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A Strong Hand and a Sound Mind

Summary:

Buck had always known people leave. Ex-girlfriends, friends, broken promises—he’d lost count. But when Eddie announces his plan of going to El Paso, something inside Buck shatters in a different way. He does what it takes, until one day, he can’t take it anymore. With no plan, no fixed destination, just a backpack and an endless road ahead, Buck decides to escape the pain the only way he knows: by running. But the farther he travels, the more he finds himself confronted by memories, the ghosts of what he’s lost, and one unexpected question: is he running toward a new home or simply running from the fear that he never truly had one?

Eddie never hesitated when it came to his son. Christopher was his compass, his greatest reason to keep fighting, and when he gets tired of having his son away, Eddie doesn’t think twice before leaving everything behind—including Buck. El Paso takes him through unfamiliar roads and a journey that isn’t just about repairing his relationship with his son, but about finding himself. In the midst of chaos, worry, and missing his life in Los Angeles, Eddie realizes that maybe his feelings for Buck have always been deeper than he was willing to admit.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

Abby has been on his mind lately. Not romantically, God knows Buck was over that, but in a way he couldn't quite understand. He thinks about the day she leaves. If he closes his eyes for a second, he could almost see himself back then, even after all those years. Standing in the airport, waiting for her to disappear. He thinks about what must felt like. Leave everything and everyone behind. As if that thought was his very own Pandora box, he shut it down. Buck would never do that.

The box stood there, in the back of his mind, echoing like a melody you used to know the lyrics to, but you no longer do. One day, the echo went too strong, and the temptation went too big. He had no other choice beyond to open it, and let the full chaos emerge from that. 

The phone calls turned into texts messages about three months. One month later, Eddie stops reaching out. Even though Buck knew that Eddie was not abandoning him, that situation did nothing to calm down the storm that was brewing inside his head. One night, he tries to call. Christopher was the one who answer it. 

“Hey, Buck!”

“Hey, kid. What’s up there? Why are you with your dad’s phone?”

“Uh—”, he says, like he doesn’t know how to answer the question. “He is in the kitchen, with his co-worker. His daughter is here too.”

Why were Buck’s eyes burning so much? 

Jesus. 

He blinks a few times, shakes his head, and says:

“Oh, ok. I didn’t want to interrupt anything. Can you do me a favor?”

“Yes, Buck, always.”

“Don’t tell your father about this call, ok?”

“I’m not sure if that—”

“Promise me.”

“Ok, Buck”, he whispers, after a few seconds of silence.

That was it. That was the thing that opened that box. 

Eddie was moving on. He had left Buck behind, and now he found someone to replace him with, and he was moving on. It would not be the first time that happened, either. 

Buck was not going to repeat his mistakes. He was not going to haunt Eddie’s place like he did once Abby was gone. You are already doing it, a little voice whisper to him. You’ve been doing it since Eddie left. The voice was just like Zeus, instructing to Pandora not to open the box. You were left too many times, you should know better by now , said that voice, again.

The suitcase seems to be calling him. He wonders how it must felt like. Being the one who leaves and not the one who is left behind. 

It’s a quiet night when he brings out the old suitcase from the space between the closet and wall. It’s been there for a while now. He used it a few months ago, when he moved in. Back then, he thought he will only use it again when Christopher and Eddie were back home. With a big breath, he starts packing. 

Buck pulls out his cell phone to text Bobby. He suspects his cap won’t see it until the next day, when he’s waking up to start his shift at the fire station. It was a simple text. Impersonal, even, like he was truly just one of his firefighters. 

“Need to use the vacation days I have accumulated. Sorry for letting you know it at the last minute. Something came up. I am fine, though.”

In his defense, he could not handle the goodbyes. Or the pity looks. He loved Bobby, but knew him way too good to know exactly what the man would do. Buck doesn’t hesitate to call Maddie. He knew the pregnancy was making her sleep more, and there is no doubt she would have been sleeping like a rock by that time. 

He waits until the calls gets into voicemail. A relief breath scape through his lips when it does. Buck did not think long enough to know what he would do if she answers it. 

“Uh— Hey, Mads. Sorry for the late night call. I need you to know something. I’m leaving. Leaving LA. The firehouse. Everything. I will get myself a new number, will be in touch. I promise. But… I just need to know, for once, what must it be like to be on the other side. Anyway, sorry again. It’s late. I know. I am okay, pinky promise.”

The car’s clock read two in the morning as he shut the Jeep’s door with a soft click. The city that never slept, for a fleeting moment, seemed to be resting. The streets of Los Angeles—always pulsing with lights, voices, and impatient engines—were silent, like an empty theater after the final act.

Buck turned the key in the ignition, feeling the deep rumble of the engine break the stillness. He glanced around, watching the traffic lights blinking alone and the storefronts darkened, abandoned in the hush of the night. He had never seen the city this quiet. It was almost unsettling—like Los Angeles was holding its breath before the new day began.

Pulling out of the parking lot and onto the open road, a mix of adventure and apprehension stirred in his chest. The city stretched behind him like a distant mirage, and with every mile, his departure felt more tangible. He didn’t know what awaited him out there, but at that moment, with the deserted streets reflecting the pale glow of the lampposts, he felt that maybe this was the only way to truly understand the world—by leaving something behind.

Chapter 2: Part I

Chapter Text

So pack up your car, put a hand on your heart

Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are

We ain't angry at you, love

You're the greatest thing we've lost

You're gonna go far, Noah Kahan

Chapter 3: Chapter One: Winds That Call

Chapter Text

Buck was in Phoenix when his phone start to blow up. It was a five hours drive and his legs begin to hurt. The jeep was no longer comfortable for long drives. There were several calls from Bobby, asking why he needed a vacation out of the blue and if he was okay; a few ones from Athena, threatening to use her LAPD resources if he didn’t contact her, because her husband was losing his God damn mind. He stopped at the convenience store, for a stretch and refuel the car. 

“You have lost your mind?” Maddie’s voice was so loud he had to move the phone away from his ear. “What does that massage mean, Evan?”

“Maddie”, he said. It was a warning. 

“Ok, I’m listening. Go on.”

“I just—” said Buck. "I can't keep making the same mistakes. First with Abby, then Taylor, and…"

“Eddie?”

“Yes. Eddie”, he says. 

“You need to be the one who leaves.”

It wasn't a question, but a statement. He didn’t need to say anything. 

“When you are coming back?”, she asks.

“I don’t know. And there are going to be a few rules for this. When I call you from my new number, you can’t give him to the others. I'll only communicate with you, and you alone. You also can't talk about others, especially… you-know-who.”

“Buck, have you really thought about it? Where are you going? Do you have a plan? I mean— From where I’m standing, this seems a little… extreme?”

She was right. It was extreme. He didn't have a plan, and he clearly hadn't thought it through. But, in the end of the day, he was a Buckley, and running was the only inheritance flowing through his veins.

He didn’t even know what he was running from. 

Buck turned off his phone and placed it at the bottom of his suitcase. He couldn't risk Athena tracking him, even after making Maddie promise that none of them would try to find him. He would buy another device soon, a burner one, to use only to talk to his sister during the journey. Then, he entered the convenience store.

“Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?”

“Can you give me a bottle of water, please? A burner phone, too.”

"A traveler?" the curly-haired woman asked, walking around the counter. “There are not so many of you this time of year.”

Buck smiled, pulling his wallet from his pocket. "What gave me away?"

"I've been doing this job for a long time, darling,” she said, and winked at him. "Just passing through or planning to stay?"

“Passing through.”

"That's a shame, then," she said, returning to the register with the bottle of water and the burner phone. “A pretty face like that would make wonderful to this city.”

He let out a laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes. He was too tired for that. "I'm sure there are plenty of other pretty faces around here. One more thing—do you know of a cheap inn where I can stay for the night?"

“Yes, of course. Here, let me—" she took a piece of paper and wrote down the address with directions. "Just tell them Ann sent you, and Joe will give you a good discount."

“Thank you, Ann. I’m Buck.”

“Nice to meet you, Buck. Have a good day.”

He returned to the car with the paper. He drove through two more streets, then turned left. The inn's facade didn't inspire much confidence, but he parked the car anyway.

Joe happened to be a stout and friendly old man, with gray hair and surprising strength. Buck froze when the man hugged him, welcoming him to the inn. Ann, it seemed, was the girlfriend of his granddaughter. Joe complained, saying that the girl was always getting him into trouble. Buck swallowed hard.

"I know we don't have the best infrastructure, but we're very warm and welcoming. Come, dear. You look like you could use a good morning of sleep. Tell me, have you eaten?"

“Uh, yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, please, only Joe. Here is your key.”

Buck collapsed onto the bed with a faint smile on his face. Then, the darkness pulled him under, and he lost track of time. 

When he woke up, lunchtime had long passed. Joe was in the kitchen with a short, stout woman. The two of them were smiling and chatting about his granddaughter’s latest escapade—something involving a giant sandbox and orphaned kittens. He cleared his throat to announce his presence. 

“Oh, my love, here is your guest, Buckley. Buckley, this is my lovely wife, Elizabeth.”

“That is a beautiful name, boy.”

“Thank you, ma’am, you can call me Buck, though. Uh, Joe, I’m afraid we didn’t discuss the price of the night.”

Joe waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense, kid. Any friend of Ann is a guest in this house."

"Oh, Buckley!" Elizabeth suddenly exclaimed. "You're perfect for what I'm planning. Follow me, please, dear."

"Liza, let the poor young man eat before dragging him into your crazy projects."

"You shut up now, Joseph. Buckley, let's go."

Joe chuckled at his wife, shaking his head as he patted Buck on the shoulder. 

"Good luck with that one," he said.

As Buck left the kitchen, a faint smile lingered on his lips.

For the next couple of hours, he stayed with Elizabeth in the backyard, planning and envisioning a treehouse for the baby that her granddaughter and Ann were expecting. The project was complete—now Buck just had to find a way to bring it to life. 

She was cutting and polishing the wood for a while now. Despite her age, Elizabeth was agile and surprisingly strong, barely needing the help she claimed to require. Buck suspected that, more than assistance, she simply wanted someone to share her enthusiasm with. Suddenly, she broke the comfortable silence in which they had been working.

"So, dear, tell me—how did you end up here? A handsome young man like you must have someone waiting for you back home."

Buck could hesitate for a moment, measuring his words.

“I guess I needed a change of scenery. Home is… complicated. Let’s just say I needed to keep moving for a while.

Elizabeth paused for a moment, studying Buck with quiet understanding. She didn’t press him for details, just nodded as she picked up another plank of wood.

“Complicated can be good sometimes,” she mused. “Keeps life interesting. But it can also wear you down.”

Buck exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. It does.”

Elizabeth gave him a warm smile, then handed him the measuring tape. "Well, whatever brought you here, I'm glad it did. Now, let's make sure this treehouse doesn't collapse, hmm?"

Buck nodded, picking up another piece of wood as Elizabeth continued measuring and marking. The quiet stretched between them, but it was a comfortable one—filled with the soft sounds of saws, sandpaper, and the occasional rustling of leaves overhead.  

"You know," Elizabeth finally said, wiping her hands on her apron, "this treehouse isn't just for the baby. I think Ann and my granddaughter need it too. A place of their own, where they can breathe a little easier."

Buck considered her words, eyeing the half-formed structure before him. The winds seems to be calling him, echoing his name so Buck could stay a little longer.

He glanced at Elizabeth, curiosity flickering in his tired eyes. “You think everyone needs a place like this?” he asked. 

She hummed thoughtfully, adjusting a wooden beam. “Not just a physical place, even though I do, but something steady, you know? Something that makes you feel like you belong, even when the world is shifting under your feet.”

“Do you have a place like that?” he asked.

Elizabeth smiled, eyes warm with old memories. “Oh, dear, I built mine a longe time ago. And lucky me—people still fill it with life every day.”

Buck nodded, absorbing her words. Maybe this project wasn’t just about building a treehouse. Maybe, in some quiet way, it was about constructing something steadier, something that lasted, even when everything else faded.

Elizabeth chuckled, nudging his arm. “Enough philosophizing, Buckley. We still have a roof to put on.

He smirked, shaking his head. Whatever this place was, whatever meaning it carried, it wasn’t done yet.

Buck worked in silence, Elizabeth’s words lingering in his mind like the scent of freshly cut wood. A place to belong. Something steady. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had that—not really.

His life had been built on movement, on fleeting stays in places that never quite felt like home. He had learned to adapt, to keep his distance, to avoid getting too attached to anything or anyone. Until the 118, and that… was over. But standing here, smoothing the edges of a plank destined for something permanent—it made him wonder.  

"Do you think people like me ever find that?" he asked suddenly, not looking up.  

Elizabeth didn’t answer right away. She secured a beam, adjusted her grip on the hammer, and then finally said, "Oh, Buckley. I think people like you are the ones who need it most." 

Buck swallowed, his hands tightening on the wood.  

Elizabeth reached over and patted his arm. "But finding it? That’s never the hard part. It’s letting yourself stay that takes work."

Buck let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I don’t know if I’m good at staying."

Elizabeth smiled, eyes sharp with understanding. "Well, darling, that’s the beauty of building something. When you put your hands to it, when you make something real—maybe, just maybe, a piece of it stays with you too."

Buck exhaled, nodding slowly. Maybe she was right. Maybe this treehouse wasn’t just a shelter for Ann’s family—it was a small anchor in the shifting tide of his own life.  

He picked up a nail, pressing it into the wood. "Guess we’ll see."

Buck spent the rest of the afternoon working alongside Elizabeth, the quiet rhythm of their efforts settling into something almost peaceful. By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the frame of the treehouse was taking shape, sturdy and real.

Elizabeth wiped her brow and surveyed their work with a satisfied nod. "Not bad for a day's work," she said. "And to think—you just stumbled in here this morning, looking for a cheap place to stay."

Buck chuckled, stretching out his sore muscles. "Yeah. Funny how things turn out."

Joe appeared from the house, carrying a tray of food. "You two need to eat. Liza would work straight through the night if I let her."

Elizabeth smirked. "And you love me for it."

Buck sat down on the porch steps, accepting the plate Joe handed him. The meal was simple but warm, filling in a way that felt like home—whatever that was supposed to mean.

"You're staying for the festival tonight, aren't you?" Joe asked.

Buck hesitated. 

Elizabeth nudged him playfully. "Come on, Buckley. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Buck glanced at the half-built treehouse, at the people around him, at the quiet hum of belonging that he hadn’t felt in years.

"I guess I’ll stick around a little longer."

Joe clapped him on the back with a grin. "That’s the spirit!"

The evening air was cool, the scent of food and laughter drifting from the center of town. 

*

As the town came alive with the festival’s warm glow, Buck found himself drawn into the easy rhythm of it—the chatter of families, the scent of street food, the flickering lanterns strung between trees.  

Elizabeth, ever the force of nature, dragged him toward a game booth where children tossed rings onto bottles, laughing at their own misfires. "You look like someone who could use a little fun," she teased.  

Buck smirked but picked up a ring, rolling it between his fingers before tossing it toward a bottle. It clanked against the glass, spinning wildly before settling just short of its target.  

Joe chuckled from behind them. "Not bad, kid. Maybe with a few more tries, you'll actually win something."

Buck rolled his eyes but accepted another ring, the competition sparking something familiar in his chest.  

The evening stretched on, filled with lively music and shared moments—stories exchanged over bowls of hot food, children darting between stalls, the comforting hum of a place that welcomed him without question.  

And in the quiet spaces between the laughter, Buck felt something unfamiliar yet grounding. A possibility. Of what? He didn’t know that yet.

As Buck wandered through the festival, taking in the lively atmosphere, he found himself near a booth adorned with delicate, hand-painted pottery. 

A woman stood behind the counter, carefully arranging the pieces with a practiced hand. Her dark curls were half-pulled back, and her eyes carried a sharpness that softened when she laughed at something a passerby said. 

Elizabeth suddenly nudged Buck forward. "There she is," she murmured, a glint of pride in her eyes. "My granddaughter."

Buck hesitated for half a second, then stepped closer.  

"You must be Ann’s infamous partner-in-crime," he said lightly.  

The woman lifted her gaze, sizing him up with a glance before breaking into a slow, knowing smile. "And you must be the stray my grandmother’s picked up."

Elizabeth scoffed behind them. "Stray? The boy is building a treehouse for your baby." 

Buck chuckled, extending a hand. "Buckley."  

The woman took it, her grip firm. "Clara."

There was something in the way she held his gaze—assessing, curious, but not unkind.

"Welcome to our chaos, Buckley," she said. "I hope you’re ready for it."

“Chaos is my favorite word”, he said, with a smile.  

Buck leaned against the edge of the pottery booth, watching Clara with quiet curiosity. She worked with careful precision, adjusting the angle of a ceramic bowl as if the placement mattered just as much as the art itself.  

"So," Buck said, crossing his arms. "Treehouse plans are moving along. Your grandmother is something else."

Clara smirked, sliding a mug into its proper place. "Oh, I know. She pretends she needs help, but really, she just wants someone to be as excited about it as she is.”  

Buck huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, I figured that out pretty quickly."

Clara studied him for a moment, her expression shifting into something more thoughtful. "I appreciate what you’re doing, you know. She loves having a project, but this one—it means a lot."

Buck shrugged. "She says it’s for the baby. But I get the feeling it’s for more than that."

Clara nodded slowly. "Yeah. It is."

A beat passed between them, the hum of festival chatter filling the space.  

"You don’t have to stay," Clara said suddenly. "I know my grandmother can be persuasive, but if this isn’t where you want to be, no one’s making you." Clara gave him a searching look, then smiled. "You should see the fireworks later, though. Best part of the festival."*  

Buck found himself smiling back. “I will." 

As night settled over the town, the festival’s energy shifted—laughter grew softer, voices turned toward quiet anticipation. People gathered in the open field near the square, eyes lifting toward the sky.

Buck found himself standing beside Clara and Elizabeth, Joe was a few steps behind them, talking to Ann about something, the scent of warm pastries drifting in the air.

"You’re in for a treat," Clara murmured, watching the first spark of light shoot upward.

Then, the sky erupted.

Brilliant streaks of gold and crimson unfurled across the darkness, shimmering trails of blue and silver cascading after them. The crowd murmured in awe, and Buck felt something settle deep in his chest—a quiet moment that stretched beyond time.

Elizabeth clapped her hands together, delighted. "Never gets old," she whispered.

Buck let himself watch, let himself breathe in the weightlessness of it all.

Beside him, Clara glanced his way, her expression unreadable.

"So?" she asked. "Did we impress you, traveler?"

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, alright. You win."

The last burst of light rained down, fading into embers that drifted against the night. The festival had been warm, welcoming, even beautiful, but it didn’t change the fact that his time here was meant to be temporary.

Elizabeth and Clara stood beside him, still watching the lingering wisps of smoke in the sky.

"I should probably get going soon," Buck said quietly.

Elizabeth turned toward him, her expression unreadable. Clara studied him for a beat before nodding. "You don’t seem like someone who stays anywhere for long."

Buck huffed out a small laugh. "No, guess I’m not."

Elizabeth sighed, squeezing his arm gently. "Well, wherever you end up next, just remember—building something isn’t always about the place. Sometimes, it’s about the people."

Buck looked between them, the weight of her words settling in his chest. Maybe he’d return one day. Maybe he wouldn’t. But for now, the road was calling again.

"Thanks for letting me stick around," he said. "Even if just for a little while."

Elizabeth smiled, her warmth unwavering. " You’ll always be welcome here, Buckley."

Clara smirked but gave a small nod. "Good luck, traveler."

Ann stopped, offer him a big smile and then, finally, gave Buck a hug. Something about the interaction felt unreal. “Good luck on your road, Buckley.”

Buck exhaled, letting the night settle around him. Then, with quiet steps, he turned to leave. In the end,  

It was hard to believe. In just one day, Buck had absorbed more about bonds, belonging, and purpose than in months of traveling alone. The conversations, the moments, the small exchanges of glances—all piled up inside him, challenging old certainties. Maybe it was the unexpected rhythm of the day, or maybe the way those people welcomed him without hesitation. He had arrived as a stranger, a passerby without direction, and now he was leaving with reflections he hadn't expected to find.

Buck had spent much of his life believing that kindness always came at a cost, yet Joe proved otherwise, welcoming him without hesitation, offering food, shelter, and conversation without expecting anything in return. Sometimes, a place to rest was simply given—not bargained for, not earned, just freely offered.

Elizabeth, with her relentless determination and boundless energy, taught Buck about purpose. Building the treehouse was more than just construction—it was an act of meaning, a symbol of preparing for the future, of carving out a place for something lasting. She showed him that stability wasn’t just about staying put; it was about what you chose to leave behind, the footprints you decided were worth keeping.

Clara, sharp-eyed and perceptive, made Buck confront his own patterns. She saw through his instinct to keep moving, challenging him with quiet words and steady glances. Staying wasn’t the same as belonging, she reminded him. Choosing to leave wasn’t wrong, but neither was choosing to stay. From Ann, though mostly a shadow in his journey, Buck learned the power of connection. She was the bridge that brought him here, a testament to how friendships weave together unexpected paths. 

And in the end, Buck left—not because he had to, but because he still wasn’t ready. Yet something was different. He carried their lessons with him, packed neatly between his ribs, resting in the quiet corners of his mind. He had learned that generosity was real, that connections mattered, that purpose was built, and that staying could be just as meaningful as moving on. The road ahead was still open, still calling him forward—but maybe, just maybe, it no longer felt like escape.

As Buck stepped onto the path leading out of town, the cool night air wrapped around him, carrying the distant hum of festival laughter and the scent of lingering fireworks. He adjusted his backpack, exhaling slowly. The road stretched ahead, familiar and endless. 

Then, just as he took his next step, a sudden gust of wind rushed past, rustling the trees—shaking loose something small that tumbled through the air before landing at his feet.

A folded piece of paper.  

Buck frowned, bending down to pick it up. It wasn’t his.  

He unfolded it, scanning the words scrawled across the page.  

And as he read, his pulse quickened.  

Because whatever was written—whoever had left it—wasn’t just some forgotten note.  

It was meant for him.  

Buck’s grip tightened around the paper as he scanned the words. The handwriting was slightly hurried but unmistakably deliberate, as if the writer had only moments to put their thoughts down.  

"If you ever find yourself in Denver, look for the blue door at the corner of Madison & 6th. No names needed. Just knock." 

He reread it, heart pounding slightly. It wasn’t signed. No indication of who had left it or why it had ended up in his path at precisely this moment.  

But something about it felt intentional.  

He glanced back toward town, toward the festival still alive with flickering lanterns and distant laughter. Then he looked forward—toward the open road, toward the unknown.  

And, for the first time in a long while, Buck wasn’t just walking toward nothing.  

He had a destination.  

Buck tucked the paper into his pocket, his mind racing. Whoever had left it knew something—knew him, knew his next move, maybe even knew why he kept running.  

Was it Clara? No, her direct nature didn’t fit the secrecy of the note. Elizabeth? Perhaps, but she would have just told him outright.  

Then his thoughts drifted to Ann.  

She had always been a quiet presence in this story, a name on the edges of conversations. A friend. A connector. Someone who understood movement, understood people like him.  

And suddenly, the possibility felt real.  

If it was Ann, then Denver wasn’t just a city—it was a link to something bigger.  

Buck exhaled, stepping forward onto the road. Whoever had left the note wanted him to find them. And now, he had every reason to try. 

Chapter 4: Chapter Two: A Crack in the Armor

Summary:

“Took you long enough.”

The man murmured, his voice smooth, inviting, entirely unreadable.

“You are Buck, right?”

“Yes?”

The man smirked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. With a knowing tilt of hid head, the stranger stepped back, motioning Buck inside.

“Come in. You’ve got questions. And I’ve got answers.”

Notes:

Ugh I just love the ones who are introduced here, let me know your thoughts on them

Chapter Text

Denver was unlike the small town Buck had left behind. It was bigger, noisier, filled with the constant pulse of movement. It suited him, and, in a certain way, reminded him of Los Angeles. A place where people could disappear in the crows, where no one asked too many questions. He gets a room in a ship motel and sleeps for half a day before he could do anything.

The paper in his pocket felt heavier than it should as he walked down Madison Street, scanning the buildings until his gaze landed on the blue door at the corner of 6th. It looked ordinary—no signs, no markings, just a door. He hesitated. Whoever had left the note wanted him there, but for what?

Buck exhaled and stepped forward, raising a hand. Then, with one steady knock, he waited. The silence stretched. Then, footsteps. 

The door cracked open just enough for Buck to see a pair of eyes—sharp, calculating. Buck blinked, caught off guard by the sight of him. Tall, effortlessly confident, with sharp eyes that hello both amusement and mystery. His chiseled features were illuminated by the dim hallway light, casting shadows across a face that looked like it belong on the cover of a magazine— if magazines ever captured the kind of presence that demanded attention. 

“Took you long enough.”

The man murmured, his voice smooth, inviting, entirely unreadable. 

“You are Buck, right?” 

“Yes?”

The man smirked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. With a knowing tilt of hid head, the stranger stepped back, motioning Buck inside. “Come in. You’ve got questions. And I’ve got answers.”

Buck stepped aside, his eyes adjusting to the dim glow of the room. The handsome man closed the door behind him, a knowing man still smirking playing at his lips. 

“You have no idea what you’ve just walked in, do you?”

Buck exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Not a clue.”

“Denver isn’t and accident,” he said. “If you got here, you are a runner, just like the rest of us.” 

“A runner?”

“A runner, a traveler, nomads, wanders. Whatever you want to call it. The fact is: you are one. Or are you are telling me you ended up here, and you are not running from something you’ve been refusing to face?”

Buck pressed his lips together, feeling the truth of those words settle uncomfortably in his chest. Buck wanted to argue—to say that he moved because he wanted to, because the world was too big to stay in one place, because there was always another road, another sunrise. But deep down, wasn’t that the point?

The handsome man studied him for a moment longer, then exhaled with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“I suppose introductions are overdue.” Buck raised a brow, waiting. The man stepped forward, extending a hand—steady, sure, like someone used to meeting strangers who didn’t yet know their own purpose.

"Nathan," he said. "Most people call me Nate."

Buck took his hand, shaking it firmly. Nate’s grip was solid, familiar, like he had done this countless times before.

"So what is this?" Buck asked, motioning around. "Some kind of halfway house for people who don’t know where they’re going?"

The man smiled at that, his amusement returning. " Something like that. Call it a refuge. A pit stop. A place where people like you—people like me—figure out if they’re still running because they want to, or because they don’t know how to stop."  

Buck shifted, crossing his arms, trying to steady himself. "What exactly am I supposed to be facing?"

The man leaned against the counter, tilting his head slightly, his smirk fading into something quieter. "That’s the thing about running," he mused. "Most people don’t realize what they’re running from until they stop."

Buck exhaled, glancing around the dimly lit room—the worn leather chairs, the shelves stacked with books that looked like they had been collected rather than curated, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. It wasn’t the kind of place where people passed through. It was the kind of place where they landed.

He could feel the weight of those words pressing down on him. He could feel it, the truth pulling at the edges of his thoughts. 

Nate watched him carefully, waiting, as if this was the moment Buck had to decide: step forward, ask more, stay —or turn around and keep walking.

Buck met his gaze. "And if I want answers?"

The man’s smile was slow, knowing.

“Then you start asking the right questions. Anyway, Ann tells me about a lot of people. But she made sure I knew about you."

“She was the one who send me here?” Buck asked. "Why?"

Nate’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful.

"Because she said you reminded her of someone."

Buck swallowed, waiting, but Nate didn’t elaborate.

He leaned back in his chair, the weight of the conversation settling over him like a thick blanket—unfamiliar, not entirely uncomfortable, but pressing nonetheless. Nate watched him, arms still crossed.

"You talk like you know me," Buck murmured.

"I know the pattern," Nate replied. "And so does Ann."

Buck glanced toward the window, the city beyond still alive with movement. Nate’s smirk faded slightly. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze sharper now. "She has seen what happens to people when they never stop running."

Buck turned back to him, waiting, sensing there was more.

Nate sighed, tapping his fingers absently against the arm of the chair. "Ann was like you, once."

That caught Buck off guard.

"She was?"

"Yeah," Nate said, nodding. "Always kept moving, convinced that stopping meant being caught—by her past, by herself, by all the things she didn’t want to face." He paused, lips pressing together briefly before he continued. "The point is: you can run, but you can’t run forever. So, she sent you here, to place where you can just… be yourself, for as long as you need. Come on, let me show you your room.”

It was a very nice room and Buck was not expecting that. A small bed, neatly made. A window cracked just enough to let in the crisp Denver air. A chair was tucked into the corner, next to a shelf scattered with books. Very cozy. 

Buck ran his fingers over the spines of the books, pausing on the one that looked especially well-loved, the pages softened from years of being read and reread. When he open the book, a postcard fell down. He put it back, a thought nearly scratching his brain. Yes, maybe he would use it sometime.

The days passed, and Buck found himself slipping into a rhythm he hadn’t expected. Mornings started slow, with coffee in the sunlit kitchen and quiet conversations with Nate. The city unfolded before him in ways he hadn’t taken time to notice before—streets that felt familiar, people who nodded in recognition, moments where he wasn’t just passing through but truly existing in a space.

Nate didn’t push him. He never demanded answers, never asked Buck why he had stayed beyond those first few days. He simply let Buck settle, let him breathe, let him be .

And yet, the unspoken question lingered between them.

"You ever think about where you go next?" Nate asked one evening, leaning against the counter, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

Buck exhaled, rubbing his palms together as he stared at the fading light through the window.

"Not really," he admitted. "For the first time in a while, I don’t feel like I need to."

Nate hummed in acknowledgment, then smirked. "Dangerous thing, letting yourself stay."

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe. But I think I can handle it."

Nate studied him, eyes sharp but warm. “I think you can too."

*

The first time Buck saw Liv, she was leaning against the café counter, effortlessly chatting with the barista while stirring sugar into her coffee. She had the kind of presence that made people turn their heads—self-assured, quick-witted, the type who walked into a room and owned it without trying. The kind of energy that made rooms feel warmer just by existing in them. Jn a certain way, she reminded him of May. The same restless joy lived in Liv, woven into the way she spoke, the way she moved, the way she leaned into conversations like they were adventures to be had rather than obligations to fulfill.

She was sharp-eyed, the kind of person who looked through people instead of at them. There was something effortless about her—her confidence, her ease, the way she always seemed to know more than she let on.

Nate spotted her first, smirking as he nudged Buck slightly. "Brace yourself. She’s going to like you, which means she’s going to give you hell."

Buck frowned slightly, watching as Liv finally glanced their way. Her eyes lit up in recognition as she strode over, slipping easily into the seat beside Nate, nudging him with her elbow.

"Tell me this is him," she said, glancing toward Buck with a knowing smirk.

"This is him," Nate confirmed, barely containing his amusement.

Liv exhaled dramatically, leaning back in her chair. "Well, well. Buck, the infamous wanderer. Ann wasn't kidding about you."

Buck raised a brow. "That sounds ominous."

Liv grinned, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. "Depends. You planning on sticking around?"

Buck hesitated—only for a second—but it was long enough for Liv to catch it. She exchanged a glance with Nate before turning back to Buck, her smirk softening into something more curious.

"Good," she said simply. "Then we’ve got time."

"Ann told me about you," Liv said, stirring her coffee in slow, deliberate circles. "Said you reminded her of someone."

Buck leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "Someone she knew?"

Liv’s smile was brief, but there was weight behind it. "Someone she used to be. I’m sure you realized it by now, Ann doesn’t just notice people," Liv continued. "She understands them. She saw something in you—something familiar."

Buck exhaled, running a thumb along the rim of his coffee cup. “You seem like someone who knows how to read people too."

Liv chuckled, nudging Nate lightly with her elbow. "Oh, dear, you pick things up when you spend enough time around the right people."

"Or the wrong people," Nate muttered with a smirk.

Liv rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, and Buck could see the history between them—years of shared stories, mistakes laughed about, victories celebrated in late-night conversations over drinks that had long gone warm.

"Nate and I go way back," Liv said, stretching her arms behind her head. "He’s trouble, but he’s the kind of trouble you don’t regret."

"I’ll take that as a compliment," Nate murmured.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

"Ann thinks you need to figure something out," Liv added, tone shifting slightly—lighter, but no less meaningful. "And she knew Denver would be the place you couldn’t just pass through without facing it. The question is," Liv continued, eyes steady, "are you ready to find out what that something is?"

“What exactly does this whole ‘figuring things out’ thing mean?"

Liv grinned. "Slowly. Messily. But trust me, you’re in good company. And I know just the place to started it. Just, tell me, are you ready?”

That’s how they ended in a bar, a few hours later. It had the easy rhythm of a Denver night—low laughter, the clinking of glasses, the kind of murmur that made a place feel lived-in rather than just occupied. Buck sat between Nate and Liv at a booth near the back, his fingers wrapped around a cool glass, watching the people move around them.

"You look tense," Liv observed, stirring the wedge of lime into her drink.

"Not tense," Buck countered, shifting slightly in his seat. "Just… adjusting."

Nate smirked. "Welcome to the art of staying."

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You make it sound philosophical."

Liv tipped her glass toward him. "Everything is, if you talk about it long enough."

They settled into conversation, easy but meaningful—stories of how Liv and Nate met, places they’d been, mistakes they’d made. Liv and Nate’s friendship wasn’t the kind built on convenience—it had the kind of depth that came from years of shared experiences, late-night talks, and getting each other out of trouble more times than either of them cared to count.

Liv had met Nate in a way that suited them—completely by accident and with just the right amount of chaos. She had been trying to talk her way out of a bar tab she couldn’t pay, weaving some elaborate story about losing her wallet and promising she could come back the next day with cash. The bartender wasn’t buying it.

Nate, sitting two stools away, had watched the exchange with growing amusement before finally stepping in, placing a few bills on the counter without a word. Liv had studied him for a second, then grinned. "You expecting me to thank you?"

"Nah," Nate had replied. "But I am expecting a story that’s better than the one you just told."

Liv, never one to back down from a challenge, had slid onto the stool beside him and given him one—one of her real stories, messy and wild, about the time she ended up in a small town where everyone claimed they had seen a UFO the week before, and how she accidentally got pulled into a conspiracy theory meeting while just trying to find a diner.

By the time she finished, Nate was laughing, shaking his head. "You’re trouble."

"And you just funded it," Liv had shot back.

From that moment on, Nate and Liv had been inseparable—partners in adventure, in bad decisions, in looking after each other when things got rough. They didn’t need to explain their friendship to anyone. It was just understood.

Buck watched Liv and Nate with quiet amusement as they fell into their easy rhythm—trading jabs, recalling past mistakes, embellishing stories just enough to keep things interesting. Their dynamic was effortless, like two people who had figured out exactly how to challenge each other while never stepping too far.

"I don’t know how he puts up with me," Liv mused, sipping her drink, "but somehow, years later, here we are."

"You make life interesting," Nate replied smoothly. "And you’ve got excellent taste in whiskey."

Liv grinned. "And in people, apparently."

She turned to Buck then, eyes sharp with mischief. "So, tell me—how long until we convince you to stop calling yourself just ‘passing through’?"

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You two seem very invested in my future."

"We take our projects seriously," Liv teased, nudging Nate.

Nate smirked. "And you, my friend, are shaping up to be a very interesting one."

Buck could tell they weren’t pushing him—not really. They were giving him space while letting him know they weren’t going to let him slip away unnoticed.

For once, he wasn’t looking for the nearest exit.

The night stretched on, filled with easy laughter, the hum of conversation blending into the warmth of the bar’s atmosphere. Buck nursed his drink, feeling something he hadn’t in a long time—completely relaxed.

It wasn’t just the setting, or the whiskey, or the way the city outside felt alive but not overwhelming. It was Liv and Nate.

They didn’t prod too deeply, didn’t push him into corners he wasn’t ready to stand in. There was no expectation, no demand that he be anything. They let him exist, let him breathe, let him settle without trying to turn him into something more than what he already was.

And somehow, that made him want to be more.

"You know," Liv mused, swirling the last of her drink, "you two look good together."

Buck nearly choked on his whiskey, coughing as Nate raised an amused brow.

"Excuse me?" Buck managed, setting his glass down carefully, as if it might betray him.

Liv smirked, completely unbothered. "I’m just saying, aesthetically? Great pairing. You’ve got the whole brooding wanderer thing, and Nate’s got the mysterious-but-secretly-well-adjusted vibe. It’s very compelling."

"That’s the most ridiculous sentence I’ve heard tonight," Nate said, shaking his head, though he didn’t look that offended at all.

"And yet," Liv teased, sipping her drink, "you’re not denying it."

Buck exhaled, shaking his head with a laugh.

"This is what I get for letting you talk," Nate muttered.

"This is what you get for letting me drink," Liv corrected.

Liv’s teasing still echoed in his mind, her casual observation about them looking good together—playful, harmless, yet impossible to ignore.

"She talks too much," Buck muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

Nate huffed a quiet laugh. "And yet, she’s usually right."

Buck glanced at him, caught off guard—not by the words, but by the ease in which Nate said them, like he wasn’t looking for a reaction but wasn’t avoiding one either.

The streets were quieter now, the buzz of the city settling into a comfortable hum beneath the glow of streetlights. Buck and Nate walked side by side, their pace unhurried, the crisp Denver air filling the space between them.

The laughter from earlier still lingered in Buck’s chest, the warmth of shared stories, easy conversation, and the realization that—for once—he wasn’t analyzing the next move, wasn’t calculating his exit. He was simply here.

"Liv’s got a talent for making people question their entire lives," Buck mused, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

Nate smirked. "She’s efficient like that."

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "Not sure whether to thank her or be mildly terrified."

"Both are valid," Nate said.

They reached the house, the familiar sight of it stirring something in Buck that he wasn’t quite ready to put into words. He had places he had stayed before—but this felt different. Less like a stop, more like a possibility.

The silence stretched between them, charged and unspoken. Buck swirled his coffee absentmindedly, watching how Nate leaned against the door with effortless confidence, as if he had already decided how this moment would play out.

" You’ve got this way of talking ," Buck murmured, tapping his fingers in his pocket. " Like you know things before they happen."

Nate smirked, setting his cup down. " Maybe I do. "

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. " That would be annoying."

Nate took a step closer, folding his arms, eyes flickering with something unreadable. " Or helpful."

Buck met his gaze, holding it. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?"

"I think I’m observant. And, Buck," Nate glanced at him as he unlocked the door. "You don’t have to figure it all out tonight."

Buck exhaled, nodding. "Good. Because I don’t think I could if I tried."

Nate’s smirk softened, something knowing behind his expression.

"Then don’t try," he murmured, pushing the door open and stepping inside. "Just let it happen."

*

The morning arrived gently, sunlight filtering through the kitchen window, casting soft golden streaks across the countertop. Buck was already awake, coffee in hand, leaning against the counter as he stared out at the quiet street beyond.

The weight of the previous night still settled in his chest—not heavy, just present. Something that wasn’t going away, something that he wasn’t entirely sure how to define.

Nate stepped into the kitchen, hair slightly tousled, looking effortless in the way some people did without trying. He glanced at Buck, then the coffee, then back at Buck again, smirking slightly.

“It smells amazing here.”

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Morning."

"Morning." Nate said, pulling a mug from the shelf.

“Didn’t know what you liked, so I made a little bit of various things. Hope it’s not a problem.”

“If the taste is better than the smell, that’s not a problem at all.”

Buck watched him, anxious, as he eat.

“This is… wonderful. Heaven, really. Shit, who taught you? I’m not letting you go after this.”

A laugh escapes trough his lips.

“My captain taught me.”

“Captain?”

“Uh, yes. I’m a firefighter.”

“A firefighter,” Nate murmured, watching Buck with some shy fascination.

Buck huffed a quiet life, shaking his head. “Yeah. Been at it for a while now.”

Nate’s gaze flickered over him, reading more than Buck probably realized. “That explains the way you carry yourself.”

Buck raised a brow. “And how do I carry myself?”

Nate smirked, arms crossed, leaning against the counter like he was enjoying the conversation just a little too much. “You know, the quiet confidence, the steady hands, like someone who doesn’t flinch.”

Buck swallowed, but didn’t break eye contact. “Fliching isn’t an option”

Nate exhaled slowly, nodding. “The job explaining the cooking, then?”

“My captain was a mentor to me, in all senses of the word. The firehouse was not only a job, we were a family. Good meals are part of the package.”

“Do you ever get tired of it? The job?”

Buck tilted his head slightly, considering him. “Some days. But then you remember why you started it. And that keeps you going.”

Nate held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded. 

“Yeah”, he murmured. “I get that.”

Buck watched him for a second longer than necessary, the familiarity between them settling into something unspoken but undeniably there.

"You good?" Nate asked, catching the look, reading him effortlessly.

Buck exhaled, rolling his shoulders back slightly. "I think so."

Nate smirked, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "Then you’re already ahead of where you were yesterday."

