buck says. “If I could stay there for the rest of my career, I would. It’s just… policy requires me to leave because I’m getting married.”

“Is that so,” Simpson utters, recognition smoothing out his expression.

“Chief, with all due respect,” Bobby starts, holding his hands up defensively. “The 118 is the best damn team you could ask for. They’re the reason everybody walked away from that scene alive today. If you ask me, separating them because of one little rule is the biggest mistake you could ever make.”

“It’s LAFD policy,” Simpson says, clasping his hands diplomatically in front of him. “We don’t allow family of any kind to work together— spouses, siblings, even cousins. A first responder’s duty and responsibility is always to that of the patient.”

“Trust me, they’re well aware of that,” Bobby says. “They’ve been through more in the last decade than you’ve probably seen your entire career. And I have never seen them compromise a patient’s wellbeing to prioritize one of their own. They do this job, and they do it damn well. It’s a matter of efficiency.”

“Efficiency,” Simpson parrots. He pauses, taking in a slow, conscious breath and shifting his serious eyes between the two of them. He’s still the absolute picture of professionalism. “Well, far be it from me to compromise efficiency.”

Buck perks up, doing a double-take where his eyes were wandering towards the wall. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Simpson says to Buck, and then he strides forward to clasp Bobby’s hand. “Excellent work today, Captain. Your city thanks you.”

Bobby shakes his hand back, nodding, and he simply says, “it’s my job.”

Five days into Bobby’s mandatory bedrest, he calls Buck’s cell phone at work and requests he be put on speakerphone.

“I just got off the phone with Chief Simpson,” he says, and everybody holds their breath.

“And?” Buck says. Chim and Hen glance at each other nervously. Ravi wrings his hands together, eyes staring unflinchingly at the table. Eddie grips his forearm hard enough to bruise.

“And you two can both stay on A-shift,” Bobby announces, the smile evident in his voice, and Buck breathes a sigh of relief and wraps his arms around his team. 

He doesn’t plan on ever letting go.

Normally they’d go out to the bar to celebrate, but they’re down a man, so they bring the celebration to Bobby, instead. They pile into his living room with tapas and soft drinks and giddy grins stretched a mile wide, gingerly pulling him into joyous hugs. He’s still healing, and Athena sucks in exaggerated breaths every time Buck smacks his arm in fits of gleeful laughter, cringing and grabbing Bobby’s shoulders.

“Be delicate with him, please, lord knows I don’t need him falling apart on me again,” she says.

“Please, I’m fine,” Bobby dismisses. “I’m making it to that wedding, I promise you. No more vows in hospital rooms.”

“Yeah, or else you’d really be copying me,” Chim asserts. “You don’t have ‘Islands in the Stream’ on your wedding playlist, do you?”

“Definitely not,” Buck says, thinking of the songs that are on there: ‘Somebody to Love,’ ‘What I Like About You,’ ‘Free Bird.’ Buck even threw ‘Quiche Lorraine’ in there despite the blistering, screaming protest of every bone in his body, knowing that the look of joy on Eddie’s face will be worth it. It’ll always be worth it.

[Karen 10:47]

Church just asked me who was walking down the aisle— LOL!

[Buck 10:52]

Lol what’d you tell them?

[Karen 10:53]

I asked if they had any younger clergy I could talk to.

[Buck 10:53]

Haha. And?

[Karen 10:54]

A very nice young man named Brian apologized profusely for the way they worded it

[Karen 10:55]

And then asked what we had in mind.

[Buck 10:58]

We’re gonna walk together I think 😚

[Karen 11:00]

Damn straight you are!

[Karen 11:00]

It’s 2025! None of this trading Eddie for cattle and expensive oils misogynistic crap!

[Buck 11:03]

Amen

[Buck 11:04]

They could at LEAST throw in some silk too

Two weeks before the wedding, the three of them get invited over to Pepa’s for dinner. Their schedule is beyond packed, every second not at work or sleeping spent returning phone calls and emails and racing through L.A. traffic to make it to appointments. There’s just so much to keep track of; seating charts, transportation, getting the marriage license. Shit, Buck hasn’t even finished writing his vows yet. (Has barely started, if he’s being honest.)

Buck certainly wasn’t expecting Eddie’s parents to be there.

Eddie wasn’t, either, based on the way he freezes up where he’s embracing his aunt, smile falling at the sight of them sheepishly coming around the corner. “Mom, Dad,” he utters, his voice small and almost scared, and Buck’s body moves on autopilot, stepping between them and Christopher. Eddie is always teasing him about stuff like this, how he puffs out his chest like a guard dog and snaps at anybody who threatens trouble, but he can’t help it— he feels protective of his family. And Eddie’s parents have a habit of showing up uninvited and screwing everything up.

“Edmundo, Christopher,” they both greet, stepping forward to exchange hugs, and Buck watches warily from the sidelines, ready to step in and defend them at a moment’s notice. He’s not letting them take anything from Eddie ever again.

Eddie’s lips purse unhappily, eyes darting around nervously, and he says, “Chris, why don’t you go help Pepa set the table,” with a grim expression.

Chris and Pepa leave the room with grateful expressions, and when it’s just the four of them Eddie’s hands cross over his chest protectively. “What are you doing here?” he says, quiet but no less annoyed.

“You haven’t been returning any of our calls,” Ramon says. Buck notices the way Eddie’s chest is sucking in shallow breaths, and he moves closer, resting one comforting hand on his shoulder.

“This isn’t an ambush, Eddie,” Helena says, her expression pleading. “We just want to talk to you. You’re our son.”

