Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s closing in on early February, which means that Chris has been home for nearly three blissful months. Eddie truly and genuinely hadn’t thought that going to El Paso for Thanksgiving would be all it took, but Chris had truly just wanted him to fight for him. It had been, admittedly, a pretty harrowing Thanksgiving, but beyond worth it for the huge Christmas feast back in L.A. in the newly rebuilt Grant-Nash backyard. 

Things are good, things are great, even. Bobby’s captain, and Chris is home, and Buck and Eddie are both actually single at the same time, which means he gets to spend plenty of time with his best friend. Sure, he still tiptoes around arguing with Chris a little more than he should, and maybe he’ll never be in another romantic relationship, but Eddie really is genuinely happy. He’s chasing joy, slowly but surely. 

Buck’s over at theirs for a movie night, a tradition that Chris tries to pretend he’s too cool for, and then inevitably gets suckered into every time anyway, when his phone rings. 

“Buuuck,” complains Chris, John Carpenter’s The Thing paused on the title credit as Buck goes to take the call. 

“Sorry, bud,” says Buck, a frown marring his brow, “It’s my mom.”

He gets up from the couch, heads through and into the hall and beyond to take the call. Chris looks at Eddie, frowning himself now, and Eddie can feel it mirrored on his own face.

“Did he say his mom?” asks Chris. He’s met the Buckley parents, albeit briefly, and in one of the worst fucking weeks of his life. It says a lot, probably, that he remembers them well enough to look this disconcerted. 

“He did,” says Eddie slowly, unable to stop himself from looking towards the hall in concern. He can’t hear Buck, which should be a good thing, but Buck’s parents have a way of getting under his skin. 

“Does she call….often?” asks Chris, and he sounds bemused, disbelieving. He sounds like he knows the answer, even though Eddie’s confident that Buck’s shielded him from the majority of his own family history. 

Eddie throws Chris a look in response, and feels maybe a little too proud of Chris’ unimpressed nod. 

Buck enters the living room again, his eyes wide and kind of vacant. He looks pale, he looks lost. 

“Buck?” Eddie and Chris ask in unison, and he sits down heavily on the couch between them. 

“My, uh. My dad’s had a heart attack,” he says, sort of like it hasn’t sunk in yet, “He’s still in the hospital, it was. It was pretty bad, I think.”

“Oh Buck,” says Eddie, his own heart aching to hear it, he reaches out to stretch an arm around his shoulder, feeling Chris snuggle into Buck’s other side.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” says Chris, “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” says Buck, “She wasn't. It wasn’t clear, it was, she was. She wants me to go.”

“What?” asks Eddie, freezing up just a little, “What do you mean?”

“Maddie can’t fly in her condition,” says Buck, and this explains his vacant tone more than anything, “She’s too far along. But my mom needs help. She can’t do this alone.” He turns to look at Eddie, the side of his cheek tucked against the top of Chris’ head, holding him close still. His eyes are so wide. He looks sort of like an animal caught in a trap. “She wants me to fly there to help.” 

His phone starts buzzing where he’d put it on the coffee table. Maddie. 

Buck’s eyes are drawn to it, but he doesn’t move, like he can’t bring himself to have that conversation.

“Do you want to?” Eddie asks, quiet, and Buck’s eyes snap back to him. 

“Eddie,” he says, wretched, “She wants me to help. She wants me. She wants me.” 

“Okay,” replies Eddie, because he knows what that precise combo would do to Buck better than anyone, because he knows exactly how much Buck’s always wanted his parents’ approval, their acceptance, their love. They’ve never deserved his devotion. “How long for?”

“I don’t know,” admits Buck, “A week, maybe?”

“We can make a week work,” agrees Eddie, and Buck’s head tilts in confusion.

“Hey mijo,” says Eddie, still looking Buck in his big, wet eyes. “How would you like to visit Pennsylvania?” 

Buck’s eyes get wide, his mouth falls open in a quiet little inhale.

“Sounds cool,” says Chris, almost muffled by the embrace that Buck still has him in, “Do you think we’d get snow?”

“Yeah,” says Buck hoarsely, like he’s on auto-pilot, “February is the snowiest month.”

“Neat,” Chris says, and snuggles into Buck pointedly, so Buck’s arm, lax in shock, starts actively holding him close again. “I’m sorry about your dad, Buck,” he says quietly.

“I. You guys,” Buck stutters, “I can’t ask you to come with me.”

“Do you want to go alone?” asks Eddie, solemn. He doesn’t want Buck going alone. He doesn’t want Buck back in that fucking mausoleum of a house without even his sister to intervene. 

Buck curls in on himself, just a little, shaking his head.

“I can’t ask–” he starts again, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to smile in response, to rub a thumb against his collarbone and watch Buck fall silent.

“You didn’t, you haven’t. We’re offering,” he says, and Buck’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears. 

“We’re informing you, actually,” pipes up Chris. “Ignore dad, you don’t get a choice.” 

Buck chokes on a huff of laughter, and Chris turns his face up from where he’s been tucked against Buck’s side to grin up at them both, pleased with himself. 

“Well,” says Buck, and finally there’s a bit of warmth back in his voice, “If I don’t have a choice…” 

————

It’s honestly surprisingly easy to arrange. Bobby is, of course, very understanding. Not just about Buck needing time off, which was a gimme, but about Eddie joining him.

“Between you and me,” Bobby says to Eddie in his office, “I’m glad to know that he’ll have someone there to support him.”

“God knows his parents won’t,” agrees Eddie sardonically, and Bobby doesn’t outright agree, but he also doesn’t disagree, or even try to pretend that they should think better of the Buckleys, so it’s pretty obvious that he hates them almost as much as Eddie does.

Hen and Karen tell him he’s doing the right thing, and promise that if he and Buck end up needing to stay longer than a week, they’ll pick Chris up from the airport and have him with them for as long as needed. 

“I don’t need to tell you to watch his back,” says Hen with a slight edge to her smile, the same one that all of the 118 tend to get over each other’s shitty parents. 

“No,” agrees Eddie, all fondness and righteous fury, “You don’t.” 

The school is remarkably easy to sort it out with, even though Chris only just moved back halfway through last semester. Eddie calls in with a family emergency that will have them out of state for a week, and they arrange for Chris to get digital copies of the classes he’ll miss, the details on the homework and assignments he’ll need to catch up on. It’s not lying, not really, because while Philip Buckley being injured could never be a family emergency, Buck being hurt certainly is. 

He knows Buck’s talked about it with Maddie, he’d called her last night, after Chris and Eddie had informed him that they planned to join him in Hershey. He knows that Buck says she was so relieved she cried, that she kept apologizing that she couldn’t go with him herself, that she’s really and genuinely upset about their father.

It’s Chimney, who’s the real surprise. 

“Oh thank fuck,” says Chim, when it’s just the two of them. “You really are going with him? God, okay, great.”

“Yeah?” asks Eddie, “You’ve spent more time with them than I have, what’s the word?”

Chimney sighs, heavy and weary.

“You know how Hen says that no one has the same parents, not even siblings?” he asks, and Eddie nods, “And how Maddie says that they aren’t bad people, just bad parents?” Eddie nods again, but slower, more cautious. “Well I hate to say it, but in this rare instance, Maddie is wrong. They’re bad parents, undoubtedly, but they are bad people, and there’s something about being around Buck that brings out the worst in them. If Maddie was staying here for any other reason, I’d have been offering to go with him myself.”

“That bad?” asks Eddie, but it’s not really a surprise to hear, not the way he wants it to be. It’s mostly just confirmation of how he already felt. 

Chim nods, grim. “When they’re in town, I do my best to keep the peace, but even without the Daniel of it all, they can’t seem to help but be cruel to him.”

“We’ll be looking out for him,” promises Eddie, and Chim nods to him. It’s a moment of solidarity that makes Eddie wonder if Chim understands the degree to which he is an older brother, not merely a brother-in-law. 

“If it gets really bad, let me know, and I’ll figure out some sort of emergency to call you all back,” says Chimney, earnestly. 

It would be concerning, how seriously Chimney is taking this, except Eddie can’t pretend he doesn’t have the same fear running through him. He still dreams sometimes about the fucking hand sanitizer factory fire, the awful and wretched scream that had wrenched itself from Buck as they were running through flames to back him up. There’s something about Buck’s parents that just seems to cut through to something deeper in Buck than anything else ever does, than anything Eddie ever wants to see.

It’s at least half the reason he wants to be there, wants to make sure that Buck isn’t doing this on his own. Buck knows he has other family, he knows that he’s loved and cared for and treasured, as he should. There’s something about his parents that makes him forget, and Eddie doesn’t want him forgetting. Not even for a moment. 

————

They’re on the plane, and for all that Chris insisted on getting the window seat, he’s entirely focused on his switch. Buck’s in the aisle, his long legs stretched out, causing an absolute trip hazard, Eddie crammed between the two of them. Buck was awake for the first two hours, tapping his feet and humming offkey and just generally being visibly anxious. He pretty obviously did not sleep properly last night, and it was a pretty early start to sort everything out before this flight, so it was a relief when he slowly but surely collapsed onto Eddie’s shoulder and started to lightly snore. 

Admittedly, that was a while ago, and Eddie’s kind of hoping he can get some water or hell maybe a beer soon, and it's not the most comfortable, but also. Buck’s warm against his side, and his breath whistles out his nose just a little, and he’s been so stressed since that fucking phonecall. 

“Dad?” asks Chris quietly, and Eddie looks over to see that he’s paused his game. 

“Yeah, mijo?”

Chris pauses, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase whatever it is he wants to say correctly. 

“Does Buck like his parents?”

God. What a fucking question.

“He loves them,” says Eddie after a moment, just as aware as Chris is that it isn't really an answer.

“Okayyyy,” says Chris, thinking, “Do you like his parents?”

Eddie’s not lying to his son, not anymore, which means he’s not going to fucking answer that one. Judging by Chris’ eyebrows, Eddie’s face answered more than enough for him anyway. 

“Where is this coming from, Chris?” he asks, keeping quiet, not wanting to wake Buck.

“He never talks about them. Buck loves doing family stuff, but he never talks about them, and he never goes to visit.”

“I think this is the first time he's going back to Pennsylvania since he was nineteen,” says Eddie, almost absent-mindedly. 

“Exactly,” replies Chris. 

“It’s a complicated situation,” says Eddie slowly, “They have. Uh. It’s a contentious relationship, and everything with his dad’s heart just makes this more complicated. That doesn’t mean that they don’t care about each other.”

Chris frowns at him, assessingly, like he’s trying his hardest to read between lines that Eddie was hoping weren't actually visible. 

“Do Buck’s parents like him?” Chris asks, and Eddie feels himself wince, give away that he’s finally asking the right question. It’s in the wince, and then trying to settle again without jostling Buck that he realizes those faint whistling breaths have stopped. Before he can say anything, do anything, to suggest that Buck might have woken up, Chris keeps talking. “So they’re idiots?” he asks, and then, almost incredulous, “Who wouldn’t like Buck??” 

“Only people with terrible taste,” Eddie agrees firmly, and removes an arm from under Buck just enough to wiggle it around him instead, cradling him. Giving him support so he doesn’t fall over, if anyone asks. If Buck presses into his side just a little more, who’s to say? He’s probably sleeping. 

————

There’s no one to meet them at the airport, of course, but that’s kind of a relief. Eddie and Chris head to a cafe to grab hot drinks and some snacks while Buck gets in line for the rental car. They return, conquering heroes, with the sugariest most caffeinated monstrosity they could find for Buck, and then they’re being led to their car, a little zippy blue thing. 

“It’s tiiiny,” complains Chris, and that sets Buck off, cracking jokes about how Chris is too used to Eddie’s ludicrously big pickup. 

It’s weird to think they’ve never actually gone on a trip together, barely gone further than Santa Monica with all three of them before. It feels so natural, just another easy extension of how they always are, and Eddie finds himself struck with a fierce longing that they could really and truly be on vacation, instead of in Buck’s hometown out of obligation. Eddie throws their bags into the trunk, and settles himself into the passenger seat. 

Above them the clouds are bright, thick, and heavy somehow. The air has a chill to it that sinks through to the bone, even inside their car. Buck glances at Eddie, then flips a switch to turn the seat-warmers on. 

“So," he says, as Buck adjusts the wing mirrors, “Are we heading straight to the hospital?”

“Ah,” says Buck uncomfortably, “No. We’re going to have to meet Mom at their place first,” he says, and there’s an undercurrent there. Buck glances in the rearview at Chris, and that’s enough that Eddie knows this is to do with Daniel, somehow. 

“I see,” he says, and he’s trying not to sound too judgy, but he knows his own tone of voice, and judging by the looks that both Buck and Chris throw him, so do they. 

“Chris,” says Buck, sort of weirdly amused, “Why don’t you pick some music?”

Chris puts something sort of country-ish on, and Buck starts the car. 

“Are you going to be able to play nice?” asks Buck, sounding surprisingly fond given the context. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’m always nice,” he says, ignoring the simultaneous snorts of laughter from his left and behind him. He looks at Buck, who’s watching the road, trying to figure out how the hell to get out of the airport parking lot. He’s got a fond smile on still, and it’s lovely to see, but there’s a tension in his frame that simply isn’t there when he’s driving them around L.A., a stiffness to his shoulders, to his fingers on the wheel. Eddie relents. “I will play exactly as nice as you want, okay?” 

“I know,” says Buck, unconcerned, “You’ve got my back, right?”

“Right,” agrees Eddie, trying not to smile too widely in response. 

They drive in mostly silence for the next fifteen minutes, Chris and Buck occasionally crooning along to the music, Chris glued to the car windows, looking out at the clouds. 

They get to Hershey proper, and Buck’s shoulders rise up to his ears. He’s started looking hunted. Eddie frowns, goes to speak, to distract him from whatever spiral he’s chasing down in his head now. 

“Chris,” Buck says, before Eddie can do anything, and Chris looks up from the window, concerned. Buck doesn't often sound like this, tense and anxious and more than a little self-hating. “I just, I wanted to warn you about my parents.” He stops, unsure, and Eddie’s not entirely sure where this is going. The worst case scenario that he's pictured involves Chris getting into a screaming match for Buck’s honor, and honestly Eddie would be right there next to him.

“If they say anything to you,” Buck starts, and then stops again.

“Oh,” says Chris, all disdainful understanding, “They’re bigots? Are they going to be racist or something?”

Buck exhales heavily, as though in surprise. “No, not racist, not homophobic either,” he says, cutting off Chris’ next question. 

“Oh,” says Chris, tired, “They’re ableist.”

“They’re weird about children in hospitals,” Buck says instead. “It’s– They’ve had. I don’t know if they’ll be ableist about it, I don’t think so, but.”

Ah. 

Chris doesn’t actually know about Daniel, is the thing. He was too young at the time that it all came out, and it’s not. How do you bring that up? It’s Buck’s to tell, if he wants to, Eddie’s not taking that from him. Still, in the context of this visit, it seems unlikely that it won't come up.

“They’ve had some bad experiences,” Eddie says diplomatically, catching Buck’s eyes briefly. He looks nervous. “It’s a potential trigger.”

“Reckless back then too, huh?” asks Chris, and he’s teasing, trying to lighten a mood that  he can’t understand, but it makes Eddie wince.

“Not exactly,” says Buck, hesitating. “I, uh. I mean I was, but. I had a brother, he uh. He had cancer, died young. Eight years old. Anyway, they, uh…”

He’s trying to look Chris in the eyes in the rearview mirror as much as he can, and he’s so earnest, and if Eddie didn’t know that this had fucking destroyed him to find out, he’d never be able to tell. 

Chris, for his part, looks dismayed.

“I– Buck,” he says, all heart, and Eddie knows if they weren’t in the car still he’d be burying his way back into Buck’s side. “That sucks,” he says succinctly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, or well. I don’t remember him, I never knew him, so. It’s not fine, but it’s not… Anyway, this was all to say that if they’re weird about your CP, if they ask you any questions, or make you feel uncomfortable, say the word okay? We’ll get you out of there in seconds, promise.”

Chris leans forward, squeezes Buck’s shoulder from the backseat, and Eddie can’t help his own smile. 

“I know," says Chris, “You’ve got my back too, I know.”

Buck looks overwhelmed for a second, throws Eddie a faux scowl. “He’s your son,” he mouths, and Eddie grins back as if to say, Yeah, isn't it great? Buck, of course, grins back.

It fades a little as they keep driving, but he still seems much more relaxed now that he’s warned Chris. Soon, the car is slowing down a wide tree-lined avenue. They’re fancy houses, bigger than Eddie had imagined even. There’s no way that Buck wasn’t swallowed up entirely by a house this big. 

“Okay,” says Buck, quiet enough that it’s almost under his breath. 

“Okay,” repeats Eddie, putting his hand over Buck’s on the gearshift. Buck looks at him gratefully, and Eddie knows he’s thinking about thanking them for coming again, so he squeezes, lets go, and looks forward. “Come on, or is this driveway not big enough for you to park in?” 

It’s an obvious joke, the driveway at least three times wider than Eddie’s back in L.A., but it snaps Buck out of it, which is all he really wanted anyway. 

As they park, Eddie’s unsurprised that Margaret doesn’t come to the door, even though she must hear the fucking car.

“Are we unpacking?” asks Chris, and Eddie looks to Buck. They hadn’t booked a hotel, because there was a non-zero chance that they’d be expected to stay with the Buckleys, but Buck hadn’t been so sure that Eddie hadn’t caught him googling hotels between Harrisburg and Derry. 

“Let’s say hi first,” says Eddie after a moment’s wide-eyed pleading from Buck. Chris settles, but not without a narrow-eyed look. The kid is simply too perceptive these days. He'll have to take him aside and have a proper talk about the Buckleys, but to do that they have to get through this first, and also probably he needs to check in with Buck about how much he is comfortable with Chris knowing. 

They go to the front door, bags still in the car, and Buck rings the doorbell. It takes a while, just long enough that Eddie exchanges a look with him, a silent question if they should ring again, if they should check that she’s not visiting her husband after all, and then the door swings open. 

It feels like it should creak. It feels like he’s brought Buck back to a haunted house, a vampire’s lair, the dark and lurking evil that they both know resides in this beautifully fronted house in Pennsylvania. It doesn’t, of course. It glides open silently to reveal Margaret Buckley, eyes red-rimmed but otherwise perfectly put together. 

“Evan!” she cries, stepping forward to offer Buck a stilted hug. “And you have…company,” she says, looking at Eddie with a faintly bemused air, like Buck didn’t let her fucking know, which Eddie knows he did, because he took that call in the backyard at about five thirty this morning, and came back looking so much more exhausted than he already had.

“Mom,” greets Buck, earnest and emotional, like seeing her has reminded him why they’re here, “Are you okay? How’s dad?”

“Evan,” she says again, in a tone just abrupt enough to make Eddie grit his teeth. “This is not a conversation for the porch, is it? Why don’t you and your guest come in?” Seemingly she only notices Chris at this moment, suddenly lighting up. “Oh,” she says, “Good afternoon, come on in, I’m Margaret. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, have we? Come in, come sit down.”

Chris smiles, polite and fake, and follows her through the front door, throwing a look over his shoulder at the two of them as though to suggest that they owe him. 

Buck huffs a near silent laugh, and Eddie looks at him curiously. 

“Do you think Helena and Margaret would get along?” he asks wryly, and Eddie has to bite back his own bitter little laugh in reply. 

They walk into the house, and as Eddie lets the door shut behind him, he imagines the heavy slam of a gothic castle door locking them in. Buck takes a heavy breath, and that’s the thing, he’d walk into any kind of trap to make sure Buck wasn't in there alone. Besides, maybe Philip’s condition will have changed things, made Buck’s parents more willing to actually try. They’re normally better when someone’s injured, right?

————

It’s unbearable in this place. How did Buck grow up here? It feels like a museum, like a mausoleum. Everything is perfectly in place, and utterly sterile. There’s no sense that anyone lives here, no sense that living things can even survive here. 

Chris reintroduces himself, and they all politely pretend that they hadn’t met before, hollow and hurting in the hallway outside of Buck’s hospital room. Margaret bustles around getting a pot of tea for them all, despite Buck and Eddie’s attempts to demur. 

“Evan,” she calls after a moment, “Help me with the tea set, won’t you?” 

“Of course,” Buck says, shoulders high and tight, heading further into the house after her.

Chris perches on the edge of an overstuffed cream sofa. It looks like no one has ever sat on it before. He exchanges a look with Eddie, as they both scan the room. All the furniture is dark wood, and looks the kind of old that must be eye-wateringly expensive. There’s art on the walls, mostly in blues and whites with ornate silver frames, but no photos save for those on the mantle. There’s Margaret and Philip, young and smiling, perfectly posed on their wedding day. There’s a photo of Maddie in her wedding dress, her parents on either side of her, a generic white wall behind them that you would never be able to tell is in a hospital if you didn’t already know. There's Jee-Yun, a cascade of her. Jee-Yun as a baby, as a one year old, as a toddler, at least one a year, one or two with Chim and Maddie in the background too. 