Buck couldn’t argue with that.

The rest of their day unfolds in kind of quiet routine Buck hasn’t had in a long time, but finds himself settling into surprisingly easily. Nate spends part of the afternoon handling errands, leaving Buck with time to himself in the house. He doesn’t rush to fill it, doesn’t search for an excuse to leave, to go to the next place—just exists in the space, letting the stillness be something comforting instead of something that demands movement.

When Nate returns, the conversation is easy, marked by laughter, quiet challenges, moments where Buck catches Nate watching him just a little too long. It’s there, between them—unspoken, undeniable, but neither of them push too hard.

By the time the night arrives, the house was quiet, the kind of late-night stillness that made every conversation feel heavier, more intentional. Buck sat at the kitchen table, fingers tracing the rim of his glass, while Nate leaned against the counter, swirling his drink but not really drinking it.

“Do you ever leave?"

“I had things I wanted to get away from, so yes, I do."

Buck leaned forward slightly, interest flickering beneath his exhaustion. "What kind of things?"

Nate hesitated, fingers tightening around his glass for half a second before he finally answered. "Family stuff."

Buck nodded, letting him take his time.

"It’s messy," Nate continued, voice quieter now. "And I don’t usually talk about it."

"Then why are you talking about it now?" Buck asked, watching him carefully.

Nate met his gaze, something unreadable in his expression.

"Because for some reason, I think you’d actually get it."

Buck swallowed, feeling the weight of those words settle deep.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them broke the moment.

Maybe stopping wasn’t just about staying—it was about having something, someone, worth staying for.

Nate took a slow breath, the weight of the conversation settling deeper than either of them had intended. He tapped his fingers against his glass, gaze distant for a moment before finally speaking.

"My dad wasn’t the kind of man you admire," he said, voice quiet but steady.

Buck didn’t interrupt—just watched him, listened, understood that this was the kind of truth people didn’t say lightly.

"He wasn’t violent, wasn’t cruel in ways people noticed. But he made things... difficult." Nate exhaled, rolling his shoulders slightly, like the memory had settled somewhere deep in his bones. "Control was his thing. Every decision, every move—it had to go through him, had to meet his expectations. And if it didn’t?" Nate huffed a laugh, but there wasn’t any humor in it. "Then it wasn’t worth anything."

Buck stayed silent, letting Nate fill the space in his own time.

"I spent years thinking I needed to prove something to him," Nate admitted. "That if I was good enough—smart enough, successful enough, obedient enough—he’d finally see me as something worth keeping around." He shook his head, fingers tightening around his glass. "Turns out, some people never see you the way you hope they will."

Buck knew that truth in his own way, felt it in places he rarely let himself go.

"So you left?" Buck asked, careful, measured.

Nate nodded once. "Took longer than it should’ve. But yeah."

Silence stretched between them, thick but not uncomfortable.

"And now?" Buck murmured.

Nate smirked, but there was something softer behind it. "Now, I stop when I want to stop. I go when I want to go. And I don’t let anyone make me feel like I don’t belong in my own life."

Buck exhaled, running a hand over his jaw. "That’s a hell of a lesson to learn."

"Yeah," Nate admitted, tilting his head slightly, eyes settling on Buck with a quiet intensity. 

Buck didn’t look away.

Buck hesitated, running a hand through his hair, the weight of Nate’s story settling deep. It wasn’t the kind of thing you just shared with someone casually. It was something raw, something that had shaped him in ways that still lingered under his skin.

Buck understood that feeling—too well.

"I get it," he murmured, voice quieter now.

Nate studied him for a moment

"You ever feel like you spent your whole life trying to be noticed?" he murmured, his voice quieter now.

Nate didn’t respond immediately, just watched him, waited. Buck appreciated that—not pity, just space.

"My parents lost a child before me," Buck continued, running a thumb absently over the condensation on his glass. "A son. I don’t even knew the details until a couple of years ago. Just that it wrecked them."

The words felt heavier now, pulling at things Buck hadn’t voiced out loud in a long time.

"I grew up in that grief," he admitted, eyes fixed on a point beyond the kitchen window. "Not in it the way they did—drowning in it—but caught in the aftermath. Like a ghost they forgot they still had to raise."

Nate’s expression softened, something flickering behind his gaze—understanding.

"So you did everything you could to prove you were still there," he murmured.

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Exactly."

Silence settled, but it wasn’t empty. It was acknowledgment, a weight neither of them tried to shift too quickly.

"It’s exhausting, isn’t it?" Nate finally asked, his voice gentle but firm.

Buck nodded once, slow. "Yeah."

Nate leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, still watching Buck in that way that made it impossible to hide.

"But you don’t have to prove anything here," Nate said, measured, intentional.

Buck swallowed, something pressing deep in his chest—not grief, not regret, just realization.

Buck didn’t realize how tightly he had been holding himself together until the words finally settled—until Nate’s quiet, steady “You don’t have to prove anything here” pressed into him like an undeniable truth.

The weight of it cracked something open, something Buck had kept buried for years—under adrenaline, under movement, under the never-ending need to be enough.

The first tear slipped down before he could stop it, and he turned away slightly, as if that would make it less real.

Nate didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. Didn’t tell him it was okay, because Buck wasn’t looking for permission to break—he just needed space to let go.

So Nate did the only thing that made sense.

He reached forward, wrapped an arm around Buck’s shoulders, firm and solid, the kind of presence that wasn’t demanding—just there.

Buck let out a slow, shaky breath, his body tensing for half a second before finally—finally—allowing himself to lean into it.

The tears came quietly, no sobs, no collapse, just a release. Years of weight, of pushing forward, of proving himself, of being the version of himself that people needed—all of it finally finding space to exist outside of him.

Nate didn’t rush him, didn’t pull away too soon. He just held him through it, letting Buck take the time he needed, letting him be seen in a way that had nothing to do with proving anything.

When Buck finally exhaled again, more steady this time, he ran a hand over his face, sniffing lightly before letting out a breath of laughter—tired, self-aware.

"Guess I needed that," he muttered, voice rough around the edges.

Nate smirked, but there was warmth behind it. "Yeah. I kind of figured."

Buck shook his head, exhaling slowly, finally meeting Nate’s gaze again—lighter now, not entirely fixed, but less weighed down.

"Thanks," he murmured, meaning it.

"Anytime," Nate said, simple and honest.

Silence stretched between them, but this time, it was different. Easier.

The morning arrived gently, sunlight creeping through the curtains in soft golden streaks. Buck woke feeling different—not fixed, not whole, but lighter in a way that wasn’t just sleep shaking off the edges of exhaustion.

He sat at the kitchen table, the scent of coffee filling the space, fingers loosely wrapped around his mug. Nate stood at the counter, nursing his own drink, the silence between them comfortable.

"I needed that too," Nate finally murmured, cutting through the quiet without hesitation.

Buck blinked, turning to look at him. Before he could answer it, a blur of pink colors invaded the kitchen with bags in hands, putting them on the table. 

“Okay, sweethearts,” Liv said. “Brought the coffee today.”

She stops and analyzes Buck. "You look different," she mused, leaning her head. "Not like, new haircut different—more like ‘something clicked in my brain and I’m not running in circles anymore’ different."

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You get all that from looking at me for five seconds?"

Liv smirked. "I’m efficient."

Nate glanced at Buck, something knowing behind his expression.

"She’s not wrong," he said, casual but intentional.

Buck exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back, feeling the weight of the previous night settle differently now—not as a burden, but as something he'd finally let himself carry the right way.

Denver is alive with movement—the kind of city that hums rather than roars. Buck walks beside Nate, both of them had lost Liv in the shops a couple of minutes ago, letting the warmth of the midday sun soak into his skin, actually enjoying the way the world isn’t demanding anything from him in this moment. 

It’s been a great day, until he sees her. 

She’s mid-conversation, laughing at something, when her gaze drifts—casual, unintentional—and then freezes.

For a second, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Then?

Her face lights up.

"Buck?"

The sheer joy in her voice is like a shockwave, pulling him out of whatever daze he was in. He turns—slow, hesitant—but before he can even process the emotions hitting him all at once, she’s already moving.

She practically launches herself toward him, arms thrown wide, eyes shining with the kind of pure, unfiltered happiness that makes it impossible for Buck to do anything but open his arms and catch her. She collides into him, hugging him tight, like she’s afraid he might disappear again if she lets go.

And then, without warning, May pulls back just enough for hitting him in the face.

Chapter 5: Chapter Three: I've seen this film before

Chapter Text

"What the hell, Buck?!"

Buck laughs, startled but not surprised, rubbing his arm. "Okay—yeah, fair."

May glares at him, exasperated but still grinning, arms crossed like she’s debating whether she wants to hug him again or throw another slap for good measure.

"You left," she accuses. "Just—poof—gone! Do you know how mad Mom was? Do you know how mad I was?"

Buck exhales, shaking his head. "I know. I messed up."

May huffs, then lunges forward again, pulling him into another hug—but this time, it’s tighter, full of all the emotions she never got to say out loud when he left.

"You idiot," she mutters into his shoulder.

Buck smiles, pressing his chin against the top of her head for half a second before responding.

"I missed you too.”

Denver was supposed to feel big. A sprawling city, alive with movement, a place where Buck could blend in—where no one from his past would just appear out of nowhere.

But right now? It felt so small.

Because out of everywhere, out of all the places, May was standing right in front of him, like some twist of fate he hadn’t seen coming.

"Denver is really feeling like a small town right now," Buck muttered, shaking his head.

May laughed, eyes still bright as she threw her arms around him in a tight, breath-stealing hug.

"How the hell are you here?" he asked.

May grinned, still not letting him go completely. "College event. Just for the day."

Buck’s breath hitched for half a second.

"You’re only here today?"

May shrugged, way too casual for how much this moment had just knocked the wind out of Buck. "Yep. Networking thing. I leave tonight."

Buck swallowed, nodding slowly—because just like that, time was limited.

Nate, standing quietly to the side, watched the reunion unfold with something unreadable in his expression.

"Then I guess we better make the most of it," Buck finally said.

May smirked. "Damn right."

Buck exhales, shaking off the lingering surprise before gesturing between them, eyes flicking between May and Nate, as if trying to process how wild this meeting actually is.

"Uh—May, this is Nate," he starts, voice a little rough around the edges, but there’s warmth in it. "Nate, May."

May squints at Nate, assessing him like she’s trying to crack a code Buck hasn’t told her exists yet.

Nate, ever composed, offers a small nod, amused but unfazed. "Nice to meet you, May."

May crosses her arms, head tilted, still staring at Nate like she’s trying to figure something out.

"So," she says slowly, turning back to Buck. "Do I ask, or do I just assume?"

Buck raises a brow. "Assume what?"

May huffs, throwing up a hand. "Oh, please. The energy here is screaming ‘something’s going on’."

Nate actually laughs, shaking his head. "I like her."

Buck rubs his temple, muttering, "Of course you do."

May grins, clearly not letting this go anytime soon.

May’s grin doesn’t fade—in fact, it deepens, eyes flicking between Buck and Nate like she’s putting together a puzzle Buck hasn’t quite figured out yet himself.

"So," she says, crossing her arms, leaning in like she’s about to uncover a secret. "Are we talking best friend energy, roommate energy, or ‘secretly pining but pretending it’s casual’ energy?"

Buck chokes on absolutely nothing.

Nate raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered. "Bold assumption."

May waves a hand, not deterred in the slightest. "Not an assumption. A question."

Buck rubs his temple, shaking his head. "You are too invested for someone who just got here."

May smirks. "Oh, come on, Buck. I know you. You don’t just exist in people’s lives by accident—there’s always a reason."

Buck exhales slowly, not quite answering—because, well, what answer is he supposed to give?

Nate doesn’t jump in to clarify anything.

May narrows her eyes, like she’s debating how much she can push before Buck starts actively running from the conversation.

Nate watches the exchange with quiet amusement, swirling his drink like he’s deciding how much he wants to fuel this moment.

Then, without hesitation, he looks May directly in the eye and says, "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

May gapes for half a second, before grinning, eyes lighting up with full-on delight.

"Oh. Oh—I like you," she announces, pointing at Nate like she’s declaring something official. She is just like Athena right now.

Buck groans, rubbing his face. "Great. That’s exactly what I needed—you two teaming up against me."

May snickers, nudging Buck. "Come on, you brought this on yourself. Don’t act like you can wiggle out of this now."

Nate just smirks, clearly not denying anything—but not confirming it, either.

May narrows her eyes, clearly ready to dig into this further.

May leans in, her grin absolutely devious, eyes flicking between Buck and Nate like she’s trying to crack some secret code.

"So," she starts, stretching out the word just enough to make Buck tense. "How long have you two been doing this ‘whatever-it-is’ thing?"

Buck exhales hard, rubbing his face. "There is nothing to crack here, May."

Nate, entirely unfazed, tilts his head slightly, as if considering something. Then, casually, he says, "Depends how you define ‘whatever-it-is.’"

May gasps—literally gasps—pointing a finger at Buck dramatically.

"OH. MY. GOD. YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW!"

Buck groans, shaking his head violently, glaring at Nate. "You’re too entertained by this."

Nate shrugs, completely unapologetic. "I find value in well-executed chaos."

May cackles, absolutely thriving on Buck’s suffering.

"Oh, this is so much better than I expected."

May tilts her head, eyes narrowing in sharp realization, and suddenly, Buck feels very exposed.

"You know," she starts, slow, too deliberate, like she’s just pieced something together. "This is feeling awfully familiar."

Buck blinks. "What?"

May gestures between him and Nate, smirking. "You—you have this way of finding people who just stay. Who don’t say they’re gonna be around, but just are. First Eddie—and now this?"

Nate raises an eyebrow, sipping his drink, completely unfazed. "Interesting observation."

Buck lets out a slow, suffering sigh, rubbing his temples. "Can you please not turn my life into a conspiracy theory?"

May snickers, shaking her head. "I’m just saying—maybe history’s repeating itself. I’ve seen this film before. First Eddie, now Nate? Buck, you have a type."

Buck gapes at her. "Okay, no. We are not doing this."

Nate letting this unfold without interference.

May hums, clearly thriving on Buck’s discomfort. "I’m just saying, Buck, maybe the universe is telling you something."

Buck exhales sharply, shaking his head, because—yeah. That’s a thought he’s absolutely not ready for right now.

Buck sits with the weight of May’s words longer than he should.

Because she is annoyingly right.

It hits hard when he actually lets himself think about it. About how Eddie has always been this constant—not just present, but in his orbit. How Nate is settling into that same space, as if Buck somehow pulled him in without even trying.

Maybe it’s not random.

Maybe Buck just has a habit of finding people who don’t need to be asked to stay.

He exhales, shaking his head, trying to shove the thought aside, but Nate—of course—has been watching him this whole time.

"You’re quiet," Nate finally says, too aware of the shift in Buck’s expression.

Buck huffs a breath, rubbing his jaw. "I’m thinking. It’s dangerous, I know."

Nate smirks, but softly. "She’s not wrong, you know."

Buck glances up, blinking once—because that? That’s unexpected.

"You’re agreeing with her?"

Nate shrugs, unbothered, tapping his fingers against his cup. "I don’t think history repeats itself. I think we gravitate toward the things we need."

Buck doesn’t answer right away—because, yeah. That sits deeper than he expected.

"So what does that say about me?" he mutters, voice quieter, more uncertain than he meant it to be.

Nate watches him for a moment, thoughtful, measured, then simply says, "Maybe you’re just finally figuring out what you deserve."

Buck freezes—because that? That’s really not something he expected to hear today.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s exactly why it’s sticking with him.

May is watching this unfold like she’s won some invisible game.

Her grin is impossibly smug, arms crossed, eyes flicking between Buck and Nate like she’s observing a rare phenomenon in real time.

"Oh, this is golden," she mutters, shaking her head.

Buck groans, rubbing his face. "Stop”

May laughs, nudging Buck. "I mean, you’re kinda proving my point right now."

Buck exhales sharply, shaking his head. "I hate everything about this conversation."

May grins wider. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Keep pretending."

Buck turns to Nate—desperate for an escape, only to realize Nate is very much enjoying this moment, too.

"You are no help," Buck mutters.

Nate just smirks, sipping his drink.

"I never said I would be."

Buck checks the time, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he glances at May.

"Don’t you have somewhere else to be?" he teases, crossing his arms.

May rolls her eyes, but laughs. "I see how it is—reunite, hug, slap, expose your entire emotional history, then you’re shoving me out the door?"

Buck chuckles, shaking his head. "I’m not shoving you out, I’m just reminding you that I don’t need your college professors hunting me down for making you late."

May huffs, but extends her hand expectantly.

"Fine. But you owe me actual time together soon."

Buck sighs, knowing there’s no escape, and pulls out his phone, quickly tapping out his temporary number before handing it over.

"This is temporary," he warns, narrowing his eyes. "Do not hand this out to anyone—especially your mom."

May snickers, pocketing the number. "What, you don’t want her tracking you down?"

Buck exhales, shaking his head. "Not today, May."

May raises her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Your secret’s safe—for now."

She steps forward, one last quick hug, then steps back, her expression softer now.

"Good seeing you, Buck," she says, meaning it.

Buck nods once. "Yeah. You too."

And with that, May is gone—off to her event, off to a life Buck hasn’t been part of in months.

Buck turns to Nate, who is watching him carefully, as if trying to gauge exactly what’s running through his mind right now.

"You're heading back?" Nate asks, already knowing the answer.

Buck nods slowly. "Yeah. Need a minute to... process."

Nate doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for explanations—just walks beside him, steady, present, there.

And when Buck gets back to the house?

The weight of everything finally hits him.

Buck sits on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped—not really looking at anything, just letting himself think.

And, inevitably, his mind drifts to Eddie and Christopher.

To Eddie—steady, unwavering, always there. To Christopher—bright-eyed, resilient, pulling Buck into his orbit like it was always meant to be.

Buck had never questioned how easily he fit into their lives.

But now, sitting alone in this quiet space, he realizes something he never let himself fully acknowledge before.

"We became a ready-made family right under my nose."

The words sit heavy in his chest.

It wasn’t that Buck hadn’t seen it—it was that he hadn’t named it. Hadn’t realized how deeply he had woven himself into their world, how much he had stayed without even making a conscious choice to do so.

And Eddie—he had never said it.

Never pointed it out, never made it a big deal.

Just let Buck be there.

Just let him belong.

Buck exhales slowly, rubbing his face, because that? That’s a thought he’s not ready to sit with fully.

Not yet.

Buck hears the quiet knock before he sees Nate.

The door creaks slightly as Nate steps inside, calm, composed, but there’s something knowing behind his eyes—like he already picked up on everything running through Buck’s mind before Buck even processed it himself.

Buck exhales, tilting his head back, rubbing his hands over his face.

Nate doesn’t say anything at first—just closes the door gently behind him, and leans against the wall like he’s settling in for the long haul.

Buck watches him, hesitating, because something about Nate’s presence always feels like a challenge and a comfort at the same time.

"You just gonna stand there?" Buck mutters, dragging a hand through his hair.

Nate shrugs, calm, steady. "That depends. You gonna actually talk?"

Buck huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. "You’re really bad at the whole ‘let me process in peace’ thing."

Nate raises an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement behind it. "I don’t think peace is what you need right now."

And that? That hits exactly right.

Because Buck doesn’t need silence.

He needs to work through this.

Buck exhales, rubbing his hands together, like he’s trying to warm up to the idea of speaking out loud.

"It’s weird," he mutters, shaking his head. "I didn’t—" He stops, corrects himself. "I didn’t realize how much I was a part of their lives."

Nate tilts his head, studying Buck. "Eddie?"

Buck nods, slow, thoughtful. "Yeah. And his son. It’s like... I was in it, but I never actually saw it. And now—" He huffs a breath, shaking his head again. "Now it feels like I was blind to something right in front of me."

Nate doesn’t rush to respond—doesn’t fill the space with platitudes. Just lets Buck sit with it for a second, then finally says, "That’s not uncommon."

Buck glances at him, skeptical. "You saying you’ve had a moment like that too?"

Nate smirks, but there’s something behind it, something Buck can’t quite name yet.

"I think most people do," he says, evasive but knowing. "You don’t always realize how much you matter until you step back—until something, or someone, forces you to actually see it."

Buck considers that, really lets it sit—because yeah. That’s exactly what’s happening right now. Nate watches Buck carefully, giving him time—not pushing, just letting him sit with the weight of his thoughts.

Then, after a long pause, Nate exhales slowly and says, "You know... I had a moment like that once."

Buck looks up, blinking. "Yeah?"

Nate nods, his expression more measured now, like he’s sifting through something deeply personal.

"Years ago," he starts, arms crossed loosely, not looking at Buck—but very much speaking to him. "I had people in my life I thought I was just passing through—like I was there for a while, but eventually, I’d move on, and they wouldn’t really notice."

Buck listens, silent, because something about the way Nate says it feels uncomfortably familiar.

"Then one day," Nate continues, "I left—like I always assumed I would. And I realized, too late, that I hadn’t just been there."

Buck swallows. "You mattered more than you thought."

Nate nods, slowly, finally looking at Buck directly. "And so do you."

Buck exhales shakily, rubbing his jaw, because—yeah. That sits deep.

Buck sits with it.

He doesn’t shove it aside, doesn’t try to downplay it.

He lets himself feel it—the weight, the truth, the way Nate’s words fit perfectly into everything May had been trying to tell him.

"And so do you."

Buck exhales, slow and steady, nodding once—not in dismissal, but in acceptance.

"Okay."

Nate tilts his head. "Okay?"

Buck huffs a breath, shaking his head. "Yeah. Okay."

Because maybe—just maybe—he’s finally starting to believe it.

Buck leans back, rubbing his face, exhaling slow—because yeah. He’s not there yet.

Accepting something is different from being ready to act on it.

And right now? He’s still sitting with it.

Nate watches him, assessing but not pushing, as if he understands that Buck is at capacity for emotional breakthroughs today.

"You don’t have to do anything with it yet," Nate finally says, steady, measured. "Just let yourself believe it first."

Buck nods, once.

Okay.

That much is something he can do.

*

Buck, May, Nate, and Liv step out onto the sidewalk, the evening stretching ahead of them, filled with possibilities.

"Alright," May says, grinning as she adjusts her jacket. "Where are we headed first?"

Liv shrugs, amused but easygoing, scanning the street like she’s taking in all the options. "Depends—are we going for classy or questionable choices we may regret tomorrow?"

Buck chuckles, shaking his head. "Knowing this group? Questionable."

Nate smirks, ever composed but definitely enjoying this energy. "I say we get a drink first—then decide how bad our choices should be."

May claps her hands together, eyes bright with mischief. "Now that is a strategy I love!"

They step into a nearby bar—warm lighting, a mix of upbeat music and chatter, the kind of place that feels just right for unwinding.

May and Liv team up fast—an unspoken agreement forming between them the second their drinks hit the table.

Buck senses it immediately, narrowing his eyes. "You two are scheming. I can feel it."

May grins, too innocent to be convincing. "What? We’re just catching up!"

Liv snickers, leaning in slightly. "It’s not our fault you have an interesting life."

Buck groans, rubbing his temple. "That sounds like code for ‘we’re going to pry into everything’."

May points at him, smug. "Ah—so you already know the deal."

Nate sips his drink, enjoying this way too much, completely content to watch Buck squirm.

"I’m just here for the show," he says, deadpan but deeply amused.

Liv leans in first, smirking like she’s ready for chaos, eyes flicking between Buck and Nate like she’s already sensing something.

"So," she starts, stretching the word out just enough to make Buck tense. "May says you have a type."

Buck groans, shaking his head. "Are we really doing this?"

May grins, sipping her drink. "Oh, absolutely."

Nate raises an eyebrow, amused. "Didn’t realize I was part of a pattern."

Liv laughs, nodding toward May. "She’s been very informative."

Buck throws up his hands, exasperated. "I don’t have a type!"

Liv snickers, nudging May. "What do you think?"

May pretends to consider it, then shrugs. "All I’m saying is—you do seem to end up with people who are there, even when you don’t ask them to be."

Buck exhales sharply—because yeah. That’s hitting way too close to home.

Nate watches him, quiet but aware, sipping his drink.

"You thinking about Eddie?" Nate finally asks—not judgmental, just knowing.

Buck pauses, then sighs. "I mean... yeah."

May leans in, grinning. "And?"

Buck rubs his jaw, shaking his head, because honestly? He doesn’t even know how to answer that yet.

Liv tilts her head, ever perceptive. "You’ve never named it before, have you?"

Buck exhales—slow. "Nope."

May beams, nudging Liv. "See? I told you!"

Liv laughs, shaking her head. Nate smirks, this is getting interesting.

May leans in, eyes flashing with delight.

"See, Liv, this is what we call a pattern."

Liv snickers, nodding too seriously. "A distinct trend, if you will."

Buck groans, rubbing his temples. "I hate everything about this conversation."

“You are so repetitive, Jesus, Buck,” says May.

May gestures between Buck and Nate like she’s presenting cold, hard evidence.

"I mean, look at him!" she declares, pointing at Buck. "Chaotic, emotionally tangled, perpetually orbiting complicated people—"

Liv nods along, adding, "—and never realizing it until someone literally spells it out for him."

May beams, thriving in the moment. "Listen, I’m just saying—this has all the makings of a classic Buckaroo scenario."

"How did I become a trope in my own life?" Buck throws up his hands, exasperated. "Okay, no. We are not turning my life into a psychological case study."

Nate, completely unbothered, glances at May and Liv. "Oh, I think we absolutely are."

May laughs, throwing an arm around Liv. "I love this guy!"

Buck shakes his head, groaning. "Of course you do."

Buck tries to shut it down.

"Alright, alright, we’re done analyzing my entire existence tonight."

May and Liv exchange a look, clearly not convinced.

"You say that," Liv muses, sipping her drink, "but do you really believe it?"

Buck groans, shaking his head. "I will literally pay both of you to drop this."

May laughs, nudging Liv. "What do you think? Should we name our price?"

Liv pretends to consider. "I dunno. I feel like the emotional damage is worth more."

Nate chuckles, watching Buck suffer without interference.

"You might as well just accept it," he finally says, calm but amused.

Buck exhales, rubbing his temple. "I hate all of you."

May grins. "No, you don’t."

Buck doesn’t argue—because yeah, okay. She’s right.

Buck and Nate exchange a look, smirking in unspoken agreement—because yeah, it’s their turn now.

"You know," Buck starts, leaning back in his chair, grinning just enough to be dangerous. "You two have a suspiciously good dynamic."

Nate nods, sipping his drink. "Almost too good."

May raises an eyebrow, immediately on alert. "Hold on—what are you implying?"

Liv tilts her head, eyes narrowing. "I don’t like where this is going."

Buck gestures between them, mock serious. "I’m just saying—there’s a pattern here, and you two fit it alarmingly well."

Nate hums, completely unbothered. "Mutual amusement. Easy banter. A strange, almost fated understanding. Sound familiar?"

May gapes, throwing up a hand. "Oh, absolutely not. We are not becoming part of your ridiculous trope theory."

Liv snickers, shaking her head. "I knew this would backfire at some point."

Buck beams, thriving in this moment. "Look, I’m just stating the obvious—would be irresponsible not to point it out."

Nate nods sagely. "Really, we’re doing you a favor."

May straightens, eyes flashing with determination, like she’s gearing up for a battle she refuses to lose.

"Oh, please," she says, throwing a hand out. "If anyone in this room is fitting into a trope, it’s you two!"

Liv snickers, nodding way too fast. "Exactly. Dark, broody intellectual paired with chaotic disaster guy? That’s a classic dynamic."

Buck gasps, pointing at Nate. "What does that make me?"

May grins, too smug. "Chaotic disaster guy, duh."

Buck gapes, motioning between himself and Nate. "We are not a trope."

Liv tilts her head, mock thoughtful. "Oh, but you so are."

Nate, watching this unfold calmly, finally speaks.

"I think the real question here is—are we opposing forces destined to collide, or are we a slow-burn realization?"

Buck groans loudly, rubbing his face.

May and Liv erupt into laughter, thriving in the moment.

Buck is mid-sentence—deep in defending himself against May and Liv’s absurd trope theories—when Nate, entirely unfazed, just casually says:

"You do get unreasonably attractive when you’re flustered."

Silence.

Buck freezes—blinking once, twice—like his brain is actively short-circuiting.

May and Liv? They are utterly speechless.

Like—mouths parted, eyes wide, staring at Nate like he just completely rewrote reality.

Buck finally sputters, pointing a finger at him. "You—what—what—"

Nate just sips his drink, calm, smirking slightly.

"You heard me."

May and Liv stare—like they’re waiting for Buck to crash and burn right in front of them.

Buck throws up his hands, looking between all of them.

"Are we—are we just not reacting to this?! What is happening?!"

May and Liv continue to just stare—entirely useless.

Nate raises an eyebrow. "You’re still flustered."

Buck groans, rubs his face, utterly done.

Buck inhales sharply, grabs onto his last shred of dignity, and fires back with full force.

"Oh, I get unreasonably attractive when I’m flustered?" He leans in slightly, grinning just enough to be dangerous. "That’s real rich coming from someone whose whole aesthetic is mysterious-but-secretly-soft."

Nate raises an eyebrow, intrigued but very much unfazed.

"Oh?" he muses, sipping his drink. "That’s how you see me?"

May and Liv freeze again, completely unable to process the turn of events.

"DID HE JUST—" May starts, pointing aggressively.

Liv throws her hands up, staring at Buck. "WAIT—HE TURNED IT BACK ON NATE—"

Buck grins, because finally, finally he’s got some footing in this absolute disaster of a conversation.

Nate chuckles, tilts his head slightly, clearly enjoying the entire exchange way too much.

"You sure you want to play this game, Buck?"

Buck leans back, arms crossed. "Oh, absolutely."

May and Liv? Still useless—still in absolute shock.

The rest of the evening unfolds in a whirlwind of teasing, laughter, and occasional bursts of competitive banter. Buck and Nate continue their battle of wit, neither willing to back down, while May and Liv oscillate between absolute shock and delighted chaos—occasionally jumping in to throw fuel on the fire.

At some point, May and Liv finally recover enough to take control again, redirecting the teasing toward Buck’s complete inability to process compliments without some kind of emotional breakdown. Nate, ever the opportunist, leans into it, casually throwing remarks that keep Buck on edge, while May and Liv watch with sheer glee as he spirals into mock frustration.

Eventually, drinks run low, conversation shifts, and the energy mellows out just enough to turn reflective. The four of them sit outside, city lights flickering around them, a cool breeze cutting through the warmth of the evening. It’s one of those rare moments where everyone is just present—no lingering tension, no agenda, just four people sharing space, comfortable in their own way.

And for Buck—who has spent a lot of time avoiding deeper thoughts—it’s oddly grounding. 

Buck walks May back to her hotel, the city humming around them, the air cool but comfortable. Their steps fall in easy rhythm, conversation light but lingering—like neither of them really want to say goodbye yet.

When they reach the entrance, May stops, turning to face Buck, her expression more serious now, like she’s holding onto something unspoken.

"You sure you don’t want me telling anyone?" she asks, watching him carefully.

Buck huffs a breath, shaking his head. "Not yet."

May studies him for a moment, then nods, respecting the boundary even if she doesn’t fully understand it.

"Alright. I promise," she says, solid, no hesitation.

Buck exhales, relief settling in, then grins slightly, nudging her arm. "You really are terrible at keeping secrets, so I’m trusting you here."

May laughs, shoving his shoulder. "Wow, thanks for the faith. It’s not like I am Chimney."

Buck chuckles, then, softer, "It was good seeing you."

May nods, meaning it. "Yeah. You too."

And with that, she heads inside, leaving Buck standing on the sidewalk, watching her go—feeling something quieter settle in his chest.

May pauses, just before stepping inside—because she can’t resist. She turns, eyes bright with mischief, grinning like she’s about to say something Buck absolutely does not want to hear.

"One last thing," she muses, arms crossed.

Buck groans, shaking his head. "No. No last things—you’re supposed to leave without causing damage."

May laughs, completely ignoring him.

"Eddie would love to hear about tonight."

May pauses just before heading inside, watching Buck for a beat—soft, knowing, still amused but gentler now.

"Take care of yourself, alright?" she says, not a demand, just a quiet request.

Buck huffs a small laugh, nodding once. "Yeah. You too."

May steps forward, presses a quick kiss to his cheek, then smirks as she pulls back—eyes bright with mischief, but with something deeper beneath it.

"And don’t forget—" she grins, stepping back toward the door. "I know things now."

Buck groans, rubbing his face. "Seriously?! One more threat before you leave?!"

May laughs, waving him off as she disappears inside.

Buck stands there for a second, exhaling slow—somewhere between frustration and fondness.

Because yeah. He really did miss her.

*

A month passed in the blink of an eye. Buck established a peaceful routine. He got a job at the convenience store and shared his salary with Nate, helping to maintain the house.

During this month, Buck woke up early every day to go to work. He became friends with his colleagues at the convenience store, especially Clara, who always helped him with tips on how to deal with difficult customers.

At night, Buck and Nate had the habit of cooking together. They experimented with new recipes and sometimes had themed dinners. On weekends, the two took the opportunity to explore the city, visiting parks, museums, and local fairs.

He talked to Maddie twice. Jee-yun was fine and the baby was healthy. It was all he needed to know. Buck ended the call when she brought the 118 up. 

Everything was fine, until it wasn’t. 

Buck was coming home after a quite hard day. He steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him, shaking off the cool night air. The warmth of home should feel comforting, but something is off—the kind of quiet that isn’t just stillness, but heavy.

Nate is sitting in the living room, one elbow propped on his knee, fingers pressed against his temple—staring at nothing, like he’s trying to process something he doesn’t quite know how to say yet.

Buck pauses mid-step, eyes narrowing slightly.

"You good?"

Nate exhales, slow—doesn’t answer right away.

Buck doesn’t like that.

"Nate." His voice is more firm now, stepping forward. "What’s going on?"

Nate finally looks up, eyes harder, more distant—not panicked, but not calm, either.

"Got a call," he says, voice low. "Not the kind you ignore."

Buck’s stomach drops slightly, because that? That’s never good.

Buck steps closer, heart pounding just a little harder now, because Nate is—off.

Not just tense—not just quiet.

His skin is pale, like he’s lost some of his usual warmth, and his eyes—dark, distant, unfocused, like he’s seeing through everything in front of him but not really processing any of it.

Buck exhales sharply, crouching slightly, trying to meet his gaze head-on.

"Nate. What happened?"

Nate doesn’t speak at first, just looks at Buck like he’s—like he’s still struggling to put the weight of it into words.

Buck tightens his jaw, watching Nate carefully—because whatever this is, it's big, and Nate is teetering between saying it and shutting down entirely.

"You don’t get to drop something like that and stop talking," Buck presses, voice firm but not harsh—just pushing, keeping Nate here, keeping him anchored.

Nate exhales sharply, rubbing his temple, fingers restless, like he’s trying to grip onto something solid before saying it out loud.

"Buck—" he starts, but Buck steps forward, shaking his head.

"No, Nate. Talk."

Nate runs a hand through his hair, muscles tense, shoulders drawn like he’s physically carrying something heavier than he expected.

"I have to leave."

Buck freezes for half a second, stomach dropping.

"What?"

Nate huffs a breath, eyes harder now, more focused but still edged with something unsettled.

"I don’t have a choice. It’s not something I can ignore—it’s someone I can’t ignore."

Buck frowns, stepping even closer. "Who?"

Nate finally looks up, meeting Buck’s gaze directly—and Buck sees it then. The weight. The history, the things Nate never talked about, the ghosts that never fully disappeared even when he thought they were buried for good.

"Family," Nate finally says, voice low, steady but strained. 

Buck stiffens, because—yeah. That? That’s bad.

Nate exhales sharply, fingers pressing against his temple, like he’s trying to physically push away the weight of this moment.

Buck watches him carefully, heart pounding harder now, because whatever this is? It’s bad—and Nate is slipping into something Buck’s never seen before.

"Who?" Buck asks again, more forceful this time. "Who came back?"

Nate finally looks at him, eyes darker, not just strained—cornered.

"My father."

Buck freezes.

The way he says it? Flat. Cold. Like the word alone has the power to tear everything apart.

Nate huffs a bitter breath, shaking his head slightly. "I thought I was done. Thought I’d buried that part of my life—thought he’d let me bury it." He lets out a hollow laugh—sharp, humorless. "Turns out, I was wrong."

Buck tightens his jaw, stepping closer. "What does he want?"

Nate doesn’t answer immediately—just stares at the floor like he’s trying to piece together something that doesn’t fit anymore.

"I don’t know," he finally mutters. "But whatever it is—it’s big enough to make him track me down. Big enough that I have to go."

Buck feels something sink deep in his chest—because Nate? Leaving like this? That’s not just bad.

That’s dangerous.

Nate exhales, rubbing his temple, like he’s trying to force himself to stay grounded despite everything unraveling around him.

"I don’t have a choice," he mutters, final, exhausted, like he’s already resigned himself to whatever comes next.

Buck tightens his jaw, because—no. He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like Nate vanishing into something that feels too big, too unresolved—doesn’t like the way he looks right now, like he’s already somewhere else.

"You’re not just leaving," Buck says, firm, because if Nate is going to do this, they’re at least going to do it right.

Nate huffs a breath, eyes flicking toward Buck—not arguing, but waiting.

"We’re putting the house in my name for a while," Buck continues, voice steady, like it’s not even up for discussion. "You’re not running without covering yourself. One day, when your father has left town, you will be able to go back, and we will transfer it back to you."

Nate pauses, watching Buck carefully—then nods, slow.

"Alright."

There’s no fight. No hesitation. Because deep down? Nate knows Buck is right.

Knows that whatever’s coming next—he has to be ready.

“You are coming with me?”

Buck watches Nate, studying him carefully, because—is that even a question?

"You really think I’m letting you do this alone?" Buck finally says, arms crossed, expression set, unyielding.

Nate exhales, shaking his head, but there’s something in his eyes—not dismissal, not rejection. Just—hesitation.

"Buck—"

"No," Buck cuts him off, stepping closer. "Don’t “Buck” me right now. You don’t get to walk into whatever this is without backup. Without someone making sure you don’t lose yourself in it."

Nate holds his gaze, silent, weighing it, because Buck? He’s stubborn. He’s relentless. He’s not going to let this go.

"It’s messy," Nate finally mutters, voice lower. "More than you think."

Buck huffs a breath, shaking his head. "Don’t care."

Nate lets out a short, exasperated laugh, rubbing his temple—but deep down, he knows. He knows Buck is coming with him.

Because Buck? He’s already in it.

Chapter 6: Chapter Four: What Would be Enough?

Notes:

Some serious realization here. Fav chapter so far.

Chapter Text

Buck and Nate sit at the kitchen table, a map of Tennessee spread between them, a mix of printed documents, notes, and hastily scribbled ideas surrounding them like a war room strategy session.

"Transportation?"

"Your jeep"

"You driving or am I?" Buck raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly.

Nate huffs a breath, shaking his head. "You’d get us into trouble in the first hour."

Buck laughs, “We switch.”

They go down the list—contacts, locations, backup plans, communication strategies.

Buck makes sure every detail is locked down. Finally, Buck leans back, tapping the pen against his palm.

The silence stretches. Not awkward—just thick with everything unsaid. Buck studies his friend, the bruise fading along his jaw, the way his hands won’t stop fidgeting.

“He won’t find us,” Buck says, more promise than guess.

Nate doesn’t answer at first. Then, softly, “He always does.”

Buck reaches across the table and stills Nate’s hand with his own. “Not this time. I’m here now.”

Buck looks at the clock—12:47 a.m. The kind of hour where nothing good happens, and everything feels too real.

“We leave at dawn,” he says. “Pack light. No credit cards, no phones. Just burner stuff and cash.”

Nate nods, eyes on the map but not really seeing it.

“You trust me?” Buck asks suddenly.

Nate looks up, startled. “Of course I do.”

“Good.”

The kitchen hums with the fridge cycling on. A moth taps at the window screen. Nate glances toward the hallway, toward the small, battered bag already packed and hidden beneath his bed.

Buck hesitates. “You want to say goodbye to Liv?”

Nate’s jaw tenses. “I have to.”

Later, under the cover of night, they pull up a block away from Liv’s house. The street is quiet, moonlight pooling on the pavement like spilled silver. Buck kills the headlights and waits, engine ticking softly.

Nate steps out, hoodie pulled low, hands in his pockets. Liv’s bedroom light is on, a faint glow behind pink curtains. He tosses a small pebble at the window. Then another.

The curtain twitches. Moments later, the window creaks open.

“Jesus, Nate—” Liv’s voice is a whisper-shout. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I need to talk to you,” he says. “Just for a minute.”

She disappears from the window. A minute later, the side door creaks open and Liv steps out, barefoot and in flannel pajamas.