“You sure had a lot to say last time we talked,” Eddie bites out, and Buck rubs his thumb into his shoulder. He wants to snap at them so badly, but he swallows down the urge and stays silent, instead, a sturdy life raft for Eddie.

“I’m sorry,” Helena says, and Eddie’s forehead wrinkles up with doubt and shock. “I mean— you took me by surprise, Eddie, you took both of us by surprise. We had no idea.”

“That’s crap,” Eddie mutters, hands nervously wringing his own biceps. “You knew. Deep down, both of you knew.”

“Edmundo, please,” his father says, holding his hands up placatingly. “We didn’t come here to argue.”

“What did you come here for, then?” Buck says, unable to resist cutting in. They both startle, like they’d forgotten he was there, looking at him blankly.

Helena swallows thickly, turning back to face her son. “We love you, Eddie, and we love Christopher, no matter what. We might not understand this, but… we want to try.”

“If this is truly what makes you happy, son, then we want to see it with our own eyes,” Ramon adds.

Eddie twitches, lungs hitching where he sucks in a shaky breath, and Buck squeezes his shoulder to keep him grounded.

“Will you let us come to the wedding?” Helena asks, brown eyes wide and vulnerable and the spitting image of Eddie. Buck is almost insulted on Eddie’s behalf— how dare they even ask?— but he also knows Eddie. Knows that despite everything, he hates to make his mother cry. Doesn’t mind getting in a few jabs where he can, but never, ever wants to be the source of her misery. Of anyone’s misery. To his core, Eddie is a healer— body, mind, and soul.

Eddie’s throat bobs, and he exhales softly, craning his neck to look at Buck. His eyes are a bit shiny. Buck gives him a small smile, and he hopes to god it conveys what he’s thinking: I’ve got your back.

“…Okay,” Eddie concedes, turning back to his parents. “For Christopher’s sake.”

Helena and Ramon step into Eddie’s space to wrap him in an embrace, smiling gratefully, and there’s something about it that makes Eddie look so— small. Devastatingly young. Buck feels a bit like an outsider looking in, but then Eddie steps back to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, putting one warm hand at the center of his back. It reminds him that they’re a united front. That despite everything, at the end of the day— Buck is the one who gets to keep him. And Eddie’s parents are the ones who have to beg for a place in his life.

Buck? Buck gets to share in it as equals. For the rest of their lives.

“I know you guys have met, but,” Eddie starts, eyes locked to Buck’s, and he gets lost in the love he finds there— scared, and full of trepidation, but no less real. For just a moment, Buck thinks about that fateful night, months ago— Eddie’s rope snapping, plummeting, second nature for Buck to catch him before he falls. Instinct for him to grab on tightly and never let go. Eddie is dangling on the ledge now, feet kicking out wildly below him, but Buck’s got him. He’s always got him. “This is Buck.”

Ramon holds out one strong hand, and Buck tears his eyes away from Eddie’s to grasp it firmly. “It’s nice to properly meet you, Buck,” he says.

Buck blinks and nods, a hesitant smile stretching across his face. “Yeah. You, too.”

He’s anxiously chewing his eraser down to a nub at the kitchen table when Eddie comes up behind him, hands falling to his shoulders to rub the tension out of them.

“Thought there was an earthquake, but I think it’s your leg,” Eddie jests, digging his thumbs into tight muscle. Buck hisses at the pressure and then sags, mouth going slack while Eddie rubs out the knots. He hadn’t even noticed how tense he was.

“I tried stopping, but then it just felt wrong. Like… breathing manually, or something,” Buck says. He leans back with a sigh, closing his eyes, dropping his pencil to lay on top of his half-written vows. “Did you snag an appointment at the county clerk’s office?”

“They can squeeze us in at eight a.m. tomorrow,” Eddie says, irritation clipping his tone. “Who needs sleep on their day off anyway, right?”

Buck grumbles, tilting his head all the way back and opening his eyes to meet Eddie’s. “I didn’t realize getting a marriage certificate would be such a pain in the ass.”

“Marriage license,” Eddie corrects. “Then Bobby has to submit the signed license and then we wait for our copy of the certificate in the mail.”

“Oy vey,” Buck complains, scrunching his nose up. “And then we have to go back if we wanna change our names? Bureaucracy is such a pain in the ass.” He pauses, blinking awkwardly while Eddie grins and raises his eyebrows. “Where, uh, where exactly did we land on that, by the way?”

“Why? You want my name, Buckley?” Eddie asks, cheeks flushed with glee. He looks smug, annoyingly pleased with himself. Happiness has never looked better on him.

“Buckley-Diaz has a nice ring to it,” he says, reaching one hand up to cup the back of Eddie’s head when he leans down to indulgently press their lips together. “Could get it printed on our turnouts,” he mumbles against Eddie’s mouth.

“But the budget’s already stretched so thin,” Eddie teases. He jerks his head at the yellow legal pad on the table. “Still struggling?”

Buck grimaces, picking his head back up to sit straight. “Ah, yeah, sort of,” he laments. “My first draft was just… seriously way too corny.”

“You love being corny,” Eddie says, grinning and ruffling his hair as he strides over to the fridge. He pulls out a jug of iced tea, and the condensation runs down it in rivulets, the promise of something cool and sweet and refreshing. Saliva floods his dry mouth, but Eddie opens the cabinet and pulls out two glasses before Buck even has to ask.