You’d never know they had a son. You’d never know they’d had two sons. 

“–t saying they aren’t welcome!” Margaret’s voice suddenly pierces the air, the kind of whisper that ends up being louder than just talking, “I just don’t know why they’re here, Evan! Who are these people?”

“They're my family,” says Buck, frustrated but firm, and Eddie moves straight towards the door, determined to go help. “They’re here because they wanted to support me, that's all!”

“Oh, well, if they’re your family!” Margaret’s not even really trying to be quiet now, sardonic and almost cruel. Eddie slips through into the hallway, trying to locate the kitchen, which is presumably where the argument is taking place. “I may not be good with faces, but I am confident that is not the same man you were seeing at Maddie’s wedding. Thomas, I think?" She says it like a trump card, and not like remembering your kid’s partner’s name is the bare minimum. 

“I– Tommy,” starts Buck, like Tommy himself ever cared about using someone’s preferred nickname, “He’s not– We broke up.”

“Of course,” says Margaret tiredly, “Well you can’t just be in and out with a child, Evan,” seemingly without irony. 

That’s more than enough to have Eddie sweeping through the door. 

“There you are!” he says brightly, and god. Buck looks like someone just slapped him, shocked and hurt, bloodless almost. It’s been about two fucking minutes. Eddie’s not leaving him alone again. “I figured you could give Chris a tour? I’m sure he’d like to use the bathroom after the flight, and I can help your mother with the tea set.” 

“Oh,” says Buck, shaking it off, “Of course.” He’s taking Eddie at face value, Eddie’s pretty sure, because nothing gets Buck to focus up like the idea that Chris might want or need him in some way. 

Buck goes to sweep out of the room, and Margaret’s behind him, visible over his shoulder, looking exasperated of all fucking things. 

Later, Eddie won’t be able to articulate what motivates him in this moment. He's always been one for acting first, dealing with the repercussions later, and this is no different. 

Eddie reaches a hand out, brushes it across Buck’s arm as he goes by, and says, “Thanks babe, you’re always so good with him.” 

Buck looks a little bemused, but keeps moving, focused on going to Chris. The door swings shut, and Eddie looks over at  the woman standing in the centre of the room.

“Margaret, right?” he says with the sort of fake polite smile he doesn’t think he’s had to break out since Taylor fucking Kelly. “We’ve met, years ago now.”

“Of course," says Margaret, like the first time they met wasn’t Eddie hissing that Buck was a better son and a better person than they’d ever be willing to give him credit for and then storming outside of the station to wait for Buck and Bobby to get back. Like they didn’t see him pacing the halls outside Buck’s hospital room. Like she didn’t see him in that mostly destroyed pink suit when the bridegroom at her daughter's wedding was missing. “Edward, I believe?”

“Eddie,” he corrects, and doesn’t elaborate further. “Here, let me carry that.” He sweeps the tray with the tea-set up easily in one hand, all beautiful and impractical china that he’s sure is normally almost entirely for display. 

“And your son, Christopher, I think he said?”

“Yes,” says Eddie, gesturing for Margaret to go ahead of him, gentling in spite of himself. “Chris, he’s fourteen already.”

“Time flies,” says Margaret, sounding a little choked up. She holds the door open for Eddie to walk through with the tray, and he has a moment of thinking maybe this won’t be so bad. 

“So how long have you been dating Evan?” she asks, pointedly, “He’s not normally one for a serious commitment.”

Eddie feels his rage like a film over his eyes, adrenaline rushing through him so fast his senses are almost deadened for a moment. It’s not something he’s experienced outside of the ring, back when he was letting his rage dictate his life, run him into the ground.

It’s an objectively insane thing to say to Buck’s boyfriend, which presumably she thinks he is, the sort of thing you only say to actively hurt everyone involved.

She’s timed the question for opening the door to the sitting room, so Eddie can hear Buck’s sharp inhale, hear Chris’ little outraged noise. 

“We haven’t been official for that long,” he says, sweeping into the room, and putting the tray down on the coffee table. “But Buck’s been part of our family for a long time, hasn’t he, Chris?” 

Chris, whose eyes had been narrowed in fury, blinks twice, and then bats them at Margaret, smiling just oh so sweetly. “Buck’s been family for years. Since I was just a little kid.” 

Buck’s looking a little less gutted at that, at Chris’ firm avowal of Buck’s place in his life, and it helps settle something a little in Eddie. 

“Well, of course,” says Margaret, taking the teapot from the tray, and going to pour them all cups. Then to Eddie, in barely an undertone, “But there’s a difference between a family friend and a parent.”

Buck’s jaw is tight, and worst of all his eyes are deadening as Eddie watches, like he doesn’t even realize what bullshit Margaret is spouting. 

“Of course there is,” Eddie agrees in a voice that’s a little lower in anger than usual, but still perfectly audible, “But Buck’s been helping me raise Chris for half of his life now.” He looks up, catches Buck’s eyes, life and warmth flooding back into them, “You know how important you are to us, don't you, Evan?” 

Buck’s eyes flare, widen for just a split second, and he’s giving Eddie the exact same look he gave him all those years ago, sitting side by side on a hospital bed, the last time Eddie called him by that name.

Chris, never one to be outdone, accepts his cup from Margaret before saying, “I’ve been thinking of Buck as another dad for years.” 

It’s a good thing that Buck hadn’t taken his teacup yet, because he does a full body jolt that makes Eddie have to hide a grin. 

“I see,” says Margaret after a moment, doctoring her own cup with milk and sugar. “Well. That’s lovely.” 

She doesn't sound disingenuous, which is sort of the problem. She sounds a little surprised, a little pleased. Like she really is glad for Buck, she just didn't think he was capable of it. It puts Eddie’s teeth on edge. 

“How is Maddie?” asks Margaret after a moment or two of silence. “Is she well?”

“She’s good, too far along to fly, but no complications, nothing to worry about,” says Buck, as though Margaret didn’t already know that. As if that wasn’t precisely why Maddie wasn’t in the room with them. 

“Is she off work yet? I worry about her in that job, it seems like an unnecessary level of stress to add to her pregnancy. Especially after last time, you know?”

“She’s not off work, she doesn’t want to use up her maternity leave yet. She’s worried about dad, though. How is he?”

It’s not the most subtle transition, but Eddie’s glad that Buck’s willing to push a little. It feels fucking insane that they’re here, all the way in Hershey, harsh cold winds blowing outside, heavy winter clouds looming, pretending like this is fine and normal and they’ve just popped by for tea. 

“Oh, Evan,” says Margaret, immediately hurt, the glisten of tears in her eyes. 

“Mom,” says Buck, struck by it, apologetic almost, like he can’t even ask about his own fucking father. Maybe Eddie’s own dad had a point, actually, by just not telling anyone about his own medical scares until months later. At the time, Eddie thought it was unhinged, but right now? He’s starting to understand the appeal at last. 

“I’m just not strong enough,” Margaret is saying weepily, and Eddie feels bad for her, he does, but it isn’t enough to make him forget all the rest of it. There isn't anything in the world that could let him forget the rest of it. 

“What are you talking about?” Buck is asking, “You’re so strong, you always have been.”

“He’s in a hospital,” Margaret says, wretched. “It was bad enough with you, and at least I had him by my side then, but I just haven’t… I just couldn’t…”

“You haven’t visited him at all?” Buck asks, caught between surprise and concern. Maybe something stronger than either of those.

“I couldn't," she insists, and then suddenly she’s crying, and Buck’s moving to sit beside her, and Eddie and Chris both feel like they should leave the room, but exploring the rest of the Buckley house also feels like an imposition. 

“I’ll go with you,” Buck promises, quiet, “We can go together. I’ll be by your side, and he’ll be fine. He’s strong too, you’ll see.” 

Margaret regains her composure fairly quickly, all things considered, waving off Buck’s arm from around her shoulders with an embarrassed chuckle. 

“Oh honestly, what kind of host am I?” she asks self-deprecatingly, and it sounds a little too frail. “Evan, why didn’t you bring your bags in? You go get them, I’ll show Christopher here to a room.” She gets up decisively, and Chris looks at the two of them a little bewildered before he follows her. As she opens the door she says, “You must know your Aunt Maddie by now?”

“Very well,” agrees Chris, just a shade too politely to be genuine, but Eddie doesn't think that Margaret will be able to tell. 

“So I’ll put you in her old room, I’m sure Evan will want to be in his old room,” she replies, and they head for the stairs. 

It’s not ideal, honestly, but Buck had already warned them both that there were no bedrooms on the ground floor, and for all that he’d wanted to sort out a sofa bed downstairs, Chris had exasperatedly assured him that he could do stairs well enough for a short trip. 

Part of Eddie wants to go with them, to make sure Chris is fine, but since returning from El Paso Chris has been really relishing his independence, so Eddie’s more inclined to leave him alone. 

More than that, he promised himself that he’s not going to leave Buck alone on this trip, and anyway he really should talk to Buck.

———

Buck’s silent until they get outside, heads straight for the trunk, swinging it open, and then pausing, sitting heavily in the trunk bed himself. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, perching to lean up against the side of the trunk bed next to him. Hopefully if Margaret or Chris look out of the window, they’ll be fully hidden by the open trunk.

Buck blows out a heavy breath. 

“It’s okay if you’re not,” says Eddie after a moment. 

“Honestly? It’s going better than I thought it might be,” admits Buck, which. Christ. It’s been about half an hour, and Eddie’s daydreamed about throwing Buck and Chris in the rental and driving away at least four times. 

“If you say so,” says Eddie, just a touch sardonic, looking sideways to catch Buck’s eye, to see the hint of a smile play across his mouth in response. 

“I do have to ask though,” Buck says, smile widening just a little, and Eddie groans, because he can’t pretend he didn’t know this was coming. “We haven’t been dating for that long?”

“I– Look," starts Eddie, and Buck actually laughs. “Okay, I don’t know if I should be delicate about this, but, god. I really hate your mother, okay?”

“You know,” says Buck dryly, “I had actually gotten that impression. I hate yours too, for what it’s worth.”

Eddie nods, because that does check out, especially after last summer. “I hate her, but more than that, she’s wrong. She’s wrong about you. She’s so incredibly wrong about you."

Buck’s smile gets more genuine, gets so soft and sweet. “Yeah, Eddie,” he says, all gentle fondness, “I know.”

“I know you know,” says Eddie, brushing him off easily. It’s suddenly important, imperative, that Buck knows exactly what Eddie was thinking, exactly how much he’s valued. “I need her to know. You’re the most stable and trustworthy and responsible person I’ve ever met, no you are. I wasn’t kidding about you being a member of our family, or you co-parenting Chris with me, just like Chris wasn’t joking about you being another parent to him.”

“Eddie,” says Buck, quiet now, awed, tears glistening in his eyes. 

“Look, you don't need to be in a relationship to be all of those things, to be mature and responsible and reliable, and you certainly don’t need to be in a relationship to be loved, because you're already all of those things. You’re trusted and you’re loved and you’re valued, and those things will all be true even if you never have another romantic relationship again.”

Buck pulls a little face, and it makes Eddie laugh a little. 

“Oh shut up,” he continues, “I'm sure you will be, it’s not exactly like you struggle to find partners. Not like that, stop that. I just. I’m here to have your back, and I guess that’s what I was doing. Because you and I, we both know that you’re enough as you are, that you don’t need a relationship, and you don’t need to change. I’m not sure she knows that, though, so, I don’t know. I can go back in there and tell her I was lying if you want, but I guess I just. If she’ll take you, us being here, all of it, more seriously if we let her think that we’re partners in more ways than one, then I think we should. I think she needs to know how wrong she is.”

“By lying to her?” asks Buck, amused, but he doesn’t sound unconvinced exactly. “By pretending?”

“Okay, we’re not in a relationship,” says Eddie, “But that doesn’t mean that we don’t have a relationship. It’s not like I’d be pretending to think you’re great, I do think that, you know I think you’re great.”

Buck’s that warm pink he gets when he’s a little flustered, a little pleased. It suits him.

“Okay,” he says after a minute or two, “Sure. If it gets too much, or anything, you’ll just say, right?” 

“Buck,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, “It’s my idea, it’s going to be fine, it won’t be ‘too much’.”

“Promise,” Buck says, seriously, and god, it’s so sweet how determined he is to have Eddie’s back even in this, Eddie’s own idea.

“Yeah, okay,” says Eddie, “Promise. You too?” 

“Me too,” agrees Buck, “I’ll say. Promise. Now, come on, we should actually get the bags so she doesn't think we came out here to neck.”

He’s obviously teasing, but a flicker of something runs down Eddie’s spine. There is. He has a habit maybe, on occasion, of making impulsive decisions and then suddenly having to reckon with the consequences. He's not in over his head, because he’s right about this, and it’s going to be fine, but there’s just. There’s a chance… Well. 

———

Buck goes to put their bags away, while Eddie brings Chris’ to him. Margaret’s gone back downstairs, Chris says to get spare towels, again as though they didn’t know that Buck had explicitly warned that he was bringing people with him. Whatever. This is not the hill to die on. 

Maddie’s room is nice, delicate and tasteful, but still clearly with a certain feminine air. It’s not exactly how she left it, Eddie would bet, but it’s got certain framed pictures, her old books on the bookshelves, a comforter on the bed that looks too threadworn to match the Buckley aesthetic for any other reason. There’s a bassinet in the bay window, like maybe they're preparing for a visit from the Hans with their next grandchild. They’ve updated it, but it’s very clearly at least the bones of Maddie’s childhood room.

“Check it out,” Chris says with a grin, and Eddie joins him over the fireplace, looking at a photo of a teenaged Maddie in dusky rose prom dress, arm in  arm with a short blond boy that simply must be Buck. 

“He was so blond,” says Chris, almost incredulous, “And so short!” 

Eddie’s already taking his phone out to take a photo, sending it straight to the 118 group chat. 

118 firefam 💖

Hen

wow blond bombshell buck

Bobby

You two look very cute!

Chim

if you find more young buckley pictures you legally HAVE to tell me 

Maddie

oh Evan!! love you sm 💗

Buck

ily2

Eddie shares his phone screen with Chris, and they watch the messages ping in together. 

“Hey, so I was thinking we should try not to leave Buck alone with either of his parents,” says Eddie, and Chris just raises an eyebrow.

“Duh,” Chris says, “Is his dad just as bad?” 

“His parents are a team,” Eddie says, because he doesn’t really understand the nuances of Buck’s relationship with his individual parents, and also who knows what Philip’s like as a patient.

“Like you two?” Chris asks, all innocence, and Eddie only realizes that it was actually just a little too much innocence after he’s already nodded. “Which is why you’re dating,” says Chris, and Eddie realizes the trap’s been sprung.

He looks over at the door, like he expects Margaret to just appear there. “We’re obviously not really dating,” he says in an undertone, “We’re just going to pretend for this trip.”

“That’s weirder,” Chris says, bemused, “You get how that's weirder, right?” 

Eddie looks at him, just a little betrayed. “You heard what she said earlier, right? He’s got a family, even if we’re not how she’d recognize it, so we’re just going to help her see that. That’s all.”

“Right,” says Chris, “That’s not addressing what I said at all, but sure. I’ll play along. I’ll, what, pretend that you two are partners and my parents? Sounds like a plan.”

There’s something about the way that he says it, but then there’s a quick rapping on the door, and Buck leans his head in. He takes in the light pinks and creams of the room, the four poster bed, and smiles a wistful little smile. 

“Mom and I are going to head to the hospital,” he says, “Wanted to give you guys the opportunity to stay behind if you’d like?”

“No way,” says Eddie, immediately taking a step towards Buck. 

“We came all this way to see your dad in the hospital,” points out Chris, “You want to stop us now?” 

Buck smiles at him, rueful. “We’re here for a while, you could always recover from the flight more, meet him tomorrow?”

Chris rolls his eyes in response, and just makes for the door. Eddie grins, following behind him. Sometimes teenage sass really has its uses. Buck steps back from the doorframe, makes a gesture as he steps aside, like a little joking bow, but Eddie can read in his face that he’s a little pleased, a little relieved.

————

Eddie honestly wasn’t expecting Hershey to have their own hospital. He figured they’d be in one of the townships nearby, probably, but apparently not. 

Margaret’s in the front seat, which is fine, Eddie’s obviously not going to begrudge giving the passenger seat up in the circumstances. It’s just. Chris is sitting directly behind Buck, so Eddie can’t even catch Buck’s eyes in the rearview, or nudge at his arm, or anything, and he can’t really hear their quiet conversation in the front over the music that automatically connected when they got back in the car, and he can’t see Buck.

It’s. Look. Eddie does know that he’s being intense, he’s not unaware of that, it’s just… It’s just he’s only here to have Buck’s back, and he honestly wouldn’t care at all what happened to the Buckleys except that it will affect Buck and Maddie. It’s just that Buck’s tried with his parents, over and over, more than any child should have to try, especially when it’s met with no reciprocity. Every time he tries, and every time they say they’ll meet him in the middle, and then every single fucking time it takes about three months for them to return entirely to how they were before. 

They just had a rough year, between Chris leaving and Bobby leaving, between Gerard and Ortiz, and everything that went down with Tommy, and the real and genuine fear that Eddie would have to leave too. Last year was rough, and it doesn’t seem that unreasonable to want to protect them from another bad patch. Things have been so good, isn’t he allowed to want that to last a little longer? Eddie might not believe in anthropomorphizing the universe, but if he did then he’d want to know if the universe could consider cutting Buck some fucking slack for once.

They get to the hospital and Buck navigates without a word to parking lot C. Margaret isn’t speaking, so tense and pale as she looks out of the window that Eddie starts to feel guilty about how uncharitable he's been, even though it’s just in his own head. It’s impossible to say if it’s about Philip, or if it’s about the hospital itself. 

Buck takes a heavy breath, and then they head for the building ahead of them, a Heart and Vascular Institute. Margaret clinging to Buck’s arm, Eddie at his other side, Chris beside him. 

They get to the reception, and the dubious benefit of Hershey being just small enough, or perhaps more accurately the reality of Maddie’s old job, means that they're immediately recognized upon arrival. 

“Mrs. Buckley, Evan!” calls a tall handsome nurse before they can even reach the front desk. 

There's a beat, and then Buck takes a step forward, holding his hand out.

“Omar? God, it's been years, I almost didn't recognize you!” he says, but he seems genuinely pleased to see the guy, even if Eddie’s pretty sure that Margaret doesn't know him. 

“You’re telling me,” says Omar with a smile, “The last time I saw you, you were at least two heads shorter.” 

Buck rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and there’s a moment where they clearly want to keep talking, but Omar clearly knows why they’re all here.

“Philip, Mr. Buckley, is up on the third floor, room 327,” says Omar, “Visiting hours are 8 to 8, so you’ve got plenty of time. I’ve been keeping an eye on him as much as I can, and he’s recovering well.”

It’s sweet, this guy who Buck clearly hasn’t seen in years, keeping an eye out for the sake of the Buckleys. 

“Thanks,” says Buck, as earnest as ever. “We really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” says Omar, then a pause. “I hear Maddie’s doing well?”

“She's great, too pregnant to fly back, that's all,” says Buck, smiling kindly, “Look, let’s swap numbers when you have a moment, I’m sure Maddie would love to hear from you properly.”

Omar smiles gratefully, and Eddie can catalogue it for what it is now. The slightly awkward affection you hold for your friend’s kid sibling, combined with the innate difficulty of years of radio silence, and the awareness that Buck’s not in town for a good reason.

“I’ll come find you,” says Omar, “I have to get these tests done,” with a gesture at the papers in his hand.

“We’ll be here for the rest of the week,” says Buck, and then starts guiding his mother to the elevator.

“Do you know that man?” Margaret asks, as the elevator doors close.

“He was Maddie’s best friend,” Buck says, then after a pause, like he’s considering not saying it at all, “He used to help patch her up.”

It dawns on Eddie suddenly, horribly, that this too is a factor. He remembers once, a long long time ago, sitting with Buck in a hospital room beside a bed that Maddie was sleeping in. Buck didn't seem to want to leave her, even when visiting hours ended, and Eddie had somehow been the one volunteered to tell him to listen to the nice nurses when they told him to go home and sleep.

“She’s safe now,” he’d said, “You did it, you found her, and she’s safe now.”

Buck had finally looked away from the door to the room, and he’d been so tense still, like the relief in finding Maddie had already slipped away. 

“Doug was the Head of Cardiology,” he'd said, and turned back to keep watch over the door. What else had needed to be said? The room wasn’t, couldn’t, be safe, because Doug had been the head of a department not unlike this, and so if Maddie woke up then there was no reason to assume a hospital would be a safe space. Eddie had nodded, squeezed Buck’s shoulder, and then told Athena and Bobby that they should get Buck permission to stay overnight, because there was no way in hell he was going to leave. 