When she sees his face up close—tired, scared, serious—her expression shifts. “It’s your dad, isn’t it?”

Nate nods.

Liv blinks fast, lips parting like she wants to say a hundred things at once. “Where are you going?”

“Can’t say,” Nate replies. “The less you know, the safer you are.”

“That’s such movie crap,” she snaps, eyes glassy. “You could die out there. You could—”

“I won’t,” he says. “Buck’s with me.”

That softens her, just a little. “Of course he is.”

She steps forward and hugs him tight, arms locking around his ribs like she could physically keep him from vanishing.

“You’re my best friend, Nate,” she whispers. “Don’t disappear on me forever.”

“I’ll find a way to check in. Someday.”

Liv nods against his shoulder, then pulls back, pressing something into his hand. “It’s dumb, but—my lucky bracelet. It got me through my first year here. Maybe it can keep you safe.”

He doesn’t trust his voice, so he just squeezes her hand.

“Go,” she says, wiping her face. “Before I make you stay.”

While that happens, Buck gets a phone call. 

“May, now it’s not a good time—“

“Buck? Finally!" Christopher’s voice was sharp with frustration. "So you still exist?"

Buck closed his eyes for a second, already expecting the tone. "I… Of course I exist. I just—" His grip tightened on the phone. "How—how did you get this number?"

"May," Christopher said, his tone blunt. "Not like you were gonna give it to me yourself."

Buck sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "She had no right to—"

"She did," Chris cut in. "Because no one could reach you. Because you disappeared months ago without a word."

Buck opened his mouth, but no excuse seemed good enough.

"Look, if you’re mad at her, deal with it later," Christopher continued. "Right now, we’re talking. And I don’t plan on letting you ignore me again."

Buck swallowed hard, leaning back. He really was a teenager now. "Yeah… okay."

"You just disappeared," Christopher cut him off, impatience laced in his words. "No messages, no calls. No one knows where you are, Buck. Not even me."

Buck exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "It wasn’t intentional. I just… needed some time, you know?"

"Time? Away from everyone?" Christopher’s voice cracked with emotion. "Buck, you were always there. For me, for everyone. And now you’ve just vanished?"

Silence stretched on the other end, followed by a deep sigh. Buck felt his chest tighten at Christopher’s words. He stared at the street, where Nate and Liv were hugging.

"Why can’t you come back?" Christopher’s voice wasn’t angry anymore—just quiet. Just tired.

Buck exhaled slowly. "It’s not that simple, Chris."

"It is to me," Christopher shot back. "You left. You cut everyone off. And now you're acting like coming back is impossible. It’s not."

Buck sighed, his voice heavy with something close to regret. "I never meant to disappear from your life, Chris. I just thought… maybe it’d be easier this way. You have your life in El Paso, and..." He paused, then frowned. "Wait—how did you even get my number from May if she’s in Los Angeles?"

"I called her," Christopher said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Told her I needed to talk to you. She hesitated, but she understood. She always does when it comes to you."

Buck ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. "She shouldn’t have done that."

"Well, maybe you should’ve given me your number yourself," Christopher shot back. "Would’ve saved both of us the trouble."

"You really went through all that just to track me down?" he asked after a beat.

"Yeah," Christopher said, his voice steady. 

Buck let the silence stretch before finally asking, "Why did you call me?"

Christopher hesitated, the pause heavy with unspoken words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "Because I got tired of waiting for you to care enough to call first."

Buck exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Chris—"

"No," Christopher interrupted, his voice sharper now. "Don’t say you were going to reach out. You weren’t. You left and made sure no one could find you."

Buck swallowed, leaning against the counter, feeling the weight of the truth in Christopher’s words. "I didn’t think anyone, especially you and your father, needed me."

"Well, you were wrong," Christopher said firmly.

Buck let out a breath, something heavy settling in his chest. Yeah, maybe he had been.

“Look, I need to go now, okay? But, I promise, no, I swear, I will call you later so we can talk, alright?”

“Don’t forget, I got your number now. You better call”

“I will. Pinky promise.”

Nate turns and walks back to the car. Buck’s already got the engine running.

“How’d it go?” Buck asks.

Nate climbs in, holding the bracelet like it’s made of glass. “Hard.”

Buck pulls away from the curb. “Goodbyes usually are.”

Behind them, Liv stands alone in the driveway, arms wrapped around herself, watching the taillights vanish into the dark. Miles away, Christopher Diaz put the phone down, praying for Buck to keep his promise.

Buck finally stands, stretching. “Get a few hours of sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Nate hesitates, then stands too. “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“If something goes wrong…”

“It won’t.”

“But if it does—”

Buck walks over and grips his shoulder. “If it does, I still don’t leave you behind.”

Nate breathes in through his nose, then nods once.

They part without another word. The map stays on the table, lit by the dim kitchen light, like a promise they’ve both already made.

Somewhere, the night ticks on. Dawn is coming.

*

The trip began before the sun had fully risen, the sky a soft canvas of purples and oranges as Buck and Nate packed their belongings into Buck's old pickup truck. The vehicle, though worn and dotted with spots of rust, carried the echoes of countless journeys—road trips, late-night escapades, and stories told under starlit skies. It was a relic of adventure, much like the two friends themselves.

As they pulled away from Denver, the city’s skyline shimmered in the early light, soon shrinking in the rearview mirror, replaced by the boundless Great Plains. The landscape unfolded like a dream—golden fields stretching endlessly, bathed in the morning glow. The truck rumbled forward, carrying them into the heart of the unknown.

Their first stop came in Kansas, where a quaint diner, frozen in time, welcomed them with the rich scent of sizzling bacon and fresh-brewed coffee. The retro decor, complete with vinyl booths and checkered floors, exuded warmth. The pancakes, golden and fluffy, melted in their mouths—perhaps the best they had ever tasted. Buck and Nate struck up conversations with the locals, who spun tales of the land and its secrets, offering suggestions for hidden gems along their route.

Back on the road, the scenery transformed into endless waves of sunflowers, their bright faces turned toward the sky. The breeze swept through the fields, causing the golden blooms to ripple like the surface of a lake. Nate leaned out the window, snapping photos, while Buck simply drank in the view, a quiet appreciation settling in his chest.

Missouri greeted them with rolling hills, lush forests, and the gentle hum of cicadas. At a roadside stop, they found a historic covered bridge, its worn wooden beams whispering stories of days gone by. Here, Buck recounted childhood memories—tales of mischievous adventures and lessons learned the hard way. Nate listened, appreciating not just the stories, but the rare glimpse into Buck’s past.

Their stomachs guided them to St. Louis, where the irresistible call of smoky barbecue led them to a renowned joint with an unassuming facade but an undeniable reputation. Inside, the scent of slow-cooked ribs and brisket filled the air. They ate with gusto, their conversation peppered with laughter, the kind shared between friends who have spent years navigating life together. In every stop, Buck buys himself a postcard. 

As they pushed into Kentucky, the sky darkened, and rain swept over them in sudden, unrelenting sheets. The roads became slick, the world outside their windshield blurred and silvered by water. Buck’s steady hands gripped the wheel, navigating with practiced ease. Nate, ever the optimist, cranked up the radio, filling the truck with upbeat melodies that transformed the downpour into an impromptu concert.

The rain had grown relentless, hammering down on the pickup's windshield in thick, blinding sheets. The road, slick with water, stretched ahead like a river, swallowing headlights and muffling the hum of the engine. After miles of fighting the storm, Buck spotted the neon glow of a roadside hotel—a modest, two-story brick building with a flickering vacancy sign.

"We're stopping here," Buck said, voice steady but tired as he eased the truck into the parking lot.

Inside, the warm scent of coffee greeted them. The lobby was simple—wood-paneled walls, faded armchairs, a sleepy-eyed clerk behind the counter. After checking in, the two friends trudged up the creaky stairs to their room, where the muffled patter of rain against the windows became a steady, rhythmic backdrop.

Nate flopped onto one of the beds, stretching out with a sigh. "Well, that was one hell of a storm," he murmured.

Buck, sitting by the window, stared out at the drenched road, lost in thought. "It reminds me of the first time I came through here," he finally said.

Nate glanced over, waiting.

"I was nineteen," Buck continued, his voice quieter now. "Had just started running—long distances, across states. No real plan, just a kid trying to outrun the past, I guess." He chuckled dryly, shaking his head at the memory. "I was exhausted, broke, and soaked to the bone, kinda like tonight. But there was this group of people—old friends now—who took me in when I needed it most."

Nate sat up. "So, me? But years ago?”

Buck laughs. “Yeah. You can say that. They had a small farm just outside Nashville, real off-the-map kind of place. Didn’t ask questions, didn’t judge—just gave me a place to stay, fed me, listened when I needed to talk, and told me when I needed to shut up," Buck said with a grin. "They taught me a lot about the road, about endurance. Even help to get to Peru, in South America.”

"And that’s where we are going?" Nate asked.

Buck nodded, a softness in his eyes. "Yeah. I think they can help you.”

Nate leaned back. “I’m not used to being on this side.”

“Well, hopefully, you’ll don’t have to be for long.”

For a while, neither spoke. The rain continued its slow, steady drumming against the window. It was a quiet moment, heavy with reflection but comforting in its honesty.

Nate finally broke the silence with a smirk. "Well, if they fed you back then, let's hope they still cook as good. Otherwise, this detour is a waste."

Buck laughed, shaking his head. "Trust me, their cooking is worth the extra miles."

With that, the two friends settled in for the night, the weight of the past mingling with the promise of the road ahead.

By the time they reached Tennessee, the storm had passed, leaving the air crisp and cool. They stumbled upon a bustling fair, where the scent of fresh pies and the twang of a bluegrass band lured them in. The melodies carried the soul of the land, the music vibrating in their bones as they tapped their feet to the rhythm, momentarily lost in the magic of the moment.

Finally, nestled among rolling hills, the ranch awaited them—a sanctuary of green pastures and quiet serenity. The place had the kind of quiet that settled deep in the bones—peaceful, unhurried, timeless.

Buck parked the old pickup near the main house, switching off the engine. He exhaled slowly, his fingers lingering on the steering wheel for a moment longer than usual.

"You nervous?" Nate asked, studying him.

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah. Just... been a long time."

Before Nate could reply, the front door swung open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man with sun-worn skin and a presence that filled the space effortlessly. His hair, streaked with silver, was pulled back, and his piercing eyes carried years of experience—stern yet warm.

"Well, I’ll be damned," the man said, crossing the porch with the easy confidence of someone who had seen Buck through his best and worst days. “Look what the wind brought. Evan Buckley, back from the dead."

A grin spread across Buck’s face before he could stop it. "Good to see you too, Levi."

Levi pulled him into a firm hug, clapping Buck’s back like an older brother welcoming home a wayward sibling. When he stepped back, he looked Buck over with knowing eyes. 

“So, what can I do for you?”

“Excuse me?” Buck brought his hands to his heart, pretending to be offended.

Levi crossed arms, his sharp eyes locked onto Buck. "You don’t just show up after all these years for nothing," he said, his voice carrying the weight of experience.

Buck scratched the back of his neck, hesitating. "I—uh—I guess I just wanted to check in. See how everyone was doing."

Levi raised an eyebrow. "You telling me you drove all this way just for a friendly visit?"

Buck sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, maybe not just that."

Nate, leaning in the doorway, watched the exchange with interest. Levi had a way of seeing through Buck, cutting straight to the truth. It was both irritating and comforting.

Buck glanced at Nate, then exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off some invisible weight. "You’re right," he admitted. "But this time, I’m not here running—not the way I used to."

Levi arched a brow. "Then what’s this about?"

Buck sighed, his voice quieter now, steadier. "I’m helping Nate run." He gestured toward his friend. "His father is the kind of man you don’t look back for."

Levi shifted his gaze to Nate, studying him for a long moment. There was no pity in his expression, just understanding—the kind only people who had seen real hardship carried.

"And you?" Levi asked, turning back to Buck. "If you’re not running, what are you doing?"

Buck huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Trying to figure out who I am when I’m not holding everything together for everyone else. When I’m not the guy keeping things steady, keeping people on their feet."

Levi nodded, like he’d suspected as much. "And you thought coming here would help with that?"

Buck looked out at the open plains stretching beyond the ranch, the land steady and endless. "I figured if anywhere could remind me of who I was before I started carrying the weight of everyone else, it’d be here."

Levi studied him for a beat, then gave a slow nod. "Well, you’re here now. And whatever you need—whether it’s space, time, or a reminder of who you were before the world asked too much of you—you’ve got it."

Buck let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

"So," Levi said simply. "Your father?"

The words alone made Nate tense slightly, his fingers gripping the edge of his coffee mug. He kept his eyes on the horizon, as if looking anywhere but at Levi would soften the weight of the question.

"Not a man worth talking about," Nate muttered.

As Buck processed Nate’s words, the creak of a door opening behind them made him turn.

A woman stepped into the room, wiping her hands on a towel, her expression soft but keenly observant. Her presence carried the same grounded energy as Levi—someone who had weathered life without losing the warmth in her heart.

“Did I hear right?” she asked, arching a brow at Levi. “We have company?”

Levi smirked. “Yeah, look who finally dragged himself back here.”

Buck stood, offering a sheepish smile. “It’s good to see you, Gracie.”

Before she could respond, two small figures darted in after her—a pair of giggling kids, wild with energy and curiosity. The older one, a boy with unruly brown curls, clutched a wooden toy truck. The younger, a girl with Levi’s piercing eyes, grinned up at Buck before scampering toward her father.

The boy stopped just short of Buck, tilting his head with careful consideration, as if sizing him up.

“That’s Buck,” Grace told the kid with a knowing smile.

The boy’s eyes widened slightly. Then, with quiet certainty, he said, “Like me.”

Buck blinked, caught off guard. “Wait. What?”

Levi chuckled, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Evan Buckley, meet Buckley Mitchell.”

Buck glanced between Levi and Grace, something tightening in his chest. “You named him after me?”

Grace folded her arms, leaning against the doorway. “Levi insisted. Said it was only right, considering everything you went through here.” Her expression softened. “We never forgot you, Buck. Never forgot what you did for us.”

Buck looked down at the boy, whose wide-eyed curiosity held none of the weight Buck had carried in his own youth. There was something about that—about a kid being named for him, but living a life free of the burdens Buck had once carried—that struck deep.

He cleared his throat, offering the boy a smile. “Well, you’ve got a strong name, kid.”

Little Buck grinned. “Levi says it means I gotta be fast.”

Buck laughed. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt.”

The house, once filled with quiet tension, now thrummed with the easy warmth of family. And as Buck sat back down, listening to Grace scold Levi for forgetting to bring in the laundry and the kids chattering over their toys, he felt something shift inside him.

The evening settled into a quiet hum, the warmth of the ranch pressing in around them. Grace moved effortlessly through the kitchen, setting plates down in front of Buck and Nate while Levi leaned against the counter, watching the younger man carefully.

"So," Levi said, voice steady but firm. "Tell me about your father."

Nate hesitated. But here, in this house that felt solid, among people who had lived through hard things, he found the words coming anyway.

“He’s not a man who lets things go,” Nate said finally. “If he wants something, he takes it. If you stand in his way, he makes sure you regret it.”

Grace exchanged a glance with Levi, something unspoken passing between them.

"He ever come looking for you before?" Levi asked.

Nate nodded. "Couple of times. Never alone. He has people—men who do things for him so he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty."

Levi sighed, running a hand over his jaw. "Alright. First things first—you're safe here. This ranch is a long way off the main roads, and we don't get visitors unless we want them."

Grace sat down across from Nate, her expression thoughtful. "But if your father is the kind of man who doesn't back down, he'll keep searching until he finds a lead."

Nate exhaled, the weight of that reality pressing down on him. "I know."

Levi straightened, his voice carrying a quiet authority. "Then we make sure he doesn’t."

Buck glanced at him. "You have a plan?"

Levi nodded. "Will be, don't worry."

Nate swallowed hard, unexpected emotion tightening his throat. He wasn’t used to people standing up for him—wasn’t used to the idea that he could be protected instead of hunted.

Levi pushed his chair back. "Get some rest, kid. You’re not running anymore."

And for the first time, Nate believed it.

The night had settled thick and quiet over the ranch, the soft hum of crickets filling the air outside. Inside their shared room, Buck lay on the bed, hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Nate sat on the edge of his own bed, absentmindedly turning a small coin over in his fingers.

For a while, neither spoke. There was a kind of comfort in the silence—the type that comes when you're finally in a place where you don't have to keep looking over your shoulder.

Then Nate huffed out a small laugh. “They’re good people.”

Buck glanced at him. “Yeah. Always have been.”

“Did you feel like that when you first came here? Like you were just… lost?”

Buck exhaled, folding his arms over his chest. “More than I’d like to admit. I was nineteen, convinced I had to keep running because stopping meant dealing with everything I didn’t wanna face. But Levi didn’t let me hide behind that. Grace didn’t either.”

Nate was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Think they can help me too?”

Buck turned his head, meeting Nate’s gaze. “I think they already are.”

*

Buck crouched in the grass, hands resting on his knees as he watched Little Buck and Julie eye him with mischievous anticipation. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the ranch, and the air buzzed with the excitement of a challenge.

"You sure you wanna take me on?" Buck teased, squinting at the two small figures in front of him. "I’m pretty fast."

Little Buck grinned, bouncing on his toes. "Not faster than me!"

Julie crossed her arms, tilting her head. "Or me!"

Buck rubbed his chin, pretending to consider. "Alright, but let’s make it official. If you two can outrun me to the fence and back, you get the title of fastest racers in the whole ranch."

Little Buck gasped. "Forever?"

Buck held up his hands. "Forever."

Julie nudged her brother. "We got this."

Levi watched from the porch, shaking his head with amusement. "You setting yourself up to lose, Buckley?"

Buck smirked, eyes still on the kids. "Maybe."

Grace stepped outside just in time to hear Buck count down. “Three… two… ONE!”

Julie and Little Buck took off like rockets, their tiny legs pumping as they sprinted toward the fence. Buck chased after them, deliberately letting them gain the lead before picking up the pace just enough to keep it competitive.

Little Buck reached the fence first, smacking his palm against it with triumph. Julie was close behind, giggling as she turned back toward the house. Buck made a dramatic show of slowing down, huffing exaggerated breaths like he was struggling.

"You two—" he gasped, dropping to his knees as they reached him, "are just too fast for me!"

While that happens, in a wooden table, Levi leaned back, his eyes sharp as he studied the younger man. "You’ve got a choice, Nate," he said finally. "Keep running, or stand your ground."

Nate exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the side of his mug. "I don’t know how to stand my ground against someone like him."

Grace tilted her head, watching him carefully. "Not alone, no. But you’re not alone anymore."

Nate glanced up at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. He had spent so long looking over his shoulder, waiting for his father’s reach to catch up. The idea of not having to fight that battle alone felt foreign—almost unreal.

Levi set his mug down with finality. "You said he doesn’t do things himself. That means he’s sending people to find you. Which means we need to make it clear you’re not easy to take."

Nate frowned. "You want to fight them?"

Levi shook his head. "No. I want them to know that if they come looking, they’re walking into something bigger than they bargained for."

Grace leaned forward slightly. "Your father thrives on control, Nate. He expects you to be scared—to make it easy for him. But people like him don’t like obstacles. If we set enough in his way, he might just decide you’re not worth the trouble."

Nate swallowed hard, trying to process it all. "And what if he doesn’t back down?"

Levi’s expression darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "Then we make sure you’re ready."

Grace reached for his hand, giving it a small squeeze. "We’re going to help you, Nate. No matter what."

Levi leaned forward, his voice low but firm. "First step—we change the way people see you. As far as this town is concerned, you’re family now. No one talks when outsiders come looking."

Nate nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of that. "And if they ask anyway?"

Levi smirked. "Then they get sent in circles. Wrong directions, bad leads, wasted time."

Grace tilted her head. "Second step—we lock this place down. No one gets close without us knowing."

Levi added, "We’ve got people we trust watching the roads. If someone comes looking, they’ll see trouble before it gets past the first turn."

Nate swallowed hard. "That’s a lot of people putting themselves in this."

Levi’s eyes didn’t waver. "Well, you were brought here by the guy my son is named after, so... you’re worth it."

Grace rested her hands flat against the table. "Third step—we cut the leash. If your father tracks calls, ties anything back to you, we disconnect him completely. New number, new contacts, controlled access."

Nate exhaled slowly, nodding, feeling the layers of protection tightening like armor.

Levi studied him, waiting for the question he knew was coming.

"And if he doesn’t back off?" Nate asked.

Levi’s jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "Then he learns the hard way that you’re not his to control anymore."

Grace reached for Nate’s hand, squeezing it lightly. "You don’t have to fight alone."

Nate sat there, taking it all in—the quiet strength of these people who had offered him something he’d never had before.

Denver had been Nate’s home for years—a city of movement, of late nights and crowded streets, where he could disappear into the rhythm of work and routine. He had built something there. Could he go back to Denver and pretend none of this had changed him? 

When Buck’s strategy to distract the kids was no longer working, he decided he would let the question for later. 

He had done his best to keep them occupied—games, races, even a dramatic retelling of the time Levi nearly got caught in a storm on horseback. But the kids were sharp, and sooner or later, they would circle back to the question hanging in the air.

Julie tilted her head, eyes curious. "Uncle Buck, why did you come here?"

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "Now, that’s a long story."

Little Buck kicked his feet against the wood. "We got time."

Buck glanced toward the house, where Levi and Grace stood, quietly talking near the porch. The weight of everything—the past, the decisions waiting for him—pressed in. He wasn’t ready to answer, not yet.

So, instead, he ruffled Little Buck’s hair and stood, stretching. "How about we go see if Gracie has any cookies instead?"

Julie squinted at him suspiciously. "You’re avoiding the question."

Buck smirked. "Yep."

Little Buck giggled, grabbing Julie’s hand as they raced toward the house. Buck followed, exhaling slowly.

The evening light faded into deep amber hues, casting long shadows across the ranch. Buck sat on the porch steps, watching the sky burn into twilight while Little Buck and Julie finished their cookies under Grace’s watchful eye. The laughter from the kitchen had quieted, replaced by the slow hum of conversation between Levi and Nate inside.

Buck could hear bits and pieces of their voices—Levi’s steady tone, Nate’s hesitant responses. They were working through the weight of everything: his father, his past, the choice in front of him.

Grace stepped onto the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She sat next to Buck, sighing softly as she followed his gaze toward the open fields. “You’ve changed. I mean, you've always been good with kids, but now..." she said. "Who is it?"

Buck let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. "You always could see right through me," he murmured.

Grace waited, patient but expectant.

Buck sighed, staring out at the horizon like the answer might be waiting there. "Chris," he finally said. "Eddie’s kid, back in L.A."

“And who is Eddie?”

That’s the part he couldn't answer.

Say that he was his friends feels so... of. He was not just his friend, he was something more than that.

Grace studied him, her expression softening. “You miss them."

Buck exhaled slowly. "Every day."

The weight of those words settled between them, the evening air thick with unspoken things. Grace didn’t push—she never did. She simply sat beside him, letting him sort through the thoughts he wasn’t ready to voice.

"You know," she said after a moment, her voice gentle, "Maybe it’s not about leaving or staying," she said. "Maybe it’s about figuring out where you’re meant to be."

Buck swallowed.

He is meant to be with them, he knew that. He was meant to be as Eddie's partner and Chris's dad, but Eddie is straight and does not love him back, so how could him be? A weight settles into Buck's chest.

That’s a painful kind of love—one where the pieces don’t fit the way you wish they would, but the feeling remains just as strong. Buck loves them, belongs with them, but the reality of Eddie’s orientation makes the life he dreams of impossible in the way he wants.

But that doesn’t mean he’s without purpose, without family. Love doesn’t always fit neatly into the boxes people expect. Buck can be Chris’s protector, his guide, his steady presence—even if he’s not his father in name. He can be Eddie’s unwavering friend, someone who is there in every moment, even when it hurts.

It’s not the love he imagined, but maybe, over time, he finds peace in knowing that love—real, deep, unconditional love—doesn’t have to fit a specific mold to matter. He is needed, he is valued, and he is home.

That kind of love may not be what he hoped for, but it’s real.

Buck sat on the porch long after the others had gone inside, the ranch stretching quiet and steady around him. This idea... of being the same was so wrong.

The cool night air pressed against his skin, but his thoughts ran hotter, faster—spinning in circles he couldn’t escape.

He had spent years convincing himself that being part of their lives—being Chris’s steady presence, Eddie’s closest friend—was enough. That he could live in the space between, never asking for more than what was already there.

But now? Now, it was impossible to ignore.

The love he carried for them wasn’t just friendship. It wasn’t just loyalty. It was something deeper, something permanent, something he couldn’t push aside no matter how hard he tried. And it would never be returned—not in the way he wanted.

How could he go back? How could he stand in Eddie’s kitchen, watch Chris grow, share laughter with them, knowing that no matter what, he would always be outside of what they truly were? A best friend. A caretaker. A piece of the puzzle—but never the missing one.

Buck swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the porch railing. The answer felt too clear, too loud.

He could keep moving, find somewhere else, drown himself in new faces and new places until the ache dulled.

But even as the thought took shape, something inside him rebelled. He didn’t want to run. Not again.

The door creaked behind him, and Levi stepped out, hands tucked into his pockets as he sat on the steps beside Buck. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared out at the land before them.

Then, finally: “You thinking about leaving?”

Buck huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

Levi nodded slowly, as if he’d expected the answer. “Where would you go?”

Buck opened his mouth, but no words came. That was the thing—he had nowhere to go. Every road led back to them. To Eddie. To Chris. To the life he wanted but couldn’t have.

Levi let the silence stretch before speaking again. “Running doesn’t fix a damn thing, Evan. You should know that by now.”

Buck clenched his jaw, looking away. “Yeah. I know.”

Levi exhaled, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You love them. That doesn’t mean you have to disappear.”

Buck closed his eyes, the truth of it cutting deep.

And yet, the question remained—the one he didn’t know how to answer.

How could he stay when everything inside him told him it would never be enough? That being just Eddie's best friend would never be enough again?

Chapter 7: Chapter Five: The Cost of Freedom

Summary:

Buck exhaled, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. The laughter around him—the warmth, the safety—it was real. But somewhere in the back of his mind, buried deep in his ribs, was the thought he couldn’t outrun.
Eddie.
Chris.
Home.
Except—was that home? Was this home?

Notes:

let me know what you think about the story so far.
Next chapter is the last one from the first part, and second one... well, things gets a little dark there, while we get to know Eddie in El Paso.

Chapter Text

The morning arrived slowly, sunlight creeping in through the old ranch window, casting long streaks across Buck’s face. He woke with a sharp inhale, the remnants of a dream still clinging to him, heavy like damp air after a storm.

Eddie had been there, in some version of home Buck had built in his mind. Chris had been laughing, throwing a PlayStation joystick toward him, and Eddie had been standing on the corner, easy, comfortable, like nothing had changed. Like Buck had never left. Like Eddie himself had never left.

But dreams were cruel things. They gave you glimpses of something softer, something nearly in reach—before reality set in.

Buck ran a hand over his face, exhaling as he sat up. 

He stepped outside, the cool air grounding him, the smell of earth and morning coffee settling into his bones. Levi was already out near the fence, speaking with one of the ranch hands. Nate wasn’t in sight, but Buck could hear movement from the barn—another man with his own ghosts to wrestle.

Grace appeared from the house, balancing a tray with biscuits and coffee. She sat beside him, offering a cup without needing to say anything.

"You decided yet?" she asked.

Buck smirked, shaking his head. "No."

Grace nodded, sipping her own coffee. Buck huffed out a quiet laugh. 

A few beats of silence stretched between them before Nate stepped out of the barn, wiping dirt from his hands. His movements were more certain today—less hesitation, more resolve. Levi noticed, giving him a small nod.

"You ready for the next steps?" Levi asked.

Nate took a steady breath. "Yeah."

Buck watched him, feeling the weight of his own next steps pressing in. He’d have to face it sooner or later—the road back, the question waiting for him.

How could he go back, knowing what he knew now?

For now, though, he just sat there, letting the ranch wake up around him.

Across the yard, Levi clapped Nate on the shoulder, motioning for Buck to come over. Buck sighed, standing, the weight of his thoughts pressing in. For now, there was work to do.

The sun climbed higher, burning away the morning chill as Buck worked alongside Nate, stacking hay in the barn. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it was the kind of quiet that came when two people had too much on their minds to fill the space with words.

Then Levi strode in, wiping sweat from his brow, eyes sharp and measuring. "Alright," he said, "we’re done standing around. Time to get your hands dirty."

Nate glanced at Buck, who smirked knowingly. "That means trouble."

Levi grabbed a coil of rope from the wall, tossing it toward Buck, who caught it easily. "We’re reinforcing the fence. You two, come with me."

Outside, the late morning heat settled over them as they reached the back edge of the property. The fencing stretched long, some of the posts leaning from years of wear.

"Your father’s people aren’t going to walk in like a parade," Levi said, testing one of the posts with his boot. "If they come, they’ll test the weak spots first. So, we make sure there aren’t any."

Buck tossed the rope over his shoulder, nodding toward Nate. "Think you’re up for this?"

Nate rolled his shoulders. "Better than sitting around waiting."

Levi handed Nate a hammer and a bag of nails. "Then start here. Buck, you work the gate."

They moved fast, the rhythmic pounding of nails and the rough pull of rope filling the air. Sweat slicked Buck’s brow as he secured the gate latch, pulling it tight against the post.

Nate worked beside him, jaw clenched in concentration. "Feels different," he muttered.

Buck shot him a glance. "What does?"

"Fixing something instead of running from it."

Buck paused, staring at him for a long beat. Then he nodded. "Yeah. It does."

Levi checked their work, giving them a satisfied grunt. "That’s the first step. Next comes making sure no one gets past it."

Buck rolled his neck, cracking his knuckles. "What, are we digging trenches next?"

Levi smirked. "Wouldn’t be the worst idea."

The midday sun bore down on the ranch as Buck, Nate, and Levi worked in sync, reinforcing the last section of the fence. Sweat dripped from Nate’s temple, his hands firm on the hammer as he secured another nail. Buck tightened the gate latch, testing its hold, while Levi stepped back, surveying their progress.

The barn smelled of hay and sweat, the afternoon sun filtering in through the wide entrance. Levi stood near the workbench, rolling up his sleeves, while Buck and Nate exchanged glances, both knowing this wasn’t going to be a simple lesson.

"You fight when you have no choice," Levi began, setting down a pair of gloves. "But knowing how to fight means you decide the terms—not whoever walks through that gate."

Nate shifted his weight, jaw tight. "I’ve never had to fight like that before."

Levi met his gaze. "Then it’s time you learned."

Buck huffed, flexing his fingers. "So, what? We go a few rounds in the dirt?"

Levi smirked. "Something like that."

He stepped forward, tossing the gloves toward Nate first. "You start. Buck, you guide him."

Nate hesitated, glancing at Buck, but Buck only nodded, sliding his own gloves on. "Alright, Nate. First rule—don’t hesitate."

Levi crossed his arms, watching. "Second—know your opponent before you throw the first punch."

Buck held up his hands, nodding for Nate to move in. "Come on. Let’s see what you’ve got."

Nate stepped forward, tentative at first, but when Buck shifted suddenly, faking a lunge, Nate reacted on instinct—fast, but uncoordinated. Buck caught his wrist before he could land a hit.

"Better," Buck said, adjusting Nate’s stance. "But you need control."

Nate clenched his jaw, trying again—this time, more balanced. Buck blocked, but nodded approvingly.

Levi spoke up. "It’s not just fists. It’s awareness. Strength means nothing if you don’t see the fight coming."

Buck stepped back, lowering his stance. "Alright. Now, hit like you mean it."

Nate exhaled, focused—and then moved.

This time, Buck felt the impact. Solid. Controlled.

Levi smirked. "Good. Now do it again."

The training continued through the afternoon, the intensity growing as Levi pushed Nate harder, testing his instincts, forcing him to react faster. By the time they wrapped up, Nate was exhausted, but there was something steadier in his stance—something more sure.

Buck wiped sweat from his brow, exhaling as he tossed his gloves aside. "He’s tougher than he looks," he muttered.

Levi smirked. "Good. Tougher means ready."

Nate rubbed his shoulder, wincing slightly. "I wouldn’t say ready yet."

Grace called from the porch, waving them over. "Well, you might want to be ready for dinner, at least!"

Buck grinned, nudging Nate toward the house. "That’s the kind of fight I’ll take."

As they stepped inside, the weight of everything—the training, the conversations, Buck’s own battle with his past—hovered in the back of his mind. The decision still loomed.

But for now, there was food, laughter, and a moment of quiet before the next storm.

"You’re quiet tonight," she murmured, keeping her voice low enough that only he could hear.

Buck shrugged, taking a sip of the tea. "Long day."

Levi’s gaze flicked to him, assessing. "And a long night ahead, I’d guess."

Buck exhaled, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. The laughter around him—the warmth, the safety—it was real. But somewhere in the back of his mind, buried deep in his ribs, was the thought he couldn’t outrun.

Eddie.

Chris.

Home.

Except—was that home? Was this home?

Buck’s jaw tightened as he stared at his plate, appetite fading just slightly. If he went back, he’d have to face everything. But staying here—pretending like none of it mattered—was just another kind of running.

Grace reached for his hand beneath the table, just a small squeeze, grounding him. Levi didn’t say anything, but Buck felt the weight of his attention, the silent understanding between them.

The warmth of dinner lingered even as the plates were cleared, the conversations shifting into quieter tones. Julie leaned against Grace, sleep tugging at her small frame, while Little Buck fought the heaviness in his eyelids, determined to stay awake.

Buck stretched, settling deeper into his chair, letting the sound of home—because this was home, even if he couldn’t admit it—settle into his bones. Levi leaned back, arms crossed, studying Buck in that way that said he already knew everything Buck wasn’t saying out loud.

"You planning on staying up all night thinking about things you won’t talk about?" Levi finally asked.

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

Grace glanced at him, her expression gentle but firm. "You can talk about it, you know."

Buck knew that. Knew he could spill every thought clawing at the inside of his skull, let it tumble out onto the table between them. But what then ? What answer would come from speaking out loud the thing he already knew deep in his chest?

The answer wouldn't change. Eddie didn’t love him the way he wanted him to. Chris would always see him as family, but not in the way Buck had dreamed. And going back meant carrying those truths with him— feeling them, every single day.

So what was left? Staying here? Running again?

Neither felt right.

The house had settled into a comfortable quiet, the echoes of laughter fading as the night stretched on. Julie yawned dramatically, stretching her arms as she leaned against Buck’s side, while Little Buck rubbed at his eyes, fighting sleep with the determination only a child could muster.

"Alright, you two," Buck said, standing and clapping his hands together. "Time to head to bed."

Julie groaned. "But I’m not even tired!"

Little Buck shot her a look. "You literally just yawned."

Buck smirked. "Pretty sure that means you’re tired, kid."

Julie huffed but didn’t argue further, dragging herself toward the stairs with exaggerated reluctance. Little Buck followed, trailing close behind as Buck led them to their room.

Once inside, Julie clambered onto her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Little Buck yawned loudly, blinking up at Buck. "Are you gonna stay here forever?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Buck stared at him for a long moment, something heavy settling inside his ribs.

"I don’t know," he admitted.

And for tonight, that was the most truth he had to give.

Little Buck crawled under his own blankets, blinking up at him sleepily. "You could stay forever," he muttered, half-asleep already.

Buck swallowed, running a hand over his jaw. Forever. He wished it were that simple.

Buck sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments longer, watching the rise and fall of their breaths, the quiet steadiness of the moment.

He pulled Julie’s blanket up a little higher, brushing a strand of hair from her face, then did the same for Little Buck.

"Goodnight, you two," he whispered.

As he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, the weight in his chest grew heavier. Eddie had Chris. He could never have that . Not really.

*

The next morning, Grace picked up the phone by the second rang. Her voice was calm as she answers. Buck stepped closer, catching the faint strain in her expression as she listened.

She nodded once. "Appreciate the heads-up, Margie."

A pause.

"Yeah. I’ll handle it."

She hung up, exhaling through her nose before stepping onto the porch, wiping her hands on her jeans. Her gaze landed on Levi first, then drifted to Buck and Nate.

"Margie from the diner," she said, voice steady. "Said a couple of out-of-town men stopped by late last night, asking questions. Looking for someone who fits Nate’s description."

Nate froze. Buck felt the shift in him, the barely contained fear, the instinct to run.

Levi’s jaw tightened, but his tone remained even. "They get anything?"

Grace shook her head. "She played dumb, sent them toward the other side of town. But they’re still looking."

The words sat heavy between them. Nate swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand taller. "What now?"

Levi glanced toward the road, thoughtful. "We make sure they don’t come any closer."

Buck flexed his fingers, exhaling slowly. "And if they do?"

Levi’s eyes darkened. "Then we make them regret it."

The tension in the air thickened, the quiet of the ranch no longer comforting—just waiting.

Buck glanced at Nate, watching him wrestle with the weight of it all.

This wasn’t running anymore.

This was standing his ground.

"Is it possible, though?”

The distance between Denver and Tennessee wasn’t small—it wasn’t a casual drive or something easily tracked. But people like Nate’s father didn’t rely on simple chance. They dug deep, found cracks, followed whispers.

Grace stepped closer, crossing her arms. "Margie said they were asking around for someone who looks like Nate . Not a name, not a history. Just a description."

Nate stiffened, his fingers twitching at his side.

Buck glanced at him, considering. "That means they don’t know for sure. They’re still searching."

Levi nodded once. "For now."

"But that won’t last," Grace added quietly.

The weight of that truth settled over them. Buck clenched his jaw, glancing toward the road, the long stretch of empty land beyond the fence.

"If they don’t know for sure," he murmured, "then we need to make sure they never do."

Levi gave him a slow, measuring look. "Then it’s time to make some choices."

And just like that, the quiet morning shifted into something heavier—something preparing for the fight ahead.

Buck watched Nate shift on his feet, the fear laced beneath his determination. He had spent his life running, but this—this was new. Standing his ground. Facing what came.

Buck jumped in the place when the horses stirred in the barn, uneasy.

A breeze cut across the fields, carrying dust along the road.

Then, in the distance—

The faint rumble of tires.

Buck’s stomach tightened.

Levi exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled. "Here we go."

And just like that, the waiting was over.

The rumble of tires grew louder, rolling steadily up the dirt road toward the ranch. Dust kicked up in the vehicle’s wake, curling into the thick summer air as it neared the gate.

Buck straightened, pulse steady but heightened. Nate shifted beside him, stiff and tense, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Levi remained rooted, unmoving, watching—waiting.

Grace lingered on the porch, arms crossed, her presence a quiet force against the growing weight pressing down on all of them.

The car slowed.

Then stopped.

A long moment stretched, heavy with something unspoken. The engine idled, a presence just beyond the threshold.

Buck exhaled through his nose, steady.

Levi tipped his chin slightly, his voice barely above a murmur. "Stay sharp."

The door opened.

And just like that—the fight was there.

The door swung open with deliberate ease, and a man stepped out, tall and broad, his posture relaxed—but Buck knew better than to mistake that for harmless. Another man followed, quieter, scanning the ranch with sharp eyes. They weren’t in a hurry. They weren’t here by accident.

Buck felt Nate tense beside him. Levi didn’t move, just stood there, unreadable, waiting.

The first man—mid-40s, weathered face, the kind of presence that said he didn’t do things halfway—adjusted his jacket and looked straight at Nate.

"Been looking for you," he said, voice steady, unreadable.

Nate swallowed hard, his shoulders going rigid. "Didn’t ask you to."

The second man chuckled under his breath, a quiet, knowing sound.

Levi finally spoke, voice even, controlled. "You’re on private property."

The first man glanced at him, measuring, then smirked. "We’re just here for a conversation."

Grace stepped onto the porch, arms crossed, gaze steady. "Funny. Conversations don’t usually start with people snooping around town asking questions."

The first man didn’t blink. "Just making sure we had the right place."

Buck felt the weight of it settling—this wasn’t just about questions. It wasn’t just about a father’s reach stretching too far.

This was a warning.

Levi stepped forward, casual but deliberate. "You found it. Now, you’ll want to turn back."

The first man smiled, slow and deliberate. "Don’t think that’s how this works."

Buck clenched his jaw.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

The silence stretched taut, thick with something just shy of outright violence. Buck felt it in the air, in the way Levi shifted his weight—controlled, deliberate. The first man—whoever he was—hadn’t backed down, hadn’t blinked. And Nate? He stood frozen, fighting every instinct that had kept him alive for this long.

"You don’t get to decide that," Levi finally said, voice sharp.

The man tilted his head slightly, studying him. "See, that’s where you’re wrong. We’re not here to take orders."

Buck clenched his jaw, watching as the second man stepped just a little closer, his boots kicking dust along the ground.