“I know, but then I remember that it’s gonna be witnessed by our parents and our sisters and Christopher’s friends and— ugh,” he groans. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Eddie puts the jug he’d pulled out onto the counter, moisture no doubt already leaving a ring of wetness against the granite. He levels him with an affectionate expression. “Buck,” he huffs, grinning and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve spent basically my entire adult life hiding. I’d rather suffer a little embarrassment in front of everybody we love than make you think for one second that I’m ashamed of you. Much less of how you feel about me.” He circles back around to Buck’s chair and cradles his face, dreamily smiling down at him. “Be as corny as you want.”

“Okay,” Buck breathes, closing his eyes to savor the kiss Eddie presses to his birthmark. “One corn, coming right up.”

“Bet I can be cornier,” Eddie dares with a taunting eyebrow, cheek dimpling as he hands Buck a tall glass of tea.

“Last shift before the big day,” Chimney crows when Buck and Eddie stroll into the locker room, clapping his hands and rubbing them together mischievously. Hen teasingly whoops and cackles. “You guys tearing your hair out yet?”

“Hair is intact,” Eddie says, shrugging off his jacket and stuffing it into their shared locker. “But I’m pretty sure Buck has chewed his fingernails down to the bone.”

Buck sighs dejectedly. “I’m trying to quit, I swear.”

“Leave that ring finger alone,” Hen says, pointing at him and tilting her head. “Karen picked up your rings last night and she’d be gutted if they didn’t fit. Surprised you didn’t have them engraved.”

“You can do that?” Eddie asks. He looks to the middle distance, pursing his lips in consideration. “Would elvish be too dorky?”

“Yes,” Buck affirms, before tilting his head in acknowledgement. “But it would also be awesome.” They share matching grins, and Chimney loudly and obnoxiously pops his gum.

“You two are going to be even more insufferable, huh,” he says, notching his hands to his hips, but he can’t quite hide the bright amusement in his eyes. “No canoodling,” he adds seriously.

“Yes, Captain,” Buck and Eddie echo.

“Interim Captain,” Chimney corrects. “And speaking of which, I am definitely not qualified to make the kind of breakfast spread Bobby does, so… I order everybody to come to a unanimous decision on takeout.”

“You order us?” Hen says with an amused scoff, brows raised high above her glasses.

“Would you prefer command?” Chimney says blithely, striding out of the locker room with a smug expression. “How about decree?” he calls out when he’s halfway to the stairs.

“He’s gone mad with power,” Eddie laments, shaking his head. “We better not be reenacting the red wedding on Saturday.” Hen and Eddie turn to pointedly look at Buck after a beat of silence, each with one expectant eyebrow cocked.

“I know what Game of Thrones is, I’m not that out of touch,” Buck huffs, affronted.

“Just checking,” Eddie teases, before playfully pinching at his waist and practically skipping towards the stairs. Buck watches him take them two at a time until he disappears from sight, and his face and neck flush violently red when he turns to see that he’s been caught, Hen smiling and shaking her head in amusement.

“Uh,” Buck stammers, laughing nervously.

Hen rolls her eyes fondly. “I’m happy for you, Buck,” she says sincerely, moving towards the door. “But seriously, no canoodling on shift.” She passes Ravi on her way out, who screws his face up in confusion.

“Who still says ‘canoodling’?” Ravi calls after her.

Their last call of the night is to a grease fire at a fast food joint. They manage to get the flames smothered before the entire restaurant burns down, and aside from a mildly traumatized trainee with missing eyebrows, nobody is severely injured. It’s sweaty work, though, and Buck has soaked through his uniform by the time they finally step back out into the cool air, the sun setting in the distance. He takes a moment to appreciate it while he runs a hand through his curls, basking in the soft orange rays. Eddie is still inside, but Buck knows he would love this one.

“Hey,” someone says next to him, and Buck turns to follow the voice. It’s a girl, maybe mid-twenties, at least a foot shorter than him and bashfully gazing up at him. He notices her friends not-so-secretly eavesdropping a few yards away. “You guys were really brave in there. I think what you do is really cool.”

“Uh, thanks,” Buck says awkwardly, giving her a small smile. “You, uh, ever think about becoming a firefighter? It’s the best job in the world.”

“Me?” she says, eyebrows raising incredulously and pointing to her chest. “Oh, no, I could never. I wasn’t—” she cuts herself off, glancing over her shoulder to look helplessly to her friends. They encourage her with a shoo of their hands. “Can I buy you a drink? My friends and I are going out tonight. You could join us. Maybe… bring some of your friends, if you want.”

“Oh,” Buck laughs, shaking his head ruefully. “That’s sweet but, no, thank you.”

She hums, trying to hide her disappointment. “Girlfriend?”

Buck huffs out another chuckle, ducking his head bashfully. “No, I’m, uh— I’m actually getting married on Saturday.”

“Oh, wow,” she laughs breathlessly, cheeks pinking up in embarrassment. “Of course. Figured I’d shoot my shot.” She starts to leave before partially turning her body back, lip caught between her teeth. “Lucky girl.”

Buck awkwardly scratches at his stubble while she runs back to her friends, his chest fuzzy with static and sunshine. When he turns to look for Eddie through the glass walls of the restaurant he finds him already looking back, his expression soft and dreamy and positively beatific.

“Yeah,” Buck says softly to himself. “Me, too.”