The elevator doors open, and they're in the Cardiology Wing of the Heart and Vascular Institute. This was, once upon a time, Doug Kendall’s domain. What a fucking nightmare. 

“Okay,” says Buck, voice forcibly bright, “Room 327. Let’s go.”

They make their way down the corridor, and Buck pauses to get further direction from a different nurse before leading them decisively. 

“Okay,” he says again, pausing outside a door, looks to Margaret, who just looks at him pleadingly. Buck pushes open the door, and Margaret follows in his wake. There's a moment where Eddie wonders if they should have some space, some time together, and before he can make a decision about it, Chris goes through the door too, so Eddie hurries in after him. 

Eddie's met Philip Buckley a couple of times now, and he’s not an intimidating man, but he is tall. Big. The kind of man that makes even Buck seem a little smaller, usually, though maybe that has less to do with his frame than it does the Buckleys’ general dispositions. 

He doesn’t seem so big right now. He doesn’t look small, exactly, just tired and pale. He looks unwell, he looks human, and Eddie can feel how much it’s shaking Buck to see. He walks up behind him, braces Buck with his arm leaning against Buck’s side.

Philip’s greeting his wife, they’re talking quietly, Margaret clearly holding tears back. Buck leans further into Eddie’s side. 

“Evan,” says Philip after a moment, “It’s so good of you to come, you didn’t have to!” 

“Of course I did, Dad,” says Buck, swaying just a little, unmoored. “How are you doing?”

“Been better,” says Philip dryly, and then with a forced smile that Eddie just knows means that he’s thinking about Chim’s bachelor party, says “Eduardo, right?”

“Eddie, actually,” corrects Eddie, unsure if he should offer to shake hands while Philip is laid up like this. 

“Margaret tells me that you two are together, now?” he asks, and Eddie can feel Buck’s nerve wavering, so he wraps an arm around Buck’s waist. 

“Yes,” he says firmly, “We are.” 

Philip Buckley nods, a little unsure, perhaps a little disapproving. It’s not, Eddie thinks, homophobic, just that he finds Eddie specifically wanting. To be perfectly honest, maybe if they really were together he’d be supposed to care what the Buckleys thought of him, but in all honesty? He can't help but think so little of their opinion in general that he honestly can't think of a worse black mark on him in this moment than their approval. 

“And this is Christopher,” says Margaret, genuinely cheerful, and Eddie is reminded of the one good thing about them. They genuinely love Jee-Yun, and they seem eager to get to know Chris. It doesn't excuse the rest of it, but Eddie’s a recent expert in recognizing people who are good grandparents but aren’t interested in being good parents.

“Well, it's lovely to officially meet you Christopher,” says Philip, “You look familiar, have we met before?” 

“I was at Maddie and Chim’s wedding," says Chris, taking a seat in one of the chairs by the bed. “Maybe you saw me there.” 

“My apartment,” says Buck, a little abrupt, “I don’t know if you remember, but when you came to visit, after… After. There are pictures of Chris and Eddie all over my loft, on the fridge, in the living room.”

“Oh,” says Margaret, “Of course, yes.”

“That was, uh, a while ago,” says Philip delicately, like he thinks Buck’s about to announce that he was cheating on Eddie with Tommy or vice versa, and Eddie has to stop a huff of laughter. 

“We were just friends then,” says Eddie, taking pity.

“Were you ever really just friends?” pipes up Chris, teasing, and Eddie spins to give him a look, before realizing that this is the perfect cover.

“Maybe not," he says, all faux embarrassed, “Just took a while to admit it.”

He already knew Buck was a terrible actor from their brief Hotshots cameo, but the way he’s stiffened up and is looking at Eddie suspiciously is not helping, so Eddie squeezes his hand tightly on Buck’s hip, and the shock of it is enough to have Buck relax back into his side. 

“How are Maddie, Howard, and little Jee-Yun?” asks Philip, and Buck resets himself, always genuinely happy to talk about his sister or his niece, no matter the circumstance. 

"They're good,” Buck says, pleased, “Maddie wanted me to pass on her love, she’d be here if she could, you know.”

“Of course,” agrees Philip easily, “And her pregnancy is going well?”

“She's great,” confirms Buck, and you’ll never guess who’s even better… Here, look, this is from Lunar New Year. Look how cute Jee-Yun is!” 

Buck flips through photos on his phone by his father’s bedside, his mother crowding next to the two of them to look as well, all three of them united in a rare moment of solidarity, brought together by their love for Jee. 

Like this, lit up by their affection, Eddie can almost see how they’re related. Like this, the Buckleys look enough like their son that Eddie can feel hopeful that this trip might not get too much worse. Margaret’s had a rough twenty-four hours, so as much as Eddie doesn't want to just forgive and forget her behaviour this morning, maybe he can afford to give a little more leeway.

The three of them are smiling, and Eddie’s not convinced, exactly, but he has to remember that his issues with his own parents might be related, but they are different. Maybe he should stop acting like this whole trip is doomed from the start, lean into getting to know them better, act as a buffer when needed, but not assume that it'll always be needed. 

“What’s the word from your doctor?” Buck asks, “Any idea when you’ll be able to head home?” 

“Not too bad,” says Philip, “I should be back at home in about two days, so we’ll have some time, all, uh, five of us. That’ll be nice, won't it?"

“Yeah,” agrees Buck, “Of course.” 

He glances at Eddie, and without needing him to say a thing, Eddie goes over to read Philip’s chart. Margaret was understandably distraught on the phone, and she was an English teacher Buck had mentioned once, so it’s not like she'd necessarily understand a lot of the medical side of this anyway. Between an ER nurse and an EMT-trained firefighter, both their kids actually have a lot of opinions on medical care, and in the fourteen or so hours before they'd taken off to LAX, Eddie had gotten the impression that they'd both prefer a more in-depth account of what had happened. 

It takes a moment, and then Eddie’s frowning down at the chart in his hand, flipping through the pages to double check, but no, there it is.

“Eddie?” asks Buck, suddenly on high alert, getting up and walking over to him. 

“You said cardiac arrest?” Eddie checks, and Buck nods. 

"Oh Evan, leave it,” Philip says in the same moment that Eddie passes Buck the chart without a word. 

Cardiac arrest, sure, followed by cardiogenic shock, followed by a coronary artery bypass graft. If he’s due to leave in two days, the surgery would have been almost a week ago, the actual fucking heart attack as least as long ago. 

“A week ago?” Buck asks in shock, looking down at the chart, and then up at his parents.  Then, louder and perhaps a little shriller, “A week ago?”

Eddie turns around to Chris, who’s already sighing and gathering his crutches and his switch. 

"I think I saw a vending machine outside,” says Chris, utterly deadpan, “Anyone want anything? No, okay, I’m off.”

Thank you, Eddie mouths, and Chris just nods in response before leaving. 

“I’d ask why you didn't call to tell us,” Buck is saying lowly as Eddie turns back to him, “But I’m used to you not telling me things, so I guess I'm just asking why you didn’t tell Maddie.” 

“That’s not fair, Evan,” cries Margaret, “This isn’t the same thing at all, how could you even say that."

“He could have died,” Buck snaps back, “Cardiogenic shock? Another surgery? He could have died, and we didn’t even know about the initial heart attack! Why didn't you call?"

“We thought it was for the best,” says Philip, taking Margaret’s hand in his, “Avoid the stress of it all."

“Especially after how the last pregnancy went,” adds Margaret, “It was already a risk, Maddie getting pregnant again, there was no need to add to the danger.”

“Excuse me?” asks Buck, and Eddie can see him cycling through the various different responses that he clearly wants to snap back in response.

"We tried to tell her it was a bad idea," says Margaret, “But she wouldn’t listen, so when this happened we thought best not to say anything and add to her stress.”

“And you think it wouldn't have stressed her out when you had to call to announce that her father had died on the table?” Buck bites out, and Eddie takes a step forward, resting a hand on Buck’s lower back. If there was any doubt before, at least here and now he has the excuse to act how he'd like, even in front of Buck’s parents. At least he can support him how he needs.

“Hey,” he says quietly, and Buck turns to look at him, eyes red-rimmed and wretched. Eddie leans forward just a little, uses his other hand to pluck the chart out from Buck’s. “I get it, I do, but he's okay. He’s alive, and in recovery, okay?”

Buck blinks heavily, and Eddie knows, Eddie knows what this feels like. 

“Not now,” he says, and spares a glance for Buck’s parents. Margaret is holding a handkerchief to her lips, eyes glossy with unshed tears, Philip is sitting up, shoulders square, but he looks pale, noticeably unwell. “We’re here for a week, there’s time. We can talk it through later, I promise.”

“Yeah,” says Buck quietly, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, settles his shoulders. “You’re okay?” he asks Philip directly, “You're recovering.”

“I am,” says Philip, “Two more days, and then I’m home.” 

“Good,” says Margaret emphatically, her voice trembling. “I’m sure you’ll recover better when you’re home.” 

The look Philip gives her is almost indulgent, and Eddie knows, he knows, he should feel sorry for them, but instead he just resents that they reserve so much grace for each other, and so little for their children. 

————

They have a quiet dinner in the Buckley home with Margaret, sitting at a dark wood dining table and eating the driest pork that Eddie’s ever tasted. She asks about Christopher’s life more than anything, genuinely interested in getting to know him. Buck meets his eyes from across the table, tired and yet entirely unsurprised, and it strikes at the heart of Eddie, how familiar this is. How much this reminds him of Thanksgiving with his parents in El Paso, of watching them engage with aspects of Chris’ life they have never even thought to ask of Eddie. On some levels, he wishes that this wasn’t something they have in common, on other levels it helps. Anyone who can’t see how great Buck is, who doesn’t want to invest any time in getting to know him, is obviously in the wrong. It’s enough to remind Eddie that maybe that goes both ways, maybe his own parents’ focus on Christopher at the cost of Eddie himself is not entirely justifiable.

The thing is, and he knows that Buck would also agree with him on this, it’s a relief that they do care about Chris. Eddie knows exactly how little Buck’s parents show an interest in Buck’s life, but it’s hard not to feel like it’s a good thing to see that at least Chris will never have to deal with the same cutting lack of interest that they both have known. 

He can't exactly engage Buck in conversation over Chris and Margaret, but he nudges his foot against Buck’s under the table, trying for solidarity. When Buck’s smile stays tired, Eddie loops his ankle around Buck’s, tugs, trying to surprise him, trying to win a brighter smile. It works, Buck grinning at him, bemused but entertained.

“Footsie, really?” mutters Chris dryly while Margaret is taking a drink, and Buck snorts just a little, which is all it takes for Eddie to mutter back, “Mind your beeswax, kid.”

After dinner, it’s fine. Awkward, sure, but it’s like the fight in the hospital never fucking happened, and honestly Eddie kind of hates it, the underlying tension that seeps through the room, that is a silent part of every conversation. This, he just knows, is how Buck grew up. 

There’s a slightly sad offering of fruit salad, which they dutifully pick at for a little, and then they make small talk through a single mug of herbal tea back in the overly formal sitting room, and then Margaret announces that it's bedtime. It’s not even nine o'clock, and Eddie’s so sure that when she and Philip have visited L.A., they've stayed up a lot longer, but he can't pretend it's not a relief. 

“I’m gonna play with Denny before bed,” announces Chris, the second that Margaret has left the room. “I'll use headphones, don't worry.” 

“Sounds good, mijo,” replies Eddie, “Try to go to sleep at a reasonable time for Pennsylvania. I know it’s barely six at home, but three hours is just enough difference to mess with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” agrees Chris dismissively, “Do you think it'll snow tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” says Buck, “Those were snow clouds, all today.”

“Cool,” says Chris happily, "Okay, night!”

“Night,” says Eddie with a smile.

“Goodnight," says Buck after a beat, “Thanks for coming, it really does mean a lot.”

Chris pauses on his way out of the sitting room, and gives Buck a brief but tight side hug. “I’m glad to be here. Your parents are really nice to me.” It’s a sign, Eddie thinks, of his getting older and wiser that he added that little ‘to me’.

“Good,” says Buck, just a little fierce. “Say hi to Denny for me, sleep well.”

Chris slopes out the room, and Buck and Eddie look at each other.

“Should we–” Buck starts, in the same moment that Eddie says, "You want to–”

They pause, laugh just a little, and then get up to head out of the room in sync. Buck’s unlike any other person Eddie’s ever known, in the way they can just easily read each other, easily follow along with each other’s train of thought.

“Bedroom, right?” Buck checks in the hall, and Eddie nods with a smile. There’s something so great about knowing each other this well. 

His smile fades the second they step inside their room. While Maddie’s room was tasteful, it was still clearly at least somewhat the room she’d grown up with. This, Eddie has no doubt, is straightforwardly a guest room.

“I thought your mom said–” he starts in a low voice, and Buck flinches. 

“She did. This was my room growing up.”

“And was it all greys and beiges?” Eddie asks, knowing the answer, and scowls when Buck shakes his head. 

“It’s nicer now,” Buck says, “Definitely better for a guest room.”

“How many guests do your parents host?” Eddie asks, poisonous, and then looks at Buck’s face. “Sorry,” he says then, “Sorry. Buck, how can I help?” 

“You are helping,” Buck insists, sitting down heavily on the side of the bed. “Having you and Chris here? It’s helping, it really is.”

“Even when I lie to your parents about our relationship, and start a fight in a hospital room?” Eddie asks ruefully, sitting beside Buck on the bed. 

“Even then,” laughs Buck. “And to be fair, I think I started the fight.”

“I wasn’t trying to shut you up,” Eddie says, a vague concern that's been haunting him since Buck shut down, since they left Philip.

“I know,” says Buck with a smile, “I know you, I know what you meant. You were right, it wasn't the time for it.” 

“Have you talked to Maddie?”

“Not properly,” admits Buck. “I don’t want to say they had a point, but I can understand not wanting to add stress to Maddie’s plate.”

“And if Maddie didn’t hear you debrief from the first day of this trip, you what? Think she’d be relaxed and chill about it?”

Buck smirks at that, “Yeah, okay, point. I could say it all went well?”

Eddie gives him that mean little smile that he knows amuses Buck. “Might want to try for something more realistic, that she might actually believe.”

“Ouch,” says Buck, but he's still smiling, acknowledging the truth of the point. “Okay, I’ll call her. You want first shower?” 

“Ooh, we have an ensuite?” Eddie asks, getting up to explore the personality-free guest room in more depth. 

“Do my parents look like the kind of people who’ve ever shared a bathroom with a child?” Buck asks dryly, unlocking his phone, and Eddie concedes the point. 

He unzips his suitcase, which Buck had brought up and placed on top of the bench at foot of the bed, while Buck calls Maddie. He grabs a tee and sweats to sleep in, and brings his toiletries bag through to the bathroom, so he can give Buck and Maddie some space to talk, some privacy for the revelation of their father's actual condition. 

The water pressure of the shower is amazing, one of those full coverage but heavy and hard enough that it's practically a small massage. Eddie’s stress levels would be so different if he had a shower with water pressure like this. Maybe he really wouldn’t panic then. 

He brushes his teeth at least two minutes longer than normal, waiting until he can’t hear the sound of Buck on the phone through the bathroom door anymore. When he knocks lightly on the bathroom door frame as he re-enters the room, Buck’s slumped over, his head in his hands. He startles at the noise, picks himself up, visibly perking up in front of Eddie. 

“Bathroom’s free,” Eddie says, just a little sadly. There's no point in asking or insisting that Buck does or doesn’t pretend in front of him, because ultimately Buck knows that he doesn’t have to, so if he chooses to then Eddie should let him be. Still, that doesn't mean Eddie has to play along himself. 

Buck gets his own stuff together, heads into the bathroom, and the sound of the shower switches on.

Somehow this is what it takes for Eddie to look around the room and realize that announcing that he and Buck are dating has left them in a rather predictable situation. They’re grown adults and a couple, as far as Margaret knows, so of course it's reasonable to assume that they’d be fine to share not just a room but a bed. They are good to share, it would hardly be the first time, but lockdown feels like a lifetime ago, a surreal dreamlike quality to his memories of those months now. 

This feels different, somehow, more real. Which, again, is fine. It’s just a bed. Who hasn't had to share with a friend due to some circumstance or other, it’s genuinely not a big deal. It’s not even really sharing Buck's childhood bed, because this room is full of a generic light wood furniture set that, while clearly more expensive than IKEA, is definitely not whatever they had in Buck's childhood. There’s not a single sign of him in this room, no sense that this has ever been more than a guest room. Eddie wants to be angry, but he can't help but stop to be sad instead. There’s something about this house, its stuffy halls, its tension-filled rooms, that feels like it would be a bad place to raise a child. He didn’t know Buck when he’d first moved to L.A., when he was truly rootless and drifting, but he’s heard about it. From the team, sure, but from Buck. I only really settled in when you and Maddie arrived, he’s said, and Eddie had nodded and tried to pretend he wasn’t going to think about it for hours. It’s here, in Buck’s childhood bedroom turned into the blandest possible guest room, that Eddie stops to wonder how settled Buck had ever been before Los Angeles and the 118. 

He knew there would be no sign of Daniel here, knew that this house was purposefully chosen to help erase the hole where Daniel should have been, knew that Buck grew up haunted by his memory without ever knowing that’s what the problem was. Still, he’d assumed there would be more signs that Buck had lived here. 

They never wanted a kid, just had me for parts, Buck had said a lifetime ago, a bright and utterly fake smile on his face, and Eddie remembers how quickly his stomach had sunken, his rush to reassure Buck that it wasn’t his fault. It might not matter, is the thing. This house is a museum, a curated collection gathering dust. It’s not a place for living things. It’s a miracle that Buck got out, sure, but it’s also a miracle that he’s so good and kind and caring. 

The door swings open, and there Buck is, a big LAFD sweatshirt and shorts, flushed pink from the heat of the shower, towelling roughly at his damp curls. 

“Hey,” says Eddie, struck by how alive he looks, even in this mausoleum of a house. “I’m really glad you're alive.” He doesn't mean to say it, barely lets himself think things like that, even though obviously he’s glad that his friends are alive and okay. It’s worth saying, though, for the way Buck lightens up, the way he looks at Eddie. 

“Me too,” Buck says steadily after a moment, like it’s significant. Like he’s thought about it, and he really is glad to be alive, like maybe that isn’t as automatic as it should be. Buck smiles at him then, sweet, earnest. “I'm really glad you’re alive too.”

It hits Eddie harder than it maybe should, because he knows, beyond any fraction of a doubt, that Buck truly means it. That he’s thought about the world without Eddie, and he's really and truly glad that Eddie’s here. There’s a sharp sting in his eyes that he blinks away as Buck hangs his towel over a hook on the door, digs through his bag for a pair of fluffy socks. 

Buck tosses the socks onto the bed, on the right side, which is the one he always took back in the pandemic, and Eddie is abruptly reminded that they’re going to share a bed. 

He sets his phone up to charge, waits for Buck to sit down next to him. It’s too early to actually try and get some sleep, and it would be even if they weren’t on L.A. time, but it’s been an emotionally draining day, and it’s not like they can’t fuck around on their phones in bed for a while.

“You’re ridiculous,” Eddie announces fondly as Buck sits up at the head of the bed to pull his sleep socks on before wiggling his body under the covers.

“They’re cosy!” Buck complains, but he’s smiling. 

“If you’re cold, you could wear sweats instead of shorts,” Eddie points out.

“It’s not about being cold, it's about being cosy,” Buck informs him. 

“Riiight,” drawls Eddie, “And sweatpants are famously not cosy.”

“You just don’t get it,” says Buck with a grin. 

Eddie grins back, “Thank god.” 

There's a lull, while Eddie finally looks at today’s Gubbins, a habit he never quite broke after Chris got him into it a few days into his fateful Thanksgiving trip, and Buck does his Duolingo. He doesn't like to do it around Eddie, and listening to him trying his best to whisper Spanish so that Eddie won’t hear it, as though they’re not sitting up next to one another in bed, Eddie can guess why. 

He can feel Buck throw him a nervous glance or two, but Eddie doesn’t ask. He’s tried his best with Chris over the years, but there’s no denying he came back from El Paso a lot more proficient than he’d been, and he’s far more likely to lapse into Spanish than he had been. Eddie’s never been entirely sure how Buck travelled South America and lived in Peru with what appears to be five phrases of Spanglish total, but it’s one of the rare things that Buck seems to be genuinely self-conscious about, so Eddie doesn’t tend to tease him about it. He’s not going to start now that he’s making a concerted effort. 

The app is constantly dinging and making little noises, so Eddie gives up, waits for Buck to finish so that they can try the daily Gubbins together. 

It’s nice, is the thing. It’s nice being all close and domestic. It always has been, it’s the sort of intimacy that Eddie craves, it’s why he’ll let relationships last much longer than he should, it’s why he asked Marisol to move in so quickly, it’s why he let Shannon back into his life so quickly. 