Buck saw the flicker of frustration cross the man’s face—brief, controlled, but there. Used to people folding under the pressure. But this wasn’t the place for that.

Levi didn’t move. "I’ll give you one chance to turn around."

The second man chuckled, shaking his head. "And if we don’t?"

Buck felt his heartbeat slow—not in fear, but in something colder, more certain. They weren’t here to talk. They weren’t leaving unless someone made them.

And Buck wasn’t about to let them get past that gate.

Levi exhaled through his nose, steady. "Then we make sure you regret staying."

The first man smiled—slow, calculated.

And then he took another step forward.

"You know," Buck said, stepping forward slightly, voice calm but edged with something sharper, "I’ve been around long enough to know men like you don’t walk away just because of a little resistance."

The first man raised a brow, amused. "That right?"

Buck nodded. "Yeah. But see, I’ve also got a long list of people in my corner—people who don’t take kindly to threats."

The second man scoffed. "Like who?"

Buck smiled, slow and deliberate. "Ever heard of Athena Grant? LAPD. Tough as hell, smarter than all of us combined. You are so much out of line here, she’ll know. And trust me, she doesn’t miss."

The first man's smirk faltered just slightly.

"And that’s just the start," Buck continued. "I’ve got lawyers, good ones, ones that make sure people who play games like this don’t get far. Oh, and don’t let me forget about my dear friend, Taylor Kelly. Reporter. Heard of her? She will love the story here. You think you can come sniffing around here without consequences?" He tilted his head, meeting their eyes with unwavering certainty. "I promise, you don’t want to find out what happens if you push any further."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then, the first man exhaled through his nose, adjusting his jacket, no longer looking quite as confident. "We’ll see about that."

Buck kept his stance firm, unyielding. "Yeah. You will."

The men climbed back into their car, backing out onto the dirt road. Buck watched them go, standing tall, making sure they saw that he wasn’t afraid. Not of them. Not of what came next.

Levi glanced at him, approving. "Not bad."

Grace let out a slow breath, tension easing slightly. "They’ll think twice now."

Buck nodded, but he knew the truth—this wasn’t over.

But next time?

They’d be ready.

Buck stepped inside the house, rubbing a hand over his face, the tension still thick in his chest. The encounter had rattled Nate, had unsettled all of them—but Buck wasn’t about to let it sit. He needed backup. Someone who could shut this down before it escalated any further.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through contacts before landing on the name he knew would get him the fastest response: May Grant.

The call rang twice before she picked up. "Buck? Everything okay?"

Buck exhaled. "Not exactly."

There was a pause. Then May’s voice sharpened, professional, ready. "Tell me."

Quickly, he ran through everything—Nate’s father, the men sniffing around, the threat that wasn’t spoken but had been left hanging in the air.

May didn’t hesitate. "I can run some searches—see if there are active warrants, anything that might give us legal leverage."

Buck nodded, pacing. "That’d help. Levi already sent a message that they aren’t welcome, but I don’t trust guys like that to take no for an answer."

May sighed through the phone. "I’ll let Mom know."

Buck swallowed. Athena. That was the real move—the one that would make sure this ended before it went sideways.

"Yeah," Buck said. "I need to talk to her."

"I’ll patch you through," May said, and after a brief pause, the line clicked over.

"Buck?" Athena’s voice was sharp, alert. "Tell me what’s going on."

Buck let out a breath. "I’ve got a friend on the ranch—Nate. His father is bad news, and now his people are sniffing around."

Athena didn’t miss a beat. "How bad are we talking?"

"Bad," Buck said, jaw tight. "They showed up, tried pushing in. Levi—the owner of the ranch—and I made it clear they weren’t welcome, but they’re not done. I need to make sure they don’t get the chance to escalate."

Athena was quiet for half a second—thinking, calculating. "Send me everything. Names, descriptions, whatever you’ve got. I’ll get eyes on them."

Relief curled through Buck’s chest, but he wasn’t naive enough to think this was over. "If it comes to it—"

"It won’t," Athena cut in, voice steady, firm. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

Buck nodded, gripping the phone tighter. "Thanks, Athena."

"You don’t even have to ask," she said. "We take care of our own."

Buck exhaled, his grip easing slightly as he ended the call. The weight of the problem hadn’t lifted entirely—but now, at least, he wasn’t alone in carrying it.

Athena was quiet for a beat. Then: "You take care of yourself, you hear me?"

Buck smiled, small but real. "Trying. I miss you.”

Athena let out a quiet breath on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Buck thought she might brush past it—keep things focused on the situation, on the things she could fix. But then, her voice softened.

"I miss you too, Buck."

Buck swallowed, something tightening in his chest. Athena wasn’t the kind of person to throw words around lightly. If she said it, she meant it.

"You should come home," she continued, not a demand, just a quiet truth. "You don’t belong out there alone."

Buck huffed out a small laugh, rubbing his thumb over the edge of the phone. "Not alone," he said. "But—yeah. I know."

Athena was quiet for a beat. Then: "When you’re ready."

Buck closed his eyes briefly. The idea of going back—facing everything, settling into the life he’d been running from—felt too big, too heavy. But knowing Athena was there, waiting, ready to catch him when he was finally done running?

That made it feel a little more possible.

"I’ll let you know," Buck murmured.

"You better," Athena said, but there was warmth in it.

Buck smiled, small but real. "Yeah. I will."

And for the first time in a while, the thought of home didn’t feel so far away.

Buck ended the call, exhaling slowly, the weight of the conversation settling into his chest. He knew Athena would move fast—she always did—but that didn’t mean the danger was over. If anything, it meant things were about to escalate.

Stepping outside, he found Levi still watching the road, arms crossed, face unreadable. Nate lingered near the fence, tension coiled tight in his frame, while Grace stood with quiet determination, the kind that meant she had already started preparing for whatever came next.

"They’re gonna make a move," Buck said, voice steady.

Levi nodded once. "I know."

Grace glanced at him. "Who is Athena?"

"She’s family" Buck said. "May, her daughter, is running searches, pulling records, anything that gives us an edge."

Levi hummed, considering. "Won’t stop them from trying."

Buck clenched his jaw. "No. But it means when they do, we’ll be ready."

A breeze rolled through the ranch, kicking up dust along the road. The waiting had shifted—no longer just tension hanging in the air, but the certainty of an incoming storm.

They didn’t have time to hesitate.

Levi pushed off the porch, rolling his shoulders. "Then let’s make sure they regret coming back."

And just like that, the fight was officially on.

The ranch had settled into quiet, the weight of the day pressing down on all of them. Nate sat near the barn, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the dirt beneath his boots. His fingers twitched—nervous energy, restless uncertainty.

Buck approached, leaning against the wall beside him, waiting. Nate exhaled slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t get why they care so much."

Buck glanced at him, brow furrowing. "Who?"

Nate swallowed. "Levi. Grace. You."

Buck let the words sit, let the truth behind them stretch into the silence. He’d seen that look before—the quiet disbelief, the war between wanting to belong and fearing he didn’t deserve it. He had been there, and Nate was the one who got him out.

"They didn’t have to take me in," Nate continued, jaw tight. "Didn’t have to fight for me."

Buck sighed, rubbing his palm over his jaw. "You think you don’t deserve it?"

Nate gave a small, humorless laugh. "Kinda hard to believe I do."

Buck studied him for a long moment. "You never hesitate when someone needs help. You spent years helping people like me to find their way. You are worth it, Nate. You’re a good person."

Nate exhaled, staring at the dirt again. But his shoulders shifted, just slightly—like the weight he carried wasn’t quite as unbearable as before.

Buck didn’t push further. He let Nate sit with it, let the quiet settle. Because sometimes, believing you were worth fighting for took time.

*

Buck exhaled slowly, his pulse still steady from the fight, but there was something else now—something different.

His phone buzzed.

He pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Athena Grant.

He answered immediately. "Tell me you’ve got something."

Athena didn’t waste time. "I made a few calls."

Buck straightened. "And?"

"You were right—his people aren’t just local muscle. He’s got ties to bigger operations." Her voice was sharp, controlled. "I made sure a few key figures got wind of his movements."

Buck felt something shift in his chest—satisfaction.

"And now?" he asked.

Athena huffed quietly. "Now? He’s got other problems to deal with."

Buck exhaled, glancing toward Nate, who was still standing there, watching the road where his father had disappeared. "So this really ends here."

"For now," Athena confirmed. "But if he thinks about coming back, he won’t just be dealing with you —he’ll be dealing with me, in person."

That’s when he heard it. 

The rumble of tires.

“I have to go, thank you, Athena.”

Not one car. Three.

Dust curled up from the road, swallowing the edges of the sunset, turning everything into a muted haze.

Levi exhaled through his nose, slow, deliberate. "They brought company."

Buck clenched his jaw, flexing his fingers. "They think numbers will scare us?"

Levi tilted his head. "They think numbers mean they win."

The cars slowed as they neared the gate, engines idling. No immediate movement. They were watching, waiting to see who flinched first.

Grace stepped onto the porch, her presence calm but unmistakably ready.

Buck rolled his shoulders, stepping forward. "We don’t flinch."

Nate swallowed hard, but he didn’t move, didn’t retreat.

Then—one door opened.

A man stepped out, older, familiar.

Nate stiffened. His breath caught.

Buck knew before anyone said a word.

His father.

The fight was no longer hypothetical.

It was there.

Nate’s breath hitched, his entire body locking up as his father stepped forward, casual, almost lazy in his movements—but Buck knew better. There was nothing casual about this.

Levi squared his stance, solid as ever. Grace didn’t flinch, but Buck caught the slight shift in her expression—a quiet warning.

The older man—mid-50s, sharp features, the kind of presence that didn’t need raised voices to be terrifying—tilted his head slightly, eyes landing on Nate.

"You gonna say hello, son?" His voice was smooth, even.

Nate swallowed, but didn’t speak.

Buck stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "He’s got nothing to say."

Nate’s father turned his attention toward Buck, studying him for a beat. "And you are?"

Levi answered before Buck could. "The wrong person to mess with."

The tension didn’t crack, but Buck saw something flicker across the man’s face—brief, calculating.

"You made quite the mess running off," he said to Nate, ignoring Levi’s words entirely.

Nate finally found his voice, raw and tight. "I wasn’t running."

Buck felt the shift in him—fear and anger battling for space. Levi stood firm, a silent presence at his back.

His father gave a slow, amused nod. "No? Then what do you call hiding on someone else’s land?"

Nate straightened, fists clenching at his sides. "I call it choosing ."

Silence stretched, heavy, thick.

Then, his father sighed. "That’s unfortunate. Thought I’d raised you better."

Buck’s pulse spiked.

And just like that, the moment tipped.

The air was thick, charged with the kind of tension that meant things were seconds away from breaking wide open. Buck saw Levi shift slightly, just enough to be ready. Grace lingered on the porch, still, but watching, waiting.

Nate’s father sighed again, shaking his head like this was some minor inconvenience, like his son wasn’t standing in front of him, choosing not to bend.

"You were never meant for this," he murmured, voice oddly calm. "You don’t get to decide what’s best for you."

Nate flinched, barely, but Buck saw it. Felt it.

Levi took a single step forward, slow and deliberate. "See, that’s where you’re wrong," he said, voice level. "He does decide."

Nate’s father glanced at Levi, something calculating behind his eyes. "You think you can protect him?"

Levi didn’t blink. "I know I can."

Buck caught the flicker of frustration that passed over the man’s face. He hadn’t expected resistance—not like this, not from people willing to stand their ground.

"You’re making a mistake," Nate’s father said.

Buck exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "Funny. I was just about to say the same to you, since you received a call from a friend of mine today, and you are still here, wasting your time, instead of taking care of your business, which is about to go to shit."

Nate’s father tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied Buck. There was something knowing in his expression—like he was pulling pieces together, measuring the weight of Buck’s involvement.

"You got powerful friends," he murmured.

Buck didn’t flinch. "I do."

The older man exhaled, slow, deliberate. "Athena Grant. That’s a name I didn’t expect to hear out here."

Buck clenched his jaw but didn’t react, keeping his stance firm.

"She’s got quite the reputation," Nate’s father continued, stepping forward just slightly. "Smart. Tough. Unshakable." His gaze flicked toward the house, thoughtful. "How exactly does a man like you end up with someone like her watching your back?"

Buck exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "By not making the kind of choices that put me in your position."

The man’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "She can’t protect you forever."

Buck smirked, but didn’t say anything.

A flicker of irritation crossed the man’s face—brief, but there. He didn’t like losing control of the conversation.

Buck took a step forward now, matching his movement. "Athena knows your type. And she doesn’t lose." His voice dropped just slightly, firm, unwavering. "You push too far, and she won’t just shut you down. She’ll bury you."

"You have two choices," Buck said, voice steady. "You walk away now and this ends. Or, you keep pushing, and Athena makes sure you regret it."

The shift happened fast—barely noticeable, but undeniable. A calculation. A realization.

Nate’s father held Buck’s stare for a long beat. Then, he shifts stare for his son.  

"You’re making a mistake and you don’t get a second chance," he warned.

Nate straightened, swallowing hard, but his voice was steady when he answered. "I don’t want one."

Buck felt something settle deep in his chest—finality, choice.

This wasn’t just a standoff.

This was Nate choosing freedom.

Closure. For good. 

Buck clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm but easy. "It’s over."

Nate nodded, throat tight, but when he met Buck’s gaze, his voice was steady. "Yeah. It is."

*

The dust had finally settled, the tension drained from the ranch, but Buck knew the question had been sitting between them—silent, inevitable.

He found Nate near the fence, staring out at the horizon, his arms crossed. He looked calmer than before, but there was something else now—something Buck recognized. The weight of what comes next .

Buck stepped beside him, leaning against the post. "So," he said, voice even. "What’s next?"

Nate swallowed, exhaling slowly. "I don’t know."

Buck tilted his head. "You thinking about going back?"

A small nod.

Buck nodded slowly, letting the words settle between them. "Denver, then."

Nate exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah."

There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Just a decision—a real, solid one. One Buck knew he hadn’t made lightly.

Buck studied him, then let out a quiet breath, something like approval tugging at the edge of his expression. "Then that’s the right call."

Nate glanced at him. "You think so?"

Buck smirked. "Doesn’t matter what I think." His voice dropped slightly, steady. "You’re going back because you chose to . Not because someone dragged you there."

Nate swallowed hard, then nodded. "Yeah. Exactly."

A pause stretched between them—quiet, but easy now.

"You need a ride?" Buck asked, voice lighter.

Nate chuckled softly. "Nah. I think I got it."

Buck huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Alright. Then go make it count."

Nate smiled—real this time. "I will."

And with that, his path was clear.

Nate hesitated for just a beat, the weight of everything pressing into his chest. Then, without another word, he stepped forward and pulled Buck into a firm, grounding hug.

Buck didn’t flinch, didn’t tense—just let it happen. He felt the gratitude in it, the quiet finality, the way Nate wasn’t just saying goodbye—he was closing a chapter .

"Thank you," Nate murmured, voice steady.

Buck exhaled, patting Nate’s back once before pulling away. "You don’t have to say that."

"I do," Nate insisted, but his voice was lighter now. Sure. "For all of it."

Buck stood there, watching Nate walk away, the dust curling up beneath his fading footsteps. He watched while he hug Levi and Grace, then shook hands with the kids.

He swallowed hard, blinking once, twice—but the weight in his chest didn’t ease.

The breath hitched.

And then, before he could stop it—before he could shove it down, bury it like he had too many times before—his vision blurred.

Buck exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his face.

It wasn’t sadness. Not really.

It was everything—relief, exhaustion, the sheer enormity of what they had just fought for. Of what Nate had just won.

Levi lingered nearby, watching, but didn’t say anything. 

And Buck just let himself feel it.

Because for once—there was no reason not to.

Chapter 8: Chapter Six: Where The Ghosts Grow

Summary:

Buck nearly missed him at first, but there was no mistaking TK Strand, even in full gear. His stance, the way he worked the scene with practiced urgency—it was all the same as Buck remembered.
TK turned, locking eyes with Buck for a brief second, surprise flashing across his soot-streaked face before he broke into a knowing smirk.
"Well, well," TK called over the crackling fire and radio static. "Look who decided to show up in my fire."

Notes:

A personal fan-service here, but I really do miss TK Strand. No episode is going to beat the crossover one.
Anyway, hope you enjoy it. Last one from Part I!

Chapter Text

The sun hung high over the ranch, golden and warm, stretching shadows across the open field. Buck chased after the kids, laughter spilling into the air as they darted around him, faster than he could keep up.

"Alright, alright—time out!" Buck huffed, dropping onto the grass, pressing a hand to his chest. "I need a second."

The kids giggled, still bouncing around with endless energy.

Grace sat down beside him, smirking. "You should know by now—kids never get tired."

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, tell that to my knees."

Grace leaned back, letting the breeze roll over them. A comfortable pause stretched between them before she glanced his way. "So, what’s next?"

Buck exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Don’t know."

Grace studied him, thoughtful but patient. "You don’t have anywhere in mind?"

Buck huffed a quiet laugh. "Haven’t thought that far ahead."

Levi, standing a few feet away, arms crossed, clicked his tongue. "There’s a wild fire in Minnesota, St. Paul’s" he said, voice level. "They’re calling in crews from everywhere. If you’re looking for something…"

Buck glanced up at him, weighing the words.

A new fight. A new place. A new reason to step forward.

He exhaled slowly, gaze drifting toward the horizon.

"Maybe," he murmured. 

Buck let Levi’s words settle, staring out at the horizon as the breeze rolled over the ranch. A wildfire in St. Paul—urgent, dangerous, necessary . A place where he wouldn’t just stand still.

Grace studied him, waiting. "You’re considering it," she murmured.

Buck exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah."

Levi nodded, arms crossed. "They need people. Crews are stretched thin."

Buck ran a hand through his hair, watching the kids run around, their laughter cutting through the evening air. Here, the world felt quiet. Settled.

But there—St. Paul—that was movement . A fight that mattered.

Grace nudged his arm. "You don’t have to go just because there’s a fire."

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "That’s the thing, though. I kinda do ."

Levi smirked slightly. "You wouldn’t be Buck if you didn’t."

Buck huffed out a laugh, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Guess not."

He pushed himself up, stretching, letting the decision settle in his bones.

"Looks like I’ve got a call to make," he murmured.

And just like that, his next move was clear.

Grace stepped forward first, arms crossed but eyes soft. "You sure about this?"

Buck smirked slightly. "Not really."

She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "You wouldn’t be you if you were."

Buck huffed a small laugh, then let her pull him into a quick hug—brief, solid, but warm. "Don’t forget you’ve got people here," she murmured.

"I know," Buck said, voice steady.

Levi was next, rolling his shoulders like he wasn’t the sentimental type. Still, he clapped a hand on Buck’s shoulder, grip firm. "You run into trouble, you call."

Buck smirked. "You saying you’ll come bail me out?"

Levi shrugged. "Depends. How dumb was the decision?"

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "You’ll find out soon enough."

Buck kneeled down to the kids, eye level with them. "What’s up, you two?”

Little Buck’s lower lip wobbled. "You’re really leaving?"

Buck swallowed hard. "Yeah, buddy. But you know what?"

Little Buck sniffled. "What?"

Buck reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver necklace with a small, worn pendant of a star. He held it out, letting little Buck’s tiny fingers close around it. He placed it in the kid’s hand, closing his tiny fingers over it. "This is yours now."

Little Buck’s eyes widened. "Really?"

Buck nodded. "Yeah. So anytime you think I’m too far away, just look at it, alright? Know I’m out there, somewhere, looking at the same sky, at the same star."

Little Buck threw his arms around Buck’s neck, squeezing tight. Buck closed his eyes, hugging back just as fiercely. Then Julie followed, their tiny arms wrapped around him like they never wanted to let go.

"Come back soon," Julie whispered.

Buck exhaled, hugging them just as fiercely. "I will."

And with that—he stood.

One last look at his people. His home.

Then, finally, Buck climbed into the truck.

*

Buck pulled into St. Paul as twilight settled, the skyline caught in the haze of distant smoke. The wildfire loomed somewhere beyond the city, its presence undeniable in the charged air, the faint scent of burning wood carried on the wind.

The staging area was alive with movement—fire crews gearing up, engines rolling out, commands exchanged over radio chatter. Buck stepped out of his truck, stretching his shoulders, letting the rhythm of it sink in. It was the same feeling every time—standing at the edge of a fight, ready to step in.

A firefighter near one of the rigs spotted him, jerking a thumb toward the main firehouse up the street. "Captain's waiting inside," he called.

Buck nodded, adjusting his duffel strap before heading toward the station. The firehouse loomed solid and steady, its doors open, the hum of preparation spilling into the night. Inside, the atmosphere was measured—controlled urgency, the kind built on experience rather than panic.

The captain stood near a table, maps and reports spread out before him, his stance firm but engaged. He looked up as Buck approached, sizing him up with a glance.

"You’re Buck, right? I’m captain Anderson" the captain asked, voice rough but steady.

Buck nodded. "Yes, sir. Heard you needed extra hands."

The captain huffed a short breath, nodding once. "We do. Fires jumped containment. Crews are stretched thin." He gestured to a chair. "Sit. Let’s talk about you, for a minute. Levi put you in a good word. Now, where you’d said you were from?”

“The 118, in Los Angeles, sir.”

“Wait. 118? Bobby Nash’s 118?”

Buck’s tensioned his jaw and nodded, the familiar name settling between them like a weight. "Yeah. Bobby’s 118."

Buck studied the captain—a man in his sixties, broad-shouldered and steady, his blond hair giving way to streaks of gray. His blue eyes, sharp and unwavering, carried the kind of weight that only came from years spent fighting fires. Experience wasn’t just written in his posture—it was carved deep into his presence.

"I trained Bobby Nash," he said finally, voice carrying weight.

Buck straightened slightly. Bobby’s captain. His mentor.

The captain let the words sit for a beat, watching Buck’s reaction. Then he nodded. "St. Paul was his first home in the job. Smart. Fast. Stubborn." His gaze flickered over Buck. The captain studied him for a beat, as if measuring something unsaid. "Heard he become a hell of a captain.”

Buck exhaled, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. Best one I’ve ever had."

The captain crossed his arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "You worked under him long?"

Buck nodded. "Years. He’s like a father to me—taught me everything I needed to know."

The captain held his stare for a moment, then nodded once, like that answer told him everything he needed to hear.

"Good," he said simply. "Because we could use someone trained by Bobby Nash." There was a pause, not heavy but reflective, before the captain tapped the map again. "Alright, Buck. Let’s see what you can do."

Buck sat up straighter, focus locking in. Buck straightened, pulse steady as he leaned over the map. The captain pointed to a zone on the outskirts of St. Paul—where containment lines were barely holding, where crews needed backup.

"We’re sending a unit out there in an hour. You’ll be on it," the captain said, eyes sharp. "You good with that?"

Buck nodded. "Yeah."

The captain watched him for a beat, then exhaled. "Alright." He tapped the table. "Get suited up. Briefing’s in ten minutes."

Buck stood, rolling his shoulders, the familiar charge settling into his bones.

Time to get to work.

Buck stepped out of the office, the weight of the briefing settling in as he made his way toward the gear station. The firehouse hummed with controlled urgency—crews checking their equipment, finalizing assignments, and preparing for whatever the night would bring.

He grabbed a set of turnout gear, the familiar heaviness of the jacket grounding him. He had worn this kind of protection more times than he could count, but the stakes always felt different depending on where he was. This time, he wasn’t walking into flames in Los Angeles. This time, he was stepping into something unpredictable, something raw.

As he secured his helmet, another firefighter—tall, lean, a steady presence—approached him. His name tag read “Montgomery”, but the easy smirk on his face made it clear he wasn’t about to introduce himself formally.

"You’re the new guy?" Montgomery asked, voice carrying over the distant hum of engines warming up.

Buck nodded, adjusting his jacket. "Guess that’s me."

Montgomery crossed his arms, sizing him up. "From LA, right?"

Buck smirked slightly. 

Montgomery raised his brows. "So you know how to handle yourself."

Buck chuckled. "I like to think so."

The firehouse alarm blared before Montgomery could respond, the sharp, unmistakable wail cutting through the night. The radio crackled with a quick call—urgent, direct.

"All units respond. Fire’s jumped containment. Crews need reinforcement immediately."

Montgomery slapped Buck’s shoulder, grin sharp. "Time to prove it, LA."

Buck barely had time to smirk back before they both moved—grabbing their gear, jumping onto the engine, the entire team shifting into action like a well-oiled machine.

As the engine pulled out onto the streets of St. Paul, Buck settled into the familiar rhythm—hands braced, heartbeat steady, ready for whatever came next.

This was the job. This was the fight. And he was damn sure ready for it.

Montgomery sat across from him, securing his gloves, the smirk on his face steady despite the urgency of the call. For a moment, he felt exactly how he felt when he was with Eddie. The truck, their positions. Buck closed his eyes, taking a big breath.

He was not in Los Angeles anymore. He was not at the 118. And the person in front of him was not Eddie Diaz.

"You ever dealt with a fire this big?" he asked over the rumbling engine.

Buck nodded. "Yeah. Wildfires in California don’t play around."

Montgomery raised a brow. "Yeah, well, Minnesota fires aren’t much kinder."

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting his helmet. "Good. I like a challenge."

The driver took a sharp turn, the cityscape giving way to open terrain—where the fire raged in the distance, an orange glow swallowing the horizon. The smoke thickened, carried by shifting winds, pressing into the air like a living force.

The radio crackled to life. "Crews on-site report rapid spread. Winds unpredictable. Structure protection priority."

Buck flexed his fingers inside his gloves. This was it. The moment before stepping into chaos. The moment where instincts took over.

Montgomery watched the fire loom ahead, then glanced at Buck, his smirk fading into something sharper, something real.

"Alright, LA," he muttered. "Time to see if you’re as good as Levi makes you sound."

Buck grinned—brief, focused. "Guess we’ll find out."

The engine screeched to a halt, the doors swung open—

And they ran toward the flames.

The heat pressed against them like a living force as Buck and his crew rushed toward the fire line, smoke curling high into the sky, thick and shifting with the wind.

Montgomery moved ahead, scanning for the command unit, while Buck kept pace, eyes flicking across the chaotic scene. Firefighters worked in coordinated teams—hoses snaking across the ground, engines strategically positioned, water blasting into the blaze.

And then—amidst the movement, a familiar figure.

Buck nearly missed him at first, but there was no mistaking TK Strand, even in full gear. His stance, the way he worked the scene with practiced urgency—it was all the same as Buck remembered.

TK turned, locking eyes with Buck for a brief second, surprise flashing across his soot-streaked face before he broke into a knowing smirk.

"Well, well," TK called over the crackling fire and radio static. "Look who decided to show up in my fire."

Buck grinned, shaking his head as he approached. "Your fire, huh? Didn’t realize Texas was exporting disasters now."

TK let out a short laugh, gripping Buck’s arm briefly in greeting before glancing at the flames licking the edge of the containment zone. "We got here before you, so yeah—I’m claiming it."

Buck huffed, adjusting his helmet. "Fine. Just don’t screw it up before I can help fix it."

Montgomery, watching the exchange, raised a brow. "You two know each other?"

TK smirked. "A while back. Buck’s good—but don’t let him hear that too often."

That’s when Buck noticed. TK’s identification was not just “TK Strand” anymore.

“Strand-Reyes, huh? Guess Carlos finally made the proposal," Buck asks.

TK chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on the hose. "Yeah, yeah. It finally happened. Except, I did it."

Buck raised his brows, smirking. "Wait, you proposed?"

TK huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. I beat Carlos to it."

Buck whistled low, adjusting his helmet. "Well, damn . Look at you, taking the lead."

TK smirked, gripping the hose tighter. "Someone had to. Otherwise, we’d still be ‘thinking about it.’"

Buck chuckled, stepping closer as the fire crackled louder. "Alright, Strand-Reyes, let’s get this under control so your honeymoon plans don’t include putting out more fires."

TK rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. "Less talking, more working, Buck."

Buck chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. Just tell me what you need."

TK’s expression sobered as he pointed toward a hot zone where the flames were pushing dangerously close to structures. "Evac teams are stretched thin. We need backup to hold the line."

Buck nodded, already moving before TK could say anything else.

*

Smoke hung thick in the air, curling into the dark sky like ghosts of the wildfire that had tried—and failed—to take the land. Buck stood near one of the engines, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat and soot clinging to his skin. His muscles ached, but in that good way—the kind that came after hours of fighting something that needed fighting.

TK walked over, tossing his gloves onto the back of a truck, rolling his shoulders with a sigh. "That was brutal ," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

Buck huffed a small laugh. "Yeah. Hell of a way to catch up, huh?"

TK smirked, shaking his head. "Honestly, I expected a drink . Not ‘near-death by wildfire.’"

Buck grinned. "Well, you know me. Always gotta keep it interesting."

Montgomery wandered over, handing TK a bottle of water before tossing one to Buck. "You two done flirting, or you wanna help wrap up?"

TK chuckled, unscrewing the cap. "Relax, Monty. We’re just reminiscing."

Buck took a long sip of water, letting the quiet settle as firefighters moved around them—packing up, checking equipment, sharing exhausted nods and quiet words of relief. The worst was over. They had held the line.

TK stretched, glancing at Buck. "Couldn’t help notice it. You are not here under the 118."

Buck exhaled, watching the smoke fade into the night. “Yep, that is… a long story. I’m not in the 118 anymore. Left. Have for a while now."

TK raised a brow, leaning against the truck as he took a sip of water. "That’s new. Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that."

Buck huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, well. Didn’t think I’d ever do it, but here we are."

TK studied him for a beat, not pushing but clearly curious. "Was it your call?"

Buck exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Yeah. My decision." He glanced away, watching the last wisps of smoke curl into the night sky. "I needed… something different."

TK nodded slowly, considering that. "And is this ‘something different’ working for you?"

Buck smirked faintly. "Still figuring that out."

TK didn’t pry further—he knew Buck well enough to read between the lines. Instead, he knocked his knuckles lightly against Buck’s shoulder. "Well, for what it’s worth, wherever you land, you’ll make it count."

Buck glanced at him, something settling in his chest at those words. He nodded. "Yeah. Hope so."

TK hummed, studying him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Well. If you want, we’ve got room for one more at the 126."

Buck smirked, shaking his head. "Appreciate it. But I think I’ve got a little more wandering to do first."

Then, captain's voice crackled over the radio, out of the blue. "We need reinforcements at the south perimeter—flames jumping the line! The fire started again."

The radio static barely faded before Buck and TK exchanged a sharp glance.

"Of course it did," TK muttered, already adjusting his grip on the hose.

Buck exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "This fire does not want to quit."

Montgomery’s voice cut through next. "We need to move fast—winds are shifting!"

TK didn’t wait—he grabbed his radio and responded. “Buck and I are heading in!"

The two sprinted toward the south perimeter, weaving through smoke-thickened air, embers swirling unpredictably. The containment lines that had barely held now flickered with fresh flames, climbing fast, threatening nearby structures.

Buck tightened his stance, gripping the hose. "We hit it together—full force!"

TK nodded, adjusting his position. "We’re not letting this thing win."

The roar of the fire pressed against them as they opened the nozzle, water blasting toward the flames. Crews around them moved with urgency, voices sharp, coordination seamless.

And Buck? He felt it—that rush, that drive. Because the fire wasn’t done. But neither were they.

*

Buck wiped sweat from his brow, breathing heavily as he studied the map spread across the hood of the fire engine. The glow of the wildfire cast eerie shadows over the makeshift command post, its roar a constant reminder that time was running out.

The captain stood beside him, arms crossed, jaw tight, scanning the reports coming in. "We’ve got crews stretched thin, containment lines breaking faster than we can rebuild them. We need a different approach."

Buck exhaled, tracing his finger along the map’s ridges. "The wind shifts are killing us, but look at this—" He tapped a section near the southern perimeter. "If we dig in here and redirect resources, we can create a natural break with the terrain."

Montgomery leaned over, eyes narrowing. "You’re talking about using the rock formations as a fire block?"

Buck nodded. "Exactly. If we can hold the fire long enough to push it toward the edge, we can cut off its fuel. Otherwise, it’s just going to keep jumping."

The captain rubbed his chin, considering. "Risky."

Buck met his gaze. "Yeah, but better than watching it keep spreading. We don’t have the manpower to chase it forever—we need to stop it."

The captain studied Buck for a long beat. Then, with a sharp nod, he grabbed his radio. "All units, redirect focus to the southern ridge—prepare containment efforts along natural barriers. We’re making a stand here ."

Buck tightened his grip on the map, pulse steady as orders echoed through the comms.

This was the plan.

Now, they had to make it work.

As the last embers sputtered out against the charred earth, the tension finally broke. The night was still thick with smoke, but the towering flames were gone—beaten back, contained, controlled.

Buck stood near the command post, turnout gear heavy on his shoulders, exhaustion creeping into his limbs. Around him, firefighters clapped each other on the back, sighing relief, exchanging tired but triumphant grins. They had won this one.

The captain approached, wiping soot from his face, looking at Buck with something close to approval. "Hell of a call on that ridge plan."

Buck exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Well, I figured chasing it wasn’t gonna cut it."

The captain nodded. "Saved us a hell of a lot of ground. Kept people safe." His sharp blue eyes flickered with something quieter—gratitude. "Good work."

Buck let the words settle, then smirked. "You sound surprised."

The captain huffed, shaking his head. "Bobby trained you well."

The captain exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, eyes distant. "I was worried about Bobby… when his family died," he murmured. "Saw it change him. But…" He shook his head slowly. "He cut contact. Pushed people away. Including me."

Buck swallowed, nodding. He knew that part of Bobby’s story—how grief had nearly swallowed him whole, how he had spent years trying to claw his way back. "It took him a long time," Buck admitted. "But he found his way again."

The captain sighed, arms crossed. "I wanted to reach out. Tried once or twice. But he was already gone by then. Left St. Paul. Started over."

Buck glanced at him, something softening in his chest. "And he did start over. Built a new life. Built a family—different, but real. He is happy."

The captain studied Buck for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his sharp blue eyes. Then, he nodded. "Glad to hear it."

Buck smiled, small but genuine. "Yeah. Me too."

TK wandered over, tossing Buck a fresh bottle of water, his own gear streaked with ash. "Well, now we can catch up without fire trying to kill us."

Buck was quiet.

Montgomery wandered over, tossing his own empty bottle onto the pile. "Alright, LA. You in for that drink or what?"

Buck glanced at TK, then back at Montgomery, considering. The fire was out. The job was done.

For the first time in a while, he wasn’t thinking about the next move—just this moment.

He nodded, pushing himself up with a grin. "Yeah. Let’s go."

And just like that, the night shifted—no longer about the battle fought, but the people who had fought it. Buck was exactly where he needed to be.

The bar was quiet but welcoming, the kind of place firefighters found after long nights—the kind where exhaustion could settle in, but the weight of it didn’t feel like defeat. Just survival.

Buck sat with TK and Montgomery at a corner table, a cold drink in hand, boots scuffed from the night’s fight. Around them, other firefighters nursed their own drinks, swapping stories, shaking off the lingering tension of the fire.

TK took a sip of his water before shooting Buck a knowing look. "So, are we finally gonna talk about why you’re wandering around instead of parked back in LA?"

Buck stared at his drink, absently tracing a ring of condensation on the worn wooden table. The captain’s voice still echoed in his head—firm, measured, carrying that weight of experience that Buck had always respected. He had seen it before, in Bobby, in every firefighter who had stood at the front lines and refused to back down. It reminded him of everything he had left behind—the structure, the certainty, the fight that always made sense.

He had told himself he needed space, time to figure things out, to understand what it meant to walk away from the only life he had ever known. But standing in the thick of the flames again, feeling the rush of strategy, the burn of exhaustion, the quiet nods exchanged between those who understood the fight—he realized something he hadn’t let himself admit before.

He missed it. The sense of purpose. He had it, in the last few weeks, especially with Nate.

Maybe he was done running.

Los Angeles no longer felt distant, like something that had belonged to a different version of himself. After tonight, after standing shoulder to shoulder with firefighters who reminded him why he started this in the first place, it feel so close.

Maybe it was time to go home.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s time to go back.”

Buck sighed, staring at the condensation trailing down his bottle. The thought had hovered in the back of his mind for a while now, unspoken, uncertain. But here—after the fire, after standing in the thick of it again, after hearing the captain talk about Bobby—it finally felt real enough to say out loud.

TK tilted his head, watching him. "Back to LA?"

Buck exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Maybe."

Montgomery huffed a laugh, taking a sip of his drink. "You say that like you’re surprised by it."

Buck smirked faintly. "I kinda am."

Buck exhaled, tracing a ring of condensation on the table. Now, sitting in the aftermath of the fire, knowing he was ready to go back, that meant facing him . Facing whatever had been left unsaid.

It wasn’t just friendship. It hadn’t been for a long time.

Buck had spent years convincing himself that what he felt for Eddie was simple. That it was just connection, trust, the kind of bond you build when you walk through fire together. But deep down, he knew better. He had known it every time Eddie looked at him like he knew Buck, like he saw all the pieces of him that Buck sometimes wished he could hide.

"You look like you have too much on mind," TK said, leaning back against the booth, watching him carefully. Buck looked around just to see that Montgomery was no longer there. "Is it just LA? Or is it someone in LA?"

Buck sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "You ever feel like you’ve been avoiding something so long that admitting it feels impossible?"

TK huffed a laugh. "Yeah. More times than I’d like to count."

Buck exhaled sharply, staring at the table. "It’s Eddie."

TK didn’t react immediately, just took a sip of his water, nodding slightly. "Yeah. Figured."

Buck blinked at him. "You figured ?"

TK smirked. "Buck, the way you talk about him? The way you looked at him, all those years ago? You’re in it . Whether you admit it or not."

Buck leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t even know where to start with him. I just feel like I left something unfinished."

TK tilted his head. "So fix it."

Buck chuckled dryly. "Easier said than done."

TK shrugged. "Maybe. But if you’re already thinking about going back, what’s the point in running from this too?"

Buck exhaled slowly, letting the words settle.

TK was right.

"He left too," Buck finally said, voice quieter than he meant it to be. "Eddie. He moved to El Paso—to be with Chris. And… he cut contact."

TK blinked, sitting up a little straighter, eyes flickering with understanding. "Wait. Completely ?"

Buck exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Yeah. No calls, no texts. Nothing." He swallowed, staring at the table. "I mean, I get it. Chris needed him, and... Maybe he just needed a break from me. He continued his life without reaching out.”

TK frowned, watching him. "Maybe he didn't know how to reach back out. How to ask for help.”

Buck huffed a laugh, dry and humorless. "Or maybe he didn’t want to."

TK leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Buck, you two were everything to each other. That doesn’t just disappear because of distance."

Buck swallowed, shaking his head. " Something disappeared. Whatever we had—whatever I thought we had—wasn’t strong enough to hold after everything changed."

TK studied him, letting the words settle before speaking again. "So what happens when you go back?"

Buck stared at the worn wood of the table, rolling the thought around in his head. " When I go back?" The words felt too cautious—too safe.

TK smirked, catching that hesitation. "Yeah. When."

Buck sighed, rubbing his hands together. "I don’t know. I mean, going back doesn’t mean things will be the same. Eddie’s got his life in El Paso now, and I—" He shook his head. "I don’t even know if he’d want me back in it."

TK leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Then ask him."

Buck scoffed. "You make it sound easy."

TK rolled his eyes. "Because it is easy. You pick up a phone, dial his number, and ask, ‘Hey, do I still have a place in your life?’ Done. Simple."

Buck chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Yeah, except for the part where he doesn’t answer. Or where he tells me it’s too late. Or…"

TK studied him for a long beat. "Okay. Worst-case scenario? He doesn’t answer. And you deal with that. Best case?" He shrugged. "You find out you didn’t lose him after all."

Buck swallowed, staring at the table. That thought—the idea that maybe Eddie hadn’t let go, maybe there was still something left—settled deep in his chest.

TK nudged his shoulder. "Look, man. You came all the way out here to figure things out. Maybe this is the answer. Maybe the answer has been with you all along. One call away."

Buck exhaled slowly, nodding.

Maybe it was.

And maybe it was time to stop running and find out .

Maybe it was time to finally go home. 

Chapter 9: Part II

Notes:

So... here it comes Eddie's part, hope yall like it

Chapter Text

You wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking

If you knew where I was walking

To a house, not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there

Never take advice from someone who’s falling apart

Dear Reader, Taylor Swift

Chapter 10: Chapter Seven: Where The Fault Lies

Summary:

“You miss me yet?” Buck teases, soft, familiar.

Eddie exhales sharply, pressing his eyes closed. He should say no. Should play it off, laugh, brush past whatever weight Buck’s words settle into his chest.

But instead, after a long beat, Eddie lets himself say the truth.

“Yeah.”