Buck is pulled from his slumber gently, eased awake into his body behind still-closed lids. He basks in his drowsiness, still chasing the remnants of his dream, the memories of it slipping away like water overflowing from cupped hands. He tries to follow it, warm and comfortable and groggy, and it’s not until he registers a wet suckling sound that he realizes how badly his cock is aching. The warmth is all over his body, but it’s hottest where it burns right behind his navel, soothed by a big hand pressing into his skin. Buck moans brokenly, shifting his hips up to mindlessly chase the heat, lungs hitching when he realizes he’s buried in a mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, words slurred where he’s still half-asleep. His brows knit together at the sensation, mouth dropping open when the wet mouth gets even tighter, sunken-in cheeks dragging along his cock. “Eddie,” he groans, stomach cramping when the mouth pulls off with an obscene slurp.

“Morning,” Eddie rasps, his voice husky with misuse. His mouth is still resting against Buck’s cock, and he smears a kiss just under the tip, soft lips pillowing over the sensitive cockhead. Precome bubbles up out of it, messy where he’s already wet with spit. Buck whines, clumsily patting one hand down to rest in Eddie’s hair. “You were tenting your boxers and I just couldn’t help myself.”

Buck groans again, hips rutting up shallowly to chase the heat of his mouth, wet huffs of amusement painting over his skin and making him flush violently from head to toe. His cock lurches, and when Eddie digs his tongue into the dribbling slit to lap at the mess Buck finally cracks open his eyes.

Eddie is lying prone between Buck’s thighs, flat against the mattress while he laves over Buck’s cock with broad, languid strokes of his tongue. His pupils have already blown, dark and sweet, his mouth red and slicked with spit. “Hope you don’t mind,” Eddie adds with a smirk, sucking just under the head and flicking his tongue out playfully.

Use me, use my cock, it’s yours, he thinks, but his tongue is still too swollen and clumsy where it rests in his saliva-flooded mouth, so Buck just groans out another throaty “fuck,” instead.

“That’s what I figured,” Eddie chuckles quietly, smooth and deep and so fucking sexy Buck thinks he might implode. 

He dips his head to stuff Buck’s cock back into his mouth, hooking his arms around Buck’s thighs and spreading him wide. Fuck, his arms, his biceps, tendons straining over muscles while his cheeks flutter over the length of Buck’s cock— Buck pants shallowly, his breathing quickening while he fights to still his hips, desperate to pump deeper into the tight sleeve of Eddie’s mouth. He loves how Eddie had looked the first time he’d gone down on Buck, eyes hot and wide and scared, but Buck’s pretty sure he loves this more; brows furrowed, eyes closed like he’s savoring the fullness of his throat, drool spilling past the corner of his lips and drying sticky into Buck’s pubes.

Eddie’s smothering hot little groans while he shallowly bobs his head over Buck’s cock and it’s too much, his head is so foggy, god Eddie is fucking gorgeous like this—

Eddie pulls his mouth off, and Buck’s cock slaps wetly against his abdomen, lurching pathetically. He hisses between clenched teeth, hips writhing against the mattress, fingers tangling more firmly in the mess of Eddie’s hair. “Eddie, baby, please, Jesus, I was so close,” he begs, the most words in a row he’s managed so far, incoherent at the heat boiling his guts into soup.

Eddie groans, twisting his head to mouth over the sensitive skin of Buck’s thighs, biting at the plush skin with indecently sharp canines. Buck loves when Eddie gnaws on him like a chew toy, beyond content to lie back and let Eddie sink his teeth wherever he wants; his thighs, his biceps, the layer of soft padding just below his navel. “Love you like this,” he says in a hushed tone, tongue lapping over the bruised indents his teeth left behind. “Big strong body, all desperate to come.”

He gasps, digging the crown of his head into the pillow, thighs flexing at the wave of heat that billows from his core at Eddie’s words. Buck wordlessly encourages him back to his cock with the hand on his head, and Eddie happily goes, spitting down onto the tip and chasing it with his tongue.

“Eddie, fuck, ‘s so wet,” Buck grunts, words garbled with heat and spit. His face crumples up while Eddie works his mouth over his cock, tilting his head to watch as it disappears down his throat, Buck’s breathing shallow and ragged while he rides the edge. Eddie closes his eyes and moans, like he’s savoring it, the curve of his ass stuttering while he smoothly fucks his hips down into the mattress. Fuck, Eddie loves this so much, loves cock so much that he couldn’t even wait until Buck was awake—

Eddie pulls off with another wet squelch, sticky strings of spit connecting his swollen lips to the head of Buck’s cock. His eyes are glassy when he opens them, cockdrunk and blitzed out of his mind, and Buck trembles as his orgasm evades him once more. His ass flexes while he tries to keep himself still, thrashing down into the bed as his cock drools against his hip. “Eddie,” he hisses, thick fingers tangling more firmly in Eddie’s hair, tempted to drag his mouth back to his cock himself. He slams his eyes shut at that image, of Buck’s hand firmly guiding Eddie’s throat over his cock, dragging his mouth down like it’s a toy. “Eddie, fuck me, you should fuck me,” he says instead, words slipping past his lips before he’s consciously aware of them.

There’s a fucked-out groan pressed into the skin of his navel, tongue indelicately lapping at the trail of hair there, and then Eddie is scooching up the bed to hover between Buck’s thighs, pressing them wider with his own. “Yeah?” Eddie breathes into his lips, kissing at the corner of his mouth, gently biting at his lips and chasing it with his tongue. “Think you can be quiet?”

Buck nods vigorously, hands firmly pulling Eddie down to lay directly on top of him. “I’ll be good, I swear,” he says, tilting his head to slot their lips together properly, fucking his tongue into Eddie’s wet mouth with a groan.

Eddie’s hand slides up to cup the side of his face, sucking on the pink muscle and making his guts go ooey-gooey. “Might need to gag you,” he murmurs, nosing at the skin of his cheek, lips dragging over the cut of Buck’s jaw. “You know how you get with a dick in you.”