He and Buck have always been close, always had this easy back-and-forth, always been there for each other, after that first twenty-four hours at least. Having this, curled up next to Buck, one of his favorite people in the world, is a lot. It’s sort of like the culmination of all those other previous intimacies, but with someone he knows he trusts more than anyone. With someone with whom he never has to worry about what to say, or how to act. He’s close and domestic with someone he can actually relax with, for once. 

They play Gubbins together, debating words and bonuses quietly, both pushed up right next to one another in order to see the screen properly, Buck a line of warmth along Eddie’s side, their thighs pressed up close as they both prop their legs up, rest Eddie’s phone in the middle of them. It’s. It’s just nice. Cosy. They’ll sit this close at the station some shifts, on Eddie’s couch, but this feels different somehow. 

Once they’re done, it's still not that late, but odds are high that tomorrow will be just as exhausting as today, maybe more so. That’s Buck’s reasoning when he turns the light off, anyway, and given of the two of them Buck’s the one who’s normally more likely to stay up and read on wikipedia for hours, Eddie can't really disagree. 

They lie there, next to each other in the dark, Eddie’s right side tingling with the phantom heat of another person, both definitely awake. 

“It’s later,” Eddie says after what feels like at least twenty minutes, and is probably not that much more than two. 

“It is,” Buck agrees, utterly neutral.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Eddie asks, just as neutral.

“It’s. What’s there to talk about?” His neutrality is shattering, just a little, the hurt creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. 

“Buck,” Eddie rebukes gently. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but don’t pretend. Not with me.”

“Sorry,” says Buck, and he sounds so small. 

Eddie elbows out into the other side of the bed, laughs at Buck’s oof when he strikes true. “Don’t fucking apologize,” he says, fierce, “I’m here for you, okay? You can feel however you feel, and I don’t need an apology for that, not now, not ever. If you want to talk about it, we can talk, that’s all. We don’t have to. Whatever you want, Buck.”

He turns, and it’s not so dark that he can’t make out the edges of Buck’s face, turned to look at him. 

A heavy sigh. Buck turns to face the ceiling again, his profile just visible in the dark room.

“I just. I’m not Maddie, you know?” 

Eddie’s glad he left his arm there after he elbowed Buck, because he can use it to nudge Buck teasingly. “You’re not? Who knew,” he says gently, and hears Buck’s huff of near-laughter in response. 

“I just mean. I’m not Maddie. If it’s that they didn’t want to stress her out, then that doesn't mean they couldn’t have told me, it's not like I’m pregnant.”

“No?” Eddie teases lightly, aware of what his role here is. Buck does better with someone keeping him grounded, not letting him spiral off into his thoughts, where he will always be able to come up with new ways to torture himself. 

“Eddie,” says Buck, and he might not be able to see it, but he can hear the eye roll. “Besides it’s not like it would be less stressful for Maddie to get a call that her dad died on the operating table. Like, what was their plan if anything actually went wrong? Even assuming everything goes as well as possible, I just. I can understand not wanting to upset Maddie, but that doesn't explain why they wouldn’t tell me. It’s also. This is gonna sound. I’m not Maddie.”

“Okay,” says Eddie after a beat, “Now you’re lost me."

“I’m not someone they’ve ever wanted, so why tell me anything? Why am I here? What was the point in telling me to come and help, when it all happened a week ago? Why lie, sure, but they always lie to me, so why tell the truth?” 

“Oh, Buck,” Eddie says before he can think. 

“Don’t pity m–”

“Don’t,” interrupts Eddie, “I don’t pity you, c’mon, you know that. I pity them a little, for not getting to know how great you are, but not you. Never you.” He snakes the arm that had still been resting gently against Buck’s side to be under his shoulders instead, pulls Buck close so that he’s resting tucked up against Eddie’s side. “However they feel about you, you’re wanted and loved and trusted by so many. By everyone at the 118, by Chris, by me.” 

Buck makes a soft little noise before nuzzling into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder. He radiates heat, and it’s almost enough to make Eddie not notice the way his own tee pulls and dampens with the trace of tears. He rubs at Buck’s shoulders soothingly. They’re not often this close. It’s nice, being able to be here physically for Buck on top of everything else. Being able to comfort him properly, in a way that he never could during the day or with the lights on. 

“Thanks for being here,” Buck says, so quiet that Eddie can barely hear him over the sounds of them both breathing. 

“I've got your back, remember?” Eddie says easily, lets himself squeeze Buck even closer for just a second.

“I remember,” replies Buck, almost solemn, and it settles something in Eddie to hear that, so sure, even after a day like today. 

He’s not sure when he falls asleep, it happens more easily than usual, Buck close and warm against him, between one breath and the next. 

————

The next morning, Buck wakes up without an alarm at 8am, which is functionally still 5am for the both of them. He doesn't mean to wake Eddie too, tries to murmur him back to sleep, but he’s visibly planning on going downstairs, so Eddie drags himself out of bed too. He hasn’t told Buck explicitly about his plan to not leave Buck alone with either of his parents, but based on the wry look that Buck shoots him, Eddie suspects he’s been made. 

“Come on,” says Buck fondly, “Let’s see what the coffee options are here.”

“Oh god,” groans Eddie, pulling some actual clothes on for the day. It’s so much fucking colder outside of the bed. “Please tell me your parents are coffee people.”

“Philip drinks it, definitely,” Buck says, and there it is again. Back when Buck first brought up his parents, disproving the firehouse theories that he and Maddie were orphans, he’d only ever referred to them by their first names. It’s gone back and forth over the years, but this? When Margaret had called, asked them to come to Hershey, she had been Mom, it had been Dad who’d had a heart attack. Now it’s back to Margaret and Philip.

There’s nothing Eddie can ask, not really. He knows what the issue is, how could he not, and he knows that Buck knows he’s here if he does want to talk about it. All he can do is to keep being here, he guesses, and offer support in whatever form that Buck might need. 

“Does he drink the good stuff, though?” asks Eddie, “Or does he like that instant bullshit?”

“I will never understand your grudge against instant coffee,” Buck says, pulling a thick flannel on over his henley and buttoning it up.

“It’s not a grudge,” Eddie protests, layering up himself. If Buck thinks it’ll be cold, then Eddie doesn’t want to take any chances. “It’s just not coffee. That’s just a fact.”

“Snob,” teases Buck, as they head out of the room and head downstairs. 

“It’s not snobbery,” complains Eddie, “I’m just saying if I want coffee, then I want coffee, not coffee adjacent granules.”

It’s an easy argument, one they’ve been having on and off for years, comfortable like putting on an old sweater, a dance they both know the steps to. 

It stutters a little as they get downstairs, and immediately bump into Margaret, having a cup of tea at the dining table. She’s scrolling through something on her tablet, Facebook maybe? Or the news, perhaps. She straightens up when they enter the room, from where she’d been curled over, peering at her tablet. Eddie can tell from here that the font size is extremely big. 

“Morning,” she greets primly, and Eddie nods his head to return the greeting. 

“Hey, morning,” says Buck, and then immediately, “When did you last get your eyes tested?” 

“Oh, Evan,” says Margaret dismissively, “My vision is fine, don’t worry so much.”

There’s a moment where Eddie thinks Buck’s going to push, and then he sighs. “Yeah, okay. I’m going to sort out some breakfast, do you want anything?” 

“Some branflakes and yogurt, please Evan,” she says, and Eddie could probably sit down and join her and get to know her more, or at least keep her company, but even if he did want to spend some time comforting her, it’s not like Eddie would be a particularly good choice for that. Besides, he’d rather stick with Buck. 

“Another tea?” he asks, to make a token effort, and Margaret smiles politely before demurring. 

Buck heads into the kitchen and Eddie trails behind him. 

“Okay, come on,” mutters Buck to himself, “Time to figure out where they keep stuff.”

Eddie joins him at the counter. It looks like the best they’ve got is one of those pods machines, which Eddie’s never sure of, but hey, it’s not HILDY, so he’ll take it. 

“Changed the kitchen too?” he asks, as he starts hunting through the cupboards for the pods themselves. 

“Not sure, probably,” says Buck. “Aha, okay, I’m thinking oatmeal for breakfast, I think Chris could do with something warm for all the snow.” 

“All the what?” Eddie asks, as the coffee machine starts burbling behind him. It’s been chilly today, notably colder than yesterday, but he hadn’t thought… 

He walks over to the window, and takes in the outside world. It looks like a drawing from a children’s storybook, or an old fashioned Christmas card, a thick dusting of snow coating the world, muffling everything. It reminds him viscerally of the gingerbread houses that Chris used to insist on making every year, the sweeps of royal icing across the roof and window panes, his insistence on the importance of snow. For the first time, Eddie thinks he might agree. 

“Wow,” breathes Eddie.

“Huh,” says Buck, “I forgot.” 

“You forgot what?” Eddie asks, tearing himself from the window to look back. 

Buck’s standing, hip propped against the counter, smiling at him fondly. He’s fully dressed, but between the work jeans, the thick socks, the warm toned flannel shirt, it’s not the kind of casual outfit that Eddie’s used to from Buck. “I forgot you might not have seen snow before,” says Buck. “I think I forget that you haven’t always been with me, that there are experiences we don’t share.” 

Eddie smiles in return, because he can't pretend that he doesn’t feel exactly the same. When Chris had come back and Buck had asked him repeatedly what El Paso was like, it had been a shocking reminder that the extent of Buck’s time in El Paso was a one hour break in the road driving back from fighting wildfires. 

“It’s kind of amazing,” says Eddie, turning back to the window, entranced by a small bird landing in the pristine snow of the backyard, the little dimples it makes as it hops forward.  “Chris is going to love it when he gets up.”

“Mmm,” Buck says, surprisingly close, “Chris. Sure. Here you are.” 

Next to Eddie is Buck’s hand, holding the hot sides of a mug so that Eddie can easily grab the handle. Eddie takes it, cradles it close and warm. The coffee is surprisingly good, with the perfect amount of creamer, and the brown sugar that Eddie always likes but rarely adds to his own coffee.

“Thank you,” he says, after a sip, still looking out the window, and can hear the smile in Buck's easy demurral. There’s something about the way the snow sort of hangs in clouds on top of each branch. It doesn’t feel like it should make sense, like that’s not how gravity should work, and yet. 

He hears the door open, but Buck doesn't walk far, just asks his mom if she’s sure she doesn’t want to join them in oatmeal. Eddie doesn’t hear her reply, but he doesn’t hear Buck pour cereal into a bowl, so it seems like answer enough. 

“What's the plan today?” Eddie asks after a while. The bird has a friend, and they’re chasing each other across the garden. It’s honestly extremely cute. 

“I figure I’ll go visit Philip again,” Buck says, “Maybe actually talk to his doctor today, so that we can properly prepare for him being back.”

“Sensible,” agrees Eddie. 

“Then, I don’t know, maybe I can show you and Chris around a bit? I should check and see if Margaret has plans. It’d be nice to catch up with Omar some time this week, I should text him.” 

“Anyone else you’d want to catch up with while we’re here?” Eddie asks.

“Probably not,” says Buck easily, uncaringly. It’s insane to think that he was genuinely not close with anyone while he was growing up here. To think that no one in Hershey ever appreciated Buck except Maddie. What a fucking crime. “Hey, do you think we should wake Chris up?”

“I’d normally say we can let him sleep a bit longer, but I suspect if he knows we let him sleep through the snow then we’ll be in trouble,” Eddie admits. 

“It’s settled now,” Buck says, “It’s not going anywhere before he wakes up.” 

“Still,” says Eddie, and then turning around and seeing Buck at the stove, stirring at the oatmeal which he’s clearly making from scratch instead of microwaving, “Plus, we don’t want him to miss breakfast, especially now you’ve put all this effort in.”

“It’s literally so low effort,” Buck replies, but he’s smiling just a little, bashful in the way he always seems to get when someone actually acknowledges all that he does for other people. 

“I’ll be back to help you serve up,” Eddie says, hoping that will keep Buck in the kitchen until he comes back, and then heads up to knock at Chris’ door. He exchanges another silent nod with Margaret as he passes through the dining room, and she smiles at him kindly. She seems to be entirely on board with them being here now, even if yesterday she’d been acting like they’d turned up on her doorstep without a single warning. 

Chris groans loud enough that Eddie feels okay coming in, having clearly stayed up too late with Denny the night before. 

“Whyyyyyy?” he asks, as Eddie sits on the edge of his mattress.

“Well it’s nearly 9am,” Eddie starts, and Chris just groans again in response. “And Buck’s cooking breakfast, which I thought you might not want to miss.”

“Whatisit?” Chris slurs into his pillow, one eye peering up at Eddie distrustfully. 

“Oatmeal,” admits Eddie, and watches Chris look almost offended before he tries to bury himself back in his pillow. “Buck thought it would be good to have something warm before we went out into the snow.”

There’s a moment.

“The snow?” Chris asks, voice suddenly clear as he sits bolt upright. 

“Yeah,” grins Eddie, “The snow. But if you want to head back to bed, don’t you worry, we can go for a walk around the block without you, the snow will still be there when you get up next time.”

“Shut up,” says Chris, scrambling to get out of bed and to the window. “Woah, Dad, did you see this?” 

Eddie walks over to join him at the window, puts an arm around him. Maddie’s old room faces the front of the house, so the window looks out onto the tree lined avenue, snow dusting the hedges, the sky still bright and heavy.

“Pretty cool, huh?” he asks, and Chris nods in enthusiasm. “Come on, kiddo.” 

“Do I need to get dressed?” Chris asks, and Eddie shrugs. 

“Are you warm enough? I think whatever the rules usually are, you’ll be fine.”

————

The oatmeal's surprisingly good, Buck loaded it with spices, nuts, and fruits, and drizzled it with maple syrup. They get through breakfast pretty easily, Chris asking a thousand questions about what it's like to live with snow, Buck and Margaret both doing their best to answer him. There are tense moments, sure, but it’s mostly fine. 

“I don’t think there’s enough settled for sledding yet,” Buck says, indulgent, “Maybe before we leave, depends if the snow holds up.”

“Is sledding really a good idea?” asks Margaret primly. “Our Evan was a little reckless when he was your age,” she says, turning to Chris, “I’m sure you’re much more sensible, hmm?”

“Buck wouldn’t suggest sledding if he didn’t know a way to make it safe,” Eddie interjects.

“It’s sledding,” Margaret says, “I’m not sure I can think of a less appropriate activity off the top of my head.”

“Buck takes my safety really seriously,” Chris says firmly, “He even made me a frame so that I could skateboard safely.”

“Oh?” asks Margaret, somewhere between confused and sceptical. 

“You still have pictures on your Instagram, right, Dad?” asks Chris, and Eddie agrees, going for his phone.

Under the table, Buck nudges his knee into Eddie’s leg, shaking his head ever so slightly when Eddie looks up to check in with him. He looks tired again, already. 

“It’s not the weather for it right now anyway, right? Maybe we should get you two Texas boys used to the snow with a walk around the block before we get too ambitious. Mom, what time do you want to visit Dad today?”

“Today?” asks Margaret, looking genuinely confused and surprised. “Do you plan on going back there?”

Buck looks bewildered. “I– Yes,” he says after a moment, “Yes, I figured we’d go today as well.”

“He doesn’t get released until tomorrow, you know?” 

“I know,” says Buck, and he sounds odd now. There’s a tone to his voice that Eddie can’t actually place, which is rare for the two of them. He thought he knew almost all of Buck’s tones by now. “I’ll still go and check in today.”

“If you want,” Margaret says, and Eddie can barely reconcile her with the woman in tears just yesterday. 

“We’ll probably aim to have lunch out,” says Buck after a beat or two. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

“Well, that depends. Perhaps we should go out for dinner, I’m not sure that will be an option once your father is back."

“Probably not,” says Buck. “He’ll need to recover.” He sounds so straightforward, all emotion excised from his voice. It’s disconcerting. Eddie moves his leg so that he can rest his knee against Buck’s thigh, keep that point of contact between them. 

“Emilio’s, then? Or is there somewhere in particular that you’d like to go?”

“Chris, it’s up to you, French or Italian?” says Buck, turning to look at Chris. 

“I don’t get a say?” asks Eddie, nudging him harder with his knee, and Buck might not look at him, but his smile gets a little warmer, a little more real. He pushes his leg back into Eddie’s knee, purposeful.

“Nah,” says Buck easily, “We all know Chris is the boss here.”

“True,” agrees Chris cheerfully. “Is French food any good?”

“Oh! Well!” exclaims Margaret, looking genuinely surprised, “Bistro d’Aix it is! I’ll make some sort of reservation. Does six thirty work, or would you prefer seven?” 

“Whichever works for you, Mom,” says Buck. There’s a pause, and Eddie can feel him sway back into Eddie’s knee, like he needs to feel the contact. “Do you have a spare set of keys?” asks Buck. 

“Oh,” says Margaret. “Of course. We ought to have a spare set somewhere here, I’ll look for them.” She gets up, her oatmeal only picked at, and starts to rifle through a wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. 

“Thanks,” says Buck, subdued. 

“Mijo, why don’t you go and get dressed so we can go on that walk in the snow, hmm?” 

“Sounds good!” replies Chris cheerfully. “Can’t believe it really snowed.”

It’s enough to bring a faint smile back to Buck’s face.

“Make sure to layer up,” says Buck, “You handle the cold terribly, and you’ve barely ever had real cold weather.” 

“Wow,” says Chris, making his way to the door, like Buck’s not entirely right. 

“I’m serious, Chris, at least three layers! And thick socks!”

Eddie smiles to see Buck calling out after Chris, his concerned nagging so familiar to them both. Buck’s always shown his love like this, through demonstrating his care, his concern, through protecting their wellbeing, both physical and mental. It’s just who he is. 

“Aha!” says Margaret, after going through a drawer or two. “Here you go, the spares. Do you remember the house alarm code?"

“Yes, 5891,” says Buck absentmindedly, then as Eddie watches he pales, just a little. Closes his eyes, and breathes through whatever it was that just struck him.

“Don’t forget to finish it with a pound symbol,” says Margaret, and Buck nods slowly. She comes over to the table, and puts the set of spare keys in front of Buck. He looks at them, unmoving.

They sit there, for a moment, and Buck doesn’t grab them, even as Margaret turns around and heads into the kitchen, so Eddie reaches out to pick them up. 

There are three keys on it, sure, but there’s also two keychains. One is a black and red crest which, judging from the Latin surrounding it, has something to do with Boston. One is a blue and orange man’s head wearing one of those old fashioned helmets with a plume. He rubs a thumb over it, looks up at Buck.

“Hershey Trojans,” Buck says roughly, then pushes up from the table. 

Ah. Of course.

“Come on,” says Eddie, gentling his voice just a little, “Let’s get ready to head out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” agrees Buck, heading into the hallway to get his coat and boots. He’s quiet, subdued, and Eddie can’t help but reach out, put an arm around his waist, holding on for just a moment. Buck quirks a brow at him. They’re close, sure, but this isn’t exactly in keeping with their usual behaviour. Eddie shrugs. He’ll say it was to keep up the charade in case Margaret enters the room if Buck pushes, but it’d be a lie. Honestly he can't see Buck so melancholy, so utterly unappreciated and forgotten, and not want to make up for it. Can’t see the look in Buck’s eyes as he’s let down by his parents yet again, and not want to heap his own care and affection on the man, remind him that he is cared for.

“I’m ready,” calls Chris from the top of the stairs, clattering down at speed, and Eddie feels the way Buck settles, perks up. 

He’d worry about Buck feeling the need to pretend he’s okay, but he knows that Buck simply feels the same way that he himself does: infinitely better the second Chris is within a certain radius. 

“You definitely need a proper jacket,” says Buck, smiling indulgently. “And a scarf. And gloves, if you want to actually touch the snow.”

“Buck,” says Christopher solemnly, “Of course I want to touch the snow.” 

“Okay, one second,” he says, “I’ll ask my mom if they have any spares we can borrow.”

Eddie leans down to pull his boots on with ease, then stands up quickly. “Yours lace up, you put your boots on, I’ll ask your mom.” 

Buck throws him a look, soft-eyed, too fond to be fully grateful. “Yeah, okay.”

Eddie ducks back through into the kitchen, where Margaret is standing by the counter, clearly distracted in the middle of making herself another cup of tea. 

“Margaret?” he asks after she doesn’t look up from where she’d been staring at the counter. She startles, and smiles so polite, so fake. “We were going to go for that walk, but Buck doesn’t think that Chris is dressed warmly enough. Do you have any spare scarves or gloves that he could borrow for a little while?”

“Oh,” says Margaret, still a little dazed. “Yes, I think we might. I’m glad Evan thought of that.” 

“He’s very conscientious,” says Eddie, as neutrally as he can manage. He manages not to scowl at the polite hmm of disbelief this engenders. 