Notes:

There are going to have a bit of canon divergence from this part, but I start writing it during the break, so... ignore all we know from 8B

Chapter Text

When Eddie leaves for El Paso, he leaves half his heart in Los Angeles. He doesn’t know it yet. He will, though. Eventually.

As he moves, there’s a quiet, aching weight lodged in his chest. He doesn’t name it, doesn’t recognize it for what it is. All he knows is that Christopher needs him, and everything else—Los Angeles, Buck, the mess of emotions he hasn’t untangled—fades into the background. By now, the only thing in his mind is Christopher. He needs to get to his son. 

The Texas sun hangs high, casting sharp shadows over the pavement as Eddie steps onto solid ground. Heat clings to him instantly, heavy, pressing, and yet the tightness in his chest remains unchanged.

He moves fast, weaving through travelers, barely noticing the swirl of conversations, the scent of coffee wafting from a nearby café. He just needs to get to his son. Eddie barely registers the drive home, the familiar streets blurred in his peripheral vision. The last time he was here, life was different. Christopher was younger, lighter. Eddie was still a husband. The house, when he finally reaches it, looks exactly the same. But everything inside it—the boy he's come for, the father he's not sure how to be right now—feels different.

When the door opens, Christopher is sitting on the couch, small and quiet, his eyes wary in a way that makes Eddie's chest ache. He doesn’t know how to fix this. He only knows he has to try.

Eddie moves slowly, dropping his bag by the door, crouching down in front of his son. For a moment, there are no words, just the sound of their breathing in the too-still room.

"I messed up, kid," Eddie finally says, voice rough, raw. Christopher doesn't flinch, but he doesn't move closer either. "I'm sorry."

"Dad? What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“You shouldn’t have come," Christopher snaps, voice thick, brittle at the edges.

Eddie flinches but holds his ground. "I had to."

Christopher lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. So different from the little boy who left his house months ago. "No. You didn’t. You made your choice."

The words slice through the air, landing deep in Eddie’s chest. He breathes through it, nods like he deserves the blow—because maybe he does. "Chris, I—"

But Christopher’s already shaking his head, stepping back, creating space that feels miles wide. "You brought her into our house," he spits, his voice cracking, but not with sadness. Not this time. "Mom’s twisted doppleg—"

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. The weight of it slams into Eddie anyway.

"I wasn’t trying to replace her," Eddie says, desperate now, desperate in a way he hasn’t let himself be in years.

Christopher’s jaw tightens. "Maybe not. But you weren’t thinking about me, either. Go away, dad."

Eddie watches as his son turns away, shoulders stiff, anger vibrating off him in waves. And all he can do is stand there, caught between words that won’t fix this and a grief he isn’t sure how to face.

Christopher doesn’t look back. And Eddie is left staring at the space between them, wondering if he’s already lost him.

Eddie exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Chris—”

Christopher’s crutch scrapes against the floor as he stands abruptly. “I don’t want to talk.”

Eddie nods. Accepts it. But something inside him refuses to let it go completely. “Okay.” He hesitates. “But I’m not leaving.”

Christopher’s expression flickers—something in his stance shifts, barely noticeable, but Eddie catches it anyway. It’s anger. But beneath it, buried deep, is fear.

“What do you mean?”

“I rent a house here. I’m done watching you grown from a distance.”

Christopher walks away. Eddie lets him. Then, he just stands there, solid and unmoving. The same way he always has. The same way he always will. 

*

The space is quiet, too empty, the kind of emptiness that doesn’t just exist in the air but settles in his bones. He drops his bag by the worn-out couch, his eyes sweeping over the modest furnishings, the faded curtains swaying slightly with the warm El Paso breeze.

It’s nothing like home.

But home feels a thousand miles away right now.

He exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face, his gaze drifting toward the single framed photo he’s set on the kitchen counter—Christopher, grinning at the camera, frozen in time before everything cracked between them.

A reminder of why he’s here.

Why this place—however unfamiliar, however lonely—is where he needs to be.

The weight of Christopher’s words pressing against his chest, refusing to ease. He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of their conversation, every sharp syllable that cut through him like glass.

Maybe he deserves it.

Maybe he should have seen this coming. What did he think? That the son who ran away from him would welcome him with love, instead of anger? Eddie doesn’t sleep that night. 

He gets up before dawn, the ache in his bones heavier than the exhaustion in his limbs. The kitchen light is cold. Eddie steps outside, phone in hand. Buck’s name is still sitting there, still waiting.

Los Angeles. The life he left behind. The pieces of himself that didn’t make it on the ride.

He presses the call button.

It rings once. Twice.

Then—

“Eds?”

The warmth in Buck’s voice is immediate, steady, something grounding in a way Eddie wasn’t expecting. He closes his eyes, just for a second, lets it settle in his chest.

And for the first time since he left, Eddie breathes.

Eddie grips the phone tighter, Buck’s voice is like a steady pulse against the chaos in his mind. He swallows, suddenly unsure of what to say. He called without thinking, without planning the words—but now that Buck is on the other end, waiting, everything feels too big, too tangled.

Buck doesn’t push. Doesn’t say anything at all, just lets the silence sit between them, easy, patient. It’s something Eddie doesn’t deserve, but something he’s grateful for, anyway.

“I messed up,” Eddie says finally, his voice quiet, like maybe saying it too loud would make it more real.

A soft breath on the other end, the sound of Buck settling in, giving Eddie space to talk. “Yeah, genius.”

Eddie huffs a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Chris is—angry. Really angry. And I don’t blame him.”

There’s a pause, thoughtful, careful. Then, “That’s good.”

Eddie frowns. “How is that good?”

“Because it means he trusts you enough to show it. To say it.” Buck’s voice is steady, sure, carrying that quiet kind of understanding that Eddie has come to rely on without even noticing. “He’ll forgive you. When he’s ready.”

Eddie wants to believe that. Wants to hold onto the words like a promise. He runs a hand over his face, lets out a breath. “Yeah.”

Another pause, lighter this time. Eddie hears Buck shift on the other end, like maybe he’s stretching, like maybe he’s smiling.

“You miss me yet?” Buck teases, soft, familiar.

Eddie exhales sharply, pressing his eyes closed. He should say no. Should play it off, laugh, brush past whatever weight Buck’s words settle into his chest.

But instead, after a long beat, Eddie lets himself say the truth.

“Yeah.”

There’s no teasing response this time. Just a small, quiet breath—Buck hearing it, understanding it, holding it.

Eddie leans back against the porch railing, the quiet hum of the Texas night pressing in around him. He shifts the phone in his hand, waiting, listening to Buck’s breathing on the other end of the line. It’s steady, familiar, grounding in a way Eddie isn’t sure he deserves right now.

He thinks about how easy it would be to keep talking, to let Buck distract him from the mess he’s tangled himself in. But Christopher’s anger still sits heavy in his chest, a sharp, aching reminder that there are some things he can’t fix overnight.

Buck hums softly, thoughtful. “That’s gonna take time. Chris. You know that, right?”

Eddie knows that. Knows patience is the only thing that will bring his son back to him, knows he has to be steady, has to let Christopher come to him when he’s ready. But it’s hard, waiting. Hard to sit in the space between them, wondering if he’s already done too much damage.

Eddie stays outside long after the call ends, staring up at the sky, his thoughts too tangled to settle. The quiet should feel comforting, should be a reprieve from the weight of everything, but it only makes him feel more hollow, more aware of the space Christopher has put between them.

Eddie doesn’t push. He lets his son have his space, lets him hold onto his anger, because the truth is—he understands it. It’s late in the afternoon when he is going to see Christopher. 

“You were right.” Christopher stares at him. “I’m sorry,” Eddie says, quiet but firm, like the words themselves are something steady for Christopher to hold onto. “I wasn’t thinking. And I hurt you.”

Christopher exhales, looking away. He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t say it’s okay. But for the first time, his shoulders relax, just slightly, just enough to tell Eddie that maybe they can find their way back to each other. Then, he walks away. School, he says.

The voices filter through the thin walls, sharp enough that Eddie doesn’t have to strain to hear them.

“He’s not helping, Ramon,” his mother’s voice, tight with frustration, carries through the hallway. “He thinks being here is going to fix it, but it’s just making it worse!”

Eddie freezes just outside the doorway, his stomach twisting. He hears his father sigh heavily, his words rough, exhausted. “Helena, he’s trying. What do you want him to do? Walk away?”

“He should have never come in the first place.”

Eddie stands there, rooted in place, as the weight of his mother’s words settles deep in his chest. He shouldn’t be surprised—he knows Christopher is hurting, knows his presence might be doing more harm than good—but hearing it said so plainly, so definitively, cracks something inside him.

“He’s his father,” Ramon argues, his voice quieter now, but firm. “He can’t just leave him.”

Helena exhales sharply, her frustration bleeding into every syllable. “He already broke him once, Ramon. Coming here isn’t fixing that—it’s just forcing Christopher to keep looking at the pieces.”

Eddie grips the doorframe, his knuckles white. He should walk away, should pretend he never heard, but it’s too late. The words are already there, already settled in his mind, repeating like an echo he can’t shut off.

He steps into the room before he can think better of it, before he can let his mother’s words settle too deep, before he can let them shape the narrative of his failures without his say.

“I’m not leaving,” he says, voice steady, louder than the quiet, heated conversation happening between his parents. They turn to face him, startled, caught in the moment. Eddie doesn’t flinch.

Helena straightens, crossing her arms, her expression tight. “You think being here is helping him?”

Eddie exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.” He hates that answer, hates the uncertainty, but it’s the truth, and he won’t pretend otherwise. “But I know that walking away again isn’t going to fix it.”

His mother scoffs, the sound sharp, cutting. “You’re only staying because you feel guilty.”

Eddie flinches, just barely, but his jaw tightens, his stance firms. “Of course I feel guilty. I hurt him.” His voice cracks, raw at the edges, but he pushes through it. “But staying isn’t about me. It’s about my son.”

Ramon watches him closely, something unreadable in his gaze, something softer than Helena’s frustration. Eddie grips the back of a chair, grounding himself, pushing past the doubt that has been gnawing at him since he got here.

“I was wrong,” Eddie admits, looking between them, letting the words carry their full weight. “But I’m here to prove that I’m still his father. That I don’t get to just leave when things get hard.”

His mother exhales sharply, shaking her head. “And what if the best thing for him is for you to go?”

Eddie breathes through the sting, steadies himself.

“Then I’ll listen,” he says quietly. “But you won’t make that choice for him.”

Silence stretches between them, thick with everything unsaid. His parents don’t argue further. They don’t agree, either.

“I spent my whole childhood trying to be exactly what you wanted,” Eddie says, his voice low but unwavering. “Trying to be the son who didn’t make trouble. The son who didn’t complain. The son who didn’t ask for more than what you were willing to give.”

Helena shifts, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “We did our best—”

“No,” Eddie cuts in, shaking his head. “You did what made sense to you. You did what fit into your version of how things should be. And maybe that was enough for you, but it wasn’t enough for me.”

His father exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Eddie—”

“You taught me to bury things,” Eddie continues, voice thick with something raw, something that has been sitting beneath the surface for too long. “Taught me that emotions were a liability. That asking for help made me weak. And you think that now —when I’m finally standing here, finally trying to be the kind of father that Christopher deserves—you get to tell me I’m making things worse?”

The room is quiet, heavy with everything unsaid. His parents don’t speak, and Eddie wonders if they ever will.

He lets out a slow breath, straightening. “I’m not perfect,” he admits, the words heavy but honest. “But I’m trying. And that’s more than you ever let me do when I was his age.”

Helena looks away, her jaw tight, her expression unreadable.

Ramon sighs, tired. But he doesn’t argue.

And that’s enough for Eddie to know he’s finally said what needed to be said.

Maybe it won’t change anything. But at least he isn’t carrying the weight of it alone.

That night, Eddie phone buzzes.

Buck: Miss you too.

Just like that, Eddie feels a little less alone.

He lets the phone rest against his chest, eyes closing, breathing out.

Unlike the other night, sleep doesn’t feel like something he has to fight for. 

It just finds him.

And Buck’s words stay with him, even in dreams.

Chapter 11: Chapter Eight: Forever and Always

Summary:

And for the first time in weeks, Eddie feels the weight in his chest shift—just enough to remind him why he never stopped showing up in the first place.

Because his son is coming back to him.

One day at a time. One quiet moment at a time. And Eddie will be there. Every time.

Notes:

There is so much to unpack from now on and I just hopes I made justice to it. Kinda afraid of, if I'm going to be honest

Chapter Text

The firehouse feels sterile, the kind of place built for efficiency rather than camaraderie. The overhead lights cast a harsh glow, making the space feel even more impersonal. Conversations are clipped, voices subdued, everyone moving through their routines with quiet precision.

Eddie steps inside, his boots echoing against the concrete floor, but no one stops to acknowledge him. A few glances, a nod in passing, but nothing more. There’s no easy laughter, no familiarity, no warmth. Just work. Just obligation.

A man in a pressed uniform approaches—Lieutenant Harris, Eddie remembers from his transfer papers. His expression is unreadable, his tone brisk. “Diaz, right?”

Eddie straightens, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

Harris looks him over once before gesturing vaguely toward the equipment bay. “Gear’s over there. Shift starts at six sharp.”

There’s no welcome, no introductions, no attempt at making him feel like part of the team.

Just instructions.

Eddie exhales, nods, and moves toward his gear.

This place isn’t home. It isn’t even close.

Eddie moves through the motions—checking his gear, running through procedures—but it feels hollow. The station lacks the warmth he once knew, the easy rhythm of teamwork replaced by detached efficiency. Here, people don’t linger, don’t talk unless necessary, don’t look up long enough to acknowledge his presence beyond what’s required.

His first call with the crew is uneventful. A minor kitchen fire, extinguished before real damage could take hold. The work is the same, but the energy is different. The silence in the truck on the way back is suffocating, no teasing remarks, no familiar voices filling the space.

Eddie falls into a routine. It’s mechanical, predictable—wake up, report to shift, work through calls, return, repeat. The station operates like a well-oiled machine, each firefighter moving with practiced efficiency, each conversation clipped and necessary. There’s no laughter between calls, no ease in the quiet moments.

And Eddie doesn’t try to change that.

Days pass, and the only time anyone speaks to him beyond orders is Martinez, offering a nod as they’re gearing up for another shift. “You settling in?”

At first, Martinez is just another coworker—a name Eddie barely remembers in the shuffle of quiet shifts and mechanical routines. But over time, something shifts. It’s small at first, just nods exchanged in the locker room, conversations kept light and easy in the quiet moments between calls.

Then, one evening, after a long shift with too many close calls, Martinez slides a cup of coffee across the table toward Eddie without a word. Eddie hesitates for a second, then takes it.

“You don’t talk much,” Martinez says, watching him from across the table.

Eddie smirks slightly, taking a sip. “You do enough talking for both of us.”

Martinez chuckles, shaking his head. “Fair.”

The silence stretches between them, but it’s not uncomfortable—not like it used to be. It’s something else now, something steadier. Martinez doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask about El Paso or Christopher or whatever weight Eddie is carrying these days.

And Eddie appreciates that.

Over the next few weeks, they settle into something familiar, something easy. Shared meals between shifts, the occasional sharp remark from Martinez that actually gets Eddie to crack a smile.

The firehouse is still cold, still distant. But Martinez makes it feel a little less empty.

*

Eddie still calls Buck every night, his voice low as he leans against the kitchen counter of his rental, exhaustion weighing heavy in his bones.

And Buck answers. Every time.

Some nights, it’s light—Buck filling the silence with updates, stories, moments that make Eddie feel like he’s still a part of something, even from miles away.

Other nights, it’s quiet—just breathing on the line, unspoken understanding in the spaces between words.

“You hanging in there?” Buck asks one night, voice softer than usual.

Eddie exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. He thinks about the firehouse, about Martinez, about Christopher, about the weight of everything.

“I don’t know,” he admits, because lying doesn’t make sense with Buck.

There’s a pause, then—

“Well,” Buck says, steady and sure. “I’m still here.”

And that—after everything—feels like enough. At least for now. At least until Eddie figures out what comes next. At least until he comes home. Because eventually, he will. And Buck will be waiting. Just like always.

“Chris still won’t look at me,” he murmurs, voice tired, edged with something defeated.

Buck sighs softly on the other end, thoughtful, careful. “He will. When he’s ready.”

Eddie closes his eyes, lets the words settle, but they don’t feel real yet. Don’t feel like something he can hold onto.

“He’s never been that angry at me before,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Not like this.”

Buck is quiet for a moment, then, with a certainty Eddie doesn’t have—

“He wouldn’t be that angry if he didn’t love you.”

Something tightens in Eddie’s chest. He doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know how to respond.

So he just holds the phone closer.

And Buck lets him.

Eddie presses his lips together, staring up at the ceiling. He wants to believe that—wants to trust that time and patience will fix what’s broken between him and Christopher. But doubt lingers, twisting at the edges of his resolve.

Buck doesn’t say anything else. He just waits, lets Eddie sift through his own thoughts, lets the silence between them be something solid instead of suffocating.

Eventually, Eddie lets out a breath, his grip on the phone relaxing slightly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Buck hums softly, the sound warm, steady. “You’ll get there, Eds.”

And for the first time in days, Eddie lets himself believe it.

Even if it’s just a little.

Even if it’s just for tonight.

Because Buck is still here.

And that—that has always been enough. At least until Eddie can figure out the rest. At least until he finds his way back. Back to Christopher. Back to Buck. Back home . Eventually. But not yet. Not quite. Not tonight.

Tonight, he just breathes. And for now, that’s enough. Or at least, he hopes it is.

Eddie doesn’t stop showing up.

Every morning, always when he has a day off, he’s at the kitchen table before Christopher wakes up, sipping bitter coffee from a chipped mug, waiting. He doesn’t push, doesn’t force conversation, just lets his presence fill the space in quiet, steady ways.

Christopher ignores him at first—walks past without a word, barely glances in his direction. But Eddie stays.

He’s there in the afternoons, standing by the door as Christopher focuses intently on a puzzle spread across the table, his fingers slow but determined. Eddie doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t offer help unless asked. He just watches, just lets Christopher know he’s there.

Days pass. Weeks. The silence between them shifts, not exactly softer, but less rigid.

One evening, Eddie finds himself sitting in the doorway while Christopher scrolls through his tablet, the glow of the screen lighting his face. Christopher doesn’t acknowledge him, doesn’t say a word. But when Eddie moves to sit on the couch—leaving space but not distance—his son doesn’t get up and leave.

It’s the smallest thing.

But it’s something.

And Eddie holds onto that.

Because showing up is the only thing he knows how to do.

Even if it takes time. Even if it takes longer than he wants. He’ll wait. Because Christopher is worth waiting for. And Eddie? He’s not leaving. Not this time. Not ever. Because that’s what a father does. Even when it hurts. Even when it’s hard. Even when he’s terrified that maybe it won’t be enough. But he stays anyway. Because Christopher needs him. Even if he’s not ready to say it yet. Even if Eddie has to wait forever to hear it. And for now—that has to be enough.

The next morning, Eddie is up early, coffee cooling in his hands as he watches the sunlight filter through the kitchen window. Their parents are out, doing God knows what. He doesn’t care, because Christopher isn’t awake yet, and Eddie lets himself enjoy the quiet, even as the weight of everything still lingers in the back of his mind. And, for a second, for just one second, it is like nothing has ever changed. It’s like they’re in LA again, and Buck would come through the door with some new recipe he just made up. But then, reality strikes in, and Eddie takes a big breath.

When Christopher finally shuffles into the kitchen, he pauses for a second, eyes flicking to Eddie before moving to the fridge. It’s not hesitation, not really—but it’s enough for Eddie to notice.

“Morning,” Eddie says, keeping his voice casual, careful.

Christopher grunts something close to a response, pulling out a carton of juice. He moves slower than usual, like he didn’t sleep well.

Eddie watches him for a moment before clearing his throat. “Did you stay up too late again?”

Christopher glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “No.”

Eddie smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. “Sure.”

Christopher huffs, but he doesn’t leave the room. Doesn’t shut down. Instead, he grabs a glass, pouring his juice with slow, deliberate movements.

Eddie leans back, not pushing, not forcing anything—but something is shifting between them, something subtle.

Christopher sighs, staring down at his drink. “You’re not gonna give up, are you?”

Eddie’s expression softens. “No. I’m not.”

Christopher nods once, taking a sip. And for the first time in weeks, Eddie swears he sees the smallest hint of a smile flicker across his son’s face.

"Can I go to your place? After school?" Chris asks

Eddie almost drops his coffee.

He looks up from the kitchen counter, blinking at Christopher, who stands across from him, shifting slightly, fingers tapping absently against his juice glass.

For weeks, all Eddie has been doing is waiting—showing up, not pushing, giving space. He thought it would take longer. Thought there would be more silence before Christopher let him in again.

But now, his son is standing there, looking at him with quiet hesitation, asking to come over. Asking to spend time with him.

Eddie clears his throat, forcing himself to sound normal, casual. “Yeah. Of course.”

Christopher nods once, looking away like it’s no big deal. Like it’s just a simple question. But Eddie knows better.

Because this is a step.

A small one, but real.

And for the first time in weeks, Eddie feels the weight in his chest shift—just enough to remind him why he never stopped showing up in the first place.

Because his son is coming back to him.

One day at a time. One quiet moment at a time. And Eddie will be there. Every time. Because that’s what fathers do.

*

Eddie stares at the mess in his house like it’s suddenly become the most overwhelming problem in the world. It was fine yesterday—acceptable, lived-in—but now, with Christopher actually coming over, it feels like an embarrassing disaster.

He moves through the house in a blur, tossing laundry into baskets, wiping down counters, straightening furniture that probably didn’t need adjusting in the first place.

Then, when he’s halfway through scrubbing the kitchen sink like his life depends on it, his phone buzzes.

Eddie exhales sharply, wipes his hands on his shirt, and answers.

Buck’s face fills the screen instantly, bright and grinning, his excitement practically bleeding through the phone. “Okay, so I figured something was happening when you texted me instead of calling, but I did not expect you to be panicking about housekeeping.”

Eddie scowls, flipping the camera around to show the state of the living room. “It’s a mess, Buck.”

Buck chuckles, shaking his head. “You live there, Eddie. It’s supposed to look like someone actually exists in it.”

Eddie exhales, pushing a hand through his hair. “Chris is coming over. After school.”

Buck freezes for a beat, then his grin widens. “Eds—”

“I know,” Eddie says quickly, shaking his head, still fighting off the ridiculous nerves sitting in his chest. “It’s—it’s a big deal.”

Buck nods, voice softer now, warm, grounding. “Yeah. It is.”

Eddie stares at the screen for a moment before sighing. “I need to make sure everything is—comfortable. Clean. Right.”

Buck laughs again, shaking his head. “You need to breathe .”

Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets himself sit for a second, lets Buck’s presence settle the frantic energy humming under his skin.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Buck says, steady, sure. “Chris wants to be there. That’s what matters.”

Eddie exhales, nodding. “Yeah. I know.”

Buck smirks. “Now—do I need to walk you through folding laundry, or can you handle that on your own?”

Eddie groans, shoving the phone into his pocket as Buck’s laughter echoes through the line.

And for the first time all morning, Eddie lets himself smile.

Even if only for a second. Even if the nerves are still there. Because Buck’s right.

Chris wants to be there.

And that? That’s everything. That’s enough . That’s hope .

Eddie finishes wiping down the kitchen counter for the third time, hands bracing against the edge as he exhales sharply. He needs to stop fussing—needs to remind himself that Christopher isn’t coming over to inspect the place. He’s coming over because he wants to .

Still, the nerves hum beneath his skin, restless and persistent.

His phone buzzes again.

Buck: Deep breaths, Eds. It’s gonna be fine.

Eddie huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. Buck knows him too well—knows exactly how he spirals, how he overthinks, how he tries to control things that don’t need controlling.

Another buzz.

Buck: If it helps, imagine he’s just gonna be impressed you managed to stock actual food in the fridge. 

Eddie rolls his eyes but glances toward the fridge anyway. He did make sure there were groceries—nothing fancy, just enough to make it clear that he wasn’t surviving on takeout alone.

Finally, he lets himself sit, phone in hand, fingers hovering over the screen.

Eddie: Yeah. Okay.

A beat. Then—

Buck: Atta boy.

Eddie exhales, lets the tension in his shoulders ease just a little.

It’s going to be fine.

Eddie checks the time again. And again. 

Christopher should be getting out of school soon, and Eddie can’t shake the nerves buzzing under his skin. It’s ridiculous—he knows that—but it’s been so long since things felt normal between them.

His phone vibrates.

Buck: Still freaking out?

Eddie exhales, smirks slightly.

Eddie: I don’t freak out.

A beat.

Buck: You absolutely do. But it’s okay. Big day.

Eddie runs a hand over his face, nodding to himself like Buck can see him.

Yeah. It is a big day.

Then—another buzz.

Chris: On my way.

Eddie stares at the words for a second longer than necessary before he types back.

Eddie: See you soon.

And for the first time in a long time, Eddie lets himself believe that maybe he’s finally getting his son back. One step at a time. One quiet moment at a time. 

Eddie hears the soft knock at the door and exhales, pressing his palms against his jeans to steady himself before opening it.

Christopher expression is cautious—not distant like before, but uncertain, like he’s still deciding how much space to keep between them.

“Hey,” Eddie says, voice careful but warm.

“Hey,” Christopher replies, shifting slightly, adjusting his grip on the backpack.

Eddie watches as his son surveys the space, eyes flicking to the freshly cleaned kitchen, the neatly folded blankets on the couch, the faint scent of whatever candle Eddie lit in an attempt to make the place feel welcoming.

Christopher hums, barely holding back a smirk. “Did you clean?”

Eddie scoffs. “I always keep things clean.”

Christopher arches an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. Instead, he walked toward the kitchen table, setting his backpack down with a quiet thud.

For a moment, silence stretches between them. Not tense—not like before—but not quite settled either.

“I got your favorite snacks,” Eddie says finally, nodding toward the counter where a neatly stacked pile of pretzels and juice boxes sit. “Figured it’d make things... comfortable.”

Christopher glances at them, then back at Eddie, something unreadable in his expression. He taps his fingers against the tabletop, then—soft, quiet—

“This feels weird.”

Eddie exhales slowly, leaning against the counter, nodding. “Yeah. It does.”

Christopher stares at his hands for a long moment, then presses his lips together, determined in a way that’s both familiar and heartbreaking. “I don’t know how to not be mad at you.”

Eddie’s chest tightens, but he doesn’t let it show. He just nods, keeping his voice even. “That’s okay.”

Christopher looks up, surprised.

“You don’t have to figure it out right away,” Eddie continues, voice gentle but sure. “I just want to be here.”

Christopher exhales slowly, looking back at the snacks again, like they hold some kind of answer. Then, after a long beat—

“Can I stay for a while?” Chris asks.

Eddie freezes, Christopher’s quiet question settling into the space between them like a fragile thread holding everything together.

He expected progress , expected slow shifts in the tension between them, but this? This feels bigger.

He clears his throat, careful not to let the emotion slip too much into his voice. “Yeah, buddy. Of course you can.”

Christopher nods, looking down at his lap, fingers tapping absently against the armrest of his wheelchair. He seems uncertain, hesitant, like he’s testing the waters of something neither of them know how to navigate just yet.

Eddie wants to say more—wants to tell him how much this means, how he’ll always be here, no matter how long it takes.

But instead, he just stands up, moving toward the fridge. “You hungry?”

Christopher glances at him, then shrugs. “Maybe.”

Eddie smirks. “That’s a yes.”

A pause. Then, almost imperceptibly, Christopher lets out a small huff of laughter.

It’s barely anything.

But after everything, it feels like a miracle.

Eddie sets a plate in front of Christopher, watching as his son picks at the food, rolling his fork between his fingers like he’s lost in thought.

“You still talk to Buck?” Christopher asks suddenly, not looking up.

Eddie stills for a second, then exhales, pulling out a chair across from him. “Yeah. Every day.”

Christopher hums, like that answer wasn’t unexpected, but still means something. He presses his lips together, then—careful, quiet—

“He was worried about you.”

Eddie’s chest tightens. He nods slowly. “I know.”

Christopher takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, then glances up at his dad. “I kinda was too.”

Eddie looks at him, the words hitting deeper than he expected. He keeps his voice steady, gentle. “I’m sorry.”

Christopher doesn’t say anything for a moment, just pushes his food around the plate. Then—

“Buck said you were just figuring stuff out.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “That sounds like something he’d say.”

Christopher smirks slightly, barely there, but Eddie catches it.

“He misses you.”

Christopher meets his father’s gaze, and for a moment, there’s understanding between them—something unspoken, something real .

“I missed him too,” Chris admits.

Christopher nods, like that answer makes sense. Like it’s okay to acknowledge it now.

As the evening winds down, Christopher settles onto the couch, his tablet resting in his lap while Eddie moves through the kitchen, tidying up with a quiet ease he hasn’t felt in weeks. There’s no tension lingering between them now—just a peaceful sort of exhaustion, like they’ve both spent enough energy navigating unspoken emotions for one night.

Eventually, Eddie drops into the armchair across from Christopher, watching as his son scrolls through his screen, fingers tapping idly. The silence is comfortable now, less heavy, less uncertain.

Christopher lets out a soft sigh before finally shifting forward, setting his tablet aside. “I should probably head back.”

Eddie nods, keeping his tone steady. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Christopher leans down, grabbing his crutch from where it rests against the side of the couch, his movements slow but familiar. Eddie watches, instinctively ready to help—but he doesn’t reach out, doesn’t interfere. Christopher doesn’t need him to.

He stands, adjusting his balance, and when Eddie moves toward the door, Christopher follows—no hesitation, no distance.

At the door, Christopher pauses, fingers tightening slightly around the handle of his crutch. He looks up, eyes searching Eddie’s face for something unspoken.

“See you soon?” he asks, voice softer than before.

Eddie exhales, offering the smallest smile. “Yeah, buddy. Whenever you want.”

Christopher nods, satisfied, and as Eddie watches him step outside, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. So Eddie grabs his keys, steps outside, and drives to his parents’ house.

Tonight was a step forward.

Maybe not everything, but something .

And for now—that’s enough. More than enough. It’s hope. And Eddie will hold onto it. For as long as Christopher lets him. For always . He’s staying. Forever.

*

The first month is about adjusting—finding rhythm in a place that still doesn’t quite feel like home but is starting to resemble something close. Eddie stabilizes, falling into the routine of shift work, conversations that carry more weight than expected, and evenings spent waiting for Christopher to be ready for more.

Martinez turns out to be more than just a coworker. What started as passing nods and easy banter between calls slowly shifts into something real—a friendship built on shared exhaustion, mutual understanding, and the kind of quiet support Eddie didn’t realize he needed. They start grabbing meals after shifts, talking about everything and nothing, and somewhere along the way, Eddie realizes that Martinez is one of the few people who doesn’t expect anything from him except honesty.

But with stability comes change, and without fully intending to, Eddie starts talking to Buck less. At first, it’s just a missed call or a late reply, but then it stretches—hours, then days. The silence grows, and Eddie doesn’t know if it’s intentional or if it’s just happening because life keeps moving forward.

Buck doesn’t push. He texts, sometimes calls, but the conversations are shorter now—less like home and more like a distant echo of something that used to be constant. Eddie tells himself it’s just temporary, just part of figuring things out.

By the time two months pass, Eddie feels settled—not fully, not completely, but enough to make him wonder what comes next.

Eddie finds out about Martinez’s daughter in a passing conversation—something casual, mentioned over coffee between shifts.

“Cynthia,” Martinez says, smiling slightly. “She’s ten. Keeps me on my toes.”

Eddie nods, something clicking into place. He hadn’t pictured Martinez as a father before, but now that he knows, it makes sense—the patience, the quiet understanding, the way he listens more than he speaks.

It takes a few weeks before Eddie and Christopher meet her. One Saturday, Martinez invites them over to the park, and Christopher—hesitant but curious—agrees.

Cynthia is sharp, observant, meeting Christopher with an easy confidence that immediately puts him at ease. She’s got her dad’s smirk, Eddie realizes, and she doesn’t hesitate to call him out when she thinks he’s being ridiculous.

“She plays chess,” Martinez tells Christopher, nodding toward Cynthia, who rolls her eyes. “She’s good, too. Think you could beat her?”

Christopher hesitates, then—quiet but sure—“Maybe.”

It’s the beginning of something, Eddie thinks.

A few weeks later, Martinez and Cynthia come over for dinner at Eddie’s place. It’s simple—nothing fancy, just something comfortable. Christopher and Cynthia sit at the kitchen table, talking about school, games, anything that doesn’t require too much vulnerability, while Eddie and Martinez work on plating up dinner.

“She’s good for him,” Martinez says softly, watching the kids. “Gives him someone to talk to who isn’t—” He gestures vaguely. “You know, caught in all of it.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. I get that.”

Dinner is easy, conversation flowing without effort, laughter slipping in between bites. Christopher isn’t fully himself yet, not completely relaxed, but it’s the best Eddie has seen him in months.

Christopher sits on the couch, idly scrolling through Eddie’s phone, his fingers tapping absently against the screen. He isn’t snooping—just flipping through the notifications, checking messages the way he used to when he and his dad were closer. He pauses when he sees Buck’s name, his chest tightening for reasons he doesn’t fully understand. 

Buck hasn’t been around lately—not the way he used to be. Not the way Christopher always expected him to be. He exhales, thumb hovering over the contact, debating whether to call. Before he can make up his mind, the phone vibrates in his hand.

Christopher grips his dad’s phone tighter, staring at the screen as Buck’s familiar voice filters through.

“Hey, Buck!”

Buck’s response comes quick, warm—but there’s something underneath it. Something not quite right.

“Hey, kid. What’s up there? Why are you with your dad’s phone?”

Christopher hesitates, glancing toward the kitchen where Eddie is laughing softly at something Martinez said. 

He shifts, suddenly unsure how to answer. “Uh—” He pauses, then continues, “He’s in the kitchen. With his co-worker. His daughter is here too.”

For a second, there’s silence. Then, Buck blinks a few times, shakes his head—like something isn’t sitting right.

“Oh, ok. I didn’t want to interrupt anything.” His voice sounds different now, tighter. “Can you do me a favor?”

Christopher straightens. “Yes, Buck, always.”

Another pause. Then—

“Don’t tell your father about this call, ok?”

Christopher frowns, shifting the phone slightly in his grip. “I’m not sure if that—”

“Promise me.”

Buck’s voice is steady, but Christopher knows him—knows when something is wrong, knows when Buck is holding back.

He swallows, fingers tightening just slightly around the phone.

“Okay, Buck,” he whispers, after a few seconds of silence.

And for the first time since the doppelgänger incident, something in Christopher’s chest feels off . Before he could say furthermore, Buck finishes the call.

Chapter 12: Chapter Nine: It Made You a Stranger

Summary:

Thirty days without Buck. Thirty days of silence, distance, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge until now. Eddie hadn’t been counting—not consciously, anyway.

A month.

It hadn’t felt that long—hadn’t seemed possible—but now, faced with the cold truth of it, he can’t deny it. Something has shifted. And maybe he should’ve noticed sooner. Maybe he should’ve done something sooner.

Notes:

Well... let me know your thoughts on this.
I know many of you are angry with Eddie right now, but he will, hopefully, gain you back. Eventually. Not now, though.

Chapter Text

Eddie watches Christopher move through the evening, quiet in a way that isn’t unusual—but today, it feels different.

Something’s off.

Eddie doesn’t push, doesn’t ask—not yet. He just waits, because Christopher will talk when he’s ready.

At least, Eddie hopes he will.

But as Christopher heads out the door, the feeling lingers in Eddie’s chest, pressing against his ribs like a weight he can’t shake.

Something happened.

Something changed .

And Eddie doesn’t know what it is.

*

The day moves quickly—calls blur together, reports pile up, and Eddie finds himself slipping into the rhythm of work, letting the weight of his thoughts fade into the background. Martinez cracks jokes between calls, keeping things light, and Eddie appreciates it—needs it, even. Because something is unsettled in his chest, but he can’t place why.

At lunch, he leans against the truck, sipping water while Martinez talks about Cynthia—about how she’s been dragging him into endless conversations about some new book series she’s obsessed with.

“She’s got opinions, man,” Martinez says, shaking his head. “And somehow , I’m the one stuck debating character arcs with a ten-year-old.”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Sounds about right.”

Martinez smirks, taking a long sip from his water bottle. “Honestly, you and Christopher should join in sometime. She keeps trying to convince me to have a full-blown discussion about it, and I’m drowning here.”

Eddie chuckles, but there’s something about the idea that settles oddly in his chest. Christopher would enjoy that—something normal, something easy. He’s been doing better lately, opening up more, settling into the routine of their new world.

But there’s still something off .

Eddie shifts, glancing at his phone where it sits on the truck’s bumper, facedown. He hasn’t checked his messages since the morning—not because he’s avoiding anything, but because he’s not expecting anything.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

Martinez watches him for a beat, eyes sharp but not prying. “You okay?”

Eddie exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just—long day.”

Martinez nods, accepting the answer, because that’s the kind of friendship they’ve built—no pressure, no expectations, just understanding when it matters.

And Eddie appreciates it.

But before he can think too much about it, the alarm blares overhead, signaling another call.

Work comes first.

But later, he’s going to have to figure out what’s really sitting in the back of his mind.

Because something isn’t right .

Even if he doesn’t know what it is.

Yet.

The end of shift brings a familiar kind of exhaustion—the kind Eddie feels deep in his bones but welcomes anyway. It’s steady, predictable, earned.

Martinez claps him on the shoulder as they head toward the lockers. “Another day down.”

Eddie smirks, shaking his head. “And somehow, we survived.”

Martinez chuckles, tossing his helmet onto the bench. “You doing anything tonight?”

Eddie shrugs, grabbing his bag. “Nop.”

Martinez grins. “Wanna go home? We could do a movie session, if Christopher is up for it.”

Eddie pauses, the suggestion settling into his chest in a way he doesn’t expect. Movie nights used to be his thing. They’d crash on the couch after long shifts, bickering over movie choices until Buck inevitably won, because Eddie never actually cared enough to fight about it. It was tradition—one of those constants in his life that he never thought he’d lose. 

And now, Martinez is standing in front of him, offering something eerily similar—but different . Not better, not worse. Just...new. A sign that things are shifting, that Eddie is letting them shift. As he nods, agreeing to the movie night, he can’t quite shake the lingering ache in his chest—the quiet thought that things should not go this way.

But, for now, all that matters is getting home. Back to Christopher. Back to whatever this life is turning into.

Maybe he’s finally starting to settle into it.

Even if something in his gut tells him things aren’t done shifting just yet. Even if something is coming that he doesn’t quite see yet.

But that? That’s for another day.

Eddie pulls out his phone as he leans against the truck, dialing Christopher’s number. The sun is sinking lower, casting long shadows across the station lot, and despite Martinez’s offer, something tells Eddie he needs to check in first.

It only rings twice before Christopher picks up.

“Hey, Dad.” His voice is steady, but not particularly excited.

Eddie shifts, gripping his phone tighter. “Hey, bud. You busy?”

Christopher hums, like he’s thinking about the answer. “Not really. Just hanging out here.”

Eddie exhales. “Well, Martinez was thinking of doing a movie night tonight—figured I’d see if you wanted in.”

Silence stretches on the other end.

Not hesitant. Just...flat.

“Maybe,” Christopher says finally, but there’s no enthusiasm behind it.

Eddie frowns, glancing toward the darkening sky. “You sure? We could watch something you pick.”

Another beat. 

“I don’t know, Dad. I think I might just stay here tonight.”

Eddie nods, even though Christopher can’t see it. He keeps his voice steady. “Alright. No pressure.”

Christopher doesn’t say anything, just exhales softly.

Eddie hesitates, something tugging at the back of his mind. “Everything okay over there?”

“Yeah,” Christopher answers, too quickly. “I’m fine.”

But Eddie knows better. Something’s off . Christopher isn’t upset—not outright—but he’s distant . Eddie doesn’t push. He just sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Alright, bud. Call me if you change your mind, okay?”

“Okay.”

And just like that, the line clicks off.

Eddie stares at his phone for a long moment, the unease creeping deeper into his chest.

Something’s going on.

He just doesn’t know what .

Eddie exhales, shoving his phone into his pocket as he turns to Martinez, who’s packing up his gear.

“Christopher’s sitting this one out,” Eddie says, voice even, but something about the way it comes out feels heavier than he intended.

Martinez glances at him, eyebrows raised. “Everything okay?”

Eddie forces a nod. “Yeah. Just—he said no.”

Martinez watches him for a beat, then shrugs, not pushing. “Alright. Another time, then.”

Eddie gives a small smile—grateful for the way Martinez doesn’t pry, doesn’t make it a thing . He claps him on the shoulder before heading toward his truck, the evening air cool against his skin.