Buck huffs out a laugh, grin stretched wide and bright while he encourages the roll of Eddie’s hips with two firm hands. “Like you’re any better,” he teases, pitching his voice down to imitate Eddie. “‘Oh, fuck, baby, right there, it hurts, it hurts, my cock is gonna fucking explode’—”

Eddie smothers Buck’s laughter with the palm of his hand, rolling his eyes with his own grin. “Shut the fuck up,” he says fondly, face reddening. Buck licks his palm in defiance, but Eddie remains steadfast, clamping his fingers down tighter. “You want me to fuck you or what?”

Buck nods, grunting out a little mhm behind Eddie’s hand, spreading his thighs impossibly wider.

“That’s what I thought,” Eddie murmurs, leaning down to lap at his fluttering pulse in his neck.

Buck sighs into his palm, muscles relaxing as he sinks back into the sheets. The warmth settling in his joints crests and breaks in gentle waves, pinpricks running down his spine with every drag of Eddie’s tongue. It curls over his neck, down to his collarbone, laps at the plush skin of his pecs and the curly hair that grows on his chest. Every stroke is wet and indulgent, decadent and languid. It makes his neck tickle right where the stem of his brain rests, stomach tightening when Eddie sucks one peaked nipple into that mouth.

He hitches his hips up when he hears the telltale snick of the lube, jolting when Eddie mercilessly sinks two thick fingers into him. Buck’s spine goes rigid, hands moving to his own thighs to hold himself open while Eddie stares down at his fingers with glittering eyes.

“Still can’t believe you let me do this,” Eddie murmurs, twisting his fingers and digging around for Buck’s prostate.

Buck huffs out a laugh, eyebrows knitting together in bewildered amusement. “What, fuck me? It’s not exactly a-a hardship,” he says, voice stuttering when Eddie brushes it, clenching down on the intrusion.

“I know,” Eddie breathes, pulling out until just the fingertips remain, dousing his knuckles in more lube until he’s fucking sloppy with it. The squelching sound when he presses back inside is obscene. “It’s just that you’re so…”

Buck pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, face screwing up in pleasure, shivering at the onslaught. Every pump of Eddie’s calloused fingers makes his guts tingle, abdomen quivering while his cock flexes uselessly. When Eddie doesn’t finish his sentence, he pants out, “so…?”

Eddie grins wickedly at him, driving his knuckles in faster. “So big and strong. Boyish. You can pick me up and throw me around and tug me back onto that— that thick fucking cock like it’s nothing,” he groans, stuttering around the obscene words. Buck keens, gut cramping at the liquid heat that rolls down his spine. “But you still love letting me push those gorgeous legs back and— and—”

“Yeah,” Buck breathes, hips spasming while his cock lurches. “C’mon, Eds, I need it, it’ll feel so good,” he says, arching his back as if to entice him.

Eddie grunts again, pulling his wet fingers free to tip the lube directly over his cock, smothering himself in slick. Buck’s eyes are drawn to it, wide and awestruck, saliva flooding his mouth at the way Eddie’s cockhead sways. Eddie lines himself up, dragging the tip over puckered skin, panting when he finally sinks in.

Buck groans, eyebrows pathetically sinking together, convulsing around the thick intrusion. Eddie pushes past the resistance, fucking him open until his hips settle against skin, a shaky sigh tugged out of his throat. “Jesus, always forget how tight you are,” Eddie gasps, hooking his arms beneath Buck’s shoulders to keep them closely pressed together. Buck’s thighs comfortably wrap around his body, clinging to him like an octopus, heat coiling in his guts.

Eddie’s hips start to undulate, shallowly fucking into the give of Buck’s body. It’s obscenely wet, lube trickling out around Eddie’s cock every time he snaps his hips down, and Buck’s mouth drops open and stays that way. He pants, loud and obnoxious in Eddie’s ear, the pleasure flaring with every pass of his cock. He’s overwhelmed with how good it can feel sometimes, wrapping his legs around his best friend and shuddering in his arms. Buck has had sex with people he loves before— at least he thinks he has, anyway, ‘cause it’s never felt like this— but those times feel meager in comparison. Those had been like lighting sparklers, bright and flashy and quickly fading away. Sex with Eddie was like fucking fireworks, like an erupting volcano, oppressive heat and light and loud enough to deafen.

Buck tilts his head down to look between the scant space separating their bodies, woozy at the sight, his insides melting into liquid. Eddie’s stomach cramps up tight every time he fucks in deep, his core strength on dizzying display, clenching and making Buck’s guts twist. He drops his hands down to get two palmfuls of Eddie’s full ass, pulling him down faster into the give of his body, and it earns him a stuttering groan. Even like this, Eddie is so pliable, his pink face screwed up while he dutifully pumps his hips, and it makes Buck’s chest tighten painfully.

Buck loves making his partners feel good, always has, and there’s something new and dangerous and fascinating about accomplishing it like this; letting them smother their cock in a tight hole, chasing their pleasure while Buck writhes with it. He’s only been having sex with guys for a little over a year, and he’d dipped his toes a bit with Taylor, but it doesn’t compare to watching the crease of his best friend’s forehead as he loses himself, working his hips and fucking Buck open.

“Buck,” Eddie moans, hips spasming and losing their rhythm. He’s clearly been fighting the noises, half-bitten in his throat, but it’s a fight Eddie is losing. His clenching stomach pulses over Buck’s own cock, dribbling and abandoned and uselessly flopping against his hip. “Baby, fuck, you feel so good.”