“I think there might be some spare winter clothes in the closet in Maddie’s old room,” Margaret says. “He can always borrow Philip’s jacket today, of course.”

“Thank you,” says Eddie, “I’ll see what I can find in the closet. Message if there’s anything you’d like us to pick up while we’re out.”

“That’s very kind,” says Margaret, and goes back to actually making herself some tea.

Eddie gives her a tight smile, and heads back out to his boys. “Wait here,” he says, “Just going to grab some spares from Chris’ room.”

“Wow, not even going to ask,” says Chris, deadpan, but he’s not actually annoyed. 

Eddie takes the stairs two at a time, uncaring that he’s wearing shoes in the house for once, because he simply doesn’t care about treating this particular house with respect. There are things hung up on the rail in the closet in Chris’ room, but they are, of course, mostly Maddie’s. He finds a cream and pink scarf, which he figures that he can take, and he’ll give Chris his own if it comes to it. He’s just rifling haphazardly, wanting to get Buck and Chris out of this fucking house even if it’s just for five minutes, when he realizes what he’s found. On one end, tucked behind an alarmingly puffy monstrosity of a prom dress that he recognizes from the photo on the mantelpiece, are a series of men’s clothes. He has a moment of fear that they’re Doug’s, but based on everything Buck’s ever said, Doug was not welcome in this house. There’s a letterman jacket that confirms it. He grabs a beat up old leather jacket, two scarves in the same blue and orange as the keychain and the letterman. There’s a pair of gloves in the jacket pocket, and he and Buck will survive. They can buy some if needed, but even with this treasure trove, Eddie doesn’t want to spend any longer in this fucking house. 

He goes back down, and gets to see Buck’s face light up at the jacket.

“Where did you get that?” he asks excitedly, “I thought I’d lost that!”

“It was in Maddie’s room,” Eddie says as he passes it off to Chris. “I guess she kept it in with her stuff.”

“This was yours?” asks Chris, pulling it on, immediately drowning in it. He’s big enough that it doesn’t entirely dwarf him, like the pictures of Chris in Eddie’s 118 helmet that he still treasures to this day, but his hands are only just poking out of the sleeves. The collar seems to be fleece, and Chris rubs it against his cheek with joy. “How do I look?” 

“Very cool, mijo,” says Eddie fondly. 

“It suits you,” says Buck, running his hands over Chris’ shoulders, down the arms. His fingers trace part of the right sleeve, and Chris turns his arm to look at it. There's a line of neat sutures spreading the length of the arm, mending a long and surgically clean cut. “She must have found it and fixed it,” Buck says, and Eddie abruptly realizes this is the same jacket from his infamous motorbike accident. 

“I’ve got us a scarf each,” Eddie says after a moment.

“Ooh, I want Maddie’s,” says Buck, going straight for the pink and cream one. He loops it around his neck repeatedly and then takes a sniff. “God, it still smells like this bubblegum perfume she was obsessed with back then."

Eddie hands one of the blue and orange scarves to Chris, wraps the other around his own neck. “Don't front,” says Eddie, “You just want us repping the Trojans.” 

Buck rolls his eyes at him, but crucially doesn’t actually deny it. “Come on,” he says instead, “Time to introduce you both to snow.”

They step outside, and it's immediately, noticeably, colder than yesterday. The air feels sharp somehow. Eddie sticks his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Woah,” says Chris, looking straight down. The snow is pristine beneath their feet, a perfectly clean and white stretch down towards the road. Chris takes a step forward, then immediately rocks back, looking down fascinated at the perfect shoe print left in the show. “Dad, you try,” he says excitedly, looking up at Eddie, and it's such a sudden and visceral reminder that he’s grown, sure, but this is still fundamentally Eddie’s baby boy. 

Eddie takes a step forward himself, carefully lifting his foot so as not to smudge the print, and there it is. 

“Huh,” he says out loud, “I don’t think I knew there were stars in the tread of these boots?” He lifts his own foot up enough to check in person, like the print in the show doesn't already confirm it, and then Buck starts laughing. 

Eddie looks up in sync with Chris, and there’s Buck, practically leaning back against the front door, eyes watering from trying to hold in his laughter. He gasps, and Eddie should be offended, maybe, or find it ungainly, but it’s nothing so much as endearing. Seeing Buck so genuinely delighted, even after everything with his parents so far this trip, is in itself a source for joy. 

“What?” asks Eddie, like he can’t understand why the visual of him balanced on one leg, trying to check out the soles of his boots, was at all funny. 

“Come on, summer children,” says Buck once he’s caught his breath, “There’s plenty more snow to explore.”

Walking through the front yard is unreal, completely transformed from the boringly manicured garden of yesterday. Eddie keeps an eye out for the little songbirds he'd been watching earlier, the faint prints which they'd left in the snow.

They don't even make it to the sidewalk before something wet and bitingly cold hits Eddie in the neck. He turns to see two pairs of eyes being batted at him innocently, Chris and Buck both pointing directly at each other. Eddie uses his hand to scrape off the traces of snow from his neck before they can melt into his scarf even further. 

“You will regret that,” he intones seriously, and then Buck swings a hand out from behind his back, and a snowball flies straight into Chris’ chest. 

Chris shrieks, and Buck ducks and runs out to the sidewalk, and it takes all of two seconds for the Diazes to catch each other’s eyes and simply know that they are allied against Buck now. They chase after him, Buck cackling madly as he sweeps snow from parked cars and throws a barrage of snowballs at them while he runs between vehicles, ducks behind the body of the next car. The man knows how to commit. 

The first few snowballs, Eddie barely even notices. It’s both crunchy and wet against his fingers, but he’s too busy trying to get Buck, barely even shaping them before he lobs them. Chris keeps making little hand gestures, like he’s trying to tell Eddie where to go and what to do, but they aren't actual gestures, so Eddie’s not actually sure what his strategy is. After a few minutes, when the adrenaline is fading, and pace is slowly a little, Eddie realizes how cold his hands are. His fingers are all red, and tingling slightly, and he can feel the bones inside them very clearly somehow. 

“Come on,” says Chris, “We’ve nearly got him.”

“One final stand,” agrees Eddie, shaking his hands out. He takes over on hand gestures, falling back to old army signals to mean split up, flank the enemy, attack. Inexplicably, Chris seems to immediately understand. 

“Come on, Buck, there's only one way this can end,” he calls out loudly, as Chris tries to sneak ahead.

“With your unconditional surrender?” Buck calls back from his hiding spot behind a pick up truck’s bed. 

“We both know that isn’t going to happen,” Eddie declares dramatically, and then has to duck to avoid a snowball from Buck. “Give it up and we’ll go easy on you."

“I’d rather die,” says Buck, dodging to avoid a snowball from Eddie. 

"That can be arranged,” says Chris, appearing behind Buck with perfect dramatic timing, and nailing him in the back with a quick one-two of snowballs. Eddie races forward, throwing one of his own, and grabbing a handful of snow to threaten Buck with.

“Noooooo,” calls Buck dramatically, as he fakes a worthy death, and then he spots Eddie’s handful of snow. “Oh hell no,” he says more seriously, “If you try to stick that down my shirt we really will have problems.”

Eddie takes him at face value, and instead throws the loose snow, it scattering across Buck as he falls. 

Chris and Buck both are flushed bright with happiness, and perhaps a little with the cold. Eddie grins breathlessly back at them all. 

“If you boys are quite done?” says the elderly man who Eddie has only just realized is sitting in the driver’s seat of the pick up truck. He looks too indulgent to look appropriately annoyed with the delay they’ve surely caused him. Eddie shrugs at him a little apologetically, and he just shakes his head a little in response. An old woman sits in the passenger seat, trying not very hard to hide her laughter into her hands. 

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” says Buck, giving a little salute and then pulling Chris back to the sidewalk with him. “Come on, should we go get hot chocolate or something to warm up a little?” 

“I think we must,” agrees Chris seriously, and who is Eddie to disagree with the two of them? 

————

The local café they go to is nice, and it’s worth it for wrapping hands that are rapidly becoming numb around warm mugs of hot chocolate. He can feel his fingers thawing. 

“Every year?” he asks.

“Every year,” agrees Buck. "You can see why I moved to L.A. now, huh?”

“You’re both crazy,” decides Chris, still drowning in Buck's old leather jacket. “Snow’s amazing.”

“Day one is the best day,” says Buck, “You’ll see. Hey, maybe we can do a snowman this afternoon.”

“I’m down!” agrees Chris, and Eddie just smiles at the two of them, because there’s no way he’s not going to join if they’re both out having fun, no matter how cold his fingers will get.

They linger a little over the hot drinks, none of them saying it, but all of them aware that their next step is going back to the hospital. 

The time comes, of course, and Buck doesn’t even try to convince them not to come this time. Progress. 

It’s a different experience, visiting Philip without Margaret. He seems different. More visibly exhausted, like he was putting on a brave face for her. More open as a result. 

“How are you, Dad?” Buck asks when they arrive, and Philip gives him a tired little smile. 

“I’ve been better,” he says dryly, and it’s the sort of thing that Eddie’s heard Buck say from a hospital bed what feels like a hundred times or more. It has less of Buck’s charm though, less like he’s trying to alleviate the concerns of others, more like he wants to show that he isn’t complaining. 

Maybe Eddie's not being fair, but maybe he doesn’t fucking have to be. Maybe Buck’s going to try with his parents, no matter how many times they prove themselves unworthy of that, and Eddie can hold a grudge for him. 

“Have you talked with your doctors about being discharged tomorrow?” Buck asks, and Philip affirms that it’s still the plan. “Okay, we’ll check in with them on recovery. It’s going to be a process, you know that, right?” 

“I know, Evan," says Philip blandly. 

Buck flips through the chart again, as though familiarizing himself with it, making sure what questions he’ll want to ask. Eddie can practically see him writing a mental checklist. 

The room is silent.

“This is a nice reversal, isn't it?” Philip says into the silence, then, addressing it to where Chris has sat down in a chair near his bed, he adds, “Evan here was pretty accident-prone as a kid. I used to spend a lot of time getting him patched up, or talking to doctors about him. It’s nice to have him here, doing this for me.”

Buck doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders are tense. Eddie slides a little closer, pressing up against Buck’s side. It’s reassuring, feeling the way Buck always seems to melt into him just a little, the way he can feel that his presence there is helping. 

“Buck’s good at looking after people,” says Chris, not exactly a rebuttal, but with some force nonetheless. 

“Not so much himself, though, eh?” Philip replies, and it's meant to be a joke. 

“Sometimes he’s too heroic,” says Chris loyally, and it makes Philip smile at him, just a shade patronizingly. 

“That’s why they keep awarding him medals,” agrees Eddie, smile wide and fake, looping an arm around Buck’s waist once again. It feels weirdly natural. 

“Just the one medal,” says Buck, amused, “And they awarded you with it too.” 

“That’s because you turned down the last time they tried to give you a medal,” points out Eddie, and Buck rolls his eyes. 

“I was off-duty,” he argues for the hundredth time, and then glances at his father and stops before he can make his usual argument about barely even being a firefighter during the tsunami, and certainly not being a hero. 

“It must be hard," says Chris sympathetically to Philip, “Having a son who’s a hero.”

“I–” 

Luckily for Philip, because Eddie’s pretty sure that there’s no answer he could give to that statement which wouldn’t have Eddie wanting to throw a punch, this is the moment that the doctor walks in, flanked by Omar. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Buckley,” says the doctor, “I see you have guests again today.”

“My son, Evan,” says Philip, “His, uh, partner, Eddie, and…”

“Our son, Chris,” Eddie interjects with the kind of smile that Buck has definitely told him before just comes across as mean. Oh well. 

“I see,” says the doctor, who definitely now thinks Philip’s homophobic. Whoops. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you all, it’s good to see that Philip here has family who supports him.” Her eyes and Omar’s next to her both read ‘Even if he doesn’t support them in return’. It strikes Eddie again that there’s non-zero chance this doctor knew Maddie. Knew her estrangement from her parents, even. “Well, I’m Dr. Roe, I’ve been the primary doctor in your father’s case. I was just coming to check in about tomorrow.”

“Great,” says Buck, "I actually have a few questions.” 

Of course he does. 

Soon, Buck and Dr. Roe are chatting away in a corner seriously. She’s pretty, Dr. Roe, the sort of unreal supermodel type that Buck usually ends up dating. She’s blonde, not a redhead, which works against her. 

“I don’t think she’s a threat,” says Chris dryly, quiet enough that Philip won't notice over Omar checking his vitals. 

“Obviously not,” says Eddie, “She lives in Pennsylvania. Besides, she looks younger than him. It would never work."

Chris looks at him for a long beat. 

“Yeah,” he says eventually, sarcasm running through his words like a thick vein, “That’s why she’s not a threat to your fake relationship.” 

Eddie scowls, flushing just a little. “I didn’t mean like that,” he says, just a little flustered, “I just. Oh, never mind.” 

Omar finishes up with Philip, and looks over to where Buck and Dr. Roe are talking. 

“Hey, I’m not sure I’m going to have a moment better than this,” says Omar, “Can I give you my number to give to Buck and Maddie? I’m off for a few days starting tomorrow before nights start up, so I’ll be around if you guys want to get a coffee or something.”

“Yeah,” says Eddie, digging his phone out of his back pocket, and setting up a new contact before he hands it over. “Here, add yourself.”

Omar does so, and when he’s finished, pauses. 

“Maddie’s genuinely okay?” He’s quiet as he asks, quiet enough that Philip wouldn’t be able to hear from his bed, nor Buck from his ongoing discussion of Philip’s recovery. 

Eddie can’t imagine what it would have been like to exclusively know Maddie during Doug, to know that she got out, but never get the confirmation that getting out was truly better. To know Doug went after her, and presumably to know that Doug died, and to know nothing else. 

“Maddie’s great,” he says, quiet, earnest. “She’s married to a good friend of mine, a really good guy. They have a daughter, and their second on the way. I’m not going to pretend it’s all been smooth sailing, but she’s happy now. She’s safe.” 

“Her kid, Jee-Yun, she’s the cutest thing in the world,” says Chris, startling Eddie who’d forgotten he was still right next to him. “Here,” he says, holding up his phone, the screen showing a selfie of Chris with Maddie and Jee-Yun from New Year’s Eve. 

Omar looks at the photo for a long moment, long enough that the screen starts to dim as it times out. “I’m so glad,” he says, voice a little rough, eyes a little wet. “It’s what she deserves.” 

Eddie claps him on the arm, and Omar swallows his emotions back, forces a smile. 

“Hey,” says Buck, presumably done with his conversation, and appearing next to Eddie, an easy arm thrown over Eddie’s shoulders. “What’d I miss?”

Chris, inexplicably, rolls his eyes, and returns to the seat by Philip’s bed. Dr. Roe has moved over to Philip now, and is going through his imminent discharge with him as well. 

“I should get back to work,” says Omar ruefully. “I really would like to arrange coffee or lunch before you guys leave town, let me know when will work for you, and I’ll figure it out.”

“We’ll figure out a time that won’t make your night shifts a hell,” says Eddie, and Buck squeezes the arm around his shoulders just a little tighter. 

Omar smiles, then looks at Buck, “You have the cutest niece I’ve ever seen,” he says, which obviously makes Buck beam in delight and agreement. 

“I do, don’t I?” says Buck, much happier now he’s reminded of Jee-Yun, and not dwelling on Philip’s secret operation. “I’ll get your number from Eddie, we’ll make plans.”

Omar heads out, and Eddie throws a glance over at the bed. Chris is tapping away on his phone, Philip and Dr. Roe talking through the recovery period in depth. 

“Did you tick off your little checklist?” asks Eddie, looking sidelong at Buck. He’s still got his arm slung around Eddie's shoulders. 

“What checklist?” asks Buck airily, and Eddie laughs. 

“Please, like I've never met you. Know what we need to sort out for tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” admits Buck, “Renée was really helpful."

“Renée?” asks Eddie, and he can hear that he sounds more pointed than he should. Whatever.

“Oh, Dr. Renée Roe,” says Buck, like that's the problem. 

“Hmm,” replies Eddie. “So. Tomorrow?”

“Pretty straight forward discharge,” says Buck. “He can’t drive for a few weeks, and there’s a couple of healthier food options we should be switching him to, but now that he’s walking pretty well, it’s mostly just about the usual heart-healthy suggestions.”

“Exercise, diet, statins?” asks Eddie.

“Pretty much. There’s a cardiac recovery program they run for the first six weeks out of hospital that I want to convince him to sign up for.” Buck turns to his father, his arm falling off from around Eddie's shoulders, his smile perhaps a little tight, but visibly there. “Renée says you’re recovering well, Dad.”

“I’m doing much better now, thank you, Evan," says Philip. “I did not, I will admit, enjoy the breathing tube."

It’s meant to be light-hearted, but Buck winces, and then, like he can't help it, “Did Mom really not visit before yesterday?”

Philip sighs, like it was unreasonable to even ask, and Buck diminishes in front of Eddie's eyes, just a little. 

“No, Evan, and I didn't expect her to,” Philip says. “I’m glad she didn't, even. She would have taken it too hard. It was–” he breaks off for a moment, has to take a moment to gather himself, voice a little gravelier than it was moments before. “Daniel had a breathing tube for the worst parts, she wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

Buck swallows heavily, nods. He looks up, solemn and serious, “I would have been here,” he says, earnest. “If you need me, I'll be there.” A promise. 

“You’re here now,” says Philip, with a small smile, and Buck looks relieved. 

It's good, actually, that Buck’s happy. It’s good, even if Eddie doesn't trust his parents, if he thinks they’ve been disingenuous at best. Even if it's not a promise that Eddie wants Buck to make, let alone keep. Eddie insinuates himself next to Buck, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from his body, there if Buck wants the support.

“How’s your mother doing?” asks Philip, and Buck describes her about as generously as it’s possible to: sad, scared, relieved that Philip’s doing better. He does not mention anything about the varied digs at Buck’s appropriateness in either looking after a child, or in being in a long term relationship, both of which Eddie thinks are worth mentioning. Not, perhaps, to Philip. Buck may have a point there. 

They stay for what feels like hours, but can't actually be more than twenty minutes, before Philip prompts them that he’d quite like to try for a little sleep. 

————

“Okay,” says Buck, when they’re all back in their rental. “What’s the plan?”

Eddie and Chris exchange a glance through the rearview mirror. 

“Maybe not back to your parents’ house just yet?” asks Chris, doing his best to make his eyes look big and wet and pleading. 

“Well, yeah,” says Buck, laughing at how relieved they both look. “I told my mom we’d get lunch out, and I’m guessing we won’t go straight home from there.”

“I believe I was promised snowmen,” says Chris, and Buck’s smile gets even wider.

“Snowmen can be arranged, don’t you worry. But first? Lunch! What are people vibing?”

“Are there any Hershey classics that we can’t miss?" asks Eddie, and Buck frowns in thought.

“I don't know if they’re still going, but there was a nice grill on Chocolate Avenue we used to go to.”

“Chocolate Avenue,” says Eddie, amused despite himself. 

“Yeah, that’s a point, if either of you want to go to Hersheypark, we should figure out when to schedule that in.”

“Hersheypark?” asks Chris.

“The largest amusement park in Pennsylvania,” says Buck, then, a little ruefully, "We're not really an amusement park state.”

“I mean,” Chris pauses, “Is it worth going to?"

“It’s, y’know, good for what it is!” Buck defends loyally, “It has decent rollercoasters, but I never really liked the mascot. I always preferred Chocolate World."

“Ooooh, Chocolate World, you say?” says Chris, and Eddie chuckles. 

“Kid’s got a point, Chocolate World sounds intriguing. Is it like that one episode of The Simpsons?”

“What, where Homer’s in like chocolate heaven or whatever?” asks Buck, amused.

“How is this the one pop culture reference you get?” teases Eddie, and Buck rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t think you could avoid The Simpsons when we were growing up if you tried,” points out Buck. “And it’s not not like it. There's a cool sort of ride slash tour thing which like explains the history of chocolate and gives you samples at the end. That was free, so Maddie used to take me a lot when I was a kid. Sometimes she'd save up her allowance and we’d get to design our own chocolate bar or peanut butter cups depending on what we were craving, which I always thought was neat.”

They pull in to a parking lot, and walk towards an establishment that is indeed called The Chocolate Avenue Grill. 

“Your parents used to take you here?” Chris asks, as they walk up.

“For their wedding anniversary once, I think,” says Buck, “But when Maddie moved to Boston, on the rare occasions that Doug would let her visit, she used to treat me to lunch here. I can’t believe it’s still going.”

“Cool,” says Chris neutrally, but Eddie can see the wheels in his head turning, thinks again of his questions on the plane. 

————

They’re pretending that looking at the dessert menu is entirely innocent and unlikely to lead to anything when suddenly Eddie’s phone buzzes about twelve times in succession. Next to it, Buck’s phone buzzes equally often. They look at each other, concerned.

“The groupchat?” asks Eddie, reaching for his phone.