Eddie wakes up later than usual, the morning sun spilling through the blinds in soft, golden streaks. The house is quiet—no alarms blaring, no rush to get dressed, no calls demanding his attention.

It’s his day off.

And for the first time in a while, that thought doesn’t bring relief—it brings uncertainty .

Christopher is still at his grandparents’, which means Eddie has the whole day to himself. No shift, no obligations, no distractions.

Just time.

Time to think.

Eddie exhales, rubbing a hand over his face before reaching for his phone. The screen lights up— Christopher —and something in Eddie’s chest tightens.

He answers quickly, voice steady. “Hey, bud.”

“Hey, Dad,” Christopher says, his voice steady but carrying something unspoken. “Can I come over for coffee? Want to talk to you about something.”

Eddie sits up straighter, feeling the weight of the conversation before it even starts. “Of course, bud. Come by whenever you want.”

Christopher hesitates—just for a second. Then, “Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

Eddie doesn’t have to wait long.

Barely twenty minutes later, Christopher is at the door, shifting his weight slightly, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

Eddie steps aside, letting him in, watching as Christopher moves straight to the kitchen like he belongs here—because he does . Christopher sits at the table, fingers tracing the edge of the coffee mug Eddie sets in front of him.

Eddie takes the seat across from him, waiting, because whatever this is—it’s important.

Christopher exhales, keeping his gaze fixed on the steam rising from his cup. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Eddie’s chest tightens.

“Of course,” he says immediately, because there’s never a world where he says no .

Christopher nods, slow, like he expected the answer but still needed to hear it.

“I just—” He exhales, tapping the side of the mug. “I needed to be here. With you .”

Eddie swallows, something settling deep in his chest.

“Always, bud,” he says softly. “You always have a place here.”

Christopher gives a small smile, but there’s something in his eyes—something heavier.

Something that says this isn’t just about tonight.

And Eddie knows—

There’s more to this conversation.

More that needs to be said.

And whatever it is—

He’s ready for it.

No matter what comes next. No matter how hard it is. 

Eddie watches as Christopher takes a sip of his coffee, his expression unreadable. He’s been good at that lately—holding things close, measuring his words carefully. Eddie doesn’t push, just waits, knowing that Christopher will talk when he’s ready. The silence stretches, comfortable but weighted, until Christopher finally exhales and looks up. 

“It’s not just about tonight,” he says quietly, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic of his mug. Eddie nods, giving him space to continue. Christopher hesitates, then—soft but sure—"Have you talked to Buck, recently?”

Eddie stills, fingers tightening slightly around his own mug.

That feels different.

He exhales slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Not really.”

Christopher’s eyebrows pull together, like the answer doesn’t sit right. “Why?”

Eddie hesitates, looking down at the swirling steam rising from his coffee.

There isn’t an easy answer to that. Not one Christopher will want to hear. Not one Eddie even wants to say.

“I don’t know,” he admits finally, voice quiet. “Things just... changed.”

Christopher’s grip tightens around his mug. “Why?”

And there it is— everything Christopher has been carrying. The frustration. The confusion. The ache of losing something that always felt permanent. 

Eddie sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I don’t have a good answer for that, bud.”

Christopher looks away, pressing his lips together. Because maybe that’s the worst part is that Eddie should have answers. But he doesn’t. And Christopher deserves them. Even if they’re not the ones either of them want to hear.

“For how long?” Chris asks.

Eddie exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“A month, now. I guess.”

“A whole month?” Chris repeats, testing the weight of the words.

Eddie nods, his fingers tightening around his mug. “Yeah. I think so.”

A month .

Thirty days without Buck. Thirty days of silence, distance, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge until now. Eddie hadn’t been counting—not consciously, anyway.

Hearing Christopher say it, though?

 It makes it very real. Makes it feel heavier. Makes it feel wrong .

Christopher swallows, looking down. “That’s... a long time.”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, because—yeah.

It is . And now, there’s no avoiding it. Because a month it is long enough to lose something permanently. 

A month.

It hadn’t felt that long—hadn’t seemed possible—but now, faced with the cold truth of it, he can’t deny it. Something has shifted. And maybe he should’ve noticed sooner. Maybe he should’ve done something sooner.

Things never change. Not between them, anyway. 

Except they did. And Eddie let it happen.

His grip tightens around his phone as he exhales sharply, frustration settling into his bones. Without thinking, Eddie pulls up Buck’s contact and presses call , his pulse quickening as he brings the phone to his ear.

It rings once.

Twice.

Then—

Straight to voicemail.

Eddie frowns, pulls the phone back, checks the screen.

Number unavailable.

A pit forms in his stomach.

He tries again.

Same result.

Buck’s phone is off .

Eddie exhales, staring at the screen like it might change if he just looks long enough.

Why is Buck’s phone off?

Or is Eddie just too late ?

Eddie’s chest tightens as he stares at his phone, Buck’s number still unavailable, the silence stretching too far. He doesn’t hesitate—he opens his contacts and starts making calls.

The first person he tries is Hen.

She picks up quickly, but there’s a slight hesitation in her voice. “Eddie?”

“Hey, Hen,” Eddie exhales, forcing his tone to stay steady. “I—uh, I was trying to get ahold of Buck.”

Hen’s silence is immediate, too long to be casual.

Eddie’s stomach drops.

“Eddie… There is no easy way to say this, but,” Hen finally says, voice careful, like she’s choosing her words with more weight than usual. “Buck left.”

Eddie grips his phone tighter. “ Left ?”

“Yeah.” Hen sighs, like she wishes she had better news. “It wasn’t exactly planned. Just… one day he packed up and was gone.”

Eddie feels the world tilt slightly beneath him. He shakes his head, trying to keep up. “Where did he go?”

“No one knows.”

The words hit harder than they should.

“No one?” Eddie repeats, but it’s barely a whisper now.

“Not exactly,” Hen says, voice softer now. “Maddie heard from him. About a week ago.”

Eddie inhales sharply, nodding even though Hen can’t see him. “Alright. Thanks, Hen.”

She sighs. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie clears his throat, forcing something like normalcy into his voice. “Yeah, I just—”

But he doesn’t finish the sentence, because there’s nothing to say.

Nothing that makes this feel less like a punch to the gut.

He hangs up, immediately scrolling to Maddie’s number.

She picks up almost instantly.

“Eddie?”

He exhales, gripping his phone tightly. “Where is he, Maddie?”

She doesn’t answer right away. And Eddie already knows this conversation it isn’t going to make anything easier.

Not for him.

Not for Christopher.

Not any of them. 

And that?

That’s the hardest part of all. Because Buck is gone . And Eddie doesn’t even know where to start looking. Maybe he’s about to find out. Because losing Buck? Really losing him, again? That was never supposed to happen. Not like this. Not ever

There’s no avoiding it. And something tells him this conversation with Maddie it’s about to change everything . Again. For good. For real

Eddie just hopes he can survive it. Because right now— That feels impossible. Completely and utterly impossible . That might be the worst part of all.

Eddie tightens his grip on his phone, pulse thrumming in his ears as he waits for Maddie to say something— anything .

She exhales, like she already knows this conversation isn’t going to be easy. “He called me last week.”

Eddie sits up straighter. “And?”

“And that’s the last time I heard from him.”

Eddie’s stomach twists. He swallows hard. “What did he say?”

Maddie hesitates. “Not much. Just that he needed to get away, that he was leaving LA for a while.”

“For a while,” Eddie repeats, voice tight. “Did he say where ?”

Maddie sighs, and Eddie can hear the frustration in it—the same helplessness he’s feeling now. “No. Just that he needed space.”

Space.

Eddie exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

A month without contact.

A week since Maddie heard from him.

Buck is gone .

“You really don’t know anything else?” Eddie asks, voice quieter now.

Maddie hesitates again, then—softly, carefully—“He sounded... sad.”

Eddie’s chest tightens. “Sad how?”

“Like he wasn’t sure he’d come back .”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Eddie doesn’t answer right away—just stares at the floor, forcing himself to breathe. Buck left. And maybe he isn’t planning on coming back. At least—not the way he used to be.

That’s what terrifies Eddie.

Eddie grips the edges of the table, staring at his untouched coffee. The thought of Buck— actually gone—sits heavy in his chest, pressing against his ribs like a weight he can’t shake.

Every instinct tells him to go. To track Buck down, find out why he left, bring him back before things spiral further. But then—he thinks of Christopher. Of the quiet conversations, the hesitant smiles, the way his son is finally opening up again.

A month ago, things were fragile .

And now, Eddie’s choices feel impossible.

Because if he leaves—if he follows the pull in his chest and goes searching for Buck—does that mean he’s abandoning Christopher again ?

Eddie has fought so hard to build something steady for his son, and right now, things are finally settling. How does he walk away from that? How does he risk everything they’ve rebuilt just because Buck decided he needed space? And worse—what if he goes after Buck and finds nothing? What if Buck doesn’t want to be found? What if Eddie’s too late?

The guilt claws at him, restless and sharp. Buck should have told him—should have said something before leaving. Before disappearing completely.

But Eddie knows, deep down, that maybe he’s the reason Buck felt like he had to go.

Now Eddie doesn’t know where Buck is. Doesn’t know where to start . And even if he did— Would he let Buck go—just this once—because this life, this steady ground with Christopher, is more important? More permanent?

Eddie runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He’s stuck. Trapped between the past and the present. Between Buck and Christopher. Between fixing things and letting go .

And for the first time in a long time— He has no idea what the right choice is. No idea what happens next. And no idea if any of this can be repaired. 

That terrifies him more than he knows how to admit. Because what if this is it ? What if Buck isn’t coming back? And what if— By the time Eddie finally figures out what he wants— It’s already too late? 

Eddie doesn’t think he can survive that. 

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before looking over at Christopher. His son sits at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on the swirling steam rising from his coffee, fingers tapping absently against the ceramic. He hasn’t said much since last night, but Eddie can tell— knows —that something’s weighing heavy on his mind.

Eddie clears his throat, trying to find the right words. “Bud, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Christopher’s gaze flicks up, cautious, expectant.

Eddie hesitates, then exhales. “Buck has left LA.”

Silence. Christopher’s expression tightens—small, barely noticeable to anyone else , but Eddie sees it. He feels it.

“Left?” Christopher asks, voice quiet.

Eddie nods, keeping his voice calm. “Yeah. No one’s heard from him since last week—except Maddie. She talked to him once, but that’s it.”

Christopher grips his mug tighter. “And he didn’t say anything to anyone? Not even to you ?”

Eddie’s chest clenches at the way Christopher says us , like this isn’t just about him. Like he and Buck have always been his in some way.

He shakes his head. “No.”

Christopher exhales, staring down again. “Why would he do that?”

Eddie wishes he had an answer.

One that wouldn’t hurt.

One that wouldn’t feel wrong .

"I knew he was strange" Christopher says

Eddie looks at Christopher, studying the way his son’s fingers tighten around his coffee mug.

“You knew?” he asks gently, keeping his voice steady.

Christopher shrugs, but there’s tension in the movement. “He wasn’t... himself lately. Like he was there, but not really there.”

Eddie exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. Christopher’s words settle deep, pressing against something raw and uncomfortable. He didn’t feel it. Because he wasn’t there . And that hurts more than he wants to admit.

Christopher had seen it—had known Buck wasn’t himself. Had felt Buck slipping away before Eddie even realized it was happening. Because Eddie was too busy—caught up in shifts, responsibilities, everything else . He hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t been there .

One question haunts his mind. How? How could he spend one month without reaching out to Buck? How? It was Buck. His Buck. What if he had been there? Would Buck still be in LA? Would he have stayed ? Ok, maybe there was more than one question haunting him.

Eddie swallows, looking at Christopher—the quiet frustration in his eyes, the disappointment lingering in his voice.

This isn’t just about Buck leaving.

It’s about Eddie not being there before he did.

And now?

Now Eddie has to figure out how to fix that. If he can fix it. If Buck will let him. If he’s even supposed to.

Because maybe Buck wanted to go. And if that’s true— Then what does Eddie do now ? How does he find him? How does he fix this? Or does he have to let Buck go?

Eddie exhales sharply, pressing a hand against his chest.

Because no matter what happens next— One thing is painfully clear. He should have seen it. Now he has to live with the fact that he didn’t . Not until it was too late .

That might be the hardest part of all.

Eddie sits down beside Christopher, watching his son stare at the table, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against the wood. The weight of Buck’s absence hangs thick between them, unspoken but felt . He exhales, steadying himself before speaking.

“Buck needs space,” he says gently, watching Christopher’s reaction carefully.

Christopher’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look up. “I don’t get it.”

Eddie nods, understanding. “I know. But sometimes people need time to figure things out. To understand what they want—where they’re supposed to be.”

Christopher’s shoulders lift in a quiet shrug, frustration lingering in the movement. “That doesn’t mean you leave . What if he doesn’t come back?”

Eddie inhales slowly, making sure Christopher hears him— really hears him. “He will.”

Christopher’s lips press together, skeptical but listening.

Eddie offers a small, knowing smile. “Just like you did.”

Christopher blinks, expression shifting slightly—less frustrated, more thoughtful .

Eddie leans forward, voice softer now. “When you were mad at me—when things weren’t right—you needed space. You didn’t talk to me much. You stayed away. But in the end, you came back . When you were ready.”

Christopher swallows, looking down.

And Eddie can tell—he’s thinking about it now, letting it settle in his mind, weighing the truth of it.

Eddie reaches out, resting a hand gently on Christopher’s arm.

“That’s how Buck is, too,” he says. “When he’s ready, he’ll come back. To us . Just like you did. Just like you always will.”

Christopher exhales slowly, nodding once— small , but sure.

Eddie finally gave him something to hold onto .

Even if the waiting is hard.

Even if the uncertainty still lingers.

Even if none of it feels fair. 

Chris will hold on to that.

And maybe Eddie will, too.

Eddie moves through the quiet routine of the evening, the weight of the day settling into his bones. Christopher brushes his teeth, gets into bed without much fuss—maybe exhausted from the conversation, maybe just needing the comfort of sleep. Either way, Eddie tucks the blanket around him, smoothing a hand over his hair.

“You okay, bud?” he asks, voice soft.

Christopher nods, blinking up at him, eyes heavy with sleep. “Yeah.”

Eddie studies him for a moment, then leans down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep tight, alright?”

Christopher hums something close to agreement, and within minutes, his breathing evens out, the quiet rise and fall of his chest steady and calm. Eddie watches him for a long moment, fingers twitching at his side, before finally stepping back, turning off the light, and closing the door behind him.

Then—

He heads straight for his phone.

Buck’s number is still there, still empty in a way that makes Eddie’s stomach twist. But he presses call anyway. And, predictably— Straight to voicemail. Eddie clenches his jaw, takes a breath, then he speaks.

“Where the hell are you ?” His voice is low, rough around the edges, something raw slipping through despite his best efforts. “You didn’t even say anything. You didn’t even— Christopher noticed . You know how messed up that is? He noticed before I did.”

Eddie exhales sharply, gripping the phone tighter.

“I don’t— I don’t get it . I don’t understand why you felt like you had to go, why you couldn’t just talk to me. I would be here if reached me.”

The silence stretches, waiting, mocking.

“You don’t just— you don’t just disappear , Buck. You don’t get to do that .”

His voice cracks slightly, and he hates it. Hates the way the emotions claw their way out despite his best efforts to keep them locked down. But he’s tired. And angry. And hurting . And Buck needs to know that . He exhales, steadies himself, then—softer now—

“Just...call me back. Please .”

Another beat of silence. He hangs up. And lets the weight of it all settle in.

Because maybe Buck won’t hear the voicemail. Maybe he won’t care.

Some things need to be said. Even if no one is listening. Even if it’s too late.

Chapter 13: Chapter Ten: I Was Raised on Little Light

Summary:

Years of conditioning clawed up his throat, warnings and judgments and prayers for things that shouldn’t be. And yet, in the quiet of the night, Eddie wasn’t sure what terrified him more—

The panic clawing through his chest...

Or the small, aching part of him that didn’t want to run at all.

Notes:

This was a hard one to write. Being raised in a small town and finding out my sexuality was so hard. I just... understand Eddie's actions so far, even though I know you're all angry with him right now, I hope your minds change a little about him and his struggle

Chapter Text

The first few days after finding out were filled with unanswered calls and messages left to be read. As the silence stretched on, Eddie realized the truth: Buck was really gone. And he didn’t care about anyone to explain it.

The frustration came first. Sitting in his house, staring at the city skyline he still barely recognized, Eddie let the anger simmer. He paced. He typed out messages he never sent. 

By the end of the first week, frustration gave way to something quieter—something heavier. About Los Angeles.. His old life. The team. The home that wasn’t a home anymore. It was all moving on without him, and Buck had just...jumped ahead.

Late one night, Eddie found himself scrolling through old pictures—ones he never meant to look at. Training days at the station. The ridiculous beach trip where Buck convinced him to surf and promptly crashed into the sand. Laughing over beers in Eddie’s old kitchen. It was all still there, still frozen in time, but Buck wasn’t.

The second week was acceptance. Eddie still didn’t know why Buck left—he’d assumed, of course—, but he stopped trying to solve it like a problem that needed fixing. If Buck needed space. Maybe Eddie did too. Maybe, for the first time, their paths weren’t meant to run side by side.

And maybe, when Buck was ready, he’d explain.

Until then, Eddie closed his phone, turned off the pictures, and stared out at the unfamiliar city he was starting to call home.

*

Martinez leaned against the engine, wiping sweat off his forehead. “You okay, man? You’ve been kind of...distant.”

Eddie shrugged, adjusting the strap on his gear. “Yeah. Just got a lot on my mind.”

Martinez didn’t press, which Eddie appreciated. He wasn’t in the mood to explain how someone could be missing from your life in a way you didn’t even realize would hurt until it did.

“Back home?” Martinez asked, tossing his rag onto the table.

Eddie sighed, rubbing his hands together. “Yeah. A friend. He left without a word.”

Martinez gave him a look—curious, but not prying. “That sucks. Not knowing why.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the distant hum of the station radio. Martinez studied Eddie for a moment, then nodded toward the gear rack. “You want to take a drive? Clear your head?”

Eddie thought about it. About Buck, about LA, about the unanswered questions. And then, he nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Martinez clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Fresh air helps.”

And maybe, Eddie thought as they climbed into the truck, distance did too.

The fire truck rolled smoothly through El Paso’s quiet streets, the golden glow of streetlights casting long shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon. The city felt different from LA in every way—slower, less chaotic—but tonight, Eddie found himself grateful for the stillness.

Martinez drove without speaking at first, giving Eddie space to let the silence settle. Then, after a few minutes, he glanced over. “So, tell me about him. Your friend.”

Eddie sighed, running a hand over his face. “Buck... He’s—” He stopped, shaking his head. “He was always there. Loud. Reckless sometimes. But you could count on him, you know?”

Martinez nodded. 

“Now, he’s just gone.” Eddie stared out at the passing buildings, his fingers tapping idly against the window. “No call. No explanation. Just disappeared, without thinking about what that would do to me.”

Martinez hummed in understanding. “That’s rough, but you ever think maybe it wasn’t about you?”

Eddie turned to him. “What do you mean?”

Martinez shrugged. “Sometimes people leave for themselves. Not because they don’t care, but because they need something they can’t get where they were.”

The thought sat heavy in Eddie’s chest. He wanted to believe Buck had a reason—one that made sense. But the lack of goodbye still stung.

He let out a slow breath. “Maybe. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Martinez pulled the truck to a stop at a lookout point just outside the city, the vast open desert stretching out before them. “But it doesn’t mean you won’t see him again.”

Eddie looked out at the horizon, the sky painted in soft pinks and deep blues, the last bit of sunlight fading.

Maybe Martinez was right.

Maybe this wasn’t the end. Just... a pause.

And maybe, when the time was right, Buck would come back.

Martinez didn’t say much after that, just stood next to Eddie, both of them watching the last streaks of sunlight fade into the vast desert sky.

“You ever wonder what life would’ve been like if we made different choices?” Martinez asked, voice thoughtful.

Eddie exhaled a soft laugh. “All the time.”

Martinez tilted his head slightly, glancing at him. “Think you’d still be in LA?”

Eddie swallowed, considering the weight of that question. “If things had been different? Maybe.”

Martinez nodded slowly, gaze drifting back to the horizon. His fingers absently traced the edge of the fire truck’s hood, a small movement, barely noticeable.

Eddie had seen this kind of quiet before—not the absence of words, but the presence of something else. Something unspoken. Something sitting just beneath the surface.

The warm night air settled around them, stretching the space between breaths. Martinez cleared his throat, shifting slightly, close enough that Eddie felt the heat of him in the cooling evening.

“I’m glad you’re here, though” Martinez said after a moment. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loaded. Just... honest.

Eddie turned to look at him, caught for just a second in the way Martinez’s eyes lingered.

Something about it felt different.

And Eddie wondered—just for a moment—if maybe, this was a choice he hadn’t considered before.

Back at the firehouse, the warm scent of coffee drifted through the open bay doors. Martinez poured a cup, then slid it toward Eddie without a word, the easy kind of gesture that didn’t need explaining.

Eddie took it, fingers brushing over Martinez’s in the exchange—not intentional, not planned—but enough to make him pause.

Martinez didn’t pull away right away. Didn’t say anything either.

The sensation crawled up his spine, something like static, something like heat. He ignored it. He wasn’t—this wasn’t—

Martinez didn’t seem to notice. He just muttered something about paperwork, and moved away.

Eddie stared at his coffee, forcing his pulse to steady. It was nothing. Probably just the late night.

Still, the faint prickle at the back of his neck lingered.

And Eddie wasn’t sure why.

Eddie swallowed and shoved the coffee cup away, pushing to his feet. Fresh air. He needed fresh air.

Without a word, he stepped outside into the cool night air, hands resting on his hips as he took a breath, willing the quiet to settle.

And yet, despite the distance, he still felt it.

Whatever it was.

Eddie stood outside, the crisp night air biting at his skin, grounding him. He let out a slow breath, watching as it curled in the dim glow of the firehouse lights.

He wasn’t running from anything. Wasn’t .

The problem was, it felt like running.

The quiet stretched, wrapping around him like something tangible. He tried to focus on the distant hum of traffic, the rhythmic chirp of crickets in the nearby brush— anything but the restless energy still sitting in his chest.

Footsteps.

Eddie didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Martinez stopped a few feet away, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes flickering toward Eddie but not too direct. He was good at reading people, knowing when to push and when to just exist .

“You okay?” Martinez asked, voice even.

Eddie exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

Martinez hummed like he didn’t quite believe him but wasn’t going to challenge it. Instead, he stepped closer—not enough to crowd, just enough to be there.

For some reason, Eddie felt it more than he should have.

The silence stretched again, and Eddie should have been relieved by it. But this silence wasn’t the kind he was used to—it wasn’t comfortable, wasn’t the absence of noise.

It was something waiting.

He swallowed, shifting his stance slightly.

Martinez finally spoke, voice quieter. “You ever feel like something’s shifting, but you don’t know which way it’s going?”

Eddie turned his head, studying him, but Martinez didn’t look back.

The words sat heavy between them, and Eddie didn’t have an answer.

Or maybe, he did.

Maybe he just wasn’t ready to say it.

Eddie wasn’t sure how long they stood there—him staring at the horizon, Martinez standing just close enough to feel present without forcing anything.

It should’ve been easy to shake off this feeling, to chalk it up to exhaustion, stress, the leftover tension from Buck’s disappearance. But something about tonight—about Martinez’s words, about the quiet—felt different.

Not loud. Not obvious. Just there.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, willing the unease away. “Guess it’s been a year of shifts,” he finally said, voice even.

Martinez huffed out a soft chuckle, the kind that said he understood . “Yeah. Funny how they sneak up on you.”

Eddie caught the way Martinez glanced at him then—not for long, just enough.

Enough for Eddie to feel it again .

The faint, unsettling flicker at the edges of his awareness.

He swallowed, forcing himself to break the moment, stepping back toward the firehouse doors. “Should head in. Early shift tomorrow.”

Martinez nodded, following—but slower, more measured. Like he was giving Eddie space without calling attention to it.

And maybe that was the strangest part of all.

Not the shift. Not the silence.

But the way Martinez already knew .

*

Eddie sat on the couch, the only sound in the apartment the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. It was late—later than he usually let himself stay up—but sleep hadn’t come easy lately.

The move, Christopher’s adjustment, the firehouse, Buck.

And now, Martinez.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t like uncertainty. He liked clear paths, answers that made sense. But tonight, everything felt tangled—memories of LA pulling at him, Buck’s absence gnawing at the edges, Martinez’s presence lingering in a way Eddie couldn’t quite explain.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling absently through old messages. The last one from Buck was months ago. Short, casual—nothing out of the ordinary. And now, just silence.

Then there was Martinez. Steady, there—but in a way that felt... different.

Eddie frowned, setting the phone aside, leaning back against the couch. He wasn’t looking for anything, wasn’t questioning himself, wasn’t—

He let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against his forehead.

Maybe he just needed sleep.

Or maybe he needed answers he wasn’t ready to ask for yet.

Eddie finally let his eyes close, the weight of exhaustion pressing down. The quiet hum of the city outside faded, replaced by the rhythmic pull of sleep.

But even in sleep, thoughts lingered. Mostly Buck—his absence, the unanswered questions, the way LA felt further away now than ever before. But, for a minute, he dreamed about Martinez too.

It happened again one week later. Sunlight slanted through the bay doors, illuminating dust motes in the air. Inside, the station’s heart beat in routine—boots clopping, radios crackling, muffled laughter. Eddie headed straight for the coffee station, sleep fog still clinging to his limbs.

Martinez was already there, backlit in golden light, holding the pot. The steam curled up between them, warm and suffocating.

“Late night?” Martinez asked, not looking up.

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Martinez smirked, shaking his head. “You’ve got that look. The one where you’re stuck in your own head.”

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh, grabbing a mug. As he poured, Martinez shifted slightly, reaching for the sugar at the same time.

Their hands brushed—barely, just a flicker of contact—but Eddie felt it too much.

Neither of them said anything, but Martinez didn’t pull away right away either.

Just long enough for Eddie’s breath to hitch.

He swallowed, forcing himself to step back, mumbling something about needing to check the rig.

But he felt it lingering.

The next day, was something more. It was after a routine call—clearing debris after a minor accident—but the tight space in the alley meant Eddie and Martinez had to work closely. Martinez reached past Eddie to grab a tool from the truck, his chest brushing against Eddie’s shoulder.

It was nothing. Just movement.

But Eddie felt his pulse stutter.

“Mind moving an inch?” Martinez teased, voice light.

Eddie cleared his throat, stepping aside, forcing himself to focus on the work.

Still, his skin felt electric, like something had shifted in the air between them.

Two days later, the night air had taken a sharp turn, colder than expected for that time of year, especially in Texas. Eddie cursed under his breath as the wind bit at his skin.

Martinez, beside him, didn’t hesitate—just shrugged off his jacket and handed it over.

Eddie blinked. “I’m fine.”

“Just take it, man,” Martinez said, tossing it over Eddie’s shoulders before he could protest.

The warmth settled around Eddie, but that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was it smelled like him.

Eddie swallowed, gripping the fabric too tight before forcing himself to loosen his hold.

*

It happened in the quiet.

Eddie sat in the firehouse lounge, watching Martinez talk to another crew member, his laugh easy, his presence steady.

And suddenly, Eddie felt it hit—really hit—the weight of something unspoken building for days, maybe weeks.

His chest felt tight, his pulse uneven, his thoughts scrambled in ways he didn’t want to name.

He wasn’t—this wasn’t—

He stood abruptly, muttering some excuse about needing air. Panic. Pure, undeniable panic. This was not supposed to happen. He bolted for the door, nearly colliding with Martinez in the narrow hallway. The world tilted. His palms were slick.

Martinez reached out. “Eddie—”

But Eddie kept going, chest heaving, heart pounding so fiercely he could feel it in his throat. Outside, the night air slammed into him, cool and sharp. He clamped both hands over his mouth, fighting for control.

He wasn’t gay—he’d never thought about it this way. He’d never—yet, here he was, breathless over Martinez, haunted by their closeness, betrayed by a longing he couldn’t name.

He pressed his back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, the desert breeze failing to wash away the realization that changed everything.

A tremor ran up his arms, so fierce his fingertips quivered. His throat sealed, and for a moment he couldn’t draw a breath. Pulse thudded in his temples, a frantic tattoo that drowned out every rational thought. What’s wrong with you?

His hands slapped over his mouth, nails digging into his skin. He tasted metal—iron, panic, something like betrayal. He’d always prided himself on knowing who he was. I’m straight. That was him. Not this.

But every brush of memory stung: the coffee steam curling between them, Martinez’s arm guiding him in the alley, the weight of that jacket on his shoulders. He imagined Martinez’s voice, low and easy—and something in his chest twisted so tight it felt like a noose.

Shame blazed. Get it together. He forced his chest to expand, willing air through the crack in his throat. The desert wind rushed in, cool and unforgiving, but it only made his skin feel raw, alive with aftershocks.

His knees buckled. Eddie slid down until he was crouched, forehead pressed to his arms. He could hear Martinez’s steps behind him, hesitant—concerned, probably. Eddie didn’t want help. He didn’t want to explain what this was.

Because he didn’t know how to name it. He didn’t have words for this —the way his body had betrayed him, the way his mind skittered between relief and terror and something achingly sweet he wasn’t allowed to feel.

A long minute passed. He told himself: It’s just a reaction. You’re tired. You’re stressed. It’ll pass. He counted backward from a hundred. Each number a small anchor.

When his breathing finally slowed, he risked a glance over his shoulder. Martinez was there, arms folded, silent. Worried. Eddie pressed his palm against the brick, forced himself up.

He straightened, dusting off his pants. Heart still pounding, he managed a tight nod. “I—sorry,” he rasped. His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

Martinez offered nothing but a steady look in return. No questions. No pity. Just presence.

Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat and shouldered past him. Inside, he refused to look back. But his legs felt unsteady, and he knew—this wasn’t going to pass so easily.

Eddie had always known exactly who he was.

Or at least, he’d thought so.

Growing up in a small Texas town, everything was certain. Black and white. Right and wrong. Church on Sundays, discipline on Mondays, football under the Friday night lights. And always—always—an unspoken rule woven into the fabric of his life:

Men love women. That’s the way of the world.

It was in his father’s voice, the sharp way he’d dismiss anything “soft” as weak. It was in his mother’s quiet sighs, in the pastor’s words about morality, in the way kids whispered cruel things at school, making sure there were no doubts about what was and wasn’t acceptable.

Eddie had never questioned it, because questioning wasn’t an option.

And now—now—he was standing outside the firehouse, gripping the brick wall, breath hitching, heart racing, freaking out over Martinez in a way that made no sense.

This isn’t who you are.

The voice was old—familiar. It sounded like his father, like the men in town, like the lessons burned into him before he even knew what questioning meant.

Eddie pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing it away.

Martinez was his friend. His colleague. This wasn’t—couldn’t be—anything else.

But his body had betrayed him. That shiver when Martinez brushed against him, the warmth of that jacket, the closeness, the easy way Martinez had looked at him—not asking, not demanding, just being there.

Eddie felt sick.

Years of conditioning clawed up his throat, warnings and judgments and prayers for things that shouldn’t be. And yet, in the quiet of the night, Eddie wasn’t sure what terrified him more—

The panic clawing through his chest...

Or the small, aching part of him that didn’t want to run at all.

Eddie sat on the edge of his bed, fingers tangled in his hair, elbows pressing into his thighs like if he pushed hard enough, he could hold himself together.

The apartment was dark, save for the weak glow from the streetlights outside. His heart had finally stopped hammering, but his chest still felt tight, like something was pressing down on him, trapping him in place.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He was straight . That was the truth, the fact, the unshakable certainty he had never questioned, not once in his entire life.

And yet—

Martinez’s voice still echoed in his head. The way he had looked at Eddie—steady, unbothered, there .

The worst part was Eddie didn’t even know what terrified him more—Martinez, or himself.

Years of discipline screamed at him, the voices from his childhood clawing up his throat. It’s wrong. That was the lesson. That was the rule. People didn’t say it outright, but they didn’t have to. It was understood. It was built into every sermon, every offhand comment, every whispered warning disguised as concern.

He heard his father’s voice, sharp and commanding. You don’t want people thinking you’re weak.

Weak.

Eddie clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms. This wasn’t weakness. This wasn’t anything. This was just—just a reaction, something misplaced, something he could ignore until it faded.

But it wasn’t fading.

No matter how many times he told himself to shove it down, it was still there.

The warmth of Martinez’s jacket around his shoulders. The way his breath had stuttered when their hands touched. The way he had felt something, deep in his chest, something that rattled him to his core.

He let out a shaky breath, staring down at his hands.

Maybe if he didn’t name it, it wouldn’t be real.

Maybe if he just went to sleep, it would all be gone in the morning.

But as he lay down, staring up at the ceiling, the pressure in his chest remained, a weight he didn’t know how to lift.

And for the first time in his life, Eddie wondered—terrified, uncertain—if maybe he had spent years building a version of himself that had never really existed at all.

He wanted—no, needed —this feeling to go away. He needed to wake up tomorrow and be fine, like nothing had shifted, like Martinez wasn’t sitting in the edges of his mind in ways he couldn’t explain.

But the voices in his head weren’t letting him go.

It’s wrong.

His father’s voice. Sharp, familiar. The same voice that had shaped every decision, every instinct to follow the rules, to never step out of line.

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, willing his brain to go quiet.

Except the memories were loud tonight.

He was sixteen, standing in the kitchen, hands in fists, breathing hard. His father’s glare was cold, cutting through the air like a knife.

“What’s wrong with him?” his father had said, voice thick with contempt.

Eddie hadn’t understood at first. Hadn’t known who his dad was talking about. Not until his mother muttered, “Just drop it,” and looked away.

Then he realized—the topic, the dismissal, the disgust—it was about one of the boys at school. One that other kids whispered about, avoided.

Eddie hadn’t said a word.

He had just stood there, absorbing it, accepting it, internalizing it.

And now—now, years later, Eddie was sitting alone in his bedroom, chest burning, thinking about Martinez, about the way something had cracked open inside him, about the way his father would look at him if he knew.

Like something was stuck inside him, something tangled and heavy, something he had spent years burying under duty, discipline, expectations.

The air in the apartment felt thinner. He pressed both palms against his forehead, squeezing until the pressure forced his mind into silence.

He wasn’t this.

He couldn’t be this.

His breath stuttered. His body felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to him anymore.

This was supposed to be simple.

He was supposed to know who he was.

He wasn’t homophobic.

Hen was one of his best friends. She is an amazing person. He’d never… Jesus, he would probably hurt someone who was homophobic to the woman. Karen was wonderful, too, even though he doesn't have much contact with her.

Buck—God, Buck. His best friend. He had never blinked at Buck’s choices, never cared who he loved, never questioned any of it. He had friends—good people—who had never had to fight for Eddie’s acceptance because it was never something they needed from him.

So why did it feel like his ribs were closing in?

He dragged in a breath, but it wasn’t enough. His lungs refused to stretch, refused to take what they needed.

What was wrong with him?

His whole life, he had been so sure.

And now, all it had taken was a handful of moments with Martinez—a brush of hands, a jacket over his shoulders, a look that lingered too long—for it all to start coming apart.

You know who you are. That was the rule. That was the truth.

Until it wasn’t.

Eddie let out a sharp breath, gripping the porcelain harder. His pulse hammered so loudly he couldn’t hear the city outside anymore.

He felt lost.

His hands trembled as he braced himself against the mattress, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

He wasn’t okay.

The pressure in his chest had been building for days, maybe weeks—hell, maybe years—and now, it was cracking open, bleeding out in a way he couldn’t stop.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

The first sob was quiet, strangled, barely audible in the stillness of the room. But then another came, and another, until his whole body was shaking, shoulders curled inward, fingers gripping the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him upright.

He pressed his forehead against his hands, sucking in shallow gulps of air that did nothing to ease the suffocating weight pressing against his ribs.

He had spent so long being certain, building a life with clear edges, with defined paths, with answers that made sense. And now—now, nothing felt real, nothing felt solid, nothing felt safe.

A raw, broken sound tore from his throat, his body curling tighter, his breath hitching.

This was not supposed to happen.

But it was.

And Eddie had no idea how to put himself back together.

Eddie couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t just the tightness in his chest, or the raw edge of panic scraping against his ribs—it was everything. His whole body felt like it was fighting him, rejecting the moment, rejecting the truth he wasn’t ready for, rejecting himself.

His fingers curled into his hair, pulling hard enough that pain sparked against his scalp, but it wasn’t enough to ground him. His breath hitched—uneven, sharp—his shoulders trembling like his body was breaking apart from the inside out.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He wasn’t supposed to be questioning anything.

Martinez had been just a colleague, just a friend—until Eddie’s pulse betrayed him, until the warmth of their closeness settled in places he never expected, until the touch of Martinez’s hand lingered too damn long and made something inside him shatter.

Eddie sucked in a gasping breath, pressing his forehead against his knees, shaking.

What was wrong with him?

Memories clawed their way forward—voices from his childhood, expectations shaped by certainty. His father’s sharp remarks, the casual judgment woven into the fabric of his upbringing. A lifetime of never questioning because there was never a reason to.

Until now.

Until Martinez’s eyes met his across a room, and Eddie felt something move inside him.

Another sob tore from his throat—wrecked, unsteady—and he didn’t try to stop it this time.

Because it was real.

It wasn’t a mistake, wasn’t exhaustion, wasn’t a misplaced reaction.

And if he admitted that, if he let it settle, then he had to accept that something fundamental had shifted.

And that terrified him.

But then—

Then his thoughts drift to Buck.

Buck, who had always been there. Who had known him better than anyone. Who had stood by him, helped him raise his son, helped him carry every burden Eddie had ever buried deep.

Buck, who never hid. 

Buck, who never ran from himself.

Who loved freely, unapologetically, without fear.

Eddie sucked in a broken breath, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut.

If Buck was here—if Buck saw him like this—he wouldn’t judge. He wouldn’t push.

He’d just be there.

Like he had always been.

And Eddie would tell him, voice wrecked, “I think—I think I might not be who I thought I was.”

And Buck would just look at him—steady, certain, understanding—and say, That’s okay, Eddie.

And maybe, somehow, Eddie would believe him.

His sobs slowed. His breath came easier.

And acceptance, tentative and fragile, settled somewhere deep in his chest.

Chapter 14: Chapter Eleven: Made It Out Alive

Summary:

"Dad, can I confess you something? I kinda miss LA too."

Eddie blinked, his fingers tightening slightly around his coffee mug.

Eddie swallowed, exhaling slowly. “Yeah?” His voice was quieter now. “What do you miss most?”

Christopher hummed in thought, absently picking at the edge of his toast. “The weather. The beach trips. Hanging out at the firehouse.” A pause. Then, softer—carefully: “Buck.”

Chapter Text

The next day, Eddie sat at the kitchen table, staring at his untouched coffee.

Christopher was brought in from his grandmother. He grabbed a piece of toast and took a bite before pausing, looking at his dad with narrowed eyes.

“You look tired,” he said.

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Christopher didn’t respond right away—just sat across from him, chewing, studying him the way only someone who really knew you could.

“Is it something bad?” Christopher finally asked.

Eddie swallowed hard, fingers tightening around his mug. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to explain something he hadn’t even fully figured out yet?

Christopher wasn’t a little kid anymore. He was 14—sharp, thoughtful, old enough to understand when something was really going on. 

“I—” His throat felt tight. “I’ve been thinking a lot about who I am.”

Christopher tilted his head slightly but didn’t say anything. Just waited.

Eddie let out a slow breath. “You know how I always told you to be yourself? To be honest about what you feel?”

Christopher nodded.

“I think I haven’t always been honest with myself,” Eddie admitted. His voice was quieter now, like saying it too loudly might make it more real than he was ready for.

Christopher frowned, setting his toast down. “About what?”

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “About… who I care about. Who I—who I might love.”

Christopher blinked, confused for a second before something clicked in his expression.

Eddie watched every thought pass over his son’s face—the realization, the brief flash of surprise, the careful consideration.

Then, finally, Christopher asked, “Are you saying you like guys?”

Eddie’s heart nearly stopped.

This was the moment. The moment where everything changed.

“I—” Eddie hesitated. The words were heavy, more terrifying than almost anything he’d ever faced.

But then he saw Christopher.

Just saw him—his son, sitting across from him, waiting, listening, not judging.

And that was when Eddie realized—this wasn’t terror.

This was freedom.

He swallowed, nodding once. “I think so.”

Christopher didn’t flinch. He didn’t recoil. He didn’t ask why or how or tell Eddie he was wrong.

Instead, Christopher just shrugged and said, “Okay.”

Eddie stared at him. “Okay?”

Christopher picked up his toast again. “Yeah. Okay. Is that what you were freaking out about?”