“Shhh,” Buck shushes, still pulling in ragged gasps of air through a fucked-dumb gaping mouth. “Eddie, you-you gotta be quiet, you gotta be quiet,” he breathes.

“Can’t,” Eddie whines, and Buck’s eyes flutter into the back of his skull. He can feel it in his teeth, his scalp, the ends of his hair. The base of his cock aches when Eddie stutters out another moan, the vibrations making his neck tickle. “Can’t, can’t, fuck, Evan, fuck, you’re gonna make me come,” he babbles, and Buck’s face goes feverishly hot, an invisible force tugging at his guts like a fist. He takes one hand off of Eddie’s ass to stuff two fingers into his mouth, effectively gagging Eddie into complacence.

Eddie groans, muffled now where Buck’s fingers are plugging up his mouth, and he bobs his head down until his throat clicks, gagging around the intrusion. “Eddie,” Buck whines, breath hitching at the feel of Eddie’s throat tickling his fingertips. His own orgasm has been coiling just below his navel, hot and desperate and aching with every soft cant of Eddie’s hips. That heat spikes at the obscene slap of skin on skin, the wet gush where their bodies connect, a filthy squelch that makes his face burn hot. It pools out into his hips, pinpricks of sensation washing up his back. “Jesus, just a little more, just like that—”

He hovers, suspended, for another handful of strokes, and he considers dropping his other hand down to strip over his cock, to pull himself to a satisfying orgasm, but— he needs one hand for Eddie’s mouth, and he can feel the tickling of his guts, right there on the precipice, and he knows he’s gonna— he’s got to—

Buck stuffs his other hand into his mouth, biting down on his knuckles, seizing up around Eddie’s cock with an intense contraction as he comes. His thighs flex painfully, mind going blissfully blank as his cock spits out come onto his stomach, messily smearing the both of them where Eddie is still desperately rutting into him. Eddie gags around his fingers, fucking him through it with frantic jackrabitting hips, pulling out before the aftershocks have finished shocking Buck’s muscles.

Eddie fists his own cock, tucking Buck’s fingers into his cheek to swallow down the drool, sharp canines accidentally sinking into his knuckles. He shudders, face crumpling and going impossible redder as he starts to come, directing the mess to coat Buck’s drained but still-twitching cock. Eddie’s groaning with each pulse, punched out of his sternum with effort, muscles locked up tight. He pulls at his shaft with languid strokes until his slit runs dry, pinching the ruddy head to eke out one last sticky string, smearing it onto Buck’s navel. Buck’s half-hard cock valiantly kicks, and the two of them collapse with matching twin groans, melting into the mattress.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie gasps, tucking his head into Buck’s sweat-soaked neck. Buck lets his legs stretch out, toes curling into the mess of sheets at the bottom of the bed, wincing at the lingering ache of his hips. He should really try yoga sometime. “Fuck. I haven’t come that hard in— fuck.”

Buck’s chest goes fuzzy, warmth flooding his veins where it’s being steadily pumped from his heart, happy chemicals making his whole body light up. “Yeah,” he breathes in agreement, conceding to the heavy pull of his eyelids. They lie there in comfortable silence, catching their breath while the sweat cools, before Eddie sits up with an exaggerated groan.

“We really should hop in the shower,” he sighs, cracking his neck. “We’ve gotta go meet the caterer in like an hour to do a final walk-through before the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

Buck’s heart soars at that, and he sits upright to gently kiss Eddie's shoulder. “We’re getting married tomorrow,” he coos quietly, hushed and awed and dripping with affection, smearing his smile into Eddie’s skin.

Eddie brings one hand up to scratch at Buck’s scalp, his own cheek dimpling. “We are,” he breathes. Contented. Peaceful.

Happy.

“I can’t find my tie,” Christopher’s voice calls out from his cracked open bedroom door, full volume to let his voice carry.

“It’s in the top drawer of your dresser,” Eddie’s voice answers, echoey from the tiles in the bathroom.

“No, it’s not,” Chris insists, testy now.

Buck drops the palm of his hand over the receiver on his phone. “Can everyone stop yelling, I’m on the phone,” he chides, also full volume, before pulling it back to his ear. “Sorry about that. Can you repeat that?”

Ravi sighs despondently, crackling where he’s peaking the mic. “Our Captain—” he pauses, interrupted by a voice Buck can’t quite make out on his end. “Interim Captain,” he corrects, his tone clipped. “Has requested a location check to make sure both grooms are intact and of sound mind and body.”

Chris, if I come in there and that tie is in your dresser, I’m gonna be very unhappy, Eddie’s voice rings out, and Buck says, “yeah, we’re just running a little late. No encephalitis.”

Why would I lie about that, Chris frustratedly yells out in response. I checked every inch of that stupid drawer and it’s gone. The bathroom door opens down the hall, bare feet impatiently slapping against the hardwood down to Christopher’s room. To Ravi, Buck adds, “you know how teenagers are.”

“Your sister is also giving me a look,” Ravi says. “I don’t know if it’s possible to start a rehearsal dinner without the couple of honor, but if you’re any later I think she’s gonna find a way.”

You planted that there, Christopher’s voice cries out again, appalled and shocked. Buck snorts and shakes his head; he can perfectly picture the irritated quirk of Eddie’s eyebrows.

“We’ll be there soon,” Buck promises.