“Must be,” agrees Buck, reaching for his in tandem.

The message on the lockscreen reads: Chim: you have GOT to be fucking kidding!!! 

Eddie raises an eyebrow at Buck, who shrugs, clearly also put to ease that this probably means it’s not another fucking near death experience this time.

Eddie unlocks his phone.

118 firefam 💖

Hen

sooo you’ll never guess what Denny mentioned at lunch today

Maddie 

👀

Ravi 

???? spit it out omg 

Hen

so. Denny and Chris are playing games the other day, and he asks how the trip to Hershey is going

Ravi

ominous

Athena 

get on with it already

Hen

i am TYPING 

god you people are impatient

AND 

Chris says that it’s going well enough, considering that Buck and Eddie are PRETENDING TO DATE

Chim

oh you have GOT to be fucking kidding!!!

Ravi

wait

Maddie

given they are WHAT??? @Buck you have not fucking mentioned THIS on the phone 

Bobby

Are you quite sure that Denny understood the situation correctly?

Karen

oh yeah. best part was how resigned chris is about it apparently 😂 😂 😂

Maddie 

@Buck @Buck @Buck 

Eddie looks up at Buck, across the table, flushing lightly. It’s cute, honestly, how easily Buck can be flustered by his big sister when nothing else seems to get to him. 

“Don’t know what to say?” asks Eddie, teasing. 

“What’s going on?” asks Chris, looking up from his own phone. 

“What exactly did you say to Denny?” asks Buck, and Chris looks bemused for a second, then cackles with laughter. 

“Just the truth!” laughs Chris, “You know. You told Buck’s parents that you’re dating, and you’re sharing a room and being all touchy feely and Dad took me aside to tell me to pretend like you’re partners.”

Buck immediately turns big fake doe eyes on Eddie, “We are partners, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” says Eddie, gentle, soothing, “Chris means boyfriends.”

“Do I?” mutters Chris, but he subsides into his milkshake at a look from Eddie. 

Once again, both of their phones buzz in unison.

118 firefam 💖

Chim

@Buck WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF HMMM

Buck

idk why you're all bothering me, it was Eddie’s idea

“Wow,” says Eddie, looking up at Buck, who looks unrepentant as he shows his screen to Chris. “So much for having my back.”

“Aw, babe, don’t be like that,” says Buck, grinning now. 

118 firefam 💖

Karen

@Eddie what why

Maddie

hmmmm you still could have TOLD me what if i blew your cover to mom and dad

Hen

eddie. why????

Eddie

i will only be taking opinions from people who have actually had to spend extended time with the buckleys

Hen 

literally what does that mean how on EARTH could pretending to date be at ALL helpful with buck’s parents

Chim

actually

okay

no i’m on board

i get it 

Maddie 

what do you mean?

Chim 

uh

Buck

he means our parents are nightmare people

and they’re more likely to listen to eddie ask them to be nice if he’s pretending to be my bf than if he’s just like a random friend 

Maddie

ah

yeah okay

Hen

i hate to say it makes a modicum of sense

Ravi

you're all unhinged, you get that right??

who actually FAKE DATES someone irl????

this is a crazy plan to come up with 

Buck 

what do you mean plan

eddie just announced it with no warning

“Come on,” cajoles Eddie out loud. “There was no need to say that.”

“Consider,” says Chris wisely, “It’s funny.”

Buck nods solemnly.

118 firefam 💖

Hen

no longer on board he did WHAT

@Eddie explain yourself

Eddie

oh look, dessert’s here, got to go!

keep LA safe for us :) 

“So you do want to get dessert?” Buck asks slyly. 

“Shut the fuck up,” says Eddie, and Chris pretends to gasp in horror. 

Of course, the waiter takes that moment to come, and Buck smiles at Eddie fondly before saying, “We’ll split the baklava cheesecake, thank you, and you, Chris?”

It warms Eddie, who’s pretty full, but did want to know more about the baklava cheesecake, and he can’t continue to pretend to be annoyed at Buck.

“Chocolate lava cake, please!” chirps Chris, and then the second the server leaves he turns back to them. “I’m not gonna lie, for a place with chocolate in the actual name, this place has been disappointingly low on actual chocolate.”

Buck laughs a little, good-spirited. “It’s just the street name,” he says, “Chocolate Avenue. There’s a bunch all like that. Cocoa Avenue, Sweet Street, Reese Avenue…”

“Hmm,” responds Chris, unimpressed. 

“I think we’re definitely going to have to go to Chocolate World for that free chocolate,” says Buck, shaking his head and playing at seriousness. 

“Well, I suppose if we have no other choice,” responds Eddie, equally grave. 

————

Chocolate World is, objectively speaking, kind of dumb. There are weird animatronic cows that sing to you, and the fake chocolate smell is good but Buck keeps swearing that it used to be better, but even when they’re complaining there really is little that Buck and Christopher love more than fun facts. And free chocolate. And, apparently, really expensive chocolate that they get to make really minimal decisions to personalize them. It looks very silly, and is clearly aimed at kids at least half of Chris' age, and he and Buck really lean in, visibly joking around in their labcoats and hairnets the entire way through the process. 

“Okay,” says Eddie, after ignoring their conferring throughout the crowded and seemingly endless series of conveyor belts. “What did you go with?”

“So I went with a dark chocolate base,” starts Buck, immediately interrupted by Chris, rolling his eyes.

“Ew,” he says pointedly, “I went for a white chocolate base.”

Eddie has to stifle a laugh. 

“Okay, well we both got them covered in milk chocolate.”

“Enrobed, Buck, don’t coddle him.”

Now Buck’s trying not to laugh. “Sorry, great point. We both got it enrobed in milk chocolate.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. He knows the role he’s here to play. “Uh huh.”

Buck looks so serious. “Now for mine, I mixed in pretzel bits, sea salt caramel chips, and–”

“Because he doesn’t understand that it will be too salty!” interjects Chris.

“It’ll be good! You’ll see!!” rejoins Buck. 

“And?” asks Eddie, genuinely a little long-suffering at this point. 

“And rainbow sprinkles, y’know, for pride,” admits Buck. 

“Pretzel bits, sea salt caramel chips, and rainbow sprinkles?” asks Eddie, and it comes out exactly as unimpressed as he feels. 

“Right?” says Chris, vindicated, “Now, see, I went with much better options. I went for the toffee bits, the chocolate cookie bits, and the butterscotch chips."

“You went for what?” says Eddie, unable to pretend he’s not a little disgusted. He really does need to book a check up with his dentist actually, now that he’s thinking about it. 

“See!” exclaims Buck, “He prefers mine, I told you!” 

“It’s not over yet!” Chris says, “He still has to judge the wrappers!”

“Okay, so I am officially the judge, good to know,” says Eddie dryly, and they give him the exact same unimpressed look in return. 

“Here’s mine,” says Buck, handing him a chocolate bar. It’s got a black wrapper, and the font is yellow and red, clearly as close to the font on their helmets as Buck could get. It reads ‘The Eddie: a little sweet, a lot salty’, and there’s a fire emoji after it.

“How flattering,” Eddie says, amused.

“See! Salty. It was thematic,” Buck says to Chris in the cadence of someone who has said this a lot recently. 

“Just wait,” says Chris. “Hey, Dad, here’s mine!” 

As he hands the chocolate bar over, Eddie dimly hears Buck say “That’s so obviously cheating, come on,” but it’s hard to pay attention. It’s a dark green wrapper, with white writing: ‘Diaz Bars - A Father & Son Business’. It’s embarrassing to admit he feels a little misty-eyed over it, but last year really was hard. 

“It definitely is cheating,” he says, but it’s a little choked up and they clearly both immediately notice. 

“Which do you prefer, Dad?” asks Chris, shameless. 

“Yeah, babe,” says Buck, teasing, “Most perfect boyfriend, which one do you prefer?” 

That helps break the spell a little, and Eddie looks up at the two of them, vying in competition, both clearly teasing. 

“We won’t know until we do a taste test, will we? And I don’t know about you two, but I’m all full up on chocolate right now, so you’ll have to wait and see.” 

“Do not think you can bribe us over this,” says Chris, seriously, “This is a clean, fair competition.”

“Yeah,” laughs Buck, “A good clean game, no pandering or shamelessly bribery here, is there, Chris? ‘A Father & Son Business’, good god.” 

Chris grins, unrepentant. 

“Okay, so we’re agreed, we’ll do a taste test later, and see which of these two, Jesus Christ, thirty dollar chocolate bars we prefer? Buck!”

“Too late, I already paid, we had fun,” says Buck all in one go, and starts to maneuver them away at speed. 

“Buck,” says Eddie quietly, as they walk through the parking lot, trying again.

“Eddie,” says Buck, just as quiet, just as earnest. “I had fun this afternoon, and now we’re going for dinner with my mom.”

“Okay,” says Eddie, resigned, fond. “Okay. It better be really good chocolate though.”

“I mean,” laughs Buck, as he unlocks their rental, “It’s only Hershey’s.”

————

It’s a white tablecloths kind of French restaurant. Of course it is. 

“I know,” says Buck at the look on Eddie’s face, “Trust me I know.”

“Wow, this place is fancy,” says Chris, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s one of Mom’s favorites,” Buck says to him. 

“Of course it is,” says Eddie as neutrally as he can manage. Buck still throws him a little look. 

“Evan! Chris! Ed… Eddie!” says Margaret, calling them over once the maitre de has already brought them most of the way. She does air kisses on each of Buck’s cheeks, a thing that Eddie has never seen her do before. He quickly moves to pull Chris’ chair out for him, and then the same for Buck, to avoid a similar fate.

“Margaret,” he greets after the others, once they’ve all sat down. “How was your afternoon?”

“It was lovely, thank you,” she says. “I’ve actually been doing regular yogalates classes recently,” then, to Buck, “Samantha recommended them. You remember Samantha?”

“I remember Samantha,” says Buck after a moment. “Maddie’s best friend, right?” There’s something that doesn't sound quite right in Buck’s voice somehow, some slight discomfort that Eddie can hear but can’t quite recognize. The shade of a bad memory.

“Yes! Of course you’d remember her,” says Margaret, “She was head cheerleader back then.”

“I don’t think she was still on the squad by the time I joined the Trojans,” Buck says diplomatically, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and his lips are tight. 

“She got you into yogalates?” Eddie asks, anything to drag them back out of this particular conversational black hole, and Margaret smiles politely at him. 

“Yes, it’s been very good for me, I think.”

“Strengthening your core, improving your mobility, they’re only ever more important as we all age,” says Eddie, and Margaret nods like it's insightful rather than common sense. “With women in particular, we try to recommend weight-lifting.”

“Oh,” laughs Margaret, “I don’t know that I'm really the type for weight-lifting.”

“It’s to try to make up for the loss of bone density,” says Buck, second nature to jump in with an explanation, but immediately stymied at the blank look that Margaret throws at him.

“People’s bones get thinner as they age?” Chris asks, curiously, and when Eddie looks at him, he does look interested, but he also looks just a little pointed. 

“Oh, well, I mean. Yes, sort of, your bone will become thinner and weaker as you age, it’s why older people are often lighter, or more prone to breaking bones from smaller falls. Generally, it's worse for women. Post-menopause, most women end up losing about 50% of their bone density,” Buck explains, while Chris nods along, clearly fascinated.

“Evan!” snaps Margaret, "This is hardly an appropriate meal time discussion."

Eddie looks to Buck, confused, a hint of a frown enough for Buck to shake his head tiredly. 

“We took Chris to Chocolate World this afternoon,” says Buck, the former enthusiasm leeched from his voice.

“Oh, lovely! What did you think of it?” asks Margaret, giving all of her attention to Chris as he talks.

Eddie takes the opportunity to nudge Buck’s legs with his knee, punctuates it with an enquiring look.

“The menopause,” Buck says, so quiet it’s almost under his breath.

“Seriously?” Eddie asks, unimpressed, and Buck shoots him a fond smile. 

“Seriously,” he agrees. 

“Wild, okay.” He picks up the menu, and leans over to look through it with Buck. “Let’s just get through dinner, huh?” 

“Easier said than done,” Buck mutters quietly, leaning back into Eddie’s side as they peruse the menu together. 

“You do seem very settled together,” Margaret comments after some time after Chris has finished talking through their afternoon.

It's so natural and normal, the two of them sharing one menu despite the spares on the table, discussing the different options, making plans to split things, that it takes Eddie a minute to realize what she might mean.

“Right,” he says, looking across the table to Chris, who looks actively amused. “Well we were close for years before we actually got together.”

“You can tell,” says Margaret, and there’s something there. Not approval, but not disapproval either. 

Eddie’s not sure if Chris also picks up on the slightly weird energy, and that’s why he says what he does or not, but for some reason Chris says brightly, “Yeah, not sure what they were waiting for all that time, honestly.”

Buck looks to Eddie, and he looks a little alarmed, which is reasonable given his acting ability, and perhaps a little bruised. God, Eddie really can’t wait until they’re on another coast to Margaret fucking Buckley. 

“The timing wasn’t quite right, I guess,” says Eddie, looking still at Buck. “I don’t think we were ready.” It’s a cop out answer. If he was interested in men, if he and Buck tried it, obviously they’d make it work. It wouldn’t take time, they wouldn’t need to be ready, they’ve always worked together so well, why would this be any different? It’s the kind of answer he thinks a woman like Margaret Buckley will accept, however, pragmatic and unromantic. So entirely like the Buck that Eddie’s known almost better than himself these last seven years. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Buck lowly, “I think we would have made it work at any point. We’re good at being partners.”

“We are," agrees Eddie, his heart racing for some reason. He reaches a hand out above the table to take Buck’s, hold it and rub his thumb slowly along its back. It just feels like the kind of thing you should do, if your pretend boyfriend says something that romantic to you. 

“Do you know what you're ordering, Chris?” Eddie asks, and they start to go through all of the details of the French dishes he doesn’t recognize. Eddie’s eyes keep catching on their hands, resting on the table, still together. Buck’s hand is so warm, his skin surprisingly soft given Eddie sees exactly how hard he works on a daily basis. They have to separate when the starters arrive, but Eddie can’t really miss him, because Buck’s right next to him, his knee pressed to Eddie’s under the table, leaning and listing towards him. 

Honestly, thank god that Buck let Eddie and Chris come along on this trip, because it's such a genuine relief to know that he’s here, pressed against Buck’s side, having his back. He can’t imagine the sparse text updates he would be subsisting off from L.A., how little they would get into each dismissive interruption, each fleeting glance, the way that Buck tries to diminish himself in every conversation. It’s torture, seeing Buck hurting like this, but it’s better to be here, to undercut it as it happens, and to see Buck bolster himself as a result. 

————

“How are you doing?” Eddie asks, the second they’ve shut their bedroom door behind them. 

“I’m okay,” says Buck noncommittally, then clearly sees Eddie’s expression. “I feel like a kid,” he admits, “I feel all of ten years old again.” He sits down heavily on the bed. “I don’t like that they can still make me feel like this. I feel like I’ve made so much progress in my life, and then I’m around them and it’s like it all goes out the window.”

Eddie sits next to him, pressed along his side. 

“I get it," he says, “I do. God, you should have seen me in El Paso, all of seventeen all of a sudden. You’re handling it a lot better than I did.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Buck says, flopping backwards. 

Eddie lets himself fall back too, joining him. He turns to face Buck, who looks so tired, so frustrated, so sad. 

“Buck,” Eddie says, lets his voice infuse with the warmth he always feels when he’s this close to his closest friend in the world. The only best friend he’s ever really had. “You’re doing well. You are. She’s not fair to you, okay, neither of them are. They don’t understand you, they don't even know you. That's on them."

“Yeah?” asks Buck, quiet and vulnerable.

“Who wouldn’t want to get to know you?” Eddie asks, earnest, and Buck’s eyes close slowly, like it’s a palpable hit. Like Eddie has hurt him somehow. “They don't know what they're missing, and they don’t deserve to.”

“They’re my parents,” says Buck, “They’re my family.” Then, smaller and quieter, and more hurt than Eddie thinks he wants to admit to, “They’re supposed to love me.”

“We’re your family,” says Eddie fiercely. “We love you. They just gave birth to you. They didn’t even raise you. That’s not on you, that’s on them.” 

Buck tilts, slowly falls onto his side, even closer to Eddie, and Eddie takes it as the unspoken invitation that it is, looping an arm around Buck and pulling him close, down, into Eddie. 

“It’s not on you,” he murmurs again, and pretends he doesn’t feel tears leak onto his neck. 

They stay like that, closer than close, Buck wrapped in his arms as they lie across the bed. It's nice, good, being able to have Buck’s back this way as well. They might all tease Buck about how emotionally driven he is, but it’s not really true, not with the bad stuff. With the bad stuff, Buck represses, and holds it all in close, swallowing poison over and over again to not bother anyone, to not be too much, before it boils over as anger or hurt. He rarely lets people in as it’s bad, only after. Part of that’s on Eddie, probably. He does the same thing. Reaching out for help is so hard, even with someone like Buck at his side, who seems to anticipate his needs before Eddie can even consider voicing them. It’s so much easier to wait until he’s lashing out, until he’s hurting so badly that he feels broken and unhelpable. And then Buck does always help. He always helps anyway, and Eddie always wishes he’d said something sooner. He really does want to start asking for help sooner, just like he wants Buck to actually ask him. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, and rubs a hand in circles against Buck’s back until he stops shaking from trying to suppress tears. “I’ve got your back, yeah?” 

Buck nods, and Eddie can feel his damp eyelashes skate up and down his neck. It’s a weird sensation, he has to repress a shiver. 

Come on,” he says after a few more minutes, "Why don’t you have a hot shower? That’ll help you feel a bit better, you always love a hot shower.” 

Buck takes a breath, and then pulls back. For one wild moment, Eddie almost wants to take it back, just to keep Buck closer when he’s so obviously hurting. His eyelashes are all clumped together with tears, his eyes red-rimmed, and it makes his birthmark just a shade darker than normal, his irises unnaturally blue. 

“Thanks, Eddie,” says Buck, voice just a little husky from tears, so grateful. He’s never said Eddie’s name like that before, somehow. It almost reminds Eddie of all those years ago, the day after the tsunami, without the naked desperation and fear that haunted Buck’s timbre back then. “That’s a good idea.”

Buck gets up, and Eddie sits up to watch him. He pads over to get his towel, then heads back to the bed to grab his sleep clothes. He gives Eddie an awkward little nod as he digs his hand under his pillow, pulls out the sweatshirt and shorts. Leaves his stupid woollen bed socks on top of the bed. He pauses in the doorframe, not quite looking back at Eddie over his shoulder.

“I really am glad you came, you know?” he says, soft, earnest. 

“I know,” Eddie agrees gently, because he does. 

“Good,” says Buck, and Eddie can’t quite see his face, but he can hear the smile in his voice. The bathroom door swings shut behind him, and Eddie lets himself flop back onto the bed again. 

There’s a buzz on his phone.

Hen Wilson

Hen

jokes aside, are you okay?

Eddie

why wouldn’t I be okay? 

it’s rough on Buck, being here

i don't think they know how cruel they are to him 

but we’re handling it okay

Hen

because you decided to pretend to be his bf?

Eddie

is THAT what you’re texting about??

Hen

it seemed like a pretty straightforward cry for help, honestly

Eddie

rude, honestly

Hen

I’m being serious, Eddie.

There’s a pit in Eddie’s stomach that threatens to yawn open. Hen wouldn’t say that if she wasn’t, genuinely, being serious. What even is there to be serious about?

Eddie

it’s really not a big deal

i don’t get why you’re reacting so seriously

Hen

because i love you and buck both a great deal, and i don’t want to see anyone get hurt

Eddie

how would anyone get hurt??

There’s a long minute of Hen typing, disappearing, typing again. 

Hen 

what’s it like, pretending to be buck’s boyfriend?

Eddie

i don’t know? fine?

mostly it means when his parents suck i can hold his hand and glare at them, or put my arm around him or something

it’s not like we’re pretending to kiss or anything

i know the movies but like. in real life people don’t ask you to kiss.

we’re just close, and they’re not yelling at him over bringing a friend, that’s all

Hen

right.

Another long pause.

Hen

so it’s not that different from normal, then?

For some reason reading that makes Eddie’s stomach twist uncomfortably. It’s true and it’s false at the same time, and he’s not really sure he wants to unpack what that means on any real level. 

Eddie

nope, all pretty normal.

The sound of the shower cuts off, and he can hear Buck rustling in the bathroom. Changing, probably, into his soft marl sweatshirt, his thin grey shorts. Eddie swallows.

Eddie

Buck’s out of the shower, got to go get ready for bed!

night hen

i’m fine but it’s nice that you checked in

Hen

okay, eddie

sleep well

if you need to talk, i’m always here

Eddie

💖

He exits the chat, and tosses his phone to the side as Buck walks in the room. It’s weird, he feels oddly like he’s been doing something wrong, instead of texting their mutual friend. 