Eddie let out a sharp breath—a laugh, maybe, or a sob, or something in between. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Christopher rolled his eyes. “Dad, Hen’s has been a lesbian forever. Some of my friends have two moms or two dads. Why would this be a big deal?”

Eddie had no answer for that. Not one that made sense. Christopher watched him for a second longer. Eddie’s breath was uneven, his hands shaking against the edge of the table.

Christopher was watching him like he knew—like he could see something raw beneath the surface, something Eddie hadn’t been able to hide.

And then, Christopher asked softly, “Are you okay, Dad?”

Eddie’s throat tightened.

His chest ached.

And suddenly, there was nothing holding back the flood.

His eyes burned, his body tensed, and before he could stop it—before he could tell himself to hold it together, be strong, be fine —his vision blurred.

A tear slipped down, hot against his skin.

Christopher didn’t flinch.

Instead, he reached across the table, fingers curling over Eddie’s wrist, grounding him without hesitation.

Eddie sucked in a shaky breath.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice wrecked, breaking like something fragile. “I—I think I’m figuring it out.”

Christopher didn’t let go.

And for the first time, Eddie let himself cry.

Because it wasn’t fear anymore.

It was relief.

“You’re gonna be okay, Dad.” Christopher says, while hugging him.  “Dad, can I come back and live with you?”

The room felt impossibly small. The air thick, too heavy for Eddie’s lungs.

Christopher had asked it simply—like it wasn’t a question that could change everything.

Eddie swallowed hard, blinking through the dampness still clinging to his lashes. “You—you want that?” His voice cracked.

Christopher shrugged, but there was something hopeful in the way his fingers curled over the edge of the table. “Yeah.”

Eddie let out a slow, shaky breath, running a hand over his face. He had spent so much time believing he had failed—as a father, as a man, as someone who was supposed to have his life figured out. But here was Christopher, looking at him with trust, with certainty, with love that had never wavered.

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t disappointed. He just wanted to come home.

Eddie exhaled, nodded—sharp, certain, real. “Yeah, kid. Yeah, you can.”

Christopher grinned—bright, wide, the kind of smile that broke something open in Eddie’s chest.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Eddie felt like everything might actually be okay.

The quiet hum of the apartment felt different now.

Christopher was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, his presence easy, familiar—right in a way Eddie hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

Eddie stood by the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter, watching him—not as the kid he had fought so hard to protect, but as the person who had just seen him more clearly than he had ever seen himself.

He swallowed, forcing down the tightness in his throat. “You sure about this?”

Christopher glanced up, brow furrowing. “About moving back?”

Eddie nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, still trying to process everything.

Christopher shrugged, like it was simple. Like it wasn’t something that had sent Eddie into a spiral just hours ago. “Yeah. I mean…” He paused, then added, softer, more certain: “I miss you .”

Eddie exhaled, pressing a hand against his chest like he could ease the ache there.

This kid—the one he had fought for, the one he had built his life around, the one he had worried about more than himself—was still here.

Still choosing him.

And after everything—after fear, after uncertainty, after a night spent breaking apart—Eddie realized he wasn’t alone in this. Maybe he never had been.

"Dad, can I confess you something? I kinda miss LA too."

Eddie blinked, his fingers tightening slightly around his coffee mug.

Christopher sat across from him, face open, honest—so much like his mom in moments like this—and suddenly, Eddie felt his heart twist.

Los Angeles.

Of course Christopher missed it. It had been home—the place where he’d grown up, where he’d had friends, routines, stability.

And where Buck had been everything for them both.

Eddie swallowed, exhaling slowly. “Yeah?” His voice was quieter now. “What do you miss most?”

Christopher hummed in thought, absently picking at the edge of his toast. “The weather. The beach trips. Hanging out at the firehouse.” A pause. Then, softer—carefully: “Buck.”

Eddie’s breath caught.

Christopher glanced up at him, searching his face, reading something in Eddie’s expression too well. “You miss him too, huh?”

Eddie let out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, kid. Yeah, I do.”

Christopher smiled a little, nodding like he already knew that. Christopher smirked, then hesitated, studying Eddie for a beat longer than necessary. “You’re okay, right?”

Eddie opened his mouth—ready to say I’m fine , ready to brush it off.

But then he thought about everything.

Thought about the way he had unravelled last night, thought about Martinez, thought about Buck, thought about every moment leading up to this one.

And when he spoke, his voice was quieter.

“I think I will be.”

Christopher held his gaze for a second longer, then nodded.

And for the first time in too long, Eddie felt like maybe that was true.

*

Eddie pulled up to his parents’ house, gripping the steering wheel too tightly. The engine hummed beneath his hands, steady, unaffected—but Eddie wasn’t.

He hadn’t told them much. Just that Christopher had decided to move back in with him.

The conversation over the phone had been short. Stiff. His mother had gone silent for a long pause, his father had let out a sharp sigh—the kind of sigh that held judgment beneath it—and then they had said nothing else.

Now, standing on their porch, he could already feel the weight of all the things unsaid pressing against his spine.

His mother opened the door, lips pressed together in a thin line, eyes filled with something between disappointment and concern.

“You really think this is best?” she asked, stepping aside just enough to let him in.

Eddie nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah. It’s what Christopher wants.”

“That boy doesn’t always know what’s good for him,” his father muttered from the kitchen.

Eddie swallowed, forcing himself to stay calm. “He knows enough. He knows where he wants to be.”

His mother sighed, shaking her head as she started pulling Christopher’s bags together, folding clothes with careful frustration.

“You’ve been unsettled,” she murmured, not looking at him. “This isn’t the time to make big decisions.”

Eddie stiffened. “This is Christopher’s decision. Not mine.”

His father stepped closer, arms crossed. “I know you. I know when you’re lost.”

Eddie sucked in a slow, sharp breath, forcing himself not to react.

He was lost. He knew that. He had spent the last few days unraveling, crashing, piecing himself back together with nothing but uncertainty in his hands.

But this—Christopher coming home—was the one thing that felt right.

He exhaled, steadying his voice. “Christopher is coming home. That’s all that matters.”

His mother pressed her lips together but nodded, handing him the bags.

His father didn’t say anything else.

And as Eddie carried Christopher’s things out to the truck, he felt the weight of their judgment sticking to his skin—but not enough to stop him from doing what was right.

Because Christopher wanted to be with him.

And Eddie wasn’t going to let their disappointment stop that.

*

The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the TV in the living room. Christopher and Cynthia sat cross-legged on the floor, wrapped up in whatever show was playing, their laughter breaking through the stillness every so often.

Eddie sat across from Martinez at the kitchen table, hands curled around his coffee mug, staring at the steam rising off the surface. His pulse was too loud, echoing in his ears, but Martinez didn’t push.

Didn’t rush him.

Just waited.

Eddie let out a slow breath, flexing his fingers against the ceramic. “You ever—” He hesitated, pressing his lips together. “You ever realize something about yourself too late?”

Martinez raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “What do you mean?”

Eddie swallowed, throat tight. “I mean—something you should have seen years ago. Something that makes you question everything else.”

Martinez studied him carefully, then nodded, slow and sure. “Yeah. I think everyone has their moments.”

Eddie exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This one feels big.”

Martinez’s gaze didn’t waver. He wasn’t giving Eddie an easy way out, wasn’t brushing past it—but he wasn’t making it harder, either.

Just steady.

Eddie ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “I—I think I might not be straight.”

The words felt foreign, too heavy, pressing against his chest like something dangerous, but he had finally said them.

Martinez didn’t flinch.

Didn’t react the way Eddie half-expected—like the world would tilt, like everything would change instantly.

Instead, he just nodded, taking it in, like it was a truth Eddie had carried long before saying it out loud.

Eddie let out a weak, breathless laugh. “God, I feel like an idiot.”

Martinez smirked, shaking his head. “You’re not. You’re figuring it out.”

Eddie pressed his hands against the table, grounding himself. “Yeah. Trying to, anyway.”

The TV volume dipped in the other room, followed by Christopher’s voice calling out for snacks.

Eddie took a deep breath, stood, grabbed a bag of chips from the counter.

Martinez watched him, not judging, not questioning—just there.

Martinez watched Eddie closely, the weight of his words still hanging in the air between them. He didn’t rush him, didn’t pry—just sat there, steady, like he understood Eddie needed space to breathe.

Eddie set the chips down on the counter, gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His pulse was still too fast, his chest too tight—but the panic from days ago wasn’t slamming into him anymore.

It was just… there.

Quiet. Lingering. Heavy, but no longer suffocating.

Martinez leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “You don’t have to figure everything out today, you know.”

Eddie exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel like I have a choice.”

Martinez huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You always have a choice, man.” He nodded toward the living room, toward Christopher and Cynthia, voices overlapping, warmth filling the house. “You chose what was best for your kid. You can do the same for yourself.”

Eddie swallowed, gripping the counter tighter. “This feels different.”

Martinez studied him for a moment, then said, softer this time, “Yeah. I get that.”

Eddie looked at him, really looked at him, for what felt like the first time in days. And Martinez wasn’t uncomfortable. Wasn’t tense. Wasn’t anything Eddie feared he might be.

He was just… there.

Eddie let out another breath—shaky, unsure, but less suffocated now.

Martinez smirked slightly, nudging the coffee mug closer to him. “Drink your damn coffee. You look like you need it.”

Eddie huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. But he picked up the mug, took a sip, let the warmth settle in his chest.

And just like that, the world didn’t feel like it was crashing down anymore.

Just shifting.

Slowly.

But maybe in a way that wasn’t as terrifying as Eddie had thought.

Meanwhile, without Eddie realizing, Christopher goes to his room. He sat on his bed, fingers tapping anxiously against his phone screen as he pulled up May’s number. He hadn’t talked to her in a while—not since she left for college—but tonight, something was buzzing under his skin, something he needed to follow.

He hit the call button, exhaling sharply as he pressed the phone to his ear.

It rang twice before May answered, her voice slightly breathless, like she’d been moving around. “Chris? Hey! What’s up?”

He hesitated. “Hey, May. You busy?”

She laughed. “Uh, yeah? I’m at a college. Kinda chaotic here.”

Chris swallowed. He wasn’t trying to bother her, but this felt important. “I saw your Instagram story.”

May hummed, distracted. “Yeah? Which one?”

“The one with Buck.”

The noise in the background faded slightly. “Oh.”

Chris shifted, gripping his phone tighter. “I need his number.”

May was silent for a beat. Then, more cautious: “Why?”

Chris frowned. “Because I want to talk to him.”

Another pause.

“Chris… I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said carefully.

Chris stiffened. “Why not?”

May sighed. “He—he left, you know? And he doesn't want to—”

“He left , ” Chris cut in, voice sharper now, more insistent. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to call him. That doesn’t mean I don’t need to.”

May hesitated again, but Chris could tell—she wasn’t going to fight him on this forever.

Finally, she exhaled, resigned. “You really want this?”

Chris nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I do.”

There was a shuffle, some quiet typing, and then—a text pops up on his screen.

Buck’s number.

Chris let out a breath, shoulders loosening slightly. “Thanks, May.”

She sighed, but there was warmth in her voice now. “Good luck.”

Chris stared at the number for a long moment.

Then, with a deep inhale, he hit dial.

Christopher sat on his bed, gripping his phone so tight his knuckles were white. His stomach was twisted up in knots, nerves thrumming beneath his skin—but when Buck finally picked up, frustration won out.

“Buck?”

The silence on the other end lasted a beat too long. Then—

“Christopher?”

Chris exhaled sharply, voice cutting. “Finally! So you still exist?”

Buck closed his eyes, already expecting the tone. "I… Of course I exist. I just—" His grip tightened on the phone. "How—how did you get this number?"

"May," Christopher snapped, his tone blunt, unapologetic. "Not like you were gonna give it to me yourself."

Buck sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "She had no right to—"

"She did," Chris cut in. "Because no one could reach you. Because you disappeared months ago without a word."

The anger sitting in Christopher’s chest wasn’t just anger—it was hurt, deep and sharp and undeniable.

And Buck had caused it.

"You just disappeared,” he pressed on, impatience laced in his words. “No messages, no calls. No one knows where you are, Buck. Not even me."

Buck exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "It wasn’t intentional. I just… needed some time, you know?"

Christopher’s jaw clenched. “Time? Away from everyone ?” His voice cracked, emotion spilling out before he could stop it. "Buck, you were always there. For me, for everyone. And now you’ve just vanished?"

Silence stretched on the other end.

Chris could hear Buck’s hesitation, could feel the weight of the conversation sinking in—but it wasn’t enough.

"Why can’t you come back?" His voice wasn’t angry anymore—just quiet. Just tired.

Buck exhaled slowly. "It’s not that simple, Chris."

Chris swallowed hard. "It is to me. You left. You cut everyone off. And now you're acting like coming back is impossible. It’s not ."

Buck sighed, the sound heavy with something close to regret. “I never meant to disappear from your life, Chris. I just thought… maybe it’d be easier this way. You have your life in El Paso, and..."

He paused, then frowned. "Wait—how did you even get my number from May if she’s in Los Angeles?"

"I called her." Christopher’s tone was firm, certain. "Told her I needed to talk to you. She hesitated, but she understood. She always does when it comes to you. "

Buck ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. "She shouldn’t have done that."

"Well, maybe you should’ve given me your number yourself," Christopher shot back. "Would’ve saved both of us the trouble."

"You really went through all that just to track me down?" Buck asked after a beat.

"Yeah," Christopher said, voice steady, unwavering.

Buck let the silence stretch before finally asking, softer this time, "Why did you call me?"

Christopher hesitated, his fingers tightening around the phone.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. More vulnerable.

"Because I got tired of waiting for you to care enough to call first."

Buck exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. " Chris— "

"No," Christopher interrupted, his voice sharp, cutting through whatever excuse Buck was about to make. " Don’t say you were going to reach out. You weren’t. You left and made sure no one could find you."

Buck swallowed, leaning against the counter, feeling the weight of the truth in Christopher’s words. "I didn’t think anyone, especially you and your father, needed me."

Christopher froze.

Then—"Well, you were wrong," he said, fiercely.

Buck let out a breath, something heavy settling in his chest.

Yeah. Maybe he had been.

Buck exhaled, voice shaky now. “Look, I need to go, okay? But I promise —no, I swear—I’ll call you later so we can talk, alright?”

Christopher let the silence stretch for a moment, then muttered, " Don’t forget, I got your number now. You better call."

Christopher stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Buck had promised to call.

But promises didn’t mean much when someone had already left without a word once before. The knot in his stomach twisted tighter. He wasn’t a kid anymore—not the same boy who clung to Buck’s presence, who relied on him like air. But that didn’t mean he didn’t still need him. That his father didn’t need him.

He knew better than to expect a quick reply. Buck had left—without warning, without goodbyes, without so much as a hint of where he had gone. And now, after months of silence, after hours of waiting for him to finally do something , Christopher had put the choice back in Buck’s hands.

And that was the part that scared him.

Because Buck had already chosen once before.

He had chosen to disappear.

Christopher clenched his jaw, staring at the screen. He wasn’t mad—not really. Not anymore. He had been, in the beginning, when the messages went unanswered, when the calls rang until voicemail, when his dad had pretended it didn’t matter while looking every bit as wrecked by it as Christopher had felt.

And now, here he was, sitting in his bedroom, waiting for a text that might never come.

A part of him wanted to throw his phone across the room, to force Buck to make a choice now, to demand the closure he wasn’t even sure he wanted.

But another part of him—the part that had always understood Buck better than most—told him to wait.

That Buck would do the right thing this time.

*

Here they were again, standing at the threshold of another shift Eddie hadn’t seen coming.

Christopher sat across from him at the kitchen table, picking at the sleeve of his hoodie, hesitant in a way Eddie wasn’t used to seeing.

Then—soft, careful—too certain for a question:

“I want to go back to LA.”

Eddie froze.

His grip on his coffee mug tightened, pulse jumping, his mind spinning through a hundred thoughts all at once.

Christopher pressed forward, voice stronger now. “Dad, I miss it. I miss my friends, I miss my school… I miss Buck.”

Eddie’s breath caught at that last part, sharp and undeniable.

Christopher watched him, waiting for resistance, for doubt, for the argument Eddie wasn’t sure he had the energy to make.

Because truthfully?

He missed it too.

Eddie exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Chris…”

“I know things are different now,” Christopher said, shoulders straight, his voice so much older than Eddie was ready for. “I know you’ve been figuring stuff out. But this isn’t about that. This is about home .”

And wasn’t that the thing Eddie had been chasing all along?

Martinez had been a lifeline, a steady place for Eddie to unravel safely, but LA was home.

His heart had known it before his mind had caught up.

Eddie swallowed hard, nodding. “Okay.”

Christopher blinked. “Okay?”

Eddie huffed out a weak laugh. “Yeah, kid. We’ll figure it out.”

The relief in Christopher’s face hit Eddie harder than he expected.

And just like that, the next step wasn’t just his own decision to make.

It was theirs .

Eddie sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall, Christopher’s words still echoing in his mind.

I want to go back to LA.

It was so simple. So direct. No hesitation, no doubt.

And Eddie?

Eddie was still trying to breathe around it.

He had spent months trying to settle—trying to believe that moving had been the right decision. That distance had been necessary. That this quiet little life in El Paso was what they both needed.

But Christopher had always known the truth before Eddie let himself see it.

LA was home.

Christopher knew it.

And Eddie knew it too.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply, shaking his head at himself.

If he was really honest—if he let himself admit it—he had never stopped missing Buck.

Had never stopped feeling that pull, the weight of everything left unsaid, the tension that had wrapped so tightly around him before Buck left that Eddie had forced himself not to name it.

And now, Christopher was asking him to go back.

Back to the city.

Back to their life.

Back to the one person Eddie had never quite figured out how to stop wanting.

His chest ached, his pulse heavy in his throat.

Christopher’s voice from earlier—certain, steady—still rang in his ears.

“I know you’ve been figuring stuff out. But this isn’t about that. This is about home.”

And wasn’t that the truth?

It wasn’t just about Buck.

It wasn’t just about Eddie’s messy, unraveling journey toward understanding himself.

It was about going home.

And maybe, finally, facing everything he had been running from.

Eddie swallowed hard.

Then, before he could second-guess himself—before doubt could claw its way back in—he stood up.

Because Christopher was waiting.

And because Eddie was done running .

Chapter 15: Chapter Twelve: Everywhere, Everything

Summary:

“You think he left for good?” Christopher asked, voice careful.

Eddie exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

And that was the worst part.

Because Buck had always been there.

Until suddenly, he wasn’t.

Notes:

Last chapter on Eddie's part!
Part III is coming tomorrow
Also, sorry it took so long to post. Went sick today in college

Chapter Text

The Texas sun was just beginning to melt into the horizon when Eddie steered the car west onto I-10, the soft hum of the road beneath them blending with the low murmur of a country station playing on the radio. Christopher sat in the backseat, legs crossed, tablet on his lap, the screen glow casting a warm light over his sleepy face.

The desert had a way of stretching time. The miles between El Paso and Phoenix melted into a wash of heat and radio static, dust devils curling across the horizon. Eddie kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other occasionally reaching to adjust the volume or pass back a bottle of water to the boy in the backseat.

Christopher was quiet, eyes half-closed, humming softly to a song only he could hear. His blonde curls were a little tangled from leaning against the window, and the tablet in his lap had long since gone dark.

“Still hanging in there, champ?” Eddie asked, glancing in the rearview.

Christopher lifted his head and nodded. “Almost there?”

“Almost.” He smiled. “Gas first. Then home.”

The city lights of Phoenix greeted them with a gentle sprawl, and Eddie veered off at a near-empty exit. There, sitting like a forgotten oasis, was a faded gas station glowing softly in the desert dark. The neon “Open” sign was flickering like a heartbeat.

The shop bell jingled as they walked in. The air inside was cool and still, scented faintly of coffee grounds and citrus cleaner. Eddie felt his shoulders loosen.

Behind the counter stood a woman in her late twenties, dark curls framing her face. Her eyes flicked up from a weathered notebook she’d been writing in.

“Evening,” she said, voice warm but watchful. “Y’all headed west?”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied. “Pump three. And something to wake me up before we hit the rest of the road.”

She smiled gently, reaching for the coffee pot behind her. “You can call me Ann. You look like you’ve been on the road a while.”

“My son and I are driving home. Los Angeles.”

Her eyes softened when she glanced at Christopher, who wandered a few steps toward the snack aisle, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“He yours?”

Eddie nodded, watching his son fondly. “Yeah. That’s Christopher.”

“He reminds me of a man that passed through here a few months back,” she said quietly, pouring coffee into a thick ceramic cup. “Blonde curls like that, eyes the color of the sky just before morning. He was about your age. Early 30’s, am I right?”

Eddie tilted his head. “You remember people well, and, yes, you are right.”

“I remember moments,” Ann said, meeting his gaze. “People come and go so fast out here. Sometimes all you get is a few minutes—and it sticks.”

He accepted the coffee from her, their fingers brushing. “What happened to him? The man.”

Ann shrugged one shoulder, but it wasn’t careless. It was careful. “Just passing through. He was running from LA, life was… hard on him, poor boy. Anyway, he stayed at Joe’s for the festival. Haven’t seen them since. Hope they made it wherever they were going.”

Eddie looked toward the door where Christopher stood now, watching the two of them with curious eyes. “It’s a strange feeling. Being someone who’s just passing through.”

“Maybe,” Ann said, leaning gently on the counter. “Or maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be for the moment you need.”

The bell jingled again as Christopher brought the bottle to the counter. “Dad, can we get this?”

Eddie nodded, fishing out a few bills.

Ann took the money but looked at Christopher a beat longer than needed. 

“You’ve got good eyes,” she said softly to him. “The kind that see more than they say.”

Christopher blinked, then grinned a little shyly. “Thank you. Your wife is very pretty.” He said, looking at the picture on the balcony.

Ann’s eyes flicked to Eddie. Her smile returned—soft, knowing.

Eddie gave a quiet thank-you, took the coffee, and gently guided Christopher back toward the door. Outside, the desert night was cool against his skin. The stars hung low and bright, the kind you only see when the world quiets down long enough to notice them.

As he fueled the car, he glanced back through the shop’s window. Ann was back behind the counter, her hand moving slowly over that same notebook, like she was writing something she didn’t want to forget.

*

Eddie gripped the steering wheel, his heart pounding just a little too hard as he drove through the familiar streets of LA.

It had been months—too many, really—since he’d seen the skyline, since he’d breathed in the ocean air, since he’d let himself admit that leaving had never really been the answer.

Christopher sat beside him, earbuds in, eyes flicking between his phone and the city outside the window.

And Eddie?

Eddie was quiet.

The weight of the return settled deep, pressing against his ribs.

LA hadn’t changed.

But he had.

Every intersection, every turn, every landmark carried memories—some easy, some painful, all of them undeniable.

And then, as he pulled up to their old street, as the engine hummed low beneath his hands, Christopher let out a breath, glanced over, and said simply—

“Feels like we never left.”

Eddie swallowed hard, as they stood outside his old house, staring at the front door like it might offer some kind of explanation.

Buck had been living here. Holding down the fort. Keeping things familiar.

Until he wasn’t.

Until he was gone, without a word, without a trace, without even the courtesy of a damn goodbye.

Eddie’s chest tightened, frustration curling beneath his ribs.

It had been months since Buck had vanished—since the messages had stopped coming, since no one could get ahold of him, since even the firehouse had given up trying to find him.

And now, Eddie was back. Back in LA. Back to a house that should have been waiting for him.

“You think he left for good?” Christopher asked, voice careful.

Eddie exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

And that was the worst part.

Because Buck had always been there.

Until suddenly, he wasn’t.

*

Eddie stood outside Station 118, staring at the doors like they might open on their own and pull him back in. The moment his boots hit the floor, the familiar scent of coffee and antiseptic greeted him, followed by a voice he hadn’t heard in far too long.

“Holy hell,” Chimney said, halfway through filling his mug, blinking like Eddie was a mirage. “You actually came back?”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Within seconds, Hen rounded the corner, followed by Ravi, and finally—Bobby.

And just like that, the weight in Eddie’s chest wasn’t so unbearable anymore.

Eddie barely had time to process the familiarity of it all before Hen pulled him into a tight hug, Chimney clapped a hand on his back, and Bobby—steady, solid Bobby—stood there, watching him with something close to relief.

Hen pulled back, studying him too closely, like she saw everything lurking beneath the surface. “You look different.”

Eddie’s stomach twisted, but he kept his expression easy. “Guess El Paso changes people.”

Hen raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push—at least, not yet.

Christopher stood beside Eddie, taking everything in—the familiar walls, the smell of coffee and antiseptic, the people who had been family before everything changed.

Hen was the first to notice him, her eyes softening as she crouched slightly to meet his gaze. “Hey, kiddo,” she said, smiling. “You grew up on us.”

Christopher huffed out a laugh, standing taller. “I guess so.”

Chimney grinned, nudging Eddie with his elbow. “He got taller while you were off figuring your life out.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but Christopher was grinning now, comfort settling in his chest.

Then Bobby stepped forward, his gaze shifting between Eddie and Christopher, something warm, knowing in his expression.

“You back for good?” Bobby asked, looking at Eddie—but Christopher answered first.

“Yes,” he said, steady, certain, like this wasn’t even a question.

Eddie exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. We are.”

And just like that, LA wasn’t just a place anymore.

It was home again.

Eddie let the words settle, let the warmth of the moment wrap around him, familiar and easy. But beneath it—beneath the laughter, the relief, the reunion—something was missing. Someone. And Christopher knew it too.

Hen reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly, her expression softer now. “It’s good to have you back,” she said.

Eddie nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Bobby studied him, too closely, like he saw the weight Eddie was carrying—the weight of someone who hadn’t come back with him.

Then, with quiet certainty, Christopher said, “It’ll really be home when Buck is back.”

The words hit. Eddie exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. Because wasn’t that the truth? Buck had lived in this firehouse, had been part of it in a way no one else had—and now, he was just… gone.

Hen sighed, crossing her arms. “We tried to find him, Eddie.”

Chimney nodded, voice heavy. “He doesn’t want to be found.”

Eddie clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “Then we try harder.”

Because Buck belonged there too. And, like Christopher said, it will just be home when Buck is back.

*

Eddie stood at the front door, keys in hand, staring at the place that had been his, then Buck’s, and now—just empty.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, the familiar scent of home washing over him, but something felt off. The space was still lived-in, still Buck’s, even if he hadn’t stepped foot in it for months.

Eddie walked through the living room, glancing at the couch where Buck had probably spent too many nights, at the shelf where Buck had left a few scattered belongings—things he hadn’t cared enough to take with him.

Everything was still there, but Buck wasn’t.

When Eddie lived there, the house was precise, practical—organized in a way that made sense for a single father, for someone who needed structure to keep everything from falling apart. The furniture was functional, everything had a place, and the walls were decorated with just enough warmth to make it feel like home, but not like comfort. Eddie had never been the type to fill a space with unnecessary things—he kept what mattered, what Christopher needed, and what made life easier.

When Buck moved in, everything shifted.

The house became lived-in, full in a way that Eddie had never quite allowed it to be. Books stacked unevenly on the coffee table, a blanket tossed lazily over the couch, little signs that Buck existed in this space, made it his own, without erasing what was already there.

It wasn’t messy. Not really. But it was different.

Because Buck, even when he tried to live quietly, still had this way of making things feel brighter, feel bigger, feel more like they belonged to everyone, instead of just him.

And now?

Now, Eddie stood in the house that had once been his, then Buck’s, and now—just empty.

A place waiting for someone to live in it again.

Eddie found himself slipping back into the rhythm of the 118 faster than he expected. The smell of coffee lingering in the kitchen, the hum of conversation between shifts, the sheer familiarity of it all—it was muscle memory, something ingrained in him after years of service. But despite the ease, there were moments when he felt like an outsider. He had changed. The months in El Paso had forced him to confront things he had spent years burying, and now, standing in a place that had once been so easy, he couldn’t ignore how much was different.

Still, the job was the same. The calls were the same. And in the moments between the action, when he was joking with Hen, rolling his eyes at Chimney, sharing quiet nods with Bobby, it almost felt like he had never left. Almost.

Meanwhile, Christopher adjusted with the kind of grace Eddie could only envy. His return to school had been seamless—his friends were thrilled to have him back, his teachers welcomed him without hesitation, and he settled into routine like no time had passed at all. Eddie watched him with quiet admiration, seeing firsthand what strength really looked like. Christopher wasn’t bitter about the move, wasn’t resentful about coming back—he had simply decided to rebuild, the same way he always did.

But beneath the comfort of returning home, one thing still lingered. One absence that kept LA from feeling fully theirs again.

Eddie felt it in the firehouse, in Christopher’s careful glances, in the way conversations about him always tapered off too quickly, as if everyone was still waiting for something.

And maybe that was the hardest part.

Because Eddie had come back.

But Buck hadn’t.

*

Carla pulled back from Christopher, her hands resting on his shoulders as she took him in with wide eyes. “Look at you!” she said, shaking her head with a grin. “You grew a whole foot while I wasn’t looking.” 

Christopher laughed, standing taller, proud. “Not a foot.” 

Carla scoffed, squeezing his arms. “Might as well have been. You look so grown now.” 

Eddie watched the interaction, something warm settling in his chest. Seeing Carla again—having her here, in their space, in their lives again—made everything feel a little more real. Christopher pulled away, grabbing his phone off the table, already distracted by whatever messages were rolling in from his friends. 

Carla turned to Eddie, folding her arms, studying him too closely, just like she always had. 

“So,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You figured yourself out yet?” 

Eddie huffed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Getting there.” 

Carla nodded, watching him for a beat before softening. “You seem not lighter, but not darker, either.”

Eddie let out a slow breath, shifting his weight against the counter. Carla always had a way of seeing too much, of cutting through whatever front he tried to put up.

“I guess that’s accurate,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Not lighter, not darker. Just… different.”

Carla hummed, tilting her head slightly. “Different can be good. Or complicated.”

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. “You always say things like that when you already know the answer.”

Carla grinned. “And you always pretend like you don’t.”

Christopher, still distracted by his phone, barely glanced up, but his presence—steady, certain, settled—was enough to remind Eddie why he was there.

Back.

For good.

Carla softened, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t regret coming home, do you?”

Eddie shook his head, immediate, firm. “No.”

She nodded, like she had expected that answer. “Then what’s still weighing you down?”

Eddie sighed, running a hand down his face. “Buck.”

Carla was quiet for a beat, studying him again. Then—steady, direct—she asked, “So what’s stopping you from finding him?”

And wasn’t that the real question?

Eddie ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. Carla always had a way of cutting straight to the truth, of forcing him to say the things he hadn’t quite admitted to himself yet.

“There’s nothing stopping me,” he said finally.

Carla raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Eddie clenched his jaw. “I just… don’t know where to start.”

Christopher, still sitting nearby, set his phone down, looking up. “Then start somewhere.”

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. Simple. Straightforward. Too much like Buck.

Carla crossed her arms. “You have people who can help.”

*

Eddie sat in his truck outside Athena’s house, hands gripping the steering wheel, the engine still running. S itting there, about to walk into Athena’s house and ask for help, Eddie knew the truth. He should have done this sooner. He shut off the engine, climbed out, and made his way to the front door, knocking twice before stepping back, exhaling sharply.

A grin tugged at her lips, something genuine, warm lighting up her face. “Well, look what the cat dragged back into LA.”

Eddie huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Nice to see you too.”

Athena didn’t hesitate—she pulled him in for a quick hug, firm, solid, like she wasn’t just acknowledging his return, but embracing it fully.

“You look good,” she said, stepping back, studying him briefly before waving him inside. “Better than I expected.”

Eddie followed her in, exhaling as he glanced around, taking in the familiarity of her home. “I feel better,” he admitted. “But not all the way.”

Athena nodded knowingly, her expression softening—but not losing that sharpness that meant she already knew what was coming.

“You’re here about Buck.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”

Athena sighed, crossing her arms, but there was no hesitation, no doubt in her stance.

Eddie sat in Athena’s living room. Athena’s phone starts to buzz in her pocket.

“Can I take this? It's May’s.”

“Go. I’ll wait.”

Athena’s voice went softer as she talks. “I’m here.”

Silence. Athena sat up straighter. She set her phone on the table between them, then, press the speaker button.

“May, dear, can you repeat that?”

May sighed. “It’s Buck.”

Eddie froze, pulse hammering.

Athena’s expression shifted, the same way it always did when she knew something was serious. “Tell me.”

Through the speaker, May exhaled. “He called me first. There’s trouble at the ranch he’s staying at—guys sniffing around, something about Nate’s father. It’s not good.”

Eddie clenched his fists, barely stopping himself from speaking, demanding, reaching through the phone.

Athena nodded, already focused. “And?”

“He asked for you,” May said simply.

Eddie’s chest tightened.

Athena didn’t hesitate. “Put him through.”

And now—finally—Eddie was about to hear his voice again. His heartbeat too loud in his ears as she set her phone on the table between them.

There was a brief pause, a soft click, and then—

“Buck?”

Eddie held his breath.

Buck exhaled. “Yeah. I—I need help.”

Athena leaned forward, steady, firm. “Tell me everything.”

And Eddie sat there, listening, hearing Buck’s voice again for the first time in months—shattered, exhausted, needing help, but alive.

Eddie sat still, his hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles ached. The phone lay on the table, the call unfolding in real time, and he didn’t say a word.

Just listened.

Buck’s voice—rougher, more tired than he remembered—filled the space between them, each word pressing down on Eddie’s chest like a weight he couldn’t shift.

“I’ve got a friend on the ranch—Nate. His father is bad news, and now his people are sniffing around.”

Ranch. Buck had put miles between himself and LA, between himself and Eddie—between himself and home.

Eddie exhaled slowly, keeping his breathing even, his face unreadable, but inside—inside, everything tightened.

“How bad are we talking?” Athena asked.

Eddie waited—barely breathing.

“Bad,” Buck admitted. “They showed up, tried pushing in. Levi—the owner of the ranch—and I made it clear they weren’t welcome, but they’re not done. I need to make sure they don’t get the chance to escalate.”

Buck had made a life somewhere. A life with people Eddie had never met, had never even known existed.

And yet, he still sounded like Buck—calm under pressure, determined, always looking for the solution.

Athena was quiet for half a second—thinking, calculating. Eddie had seen that look before. The one that meant she was already five steps ahead.

“Send me everything. Names, descriptions, whatever you’ve got. I’ll get eyes on them.”

Eddie swallowed hard, staring at the phone like he could somehow see Buck through the speaker.

“If it comes to it—” Buck started.

“It won’t,” Athena cut in, firm, unwavering. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

A slow breath from Buck. A pause. Then—

“Thanks, Athena.”

And Eddie—silent, listening, waiting—felt his chest tighten all over again.

Athena was quiet for a beat. Then: "You take care of yourself, you hear me?"

"Trying. I miss you.”

Athena let out a quiet breath. Her voice softened again, like she was talking to May, minutes ago. "I miss you too, Buck." 

Athena wasn’t the kind of person to throw words around lightly. If she said it, she meant it. But, at the same time, Eddie felt it like she was saying that for him, too. Eddie sat still, his breath caught somewhere in his chest, too tight, too heavy.

Buck’s voice—so close, yet so far—filled the quiet of Athena’s living room, pressing against him with a force he hadn’t been prepared for.

The words settled deep, curling into the spaces Eddie hadn’t let himself acknowledge—the grief, the frustration, the ache of missing someone who had left without saying goodbye.

Eddie closed his eyes briefly, something thick settling in his throat.

Buck hadn’t just left. Buck had left behind people who loved him.

Athena sighed, voice softer now, more certain. "You should come home. You don’t belong out there alone."

Buck laughed—small, broken, like he wanted to deflect but couldn’t quite muster the energy. "Not alone," he said. "But—yeah. I know."

Eddie clenched his fists, fighting against every instinct telling him to speak, to say something, to let Buck know he was here—listening, waiting.

"When you’re ready," Athena said, no pressure, no demand—just truth.

Another pause.

Then Buck, quieter now, more fragile than Eddie had ever heard him.

"I’ll let you know."

"You better," Athena replied, warmth threading through the words.

Buck smiled—Eddie could hear it, could feel it, even through the distance. "Yeah. I will."

The call ended.

And Eddie let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The weight of it settled into Eddie’s chest—deep, unshakable, pressing into every space that had been empty since Buck left.

Athena let out a slow breath, leaning back, watching him—waiting, but not pushing.

“So? What do we do?" Eddie asks.

“We do what he asked us. Try to find information. Help him, from distance. We need to give Buck time to handle things on his end. But if this gets worse, we step in.”

Eddie nodded, jaw tight, mind already racing through possibilities.

Because Buck had always been the one to take on more than he could handle.

The hours slipped by in silence, only broken by the sound of clicking keyboards, the occasional sigh, the sharp murmurs of discovery. Athena was relentless, May methodical, Eddie quiet. They combed through files, tracked records, pulled every possible thread until they had something Buck could use—something that might make his fight easier, safer.

And then, late into the night, Athena calls him back.

Eddie froze, his pulse hammering as Athena answered, putting the call on speaker.

Buck was quiet for a beat. Then—softer now, quieter—he said, “Thank you.”

Eddie didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just listened. Buck wasn’t home yet. But he was closer.

*

Eddie leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee, watching Chimney gesture wildly as he told a story about the most ridiculous rescue they had pulled off last shift. Hen laughed, shaking her head, and Buck—Buck, who was always at the center of things—grinned, leaning back in his chair, effortlessly at home in the chaos.

Then Bobby’s phone rang.

The sound cut through the noise—not urgent, not alarming, but different.

Bobby glanced at the caller ID and froze, expression shifting into something unreadable.

Stepping away, he answered.

“This is Captain Nash.”

The voice on the other end was familiar, decades old but still sharp. “Bobby. It’s Anderson.”

Bobby exhaled. Captain Anderson. His old chief from his early days in firefighting. His mentor.

“It’s been a while,” Bobby said, stepping further into his office, closing the door behind him.

Anderson chuckled. “That it has. But I’m calling about a young firefighter in your house. He goes by Buck.”

Bobby stiffened, listening.

Anderson continued. “Evan Buckley. Calling about how damn good he is.”

Bobby swallowed, pulse steady. “He’s one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

Anderson said, voice sure, no hesitation. "Your kid is great, Nash. Never seen a firefighter like him. You trained him well. He basically saved a whole town from that fire."

Bobby leaned back in his chair, gripping the phone a little tighter. Captain Anderson’s words carried weight—years of experience, of knowing what made a firefighter exceptional, what separated them from the rest.

Bobby swallowed, letting the words settle in. He had guided Buck, yes—mentored him, taught him when to push forward and when to hold back.

But Buck had done the rest on his own.

The kid had heart. He had instinct.

And Anderson—a man who had seen generations of firefighters come and go—saw that, too.

Bobby exhaled, glancing toward the bullpen where Buck sat, animated, laughing, effortlessly himself.

“Yeah,” Bobby said, voice quieter now. “He’s one of a kind.”

“One of my firefighters went out with him two days ago,” Anderson said, voice carrying the weight of experience, steady but thoughtful. “After the wildfire here. It’s sad he isn’t staying in St. Paul’s for much longer. Would love to work more with him.”

Bobby stiffened slightly, his grip tightening just a fraction. “What do you mean?”

Anderson hummed, like the answer was simple, like it wasn’t even a question.

“Well,” he said, “he said he’s going back to Los Angeles.”

The words settled deep in Bobby’s chest, a slow exhale leaving his lips.

Buck was coming home.

Chapter 16: Part III

Chapter Text

I've been exactly where you are

Don’t let this darkness fool you

All lights turned off can be turned on

(...)

Medicate, meditate, swear your soul to Jesus

Thrown a punch

Fall in love

Give yourself a reason

Call your mom, Noah Kahan

Chapter 17: Chapter Thirteen: I Miss You, I'm Sorry

Summary:

Eddie stiffened, his jaw clenching, but Buck didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“No—just—do you even realize what that did to me?” Buck asked, challenging now, exposing everything he had spent months trying to bury. “I called. I texted. And you—you just ignored me. Like I wasn’t even there. Like I wasn’t—like I didn’t—”

Eddie exhaled, slow, measured, steady. “Buck—”

“No.” Buck shook his head, eyes burning now, chest tight. “You don’t get to tell me you weren’t wrong. Because you were, Eddie.”

Notes:

That's the one with the reunion, finally.

Chapter Text

Buck exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. It was time. Time to stop running. Time to go home. Buck stared at the horizon, the sun sinking low, turning the sky into hues of deep orange and soft purple.

Tomorrow, he was leaving.

The thought sat heavy in his chest—not in regret, not in hesitation, but in finality.

For months, he had carved out a life in several places, had found a rhythm that made sense—helping Nate, taking care of others—, had convinced himself that distance was what he needed.