@eb191: ❤️❤️❤️

[Image: A long dining table in a hotel ballroom, half-eaten plates of dinner in front of each chair. Everybody is dressed in fancy clothes, and they look at the head of the table towards the camera in varying states of glee, the wine and the champagne flowing freely. Some grin sincerely; some make silly faces. Jee-Yun holds up two bunny ears behind Buck’s head.]

@eddiebodywantssome: all of my favorite people. and Josh.

     @dispatchrusso: Okay, hurtful

It’s beautiful blue skies in Los Angeles the day that Buck and Eddie get married.

Sun streaks in through the curtains where they’re not quite closed all the way. The light against his eyelids is what wakes him, sucking in a breath and squinting against the morning rays, his hand moving on autopilot to block them. He cranes his neck to check the alarm on the nightstand and sighs— not enough time to go back to sleep. It was set to go off any minute now. He’d love to lounge around in bed all day, but there were things to be done; flower arrangements to pick up, name cards to arrange, relatives to meet at the airport. Buck thought he’d wake up feeling stressed and anxious, but—

His eyes languidly drag over Eddie’s still sleeping form. He’s gorgeous even at the worst of times, but Buck loves him best like this; soft and slack and oblivious to the world, the lines of his face smoothed out to rest smushed and comfortable against his pillow. His mouth is parted just a fraction, a miniscule pool of moisture pooling on the sheets below his head. His hair falls in messy, unkempt waves, soft and unstyled. 

Buck’s breath hitches in his throat when he remembers that he gets to look at this every morning for the rest of his life.

He remains stockstill despite the complaint of his bladder, and when the alarm goes off a few minutes later he smacks the snooze button, basking in the sleepy sounds of protest Eddie emits in his half-awake state.

“Morning,” Buck says softly, inching closer to press his lips to Eddie’s throat. It vibrates beneath his lips when Eddie groans.

“Morning,” he croaks. He pulls Buck up by the hair to press their mouths together, and their morning breath is sour and repulsive and downright foul. Buck loves it anyway. “Hey, you wanna get married today?” he grins, eyes squinting open.

Buck hums, pretending to think it over, lips pursing exaggeratedly. “Yeah, I guess,” he shrugs, lips stretching wide over his grin when Eddie nibbles at the scruff of his cheek.

“Don’t shave too much,” Eddie mutters, canines dragging over the cut of his jaw. “This is the perfect amount of scruff.”

Buck huffs, tangling one hand through the messy strands of his hair. “Yeah? Your chin might be all red in the pictures.”

“Worth it,” Eddie says, pulling back to look him in the eyes, and he’s got that look again. The one that says forever.

Buck is nervously knotting and re-knotting his tie in the mirror when he hears two soft raps against the door to his dressing room at the church.

“Knock knock,” Bobby says out loud, poking his head in the doorway.

“You can come in,” Buck says, hands despondently falling to his sides. Bobby strides into the room and comes up behind him, making eye contact with Buck through their reflection in the mirror.

“Need a hand?” he asks cheekily, and Buck nods gratefully. Bobby outstretches his arms to reach around and grab the ends of his tie, adjusting the fabric with a delicate, tender touch. Buck forces his shoulders to relax while Bobby’s eyes shift back and forth between the mirror and the tie in his hands, neck craning to watch his work. He’s gentle with it like he is with everything, slowly looping the fabric through fingers calloused from decades of labor. He prompts Buck to turn around with pressure on his shoulder, reaching for the tie again when Buck is facing him.

“Bobby?” Buck says, neck muscles straining where he’s holding it ramrod stiff and out of the way of Bobby’s hands. “What if I screw this up?”

Bobby furrows his brows together in confusion and smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “What, the ceremony? I’m gonna be doing most of the talking.”

“No, I mean… all of it. Being married, being… a step-dad. What if I’m not cut out for it?”

Bobby pauses for a moment, cutting his gaze up from the tie to meet Buck’s eyes. “Why would you think that?”

Buck shrugs dejectedly, looking down at the carpeted floor. “I dunno. I guess I’m just… worried about Buck-ing everything up.”

Bobby grins, exhaling softly through his nose. He resumes tying the knot. “Kid, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my lifetime, it’s that there’s no sense in grieving something before it’s even gone. That kind of anxiety will eat you up and spit you out.”

“Can you blame me?” Buck says, mouth quirking unhappily. “I don’t exactly have the best track record.”

“No,” Bobby agrees, securing the knot into place. He smooths down the collar of Buck’s shirt, folding it into place. “But you’re also a different person now. You’ve come a long way from that hotheaded punk who came into my firehouse looking for somewhere to belong.”

“So, what, that means I’m ready to be a husband now?” Buck asks, taking the suit jacket when Bobby hands it to him. He turns back to face the mirror, slipping his arms into the sleeves, and he’s overcome with a sense of deja vu.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Bobby says, adjusting the fabric to lay properly against his shoulders. “But I think you’re ready to try, and I think you’re more willing to learn. Sharing a life with somebody isn’t something that comes instinctually. You compromise, and you communicate, and yeah, sometimes it’s messy and painful. But there’s no better feeling in this world than looking that special someone in the eyes and knowing… that you’ve shared your entire being with them. Heart, body, and soul.”

Buck exhales, blinking back the misty feeling burning at his waterline. “Yeah,” he nods, throat clicking when he swallows. “Thanks, Bobby.” He turns so that they’re face-to-face again, and Bobby startles out a little chuckle when Buck dives into his arms for a hug.

He pats Buck on the back, closed mouth stretched wide. “Knock ‘em dead, kid.”

There’s another knock on the open door, and Buck pulls away with a dry sniff to look. Maddie’s head is sheepishly poking around the corner. “Is this a bad time?”