“Your turn,” says Buck, once again towelling his head roughly. One day, Eddie should get Chris and Buck to sit down and establish good curly hair practices together. They’re so thorough about projects they do together. 

“Thanks,” he says, getting his own stuff together. “Gubbins before bed?” 

“You know it,” says Buck, and his smile isn’t the brightest or widest that Eddie’s ever seen on him, but it’s true, and it’s just for the two of them, for this moment. 

Eddie takes the warm feeling this gives him, lets it grow, as he has his shower, as he returns, as they settle to sleep.

————

“So your dad’s released today, right?” says Chris over breakfast.

“You make it sound like prison,” says Buck, amused. 

“If the shoe fits,” shrugs Chris, and Eddie suspects that there are very few people who could make jokes about Philip going to prison and have Margaret’s only reaction looking mildly fond.  

Chris does tend to have that effect on people. Hopefully he grows up to only use it for good, or they’re all doomed. 

“Yeah,” says Buck teasingly, “We’re going to spring him from the hospital today.”

“Oh, Evan, don’t mangle the English language like that,” says Margaret with a sigh as she drinks her tea.

“My mother was an English teacher at an elementary school,” says Buck in that polite, pleasant, perfectly bland tone that Eddie is growing to really fucking hate. 

“That’s so interesting,” says Chris.

“Chris is an extremely good student,” Buck says, now sounding genuinely warm, even proud. “You should see his grades.”

“My English teacher is always talking about how fascinating the study of linguistics is,” says Chris, bright, with something in his eyes that Eddie recognizes from the mirror. “About how language is constantly changing and evolving, English more than some, like French, so that slang and changing speech patterns aren’t ‘incorrect’, just the next frontier of the language.”

Eddie tries not to look too obviously proud. 

“That certainly is one way to look at it,” says Margaret, just a shade condescendingly, and Eddie can feel his own hackles raise. 

Before he can say or do anything, Buck stands up abruptly, the chair making a noise as it is suddenly pushed back. 

“Here, I’ll take everyone’s plates,” says Buck. “We’ve got to head out shortly, got to sort out a couple of things before we get Dad.” He’s not actually responding, not technically, but it’s in his tone. He sounds so utterly immoveable. He's not reacting to her, but he’s not engaging at all. They simply need to leave imminently, unrelated, and he’s pulling out Chris’ chair as a hint to go and get ready before bringing the plates to the kitchen to wash up. Chris goes. 

“Evan,” says Margaret, just a touch exasperated.

“Hmm?” asks Buck, implacable. 

Maybe he is being overprotective, maybe they both are, but Chris has to deal with so much more condescension than the average kid, and Eddie doesn't actually think she’s being ableist, he thinks she just has a pathological need to always be right, but that’s not enough for him or Buck not to want to shelter Chris just a little, when they can. 

“We’re going to meet Omar, Maddie’s friend, and then we’ll collect Dad in time to bring him home. I was thinking I’d cook dinner tonight, if that's okay with you?”

There’s a pause. 

“That would be nice, thank you, Evan," says Margaret after a moment. “You really are quite a good cook, these days.” 

“Thank you,” says Buck, and heads to do the washing up. Eddie nods at Margaret, and then within moments moves to follow Buck into the kitchen to do the drying.

————

They’d let Omar pick the cafe, had been a little surprised that he was willing to meet in the morning, given his imminent night shifts.

“No, I set an alarm for five this morning, so now I’m trying to stay up until noon so that I can get some hopefully solid sleep before my shift tonight,” he explains with an easy smile. 

“Okay, makes sense. I’ve done similar things before I got into the routine of it,” says Buck, nodding. 

“Firefighter still, or did you end up going with something else?" asks Omar, and Buck blinks at him, surprised. "Your postcards went to the hospital,” he explains, “Maddie used to keep me updated on how you were doing. The last one was Los Angeles and the Fire Academy, right?”

“Right,” agrees Buck slowly, "Right, yeah. So I stuck with it, been a fully fledged member of the LAFD for a good seven years, now.”

“And that's where you two met?" Omar asks, gesturing between Buck and Eddie. 

“Very literally,” says Buck, “We actually met because Eddie joined my fire station.”

“Yours, huh?” asks Eddie, a teasing reminder at Buck’s overwhelming territorialism when he'd first showed up.

“Oh shut up,” says Buck, flushing just a little. 

“And..." Omar looks over at the booth nearby them where Chris is sitting, headphones in, doing the schoolwork he’s been trying his best to ignore so far this trip. 

“Christopher,” Eddie says, “My son. He was I think seven, back then. It’s crazy how quick time flies."

“God, yeah,” says Omar. “Never thought I’d still be in Hershey at this point, but time just moves so fucking fast.”

There’s an almost awkward pause. 

“Did you, uh, did you talk to Maddie?” asks Omar, timidly. 

“Yeah,” says Buck, “Or, well, I texted her that we were having coffee today. She wanted me to send you her love, said I can fill you in on whatever you might want to know about her.”

There’s a pause, where Omar contemplates the table seriously. “I know I asked the other day, but. She’s happy? She’s safe and she's happy?”

“She is,” says Buck, earnest, “I promise.”

“He, uh. Doug.” Omar says it like a hot coal got stuck in his throat, like it hurt to say. “He left Hershey really abruptly, and I knew it might be about something else, but. I tried calling, I tried emailing, just in case. Nothing went through. I realize that she probably changed her number and her email so that he couldn't track her, but I didn't really know what else to do. I couldn’t exactly just call the police, I had no proof for anything, couldn’t even have told them where Maddie was staying."

“You did the best you could,” says Buck seriously. “She told me how you helped her get a go bag at the hospital, about how when she finally ran you helped cover her tracks at the hospital to give her a headstart. I think you probably saved her life, you know?” Buck sounds choked up, and Eddie puts a reassuring hand on his knee, draws little soothing circles with his thumb.

“It didn’t feel like enough,” says Omar quietly.

“It often doesn’t,” says Eddie. “But she really is safe and happy now. She got out, and she fought for a good life, and she’s made it.”

“C’mere,” says Buck, leaning across the table, “Let me show you more photos of how incredibly cute my niece is.”

Omar agrees, and they all politely pretend that no one’s eyes are watery. 

————

When it's nearly noon, Omar makes his excuses and heads out, and they agree to have lunch there first before heading to the hospital. Buck and Eddie join Chris in his booth, after Buck’s had a minute or two to decompress. No one talks about Doug anymore, and for good reason, but it’s clear that the reminder has shaken him.

Chris is only too happy to have them join him, immediately pulling Buck over to his side of the booth to go over his biology worksheet with him.

“Hey, I’m going to hit the head, if they come by, order me the pulled pork sandwich, yeah?” says Eddie, and they both nod distractedly while drawing up those little genetic inheritance things, so there’s a fifty-fifty shot he actually gets it. 

When he comes back to the booth, he sneaks up behind them, planning to startle them just a little, when he overhears his own name. He shouldn’t, he knows that, but he sinks down, just for a moment, just to listen. 

“It is different with Eddie,” Buck is saying contemplatively. 

“Okay, you say that,” says Chris, “But he seems to really just get all the stuff with your parents, and like. I don’t know.”

“It makes you think about your grandparents?” asks Buck, and there’s a moment of silence, when Eddie infers that Chris nods. “I don’t know what to tell you, Chris. Have you and your dad ever really talked about his relationship with his parents?”

“A little,” says Chris, “At Thanksgiving. He said his relationship with his parents was complicated, and different than my relationship with them, and he didn't want me to feel like his relationship with them affected mine. It doesn’t, exactly, but. I don't know.”

“I get it, I do. Maddie and I have very different relationships with our own parents, and they have a different relationship again with Jee. It can be hard to see that, I think, especially when you’re still growing up. Hard to realize how different your relationships are with people than theirs with other people.”

“I think I hate your parents,” says Chris, and Buck laughs a little. 

“Pretty sure they like you, kiddo.”

“Yeah,” says Chris, sure and unconcerned. “They’re nice to me, whatever, I don't think they’re very nice to you, though.” 

Buck sighs heavily.

“It's complicated,” he hedges.

“That’s exactly what I mean!” exclaims Chris. “That’s what dad says too, and I’ve been thinking a lot about Thanksgiving while we’ve been here, and I’m not so sure that my grandparents are that nice to dad either.”

There’s a long pause, and Eddie realizes he’s moments away from tears.

“Buck?” asks Chris, hesitating.

“You know how you hate my parents?” Buck says, waits for Chris’ little ‘uh huh’ of agreement, before continuing, “I think sometimes when it’s complicated then it’s easier to just hate someone, especially if you have a little distance. Realistically, you don’t ever have to deal with my parents ever again, not if you don’t want to, so you can safely hate them if it will help you feel better, right?” Another pause, another assumed nod. “I think your family is so big and complicated, that you and Eddie and your grandparents are all going to have your different relationships with each other, and you don’t have to let them affect your feelings if you don’t want to. I’ve got enough distance that I can hate your grandparents just a little for both of you, okay?”

On either side of the booth, both Diaz boys huff a quiet breath of a laugh.

“You’re not very good at hating people, Buck,” says Chris, as Eddie sneaks away from the booth.

“Then you’ll have to teach me your hater ways,” teases Buck, as Eddie comes around the front of the booth, visible to both of them now, no startling necessary.

“Oh, learn from the master,” says Chris, “Dad’s such a hater!”

“That is not true,” protests Eddie, and both Chris and Buck laugh.

“No, the kid’s got you dead to rights. Remember that time you cooked Taylor and me dinner?” 

It’s completely undermining his own case, but Eddie can feel himself making a moue of distaste at Taylor’s very name, and both Chris and Buck fall about laughing. 

————

They let Chris finish a little more of his work before heading to the hospital, having agreed to collect Philip at 3pm. It goes well enough, he’s blustering a little through the care and recovery instructions initially, trying to make a joke of them until Chris seriously informs him about how much better post-surgery life is when you follow your doctor’s instructions. Then Philip subsides.

The doctor in question, Renée, smiles approvingly at Chris. 

Buck signs Philip up for the recovery program while he’s getting changed back into his own clothes in the restroom, and then they have to wheel him out to the parking lot.

“This is ridiculous,” says Philip, “I’m hardly an invalid.”

“I seem to remember making a similar argument as you wheeled me out of a hospital in L.A. just a few years ago,” says Buck lightly, and Philip rolls his eyes. 

“That was an entirely different scenario,” says Philip, and Eddie hates to agree with him but he also isn’t going to stand for Buck making light of the fucking lightning, so he narrows his eyes and chimes in.

“You know, I couldn’t agree more, Philip,” he says pointedly, and before Buck can rejoin with whatever joke he clearly wants to make, Chris nods emphatically, and, well. That’s that. 

Buck drives them all back to the Buckleys’ house, and they both help Philip to get settled inside. Margaret’s waiting, and it is kind of sweet, how glad she is to have him home, even if she’s acting like he was away for a work trip, and not in the hospital. They all sit in the sitting room for a while, have tea from Margaret’s beautiful show china set. It doesn't actually take that long for Philip to start yawning, which is wildly unsurprising in the circumstances. 

"You'll tire more easily for the next few weeks,” prompts Eddie after the fourth yawn in a row. “Might be worth having a nap before dinner?”

“What are we doing for dinner? Have you taken them to The Mill yet, Margaret?” asks Philip, ignoring Eddie entirely.

“Well, Christopher hadn’t tried French food before,” says Margaret.

“Ahh, so Bistro d’Aix?” 

“Of course,” she says with a little smile.

“And what did you think?” asks Philip.

“It was nice,” says Chris, “I had, uh, this beef stew? It was good.”

“Boeuf bourguignon,” says Philip, “Good man, that’s my favorite too.” He punctuates it with a yawn, and gives Eddie a rueful look, like it's an inside joke between them. “Might need that nap after all.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with the stairs?” asks Buck, and Philip waves him off easily, so Eddie silently follows after him to be sure. Philip has to stop and catch his breath at the top, and he looks noticeably paler than he did earlier. The nap will do him good.

“I might join him,” Margaret is saying as Eddie re-enters the room. “I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”

“Completely understandable, Mom,” says Buck gently. “We'll go to the store, make a start on dinner. I’ll come get you guys if you're not already down by the time it's ready.”

“Thank you, Evan,” says Margaret, patting Buck’s arm as she gets up to follow after her husband. For a moment, it reminds Eddie of the brief affection given to a not very well known dog, but Buck looks pleased. It’s the problem with being given so little, the way you can feast on scraps, consider them almost normal. 

“Trip to the store, huh?” asks Eddie, coming over to sit down right by Buck’s side, pressed right against the length of his body. “Volunteering us for chores, Buckley?” He nudges his shoulder into Buck’s, who nudges back on reflex.

“Uh, Volunteering how many of us? Because I just texted Denny to see if he’s free to play games.”

“Just volunteering your dad,” Buck says immediately, because he’s somehow still a soft touch.

“You have to be the bad cop some time,” complains Eddie, as Chris speeds off out of the room before Buck can be contradicted. 

“One day, maybe,” says Buck easily. “Not today, though.”

“No,” agrees Eddie, looking around at the stuffy sitting room. “Not today.”  

————

They go through the pamphlets about heart healthy foods that Buck had picked up from the hospital, and he eventually decides on a pretty straightforward fish dish. The trip to the store doesn't take long, and before Eddie knows it, he’s back in the Buckleys’ kitchen, preparing a celery root of all things while Buck marinates some salmon fillets. 

It’s a straightforward meal, and delicious. Roasted vegetables and salmon, some extra asparagus on the side. High in protein, low in sodium. Buck even managed to pull together some kind of heart-healthy banana bread that he serves with yogurt and berries, and sure, Eddie would prefer the tarte tatin they split the night before, but it’s still extremely good. 

Probably he should suggest to Buck that he tries to make tarte tatin from scratch when they get back home. 

They all don't drink, and for the first meal since they got to Pennsylvania, Eddie doesn't actually feel like he needs a glass of wine to get through it. They don’t talk about anything real, but that's better, maybe. Buck and Eddie know exactly how to tell a thousand work stories to a thousand different audiences, and it turns out that Margaret and Philip have some stories of their own from their decades working in elementary schools. Chris chimes in here and there with stories from his own school that make them all laugh.

The worst that happens is when, between courses as Buck is in the kitchen, Philip says, “It’s been good to get to know you better, Evan’s lucky to have such a nice guy as a fiancé.”

Margaret elbows him, and Philip laughs a little. "Of course, boyfriend, sorry. Well, I hope we’ll see you in Los Angeles next time we visit.”

“I’m sure you will,” says Eddie firmly, and thanks his lucky stars that at least Buck wasn’t in the room to see his startle, his flush. It’s bad enough having Chris grinning at him from across the table. 

“Give them time,” says Chris wickedly, and that’s when Buck pushes into the room, somehow balancing all five bowls of banana bread. 

————

It’s been a good day, a good night. It’s different again somehow, returning to their room after a genuinely nice evening. There’s less of the urgency to have some space to themselves, time to debrief, than there has been the previous two nights. It doesn’t actually make it weird though. It’s still nice to have the chance to have their own space. It's pretty much always nice, sharing space with Buck. There’s a reason why they sleep on bunks perpendicular to each other at the station, just like there’s a reason why they go to their separate homes and then immediately facetime each other as they do chores or get ready to have a nap or whatever it is they’re doing. 

Eddie’s pretty much never tired of having more time to spend with Buck. He’s never met anyone else who makes him feel so at ease, so perfectly comfortable. It’s been all of two days, and Eddie’s already kind of dreading the loneliness of dropping Buck off at his loft when they get home. 

They really should make plans for a proper vacation, just the three of them, no loaded family interactions. 

“Gubbins time?" Eddie asks, sprawling out fully clothed to lie on the bed.

“We have a routine now,” chides Buck, “Let me get ready for bed first. Plus, I should call Maddie, let her know how his first day back in the house went.”

“Do you know what you’re going to say about Omar?” 

“I already told her that we were going for coffee with him today, so the ball’s in her court.”

“Sensible,” says Eddie, looking up at the ceiling. “What a shit situation.”

“Yeah," says Buck sadly. “It just sucks. I wish he’d been able to do more, but he was there for her, and I don't know what else she would have let him do. Sometimes being there has to be enough.”

“Yeah,” agrees Eddie. “Tell you what, I’ll shower first, so you can call Maddie?”

“Sounds good,” says Buck, smiling fondly at him. “In case I haven't said it enough, thank you for being here for me.”

Eddie levers himself up from the bed. “Buck, you have to know you don’t have to thank me for that.”

“Still,” says Buck, ducking his head a little.

Eddie walks over to him and clasps his shoulder, squeezes just enough to make Buck look up at him, “It’s what we do, isn't it? Have each other's backs?”

“Yeah,” agrees Buck, smiling fondly at him, “It is. Okay, you go shower, I’ll say hi to Maddie for you.”

When Eddie gets back from his shower, and there are many things to complain about in Hershey, but the Buckleys do have enviable water pressure, Buck’s lying on the floor, his feet up on the bed, smiling as he chatters into the phone. 

“Seriously?” mouths Eddie, and Buck just shrugs up at him with a dorky little smile. Eddie snaps a quick pic to send to the groupchat, and laughs as the reactions flood in. He takes a seat at the headboard, on his side of the bed, and listens as Buck talks happily with Maddie.

“Okay, it’s my turn for the shower, so I should go,” says Buck. “No, you can’t keep using me as an excuse to stay on break, get back to work! Yeah, I know, no, I promise. It really was good today, Maddie, promise. Love you. Tell Jee– Yeah, I will. Okay, love you, bye!”

Buck sighs after hanging up, stays on the floor looking up at the ceiling. Eddie takes a moment and then pokes him in the arch of his foot.

“All good back home?” asks Eddie, while Buck flinches back with a little squeak.

“Dick,” he says fondly, curling his feet away from Eddie. He can hear the smile in Buck's voice when he says, “Yeah, all good’s back at the ranch, Lassie.”

“That’s not– Like I’m the one– Oh, never mind,” Eddie gives up exasperated. “Maddie’s okay?”

“Maddie’s okay,” confirms Buck, “And she asked me to pass Omar’s number along to her. I think she wants to try to reconnect.”

“Good for her,” says Eddie decisively. “It can be hard, when a place was so fundamentally bad to you, to be able to unpick the good parts. To even accept that there were good parts.”

Buck’s legs disappear, and suddenly he’s popping up from beside the bed, his forearms resting on the mattress, his head on his forearms as he looks at Eddie.

“Yeah,” says Buck, “Maddie’s always been good at trying for the silver lining, though, at seeing the good in the bad. At seeing the best in people.”

“She doesn't have to do that,” says Eddie, and maybe he’s not really talking about Maddie anymore, so he clarifies, “I’m glad she’s willing to reach out to Omar, and I hope they can be friends, or at least give each other closure, but. But sometimes you don't actually need to work to see the best in people, if they’ve mistreated you. Even if they simply don’t understand you. Sometimes you need to stop looking for the good, and accept that the relationship isn’t going to get better, that you have to decide between living with it as it is, or losing it, but it's not going to improve. They’re not going to suddenly start being someone better.”

Buck looks at him, solemn, understanding. 

“You heard Chris and me talking today, didn’t you?” Buck asks, and Eddie nods. 

“You heard us on the plane?”

Buck nods. 

“I mean it, Buck. Tonight was nice, and I’m glad, but you don’t owe these people anything, and you owe it to yourself to be kind to yourself. If that means maintaining this relationship, then I will be here to support you every time, you know that. If it means calling it and walking away, I’ll support that too.”

 “Maddie wants to have a relationship with them, for Jee-Yun’s sake, and for their new kid.”

“Maddie can do that,” Eddie assures, “That doesn’t mean you have to have a relationship with them, not if you don’t want to. That’s your call, not hers. Maddie will understand, trust me.”

Buck nods slowly. 

“No need to make a call right now,” says Eddie, “It’s up to you. Just know I’ll back your play.”

“Oh, Eddie,” says Buck after a moment, smiling softly, “I know.”

He gets up, and goes to grab his shower stuff and sleep clothes. 

“Don’t start Gubbins without me!” he calls behind him as he walks to the bathroom. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” promises Eddie warmly. It is, as Buck says, part of their routine now. Eddie’s never really had this kind of shared routine before, not even with Shannon. It was impossible, with their lives so in flux, with Eddie sleeping on the couch half the time because he couldn't bear to be too close, because his skin felt too hot to the touch and ill-fitting, and his blood fizzed in his veins, and his mind was still a continent away. 

He sits at the head of the bed, under the comforter and blankets, cosy. He just sits there, listens to the sound of water thrumming in the shower, and lets himself relax. There’s something soothing in knowing that no one needs him right now, that Chris and Buck are safe and warm and close, that they’re all under the same roof, even if the roof in question could be better. 

He’s half asleep when Buck gets back in, propped up against the headboard. Buck slips into the bed next to him so gently that Eddie doesn't really stir from the movement, but part of him registers the shower-warm heat of him and starts to wake up.

“Hey, no,” says Buck, all quiet and affectionate, “You can stay dozing.”

“Mmm, no,” says Eddie, blinking himself more awake stubbornly, “We had a plan.”

Buck’s next to him, pink from the shower and smiling at him like he thinks Eddie is ridiculous while he pulls on his stupid bed socks. “Okay,” he says, indulgent, and Eddie smiles blearily at him.

“I might not be much help,” he admits, digging out his phone from where it had fallen between the sheets.

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Buck’s voice is laughing, drenched in affection and contentment. He really should always sound like this. 

————

It all falls apart over breakfast. Falls apart is too generous, maybe. It implodes over breakfast.

Buck had made a heart healthy breakfast of eggwhite omelettes, toast, and fruit salads. They’d made small talk, initially, discussions of how Maddie’s pregnancy is going, of what Chris’ schoolwork is like at the moment, of some of the more family friendly calls that Buck and Eddie have had recently. 

“We’ve actually been thinking about travelling a little recently,” says Philip. “We’d visit L.A., of course, but maybe going on further than that.”

“Anywhere in particular?” Buck asks, genuinely interested.

“Oh, well, nothing’s set in stone yet,” demurs Philip.

“Emily, Samantha’s mother, you remember, keeps recommending a cruise. She and her husband went on one last year, and they had a wonderful time.”

Buck and Eddie exchange a glance. Statistically speaking, most cruises have to go better than the one that Bobby and Athena went on. Statistically speaking, everyone they’ve ever met should be able to get a cruise ship safely now, after that one absolute clusterfuck.

“I’ve, uh, I've heard some mixed reviews of cruises,” says Eddie diplomatically. 

“We’ve been called out to one,” says Buck, significantly less diplomatically. “I'm sure they’re not all like that!”

“Well, we have a little time to decide,” says Margaret, “Emily and Trent aren’t going on their next cruise until mid March, and they’re still selling tickets until the end of February, so we thought it might be nice to join them.”

Eddie and Buck exchange another, very different, glance.

“March?” asks Eddie, to confirm, and Margaret nods with a smile.

“The twenty-sixth, I think,” says Philip, “So we might do that first, and then come back via Los Angeles, to meet your new nephew.” He looks pleased with himself.

“You can’t do that,” says Buck slowly, brow furrowed. 

“Oh, now, what’s that supposed to mean?” asks Margaret, and there’s something in the air, some crackling tension that has Eddie on edge. He nods silently at Chris, who quietly excuses himself from the table and leaves the room, even as the discussion continues. 

“What, you can go travelling but we can’t?” asks Philip, frowning at Buck.

“No, I didn’t say that, I just meant. You just had a major emergency surgery. It’s normally at least a twelve week recovery, you can't just go on vacation four weeks later.”

“Oh honestly,” says Philip, rolling his eyes, “I feel fine already, there’s no need to worry so much."

“Did you even listen to the doctor yesterday?” asks Buck, frustrated.

“I did, in fact,” says Philip, stern now. “I’m a fully grown man, Evan, I know how to take care of myself.”

“Well you say that, but you just told me that you’re planning on going off on a cruise in the middle of your recovery period, so forgive me if I’m not convinced,” replies Buck. “The best case scenario is mostly recovered at six weeks, but that’s not going to happen if you push yourself too much. You could seriously hurt yourself.”

“Evan,” says Margaret wearily, “Your father knows what’s best for him. I’m sure a vacation would be relaxing, restorative even.”

“He might not even be able to fly by then!” exclaims Buck, “Do you both understand how serious this was? They cut into your heart, I’m not saying don't go on a fucking cruise, I’m saying just wait.”

“Do not speak to your mother like that,” says Philip, and he and Buck both push up from the table simultaneously. Eddie finds himself in perfect tune with Margaret as they also stand up, all hovering over the needlessly big and needlessly expensive dining table, still scattered with the remains of the breakfast that Buck had prepared.

Buck wheels around his chair, pacing, before taking a deep breath, forcing his shoulders down. He’s always been better at forcing his emotions down than any of them like to give him credit for, because it's because of things like this. It’s because of growing up with them. Eddie would rather that he was as overly emotional as they sometimes tease him about being, because the true hurt, the really bitter pills, Buck just swallows down. 

“I'm not trying to be rude, I'm not trying to be hurtful,” says Buck, taking a breath, “I just want you to be careful with yourself. This was serious, and you didn’t even tell us it was going on–”

“Of course,” sighs Margaret, visibly annoyed now, “You’re punishing us for not telling you.”

“That is not what I’m doing,” says Buck quickly, “I’m just genuinely concerned that you don’t seem to understand how serious this was, how much worse it could have been. I’m not just your son asking you to be careful, I’m also a trained EMT who wants to give you medical advice.”

“Evan, respectfully,” says Philip in a slightly amused, slightly condescending, and not at all respectful tone, “If we want medical advice, we’ll call Maddie.”

“Why did you even bother calling me?” Buck asks, somewhere between exasperated, angry, and hurt, “Why do you even want me here?”

“I don’t,” snaps Margaret, and there’s a quiet, sharp moment, where they all inhale simultaneously. 

Buck looks, god. Buck. It would be better if he looked hurt, or shocked, but he doesn’t. Resigned, maybe. Bloodless and aching and utterly unsurprised. 

“Your father insisted I call you,” says Margaret, voice shrill, like she's holding back tears, like she’s not the one causing hurt. She buries her face in her hands.

“Margaret,” says Philip gently, but that’s all he fucking does. 

“Of course,” says Buck, so horribly, heart-achingly tired. “Of course. Why would you want me here.”

“Someone needed to be here for your mother, while I’ve been away,” says Philip, “And I knew you’d come support her if we asked.” 

“I would,” says Buck, resigned more than anything now. His eyes are empty of emotion. 

“Your mother’s been having a hard time,” tries Philip, like that excuses anything.

Margaret raises her head from her hands, looks at Philip accusingly through red eyes. “So you thought having him here would make it easier?”

Buck flinches. Eddie’s next to him in a heartbeat, one arm around his shoulders, the other stroking up and down Buck’s nearest arm. There’s a fine tremor running through Buck, one he doesn't even know if Buck’s aware of, like a fault line before an earthquake.

“As if it wasn’t bad enough, hard enough, to have you in hospital, as if I wasn’t already thinking about him every moment of every day? Like I needed yet another reminder?"

“Because that's all I am, right? That’s all I’ll be? A reminder of Daniel?” Buck says, voice shaking with emotion. 

“Don’t be cruel, Evan,” snaps Margaret, “You know we love you, but–”

“Do I? Do I know that?” Buck sounds hurt and heartbroken and furious, and Eddie is at least relieved that he’s standing up for himself, even if this is going about as bad as it could be. 

“Of course we do,” says Philip, “Don’t be petulant."

“Petulant?" asks Buck, and Eddie wishes, wishes, it was just anger in his voice. Wishes that, like him, Buck could let his anger swallow his other emotions and deal with them later. Instead, Buck sounds like he’s swallowed glass. Like his heart has shattered, and the pieces are tearing at his vocal box even now. “Whatever I do, whatever I try, no matter how many times I meet you in the middle, I’ll never be enough. I’ll never be someone you can love, not really, because you can’t even fucking look at me without thinking of him, without thinking I failed you.”

“You did,” snaps Margaret, distraught, and Buck flinches back like she slapped him.

Admittedly, Eddie’s been spoiling for a fight since that first phone call, but enough is more than enough. He snaps. 

“Stop,” snaps Eddie, his arm curling protectively around Buck, stepping forward and trying to pull him behind Eddie just a little. “I’m sorry about Daniel, I am, but you had three children. You lost one, and I cannot imagine how that hurt you, it’s my greatest fear. I cannot fucking imagine choosing to lose him, either. You lost Daniel, and it’s awful, but you’ve given up both of your other children and that is fucking incomprehensible. 

“I would do anything to keep your son in my life. I would marry your son in a heartbeat, if I could,” he says, not stopping to think about Buck’s sharp inhale, just focused on the pure and deadly rush of anger and adrenaline flooding his veins. “He deserves better than that, than me. He’s too good for me, he’s such a good, kind person, how do you not see that? You should have wanted him here, you should be depending on him, there’s fucking no one better in a crisis than your son, no one kinder or more helpful, or more caring. The only surprising thing is that he could be related to you. He might deserve more than me, he’s a better person than I am, but he’s certainly a better person than either of you are. He deserves more than you’ve ever known how to give him.”

“Eddie,” says Buck, quiet, almost shellshocked behind him, and Eddie can’t bring himself to turn around.

Margaret and Philip stand before him, Philip surprised and maybe a little shamefaced. Margaret looks somewhere between hurt, offended, and regretful. Tough fucking luck. 

“You should apologize,” Eddie says, serious, furious. He knows how he sounds when he’s this fucking angry, like a threat, and he can’t bring himself to temper it. They deserve his simmering rage for the last thirty fucking years of Buck’s life. “Your son deserves an apology.”

“Evan,” says Margaret tremulously, and Eddie can’t tell if she’s going to apologize or lay back into Buck.

“Don’t,” says Buck, stepping forward to Eddie’s side, all emotion finally wiped from his voice, purposefully and viciously excised. “Don’t bother. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it. It may have taken me a while, but I’ve learned my fucking lesson.” 

“Evan,” tries Philip, cajoling. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” says Buck, earnest, too fucking good for them. “But let’s be honest, our relationship was at its best after I left, when you had no fucking idea where I was, and I had no interest in even trying to make nice.”

“Wait, Evan,” says Margaret, and now, now, she sounds regretful, frantic even.

“I won’t interfere with Maddie,” says Buck, steamrolling past her, “You’ll still have a relationship with her, and with Jee-Yun, but I think it’s time to call it with us. I don’t need you, I never have. I’ve never been able to, because you’ve never been there for me, not really. I think it’s time to admit we just don’t have that kind of relationship, we can’t. You’ll never be able to forgive me for Daniel, and the thing is? It wasn't my fault. So I’m done with letting you treat me like I’ve done something wrong.”

Buck releases a breath, and he looks like a weight was lifted, like he’s truly and genuinely relieved. He turns to Eddie, and he looks so carefree that it’s clear how each and every second in Hershey has weighed him down.

“We should check on Chris,” Buck says, “That got louder than I think any of us intended.” Behind him, Philip and Margaret flinch at the idea, and Eddie doesn’t know if it’s embarrassment that any of this was overheard, or it’s a reaction of that fondness for Chris which they seem incapable of showing for their own son. 

“Okay,” agrees Eddie, happy to follow Buck’s lead. It’s beginning to realize the degree of what he said out loud. Things he’s never so much as let himself think, and now he’s practically yelled them at Buck’s parents of all fucking people. There’s no time for that, not in this moment, so he does his best to pack it away as he follows Buck upstairs to Maddie’s old room. 

“Chris,” Buck calls, knocking on the door, and it swings open immediately. 

“Are you okay?” asks Chris, frantic, and that answers whether or not he’d heard much after he left the room. 

Before Buck can properly reply, Chris barrels forward into a hug, and Buck practically collapses over him in hugging him back. That, on its own, is enough. More than enough. Eddie shakes off the faint shock that's been plaguing him, and launches into action. 

Buck’s not crying, but it's close. Eddie can tell in the way he clings to Chris, in the way Chris lets him cling, holds him even tighter. 

Eddie pulls out his phone, and by the time they’ve separated, he’s got a plan.

“Okay,” he says, “Paddington or Captain America?”

“What?” asks Buck, bemused. 

“Paddington,” says Chris, “Did you not hear about Captain America, Dad?”

“I guess I didn’t,” says Eddie, “But you can tell me in the car, we have to get moving right now.”

“We're going to see a movie?” asks Buck, as Chris gamely pulls a jacket on.

“Technically, you and Chris are going to see a movie,” says Eddie, ushering them downstairs and into shoes and jackets. “Come on, hustle.”

“Eddie,” says Buck once, quietly, pleading, as Chris heads out the front door and towards the rental.

“You trust me?” asks Eddie, so confident he's almost smiling. 

“You know I do,” says Buck, “Okay, okay. Chris and I are seeing a movie. I trust you.”

He gets Chris to forward the tickets from his phone to his own while he drives, and drops them at the Regal with about five minutes to spare. 

“I’ll be back to collect you in two hours,” he promises, and drives off. He goes to the airport first, and then, once he’s figured out the first stage of the plan, he drives back to the Buckleys’ house. He’s kept the keys, because Buck couldn’t bear to see them, so he lets himself in. 

“Finally,” says Philip from the sitting room, “Now, Evan, get in here, that was wildly inappro–”

Eddie ducks his head into the sitting room enough to shut Philip up. 

Margaret sits next to him, sipping a cup of tea from that infernal china tea set. 

“Oh, good, you’re both here,” says Eddie, “I didn’t want to have to have this conversation twice. We’re leaving, I’m just here to pack up.”

“Where’s Evan?” asks Margaret tremulously. 

“He’s out of the house with Chris,” says Eddie firmly. “He didn’t need to be here for this.”

“This is wildly out of line, young man,” says Philip, “You’re acting like we hit him, this is ridiculous.”

“Oh please,” says Eddie, fine to burn this bridge a little more, “We both know this isn’t how you act when someone hits one of your children.” 

They go pale, Margaret gasps out a sob. 

“You have no idea what that was like,” blusters Philip, angry now.

“I saw the end of it," replies Eddie, “I know more than enough. Besides, you might not have hit him, but you did hurt him. We’re heading home today.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads upstairs to pack their bags. 

He starts with their own room, because he feels like there’s a chance they’ll feel more entitled with Buck's stuff, so he wants to pack that first. He packs their stuff at speed, efficient but fast. There are few things, these days, that he’ll give the army credit for, but he’s always been able to leave quickly and efficiently when needed. His own bag is half empty by the time he’s done, and neither Buckley has come up from downstairs to even attempt to challenge him. After this morning, and they’re just going to let Buck walk out of their lives? He's simmering with rage, and more sure than ever that they don’t deserve someone as good as Buck in their lives. 

Chris’ room takes a little longer, but only because Chris is a nightmare who appears to have just taken every single thing he packed out of his bag and thrown it in a different direction. It’s a visceral reminder that he truly is a teenager now. Eddie gets his clothes packed, his toiletries, and the book on his bedside table. His main backpack is with Chris at the cinema, he's pretty sure, but worst case scenario he can drive them back here and Buck can stay in the car while Chris unearths anything he's left behind. 

He suddenly remembers Buck's stupid pink fluffy bed socks, and heads back into their own room to grab them out from under the pillow. He thinks for a moment of Maddie’s closet, but of course when he opens the closet door in their room, it’s perfectly empty and grey. 

He heads back to Maddie’s room, Chris’ stuff all packed now, and does another sweep of the closet. He packs the letterman jacket, and double checks for other things that might have been Buck’s. There’s not much, a couple of sweaters that Chris might want, and if he doesn't they can just bring them to a thrift shop, so he may as well throw them in. He grabs the prom picture of Maddie and Buck off the mantelpiece, and then digs the keys out of his pocket. He wrestles the keychains off the ring and pockets them, leaving the ring bare but for the actual keys, and heads downstairs. He puts everything in the car, then heads back inside to the sitting room. 

“Here are your guest keys,” he says, putting them down on one of the many side tables. 

“Thank you,” says Margaret quietly. 

Eddie turns to leave, and then turns back. “Look, I’m sure that in your own way you do love him,” they both shift in their seats in indignation, but before they can interrupt he continues, “And I know that no matter what happens, he still loves you. You can’t try for a little bit and then stop, you can’t keep pretending that you see him and you care enough to do better and then giving up the second it gets even a little hard. The second he disagrees with you for even a moment. If you’re not willing to genuinely put in the effort, to actually change, fundamentally and permanently, then don’t bother trying to contact him again. If you can't be what he actually deserves, then the least you can do is stop stringing him along. He deserves that, at least. Your honesty.”

“You make it sound like it’s simple, like it’s easy,” says Philip, and he sounds tired, more than anything.

“It is easy. He’s your son. More than that, he’s Buck.”

With that, Eddie leaves.

————

When Buck and Chris leave the movie theatre, Eddie’s leaning up against the rental. They’re talking and smiling, and Eddie feels something unfurl in his chest. Relief, probably, or joy. 

“Hey, that’s not our car,” says Chris frowning, “We’ve got the stupid blueberry, remember?”

“Not anymore,” admits Eddie, “This is our rental now.”

“Can you have a mid-life crisis with a rental car?” jokes Buck, but his brow is furrowed, like he's trying to solve a puzzle. 

“Well, they couldn’t switch our flights, except to about two hours earlier than we were due to leave on the same day, and that’s four days too late.”

“It is?” asks Buck slowly, and Chris is already grinning. 

“Way too late,” agrees Eddie. “Luckily, I did actually spring for travel insurance after that whole thing with Athena last year.”

“Not sure that would be covered on travel insurance,” laughs Buck, and Eddie shrugs.

“Well, our flights are fully refunded, and the flights tonight and tomorrow are fucking exorbitant for some reason.”

“Valentines Day,” says Buck, “It’s because of people taking a trip for Valentines Day. Hershey does pretty well at this time of year.”

“Okay,” concedes Eddie, “Nothing more romantic than Chocolate World, I guess. Anyway, after the flights were refunded, I went to talk to our car rental agency, and it turns out they have a program where you can drive a car one way from one airport to another for a reduced rental rate. So. Figured we could road trip.”

“My parents were slightly mean so you want to roadtrip back to L.A. instead of just waiting four days and flying back?” Buck asks, like he’s clarifying. 

Eddie stops leaning against the car, and walks forward to Buck. 

“Your parents are wrong about you, they always have been.”

“Because I’m so good?” asks Buck, and he looks almost coy. 

“You’re so good,” Eddie agrees with a smile, “You’re the best person I know, except for our kid.”

“We both know that’s not true,” says Buck quietly, ducking his head a little.

Eddie reaches out, the nerves and shock of earlier all disappearing over the sudden and overwhelming want to reach out. To touch Buck. To never stop touching Buck.

“Of course it’s true,” says Eddie, “I’m not one for lying, you know that.”

“To your detriment,” Buck says hoarsely. “Eddie, you need– I need you to be clear. When you say you weren’t lying…”

“Not about any of it, not ever, Buck,” he promises, aware with a bone deep certainty how true it is even as he says it. “You're my best friend, and my partner, and the love of my life, probably.”

“Probably?” laughs Buck, but there are tears in his eyes. “You’re probably the love of mine, you know.”

“Good,” says Eddie, kissing Buck before he can reply again. Even now, in a parking lot in Pennsylvania, melting slush on the ground around them, it feels like coming home. It feels like an inevitability, like their whole lives were just building up to this. This, he recognizes faintly, is what kisses are probably always supposed to feel like, because the way people talk and sing about them makes a lot more sense suddenly. 

He leans maybe half an inch away from Buck to breath, and takes a moment just to look at him. Buck’s eyes blink openly shyly. 

“Hi,” says Buck, and for all that he’s got a famous history as a player he’s blushing. It makes Eddie’s grin get wide and just a little smug. “Shut up,” says Buck, laughing now. Laughing again, already, even after all that this morning, and his terrible awful parents, and Eddie’s already got him laughing again. 

“You know we’re your family, right?” asks Eddie, to be sure, and Buck rolls his eyes.

“Of course I know that,” he says easily, so easily that Eddie’s heart flips in his chest, and god this really has been what it’s been the whole time isn’t it?

“I think I’ve been in love with you as long as I’ve known you,” he says out loud, and gets to watch Buck flush a deep pink. 

“Well,” says Buck through his blush, “I’ve only been in love with you since that exploded ambulance, so. Embarrassing for you, really.” 

Eddie couldn't stop his own breathless laugh and delight if he tried. 

There’s the sound of a car door opening. 

“If we’re driving all the way back home shouldn’t we actually get started?” comes Chris’ voice, and they both startle a little, laughing at each other as they spin to face him. He looks wildly unimpressed and maybe just a little amused. “I can't actually believe this is what it took, but I’m glad. This car is cold, though, come on.”

“Okay, okay,” laughs Eddie. "Come on, Buck, you have first shift,” he says, tossing the car keys to Buck.

“Of course I do,” gripes Buck, but he’s grinning brightly.

“What, you don’t want to drive off into the sunset?” asks Eddie as Buck adjusts the rearview mirror. Buck makes a face at him, because he very visibly does want to do that.

“Do we have time to do fun stops?” asks Chris, excited. “Last roadtrip I was on was when I was like six and we left Texas.”

“We can make it work,” says Eddie, “We’ve got time.” 

Buck starts the car, and Eddie can’t resist. As soon as they’re on the road properly he reaches out, and without even looking down, Buck takes his hand. They’ve got time.