“He’s all yours,” Bobby says, open palm squeezing Buck’s bicep reassuringly. “See you in there.”

Maddie waits graciously until Bobby is gone, smiling at Buck with rosy-red cheeks. “You look very handsome,” she says, eyes squinting proudly, a piece of paper clutched to her chest with both hands.

Buck huffs out a laugh. “Thanks,” he says, fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket. He jerks his chin at the letter and says, “what, uh, whatcha got there?”

“Well,” Maddie starts, eyes glittering. Her heels are silent against the carpet as she steps deeper into the room. “Mom sent me another box of stuff from the house a few weeks ago. More things from my desk drawer and closet.” She pauses, unsuccessfully trying to bite down her smile. “Do you remember what you said you wanted to be when you grew up?”

Buck frowns, wracking his brain for an answer. “Uh— no, not really. Sorry.”

“I didn’t either, until I found this assignment you did in kindergarten,” she says, gently unfolding the paper and showing him. It’s decades old at this point, reeking of dust and the waxy pungent waft of crayon, creases firmly etched into it from where it’s laid untouched and folded in Maddie’s belongings. “You crossed out the first answer, but you can still make out what it said.”

Buck’s body flushes, like someone has doused him in sunshine. He can see the (misspelled) word his child self scrawled into the answer box in big, clumsy block letters, buried beneath scribbles of red crayon: husband.

“Wow,” Buck mutters, an embarrassed but sincere grin dimpling his cheeks. “I-I don’t remember this at all.”

Maddie leans her head against his arm, and Buck soaks in the warmth and the nostalgic scent of her perfume. “I knew you’d get here,” she says softly, squeezing him affectionately. “You just needed the right person first.”

Buck’s heart swells in his chest, and he thinks of Eddie— thinks of his smile, the warm flush of his cheeks when he’s happy, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The way his mouth scrunches up when he’s fighting not to cry, the crease of his forehead when he gives into the tears, the tightness of his shoulders when he’s angry. 

Buck loves every part of him. 

He thinks of his child self, lonely and scared and wishing for a better future, pavement-scraped knees and fractured wrists and busted lips. Although it’s silly, he thinks to himself: hang in there, little guy. Your family’s coming to you as fast as they can.

Buck’s nervously fidgeting with the boutonnière clipped to his jacket when he hears a low whistle behind him. He turns to follow the noise, cheeks aching with the stretch at how wide his grin is. Eddie looks like a million bucks, leaning against the doorway in his maroon suit, one hand tucked into his pants pocket while the other anxiously smooths down his chest.

“Wow,” Buck croaks, wetting his lips while he drags his eyes all over Eddie’s figure. The clashing blue and green boondoggle keychain pokes out of Eddie’s breast pocket, safely tucked away along with his St. Christopher medallion.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Eddie replies, kicking off the wall and moving to stand in front of Buck. He drags two knuckles down Buck’s silk tie, and the friction of his calloused thumb against the fabric is audibly scratchy. “How are you feeling? You still with me?”

Buck huffs in amusement, reaching one hand up to loosely circle Eddie’s wrist. “I’m with you. Feeling…” he wracks his brain, tutting when he finds the answer. “Sweaty and nervous.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, crow’s feet wrinkling with joy. “Me, too.”

Buck brings his other hand up to thumb at the beauty mark just below Eddie’s left eye, cheeks flushed pink beneath his pale hand. “Am I, uh, allowed to kiss you?”

He buries his grin into Buck’s hand, dryly kissing the center of his palm, soft lips pillowing over scar tissue. “Let’s save it for the ‘I do’s, stud.”

Buck’s vows burn a hole in his jacket pocket, tingling on the tip of his tongue as he looks into Eddie’s warm eyes. Promises to love and protect and cherish. Promises to grow together, to stand by his side, to laugh and learn and share this little life together. To never take for granted that Eddie trusts him: with his life, with his son, with his heart.

“Alright, boys,” Maddie’s voice rings out, and Buck glances over his shoulder to see her holding hands with Jee-Yun, adorned in her little decorative gown, a bushel of flowers in her unoccupied hand. “Ready to get this show on the road?”

“Beyond ready,” Eddie says, stepping out of the way to let them push through the wide doors. The music kicks on as his sister and his niece disappear into the church, muffled when the door swings shut behind them. The momentary glimpse of the packed pews makes Buck’s heart start racing, face going pale when his upper lip starts to sweat. He frantically wipes at it with the edge of his sleeve, swallowing down the horrible dry cotton of his mouth, stuck where it gets caught in the tight acidic sleeve of his throat.

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, grabbing his attention by reaching out to squeeze his hand, tangling their fingers together. Buck’s vision swims a bit— shit, they totally missed their music cue. He squeezes Eddie’s hand back, wilting. “We’ve got this, man. I’ve got your back, remember?”

Buck sucks in a shuddering breath, exhaling with a frantic nod. Eddie gives him a wan smile, and for once in his life, Buck sees his future with shimmering, certain clarity: a thousand little moments that piece together the whole picture. Love, unflinching and patient and impartial. Laughter to the point of tears, tears to the point of exhaustion, exhaustion to the point of forgiveness. Grief and joy and pain and bliss. Buck clings to the years behind them and the years that have yet to come, every single one of them leading him to this moment, this version of them, right here and right now. He wouldn’t trade any of it in a heartbeat.

His future grins up at him, dimpling and adoring— his family. His home.

“Yeah,” Buck finally croaks out, rubbing his thumb against the back of Eddie’s hand. “And I’ve got yours.”