But now, standing in the quiet, feeling the weight of everything that had led him here, he knew the truth. He had spent so much time looking for answers, for clarity, direction, something to make it all make sense.

And the only thing he had found was this:

He missed his people. He missed the station, the chaos, the laughter, the family he had left behind. And most of all—he missed home.

*

Buck tossed his bag onto the passenger seat, exhaling as he slid behind the wheel.

The city stretched ahead of him—wide, familiar, waiting—and for the first time in months, he didn’t feel like a stranger in it. The engine hummed as he pulled onto the road, his hands steady on the steering wheel. Every turn brought him closer.

Closer to the firehouse. Closer to his people. Closer to home.

He swallowed hard, gripping the wheel a little tighter, his heartbeat loud, steady, ready.

The drive was familiar—the streets, the buildings, the rhythm of traffic—but everything felt different, heavier, more significant than ever before.

Buck gripped the steering wheel tighter as he turned onto the final stretch, the firehouse coming into view.

His stomach tightened.

Months had passed.

And now, finally, he was here.

The garage doors were open, trucks lined up, firefighters moving in and out—business as usual. And yet, as Buck pulled into the lot, he could feel it—the subtle shift, the recognition.

People noticed.

Because Evan Buckley was back to where he belonged.

Buck exhaled sharply, gripping his bag as he stepped out of the car, the firehouse standing tall, familiar, waiting in front of him.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the noise inside shifted—voices lowering, eyes turning toward him, a beat of silence before—

“Buck?”

Chimney’s voice cut through the air, disbelief laced through it.

Hen turned from where she had been sorting gear, her eyes widening before her face broke into a grin. “No way.”

And then, movement.

Chimney shoved past a chair, crossing the space in record time, pulling Buck into a fierce hug that had Buck laughing, breath knocked out of him for a second.

“You idiot, you absolute moron, what took you so long?” Chimney demanded, gripping his shoulders as he stepped back.

Hen rolled her eyes, pulling Buck in next, warm, steady, familiar. “We thought you were gonna turn into a cowboy permanently.”

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. “Not quite.”

And then—Bobby.

Buck turned, heart hammering, facing his captain, his mentor, the man who had always been there, even when Buck hadn’t let him be.

Bobby took a slow breath, nodding once, approving, relieved, proud.

“Welcome home, kid.”

Buck swallowed, something thick settling in his throat.

Because yeah—he was home.

Buck rubbed the back of his neck, offering them all a tired but genuine smile.

“I’m just stopping by,” he said, voice rough from travel but steady. “Need to go home, sleep a little. Just wanted to see you guys first.”

Bobby locked eyes with Buck.

“Can I talk to you? Just a minute.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Buck followed Bobby until his office.

"Um... Eddie is there" Bobby says. “In your place.”

Buck’s voice stumbled, uneven, barely held together. “What do you mean ‘Eddie is there’?”

After everything—after Buck had left, after Eddie had walked away, after months of silence and distance—Eddie had come back too.

Bobby’s expression was careful, measured. “He got back a few weeks ago,” he said. “Didn’t tell many people at first. Just showed up, settled in. He is working, but Christopher got a fever, so I gave him the day off.”

Buck’s grip on his bag tightened, his heartbeat picking up as Bobby’s words sank in.

Christopher was sick.

It was just a fever, Bobby had said, just a day off—but Buck’s mind raced anyway, because this was Christopher.

“I—” Buck started, then stopped, exhaling sharply. What was he supposed to do?

Bobby watched him carefully. “He’s okay. Eddie’s with him.”

Before he even left the firehouse, before he let himself think too hard, his feet had already carried him here.

Back to the place he had once called home.

The light was on. The door was closed.

Buck hesitated for a second—just a second—before lifting his hand and knocking on the door.

The weight of it settled deep, pressing into every inch of space between the months apart, between everything they hadn’t said.

Then—movement inside. Footsteps.

The door cracked open, and Eddie stood there, cautious, blinking like he wasn’t sure if Buck was really there or if this was just another dream he wouldn’t let himself have.

Buck swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe through it, to hold steady.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough, quieter than he meant for it to be.

Eddie exhaled slowly, eyes flickering over him, searching for something Buck couldn’t name.

Then—

“You’re here.”

Buck nodded, because what else could he do?

And after all this time, after months of distance, after words left unsaid, after wondering if they even knew how to face each other again—

They were finally standing on opposite sides of the same door.

Eddie’s fingers tightened slightly around the doorframe, his exhaustion visible now, like he had spent the whole day keeping it in check until this moment.

Buck’s voice was quiet, careful, but full of concern. “Heard Christopher got a fever.”

Eddie exhaled, rubbing his hand over his face, then nodding. “Yeah. Woke up warm this morning. He’s been resting, but you know how he is.”

Buck huffed out a small breath, not quite a laugh, but close, because yeah. That sounded like Chris.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Buck, softer now: “He okay?”

Eddie met his gaze, something flickering there—not just exhaustion, but recognition.

“He’s okay,” Eddie said, voice steady but quieter now, like he knew why Buck was asking, like he knew Buck wasn’t just talking about the fever.

And in that moment, Buck felt it—all of it.

The distance. The silence. The way they had lost something between them, but also how they could find it again.

Eddie stepped back, just slightly, just enough.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, wasn’t some overwhelming show of emotion—but it was everything.

Buck saw it, felt it, understood it immediately.

Eddie was letting him in.

Not just into the house, but into everything else, too.

So Buck stepped forward, crossing the threshold, stepping into the place that had once been his home, and realizing— Maybe it still was. The air inside was warm, comfortable, familiar in ways Buck hadn’t even let himself miss.

And then, from the hallway—soft footsteps, slow movement—

Christopher.

Buck swallowed, his chest tightening as the kid came into view, blanket slung over his shoulders, eyes still a little tired but lighting up the moment he saw Buck standing there.

“You came back.”

Buck’s breath hitched. His throat tightened.

“I did,” he murmured, voice rough, barely holding together.

Buck barely had time to breathe before Christopher threw himself forward, arms locking tightly around Buck’s waist, face pressed to his chest.

And Buck— broke.

He bent down, wrapping Christopher up, holding on just as tightly, because somehow, in this single moment—all the distance, all the silence, all the time apart—it didn't matter anymore.

Christopher sniffled, voice muffled against Buck’s shirt. “You were gone too long.”

Buck swallowed hard, blinking fast, fighting against the sting in his eyes.

“I know,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I know, buddy.”

Christopher held on, didn’t let go, and Buck didn’t either.

Buck breathed through it, through the wave of emotions crashing over him, through the reality that no matter where he had gone, this was home.

This was where he was meant to be.

And behind them, Eddie stood still, watching, his face unreadable, his grip tight on the doorframe—like he wanted to say something, like he felt every bit of this, too.

Christopher—his kid, his entire world—was wrapped up in Buck’s arms, holding on like letting go wasn’t even an option.

And Buck looked wrecked, holding Christopher just as tightly, eyes closed for a moment, his breath uneven, like he was feeling every second of the time he had been away.

Eddie’s grip on the doorframe tightened.

Seeing this—seeing Buck here, with Christopher in his arms, like he had never left—

Eddie felt it like a gut punch, felt the weight of everything they hadn’t said, everything Eddie hadn’t let himself feel until this moment.

It wasn’t just Christopher who had missed Buck.

And it wasn’t just Christopher who was glad he was back.

Eddie knew he needed to say something, needed to cut through the weight in the air, the way Buck was standing there like he didn’t quite know if he was allowed to stay.

Christopher had already decided—he was holding on, refusing to let Buck go, making it clear that Buck was still his.

But Eddie needed to say it, too.

So he exhaled slowly, letting go of the tension he had been holding onto for far too long, and finally spoke.

“You should stay.”

Buck’s breath hitched, his grip on Christopher tightening slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he had heard Eddie correctly.

Eddie swallowed, held Buck’s gaze, and made sure there was no room for misunderstanding.

“It’s your house, after all” Eddie clarified, voice softer now.

Buck froze, the words hitting harder than he expected.

It wasn’t just an invitation. It was a reminder.

It was Eddie telling him—in the simplest, most undeniable way—that this place, these walls, this life he had stepped away from— It was still his.

His chest tightened, his grip on Christopher still steady, still secure, as he looked up at Eddie—really looked at him. Eddie wasn’t holding back. He stood there, open, honest, giving Buck exactly what he needed to hear.

Because after everything—after the months apart, after the silence, after Buck convincing himself that maybe he had lost his place here— Eddie was telling him he never had.

Buck swallowed hard, his voice barely holding together.

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding slowly.

Buck sat at the edge of Christopher’s bed, watching as the kid snuggled deeper under the blankets, his eyelids heavy, fighting sleep but slowly losing the battle.

Buck swallowed, adjusting the covers, making sure Chris was warm enough, making sure he was okay.

“You’re staying, right?” Christopher murmured, voice soft, drowsy, but still filled with that quiet hope Buck could never ignore.

Buck exhaled, running a hand over Christopher’s hair, gentle, steady, grounding himself in this moment.

“Yeah, buddy,” he said, voice thick, honest in ways it hadn’t been in months. “I’m staying.”

Christopher smiled—small, content, safe—before his eyes fluttered closed completely.

Buck sat there for a while, just breathing, just feeling the weight of everything that had led him here.

And outside the room, Eddie stood quietly, watching, his expression unreadable—except for the relief Buck could see.

Eddie stood across from him, arms crossed, posture tense—but not closed off. Not shutting Buck out.

“We need to talk,” Eddie said, voice steady, but carrying weight. Like he had been holding onto this for too long.

Buck nodded, swallowing hard, fingers pressing into his knees.

Yeah. They did.

Because months had passed. Because too much had been left unsaid.

Eddie exhaled, running a hand over his face, tension settled deep in his shoulders, in his expression, in the space between them.

“I know I ignored you,” he admitted, voice rough, honest, like it had been sitting too long in his chest.

Buck’s jaw tightened, his fingers pressing into his knees.

“You didn’t just ignore me, Eddie,” Buck said, voice low but heavy. “You shut me out completely. For a month. Like I didn’t exist.”

Eddie swallowed, guilt flashing across his face—but not regret.

Because he knew why he had done it.

“I wasn’t wrong,” Eddie said finally, carefully, like he knew how that would sound but refused to take it back. “I was drowning, Buck. In El Paso. In—everything.”

Buck breathed through it, forcing himself to hear it, forcing himself to let Eddie say what he needed to say.

And Eddie—Eddie wasn’t done.

“I was dealing with things I didn’t know how to deal with. And I couldn’t—” He stopped, exhaling sharply, shaking his head. “I couldn’t afford to think about you.”

Buck flinched. Visibly.

Eddie closed his eyes for a second before looking at Buck again, really looking.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t care,” Eddie said, voice softer now, steadier. “It means I couldn’t handle it.”

Silence settled between them, thick, unsteady, carrying everything they had left unsaid.

Buck nodded slowly, letting the truth sit.

Because Eddie had been hurting.

But so had Buck.

Eddie had shut him out.

And now—now he was standing here, acting like it had been necessary, like it had been justified, like Buck should just accept it and move on.

Buck laughed, but there was no humor in it—just frustration, just anger, just months of feeling like he had been left behind again.

“You couldn’t afford to think about me?” Buck repeated, voice sharp, edged, laced with something raw and unforgiving. “Are you serious, Eddie?”

Eddie stiffened, his jaw clenching, but Buck didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“No—just—do you even realize what that did to me?” Buck asked, challenging now, exposing everything he had spent months trying to bury. “I called. I texted. And you—you just ignored me. Like I wasn’t even there. Like I wasn’t—like I didn’t—”

He stopped, breathing hard, running a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself now, with the way his voice had cracked, with the way this was unraveling faster than he meant for it to.

Eddie exhaled, slow, measured, steady. “Buck—”

“No.” Buck shook his head, eyes burning now, chest tight. “You don’t get to tell me you weren’t wrong. Because you were, Eddie.”

Eddie stayed still, watching Buck like he knew—really knew—what this was, what Buck was saying.

And Buck—Buck couldn’t stop himself now.

“You were wrong to decide I didn’t deserve to know what was going on. You were wrong to act like I wouldn’t care. You were wrong to think I wouldn’t have been there if you had let me. Because I would. I so fucking would. Been there.”

Silence settled between them—thick, heavy, impossible to ignore.

Buck’s voice was sharp, edged with something too raw to hide, too deep to hold in anymore.

“I wasn’t going to be a ghost again,” he said, the words coming fast, almost too fast, like they had been sitting in his chest for months, waiting to break free. “Haunting someone’s house—haunting your house—when you wouldn’t even talk to me.”

Eddie flinched, barely, but Buck saw it. Felt it. Knew it meant something bigger.

Because this—this wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just frustration. It was grief.

It was Buck laying it all out, exposing the part of himself that had felt abandoned, that had spent weeks—months—wondering if he had ever really belonged here at all.

Eddie exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, his posture tighter now, more tense, like he was finally feeling the weight of what Buck had been carrying.

“I—” Eddie started, but stopped, because what could he even say?

Buck laughed, but it wasn’t humor—it was sharp, bitter, exhausted.

“You can’t say you didn’t notice, Eddie,” Buck pushed, voice lower now, but still intense, still full of everything he had never been able to say before. “You had to know. Had to see it. The parallels. And you just—”

He stopped, exhaling sharply, shaking his head.

“I couldn’t do that again,” Buck admitted, voice softer now, but still firm, still honest. “Not after everything. After her. Not after you.”

And Eddie finally understood. Eddie exhaled slowly, crossing his arms, gaze steady.

Eddie sighed, the weight of Buck’s words settling deep into his chest.

Not after everything. After her. Not after you.

And Eddie could see the grief now, could feel it in the way Buck wouldn’t sit down, wouldn’t look away, wouldn’t let this slide like he might have in the past.

And honestly? Eddie deserved it.

“You’re right,” he admitted, voice rough, low, carrying the weight of everything they had been avoiding. “I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

Buck stilled, caught off guard by the honesty—but Eddie wasn’t done.

How could Eddie understand what leaving had felt like—what it had done to Buck—when he hadn’t even asked?

Eddie exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping just slightly, like he was finally letting himself feel the weight of it all, the weight of what Buck was saying.

“You are right,” Eddie admitted, again, voice quieter now, steady, but carrying something heavier than before.

And Buck—Buck felt everything crack open inside him.

Because he wasn’t wrong. 

And Eddie knew it.

Buck was right. And one of the most important persons in his life knew it.

Eddie stopped, rubbed his hand over his face, frustrated with himself, with the truth of it, with the reality that he had made Buck feel like he didn’t matter.

“I thought it was easier,” he admitted, voice strained. “Ignoring it. Ignoring you. Because if I let myself think about it—”

His jaw tightened, his breath catching slightly. “I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

Buck exhaled sharply, shaking his head, rubbing his hands over his face like this was just confirming everything he had already known—already felt.

“Yeah?” Buck asked, voice clipped, sharp, carrying something shattered underneath it. “Well, I wasn’t handling it either, Eddie.”

Silence.

Thick. Heavy. No way around it now.

“I wasn’t okay,” Eddie admitted, voice low, rough, carrying something heavier than before. Buck stayed quiet, watching, waiting, giving Eddie the space to say what he needed to say.

Eddie rubbed a hand over his face, frustration not at Buck—but at himself, at everything he had bottled up, everything he had refused to admit until now.

“El Paso wasn’t just—going back home. It was facing everything I thought I left behind,” Eddie said, pacing slightly now, movement like he was trying to shake off the weight of it. “It was my parents. Their expectations. It was—”

He stopped, jaw clenching, breathing through it.

“It was feeling like I was drowning in everything I had spent years trying to move past.”

Buck stayed quiet, his pulse pounding, waiting—knowing there was more.

Eddie swallowed, sitting down slowly, his hands gripping his knees, like holding himself together was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“But it wasn’t just them,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher, but honest in ways he hadn’t let himself be before. “It was me, too.”

Buck’s chest tightened, his breath catching slightly.

Eddie exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was frustrated with himself, like he wished he had figured it out sooner.

“I spent my whole life trying to be someone I thought I was supposed to be,” Eddie admitted, his voice raw, unfiltered. “The good son. The soldier. The husband. The father. And I—I convinced myself that was all there was.”

Buck stayed still, but his heartbeat picked up, fast, sharp, unrelenting.

Eddie sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before finally looking right at Buck.

“I think I’m gay,” Eddie admitted, his voice steady, his words raw, honest, unfiltered.

Buck stayed quiet, but his chest tightened, his fingers twitching slightly—because this wasn’t just something Eddie was saying. This was something Eddie had finally accepted.

Eddie let out a slow breath, finally looking at Buck, really looking at him, waiting for a reaction.

Buck exhaled, his chest tight, because yeah—he had figured some of this out. Had guessed that Eddie wasn’t okay. Had known that whatever was happening in El Paso, it had been tearing Eddie apart.

Eddie shook his head, gaze flickering toward Buck, tired but honest.

“I needed space, Buck,” he admitted, voice softer now, but still carrying weight. “I needed to step back because if I didn’t—I don’t know if I would’ve come back at all.”

Eddie exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling the weight of everything they had just laid out.

“I’m sorry I shut you out,” Eddie admitted, voice low, rough, carrying everything he had been avoiding. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Buck exhaled sharply again, something in his chest loosening—but not entirely. Buck nodded slowly, shifting his weight, his breath uneven. Eddie hadn’t ignored him to be cruel. He had shut Buck out because he had been drowning in something so much bigger than just them.

And Buck understood that now.

“I’m sorry I left,” he admitted, voice thick, unsteady, honest in ways he hadn’t let himself be before. He stopped, swallowing hard, shaking his head. “But I needed space to figure out who I was while I’m not being everyone’s support. While I’m not being a ghost. Invisible. I needed space, too.”

Eddie breathed in deeply, nodding once. Eddie understood that now.

Silence settled—not tense, not heavy anymore—but full, carrying everything that had just been said, everything that had finally been acknowledged.

And just like that—they had finally stopped running.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t painless. But maybe it was necessary.

Buck exhaled, looking at Eddie, seeing—really seeing—the relief settling in his expression now that everything had finally been said.

“I’ve missed you,” Buck admitted, voice low, honest, carrying more weight than he meant for it to.

Eddie breathed in slowly, nodding once, like the words settled deep in his chest too.

“Missed you too,” Eddie admitted, voice quieter, steadier, but just as raw.

Chapter 18: Chapter Fourteen: You Are in Love

Summary:

Eddie had done to Buck exactly what Abby did to him. What his parents did to him.

And that was unforgivable. Eddie sucked in a sharp breath.

What could possibly make up for this? What could somehow erase the months of silence, of neglect, of Buck convincing himself he was disposable in Eddie’s life?

Buck deserved better than that. Buck deserved more than just words. He deserved proof—proof that Eddie wasn’t going to let this happen again.

Notes:

Hope Eddie gains you guys a little in this chapter. He is trying, leave my poor baby fight his battles! Also, title is from Taylor Swift's song "You are in love"

Chapter Text

Buck’s words echoed in his head, each one settling deep in his chest, wrapping around his ribs like a vice. Because Buck wasn’t just angry—he was hurt, grieving. And Eddie had done that.

The realization hit like a punch, like a weight too solid to ignore, like something that had been sitting there all along but only now was he letting himself feel it. Eddie had spent weeks justifying his silence, convincing himself that shutting Buck out had been necessary, had been survival, had been the only way to keep his head above water.

But at what cost?

Eddie exhaled shakily, running a hand over his face, fingers pressing into his temple like he could somehow physically force himself to think through this, to figure out how he could possibly undo what had already been done. Because Buck had been drowning too. And Eddie had let him.

He had made a choice—a selfish, desperate, knee-jerk choice to turn inward, to handle his demons alone, to carry the weight of El Paso, his parents, his unraveling identity without reaching for the one person who would have caught him without hesitation.

And then Buck was standing there, looking at him with months of built-up grief in his eyes, standing so tense Eddie could almost feel the weight of everything still sitting between them. Eddie swallowed hard, his throat dry, his pulse uneven.

Buck had called. Buck had texted. And Eddie had ignored it all—convinced that staying silent was easier than trying to explain the storm raging inside him.

But now the damage was done. Buck hadn’t just felt abandoned. He had felt like a ghost, like something lingering in Eddie’s life but never truly seen. Like he had been forced to haunt the edges of Eddie’s world, waiting—waiting for permission to matter again. A sick thought begin to gain force in his mind. Eddie had done to Buck exactly what Abby did to him. What his parents did to him.

And that? That was unforgivable. Eddie sucked in a sharp breath.

What could possibly make up for this? What could somehow erase the months of silence, of neglect, of Buck convincing himself he was disposable in Eddie’s life?

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut for a fraction of a second, trying to pull himself together, trying to keep his own emotions from unraveling completely. Because Buck deserved better than that. Buck deserved more than just words. He deserved proof—proof that Eddie wasn’t going to let this happen again.

That next time, when everything felt like it was crashing down, Eddie wouldn’t just retreat into himself. He wouldn’t leave Buck behind.

The expression in Buck's eyes lingered with Eddie long after he fall into darkness.

The heartbreak. The exhaustion. The deep-rooted fear that maybe Eddie had already decided Buck wasn’t worth fighting for. And suddenly—Eddie couldn’t breathe. Because that was the furthest thing from the truth.

*

Buck stirred, the warmth of the bed pulling him deeper into sleep before the soft sound of movement in the house reminded him—he wasn’t alone.

Christopher’s quiet laughter echoed from the hallway, followed by the sound of Eddie muttering something under his breath, clearly still waking up himself.

Buck breathed in deeply, stretching slightly, his muscles aching from the weight of yesterday—the conversation, the emotions, everything they had finally put into words.

But today felt different.

Lighter. Not completely healed, but not broken anymore.

He pushed himself up, blinking at the soft morning light filtering in through the window. Eddie was standing in the doorway, coffee in hand, looking just a little more relaxed than Buck had seen him in months.

“Chris wants pancakes,” Eddie announced, like it was the most normal thing in the world—like they hadn’t just torn down months of silence the night before.

Buck huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Guess I need my apron, then,” he muttered, ruffling his hair before heading toward the kitchen.

Eddie was already pulling ingredients out of the cabinets, looking far too amused as he handed Buck a spatula.

Chris was watching from the table, bright-eyed, already laughing.

“I’m supervising,” he announced, crossing his arms like this was serious business.

Buck huffed out a soft laugh, grabbing the pancake mix. It was easy—comfortable—even after everything.

Eddie nudged Buck’s shoulder lightly, smirking.

“Don’t mess this up, chef.”

Buck rolled his eyes. “You say that like it’s a possible thing.”

And just like that—everything felt normal again.

Buck grinned, flipping a pancake effortlessly, clearly feeling victorious.

Christopher, already munching on a piece of fruit, sighed dramatically.

“I missed Buck’s food,” he declared, completely serious, like this was an objective fact.

Eddie paused mid-sip, narrowing his eyes just slightly, looking almost—offended.

Buck bit his lip, holding back a laugh, already bracing for Eddie’s response.

“Oh, wow,” Eddie said, setting his coffee down a little too carefully, turning fully to Christopher. “You’ve been eating my cooking for months, and you missed Buck’s?”

Christopher shrugged, completely unapologetic. 

Buck didn’t even try to hide his smirk, shaking his head as he plated the stack.

Eddie huffed, crossing his arms, looking entirely betrayed.

“I see how it is,” he muttered. “Guess I’ll just stop making dinner, then.”

Christopher gasped. “No! You make good food too!”

Buck snorted, handing Christopher a plate. “Not as good as mine, apparently.”

Buck slid into his seat, grinning like he had already won some kind of silent competition.

Eddie shook his head, still mildly offended, but he passed Christopher the syrup anyway, clearly not ready to hold a grudge over pancakes.

“So,” Buck said, cutting into his stack, tone far too casual. “What’s the plan for today?”

Christopher perked up, already excited. “Can we go to the beach?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You have homework.”

Chris groaned, dramatic. “But it’s Saturday.”

Buck grinned, nodding toward Eddie. “He’s got a point.”

Eddie pointed his fork at Buck, narrowing his eyes. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Buck shrugged. “I go where the pancakes are.”

Chris giggled, already launching into an argument about how he could totally finish his homework fast enough to earn a trip to the beach.

Eddie sighed, already giving in, already softening.

Buck watched the interaction, something warm settling in his chest.

Buck shook his head, amused, as he took another bite of his pancakes. “You know, Chris, I admire your negotiation skills. Ever thought about becoming a lawyer?”

Chris scoffed, stretching back in his chair with the exaggerated confidence of someone who believed they had the world figured out. “Too much paperwork. Besides, I already know how to win.”

Eddie sighed, shaking his head as he stabbed at his eggs. “Fine. If you finish your homework before noon, we can go.”

Chris smirked, leaning forward like he was closing a business deal. “Done. But when I finish early, I get to pick where we eat after.”

Buck chuckled, raising an eyebrow at Eddie. “He’s getting dangerous.”

Eddie groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I am painfully aware.”

Chris pushed back from the table, already pulling out his notebook with dramatic determination. “This is gonna be easy.”

Buck watched, amused, as Eddie muttered about setting boundaries while already clearing the table. The whole thing felt familiar, effortless—like home.

Chris worked through his assignments with a surprising focus, tapping his pen against the edge of his notebook as he powered through math problems. Buck lounged on the couch, scrolling on his phone, occasionally glancing up to check on his progress. Eddie had migrated to the kitchen, rinsing dishes with practiced efficiency.

“Done,” Chris announced an hour later, stretching his arms over his head like he’d just conquered something monumental.

Buck looked up, amused. “Already?”

Chris held up his notebook like it was evidence in a court case. “Checked and double-checked.”

Eddie sighed, drying his hands before taking the notebook. “If I find anything rushed or half-done—”

“You won’t,” Chris interrupted, confident. “It’s solid.”

Buck grinned, watching Eddie flip through the pages with mild skepticism. He wasn’t going to find anything to complain about—Chris had been too determined to win this one.

After a moment, Eddie relented, setting the notebook down with a sigh. “Fine. You’re clear.”

Chris pumped a fist in the air, triumphant. “Beach time.”

Buck pushed himself up from the couch, stretching. “Guess I better find my sunscreen.”

Eddie shot him a pointed look. “You burn in five minutes.”

Buck smirked. “Exactly why I’m not skipping it.”

Chris was already gathering his things, his excitement nearly vibrating off of him. Buck watched Eddie shake his head, exasperated but unable to fight a small smile.

The drive to the beach was filled with Chris’s animated commentary about which spot had the best waves and how Buck would absolutely lose in a game of beach soccer. Buck pretended to be insulted, but mostly he just laughed, enjoying the easy back-and-forth.

Eddie parked the truck, already setting ground rules before they even stepped out. “No wandering too far, and sunscreen first.”

Chris groaned but didn’t argue, swinging the door open and grabbing his crutches. Buck grabbed their towels, slinging one over his shoulder as he grinned. “I’ll meet you guys at the water.”

Chris rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on his crutches before stepping onto the sand. “Rushing ahead won’t save you from losing.”

Buck smirked but slowed down his pace, walking backward with exaggerated effort. “I’m just giving you a chance to strategize.”

Eddie sighed, shaking his head. “Can you two just walk like normal people?”

Chris snorted but kept his own steady pace, navigating the sand with practiced ease. Eddie walked beside him, keeping easy conversation until they reached their spot.

They spent the afternoon in the water, Buck and Eddie helping Chris navigate the waves, tossing a football back and forth. Chris, predictably, dominated every game, relishing every victory. Buck leaned into the competition, loudly declaring his unfair disadvantage as Eddie just watched with amusement.

Later, they sprawled out on their towels, letting the sun dry their skin as Chris tapped away on his phone, probably texting his friends about his victory. Buck sat back, stretching, completely at ease.

Eddie glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Not bad for a Saturday, huh?”

Buck grinned, tilting his head back to soak in the warmth. “Wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Chris hummed in agreement, not looking up from his phone. “Yeah, this was a solid win.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve turned everything into a competition.”

Chris smirked. “And I’m winning.”

Buck laughed, kicking some sand in Chris’s direction. The kid swatted at him, still grinning, and Eddie just sighed—exasperated, but undeniably content.

Yeah, this was exactly where they were supposed to be.

As the afternoon drifted into evening, the sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting a golden glow over the waves. Chris, now comfortably settled on his towel, stretched out his legs, absently running his fingers through the warm sand.

Buck sat beside him, leaning back on his elbows, watching the tide roll in. “You thinking about your next victory speech?”

Chris smirked but didn’t look up from his phone. “Already sent it to the group chat.”

Buck shook his head, amused. “He’s gonna be unbearable when he gets older.”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face. “Don’t remind me.”

Chris grinned, clearly proud of himself, then turned his attention back to his phone as Buck and Eddie fell into easy conversation about work, weekend plans, and whether or not Buck would ever learn to cook something beyond eggs and toast.

Eventually, Chris set his phone aside, shifting so he could look out at the ocean. “We should do this more.”

Eddie glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “The beach?”

Chris nodded, thoughtful. “Yeah. Or, just... days like this. No schedules, no rushing. Just hanging out.”

Eddie considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. We’ll make it happen.”

Chris grinned, pleased with himself. “Another win.”

Buck laughed, shaking his head as the waves continued their steady rhythm against the shore. The warmth, the easy camaraderie, the way everything felt just right—yeah, they’d definitely do this again.

That night, after the beach, everything is easy— lighter —but Eddie still sees it. The way Buck hesitates before speaking, the flicker of doubt in his eyes, like today almost convinced him, but not completely.

So Eddie decides to make it undeniable.

They’re both sprawled out on the couch, worn out from the sun, a half-empty bowl of popcorn between them as a movie plays low in the background. Chris is at his sleepover, and for the first time all day, it’s quiet.

Eddie shifts, stretching his arm along the back of the couch, and when Buck moves—like maybe he’s planning to turn in for the night—Eddie catches his wrist.

Buck stops, blinking at him, confused. “You good?”

Eddie nods, steady, sure. “Stay.”

Buck huffs a small laugh. “I live here, Eds.”

Eddie doesn’t let go. “I know. But I mean—here. With me.

Buck’s expression shifts, hesitation creeping in, like maybe he’s reading too much into it. Like maybe Eddie doesn’t mean what Buck hopes he does.

Eddie sighs, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m not gonna let you talk yourself into believing something that isn’t true.”

Buck swallows. “Eds—”

“I choose you,” Eddie cuts in, voice soft but resolute. “Not just today. Every day.”

Buck exhales shakily, eyes flicking between Eddie’s, searching. After a beat—slowly—he nods. Small. Hesitant. But this time, when he settles back into the couch, close enough that his shoulder brushes Eddie’s, there’s no more doubt.

And Eddie? He’ll keep choosing Buck until Buck never has to question it again.

They settle into the quiet, the soft glow of the TV casting long shadows over the living room. Buck's shoulder stays pressed against Eddie’s, a quiet reassurance neither of them comments on—but neither of them moves away, either.

The movie plays, something they’ve both seen before, but Eddie isn’t paying attention. Not really. He’s too focused on the way Buck’s fingers drum absently against his thigh, like there’s still something unsettled in him. Like maybe today was almost enough, but there’s still that lingering doubt.

So Eddie makes it clear.

He shifts, stretching his arm across the back of the couch, deliberately close. Buck tenses for half a second—like he expects Eddie to pull away—but Eddie doesn’t. Instead, he lets his fingers brush against the nape of Buck’s neck, barely there. It’s not dramatic. Not some grand gesture. But it’s real. It’s a choice.

Buck inhales sharply, eyes flicking to Eddie’s hand, his jaw tight. “Eds…”

“I meant it,” Eddie says simply, voice steady, sure. “I choose you.”

Buck blinks, gaze darting between Eddie’s eyes, searching for something— waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Eddie just holds his ground, lets his fingers settle against warm skin, steady.

And Buck—slowly, hesitantly—leans into it.

Eddie watches as Buck exhales, the tension unraveling from his shoulders, the doubt slowly ebbing away. Then Buck shifts, just enough that his head rests against Eddie’s arm, still cautious—but willing .

They don’t talk about it. They don’t need to.

Because Eddie keeps his arm right where it is. And Buck doesn’t move away.

*

Buck hadn’t slept much.

It wasn’t the kind of restless, agitated tossing that came with bad dreams or lingering stress—it was something quieter, heavier. Something that had settled inside his chest the moment Eddie had looked at him with that steady, unwavering certainty and said, I choose you.

Because that wasn’t just something Eddie said. Eddie wasn’t careless with words. He didn’t throw them out without meaning them, didn’t say things just to comfort someone in the moment.

No, Eddie meant it.

And Buck didn’t know what to do with that.

He’d spent years—his whole damn life —believing love was something conditional. Something earned, something fought for, something he had to prove himself worthy of, over and over, like the right combination of effort and loyalty would finally make someone stay. And yet—Eddie had sat there, calm and steady, and told Buck that there was nothing left to prove.

It should’ve been relieving. It should’ve settled him, let him sink into the warmth of knowing instead of doubting.

But Buck’s body had never learned what it meant to trust something like that. His mind had never been wired to believe in permanence—not when it came to himself, not when it came to the people who promised they’d never leave.

So he’d laid there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, replaying every moment—every second of Eddie’s voice, of his certainty, of the way he hadn't hesitated.

Buck had almost believed it.

Almost.

But almost wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

The doubt—the ever-present, gnawing uncertainty—still lived in the back of Buck’s mind. It wasn’t logical, wasn’t fair to Eddie, but Buck had spent too many years learning how to brace for disappointment, how to prepare for someone to change their mind.

And last night? Last night had been good. Good in a way Buck hadn’t dared to hope for, good in a way that had left him breathless.

But it was one night. One conversation.

And Buck didn’t know if he could trust that it would last.

Still, something about it felt different. The way Eddie had said it— I choose you —like it wasn’t just a reassurance, but a fact. Something settled. Something real.

Buck turned onto his side, staring at the soft glow of morning filtering through the curtains. His chest felt too tight, like something inside him was pressing against the walls of his ribs, demanding space it wasn’t sure it had.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, forcing himself toward the 

Buck moves through the space with easy familiarity, pouring coffee into two mugs, the scent rich and warm in the quiet house. Eddie stumbles in, hair still damp from his shower, stretching his arms above his head as he lets out a groggy yawn. “Morning,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.

Buck wordlessly slides one of the mugs toward him, watching as Eddie sinks onto a stool, wrapping his hands around the warmth. They sit there, quiet but comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t demand anything—just exists.

Eddie listens, nodding along, but Buck—Buck jumps in, engaging without hesitation, matching Chris’s energy like it’s second nature.

Eddie watches, something settling in his chest. Because this is proof that yesterday wasn’t just a moment. It wasn’t fleeting, wasn’t something Buck had talked himself out of overnight. He’s still here, still easy, still with them.

The problem is: Chris is home for the day, and at night he has other sleepover. 

"This boy is going out too much", Buck says.

Eddie snorts, shaking his head as he grabs his coffee. “He’s got a better social life than either of us.”

Buck huffs, leaning against the counter. “Seriously. When did he become the most popular guy in the house?”

Chris rounds the corner, crutches clicking against the tile, already mid-sentence about whatever game he and his friends plan to play later. He barely pauses long enough to grab a snack before heading back toward his room.

Buck gestures vaguely in his direction. “See? That’s a kid with plans.”

Eddie smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. “Jealous?”

Buck scoffs. “Of his social life? A little.”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, at least he still wants to hang out with us during the day.

Buck sighs, mock-dramatic. “Yeah, until we become ‘uncool.’ We’re on borrowed time.”

Eddie watches Chris disappear down the hall and smirks. “Guess we better make today count, then.”

Buck grins, nudging Eddie’s shoulder. “Challenge accepted.”

The day unfolds in an easy rhythm, the kind of weekend pace that settles naturally between them. Chris bounces between activities, moving from his latest obsession in video games to talking about robotics, his energy seemingly endless. Buck and Eddie flow around him, filling the spaces between, ensuring he’s fed, entertained, and amused without needing to hover.

Buck notices the quiet moments—how Chris barely asks before dropping into a chair beside him, how Eddie wordlessly hands Buck a drink when he’s too caught up in conversation to grab one himself. There’s an unspoken familiarity in the way they move around each other, in the effortless way their lives blend together, making room without needing to ask.

As the afternoon passes, Chris packs his bag for his next sleepover, talking about his plans with the kind of excitement Buck wishes he had when he was eight. There’s something freeing about watching a kid who’s secure in his place, who knows he’s loved, knows he belongs. Buck swallows against the quiet ache that settles in his chest, the part of him that still struggles to believe he’s earned the same certainty.

When Chris finally heads out, the house quiets, the energy shifting. Buck finds himself lingering in the kitchen as Eddie loads dishes into the sink, the soft clink of ceramic filling the space between them. There’s something grounding about watching Eddie exist in their shared world, about knowing Buck doesn’t need to earn a place here—it’s already his.

The weight of last night still hums under Buck’s skin, not as sharp now, but present. Eddie had looked at him with certainty, had said words that Buck wanted to believe. And now, in the quiet of their home, Buck wonders if maybe he’s ready to let himself trust it.

Eddie glances over as he wipes his hands on a towel, a small, knowing look crossing his face. There’s no expectation in it, no push. Just patience. Buck exhales, rolling his shoulders back, trying to shake off the last remnants of doubt that cling to him.

*

The house is quiet, still and settled in the deep hours of the night. The TV hums faintly, long forgotten, casting soft flickers of light against the walls. The blankets draped over them are tangled, evidence of shifting bodies seeking warmth, seeking closeness.

Eddie hadn’t meant to stay awake.

At least—not consciously. Not intentionally. But something in him had refused to settle, had kept him hovering in that place between sleep and awareness, his body tense, his mind too awake.

So he’d stayed.

Watched as Buck shifted in his sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his brows furrowed slightly like even now —even here —his mind refused to completely rest. Eddie had spent years learning the intricacies of Buck’s expressions, memorizing the patterns in his energy. He could tell when something was off, could read the weight of exhaustion in the tightness of Buck’s jaw.

Tonight there was something different.

Something close, hovering at the edges, like Buck was standing at a threshold and hadn’t quite figured out if he was allowed to step through.

Eddie swallowed, shifting slightly against the cushions, his arm still stretched across the back of the couch, careful not to move too much. He didn’t want to wake Buck.

Except Buck stirred. A slow, sleepy inhale, a furrow of his brows, the subtle parting of his lips as he blinked awake.

And then— just like that, Eddie was caught.

Buck stirs first, shifting against the couch, half caught in the haze between sleep and wakefulness. His body is warm, pressed into something solid. Buck freezes, blinking against the dim glow, heart stuttering at the expression on Eddie’s face. There’s something strange in it—not startled, not guilty, just open . His brows are drawn slightly, his lips parted, like he’s mid-thought, like he’s standing at the edge of some great realization but hasn’t yet found the words for it. 

Time stretches, quiet and heavy between them.

Then Eddie shifts, just barely, his fingers pressing into the fabric of the couch, grounding himself. He has a strange look on his face. His gaze flickers across Buck’s face like he’s memorizing every detail, like there’s something he needs to say but isn’t sure how.

Buck blinked at him, confusion flickering across his face. “You okay?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Eddie pauses, then says:

“You’re my best friend.”

Buck just watched , searching Eddie’s face, waiting for whatever came next.

Eddie’s chest was too tight. His mind was too loud. But the truth—the truth was simple. 

He is love.

Buck swallows, his pulse loud in his ears, and he doesn’t look away.

Chapter 19: Chapter Fifteen: Delicate

Summary:

Buck feels it—the weight of something new, something unspoken lingering between him and Eddie.

It isn’t obvious. But it’s there. In the way Eddie’s eyes linger for just a second longer when Buck speaks, in the way their movements sync without thought, without effort.

Calls come in, pulling them out into the city, into the adrenaline, the focus. And for those moments, Buck lets himself fall into it, lets himself exist in the work—the thing he’s always understood, always felt certain about.

Because every time he turns his head, Eddie is there

Notes:

Posting this a little bit later cause I had an exam today. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Chapter Text

The morning filtered in gently, the golden light stretching across the room like it was trying to wake him slowly. Buck blinked against the brightness, his mind sluggish, weighed down by sleep and something heavier—something that lingered from the night before.

His body felt warm, his limbs tangled in the blanket, and the couch pressed firm beneath him. He shifted slightly, rolling onto his back, eyes focusing on the ceiling as he worked through the muddled fog in his mind.

Eddie.

That was the first clear thought. The weight of his gaze, the certainty in his voice, the quiet words that had pressed against Buck’s ribs like something meant to stay.

You’re my best friend.

Buck exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. It hadn’t been just words. It hadn’t been casual. Eddie had paused, had looked at him like something had been unraveled—like Buck had already known the truth before Eddie had even spoken it aloud.

His chest felt tight, full of something thick and unshaken, something he wasn’t entirely sure how to carry.

The house was quiet. Eddie’s usual morning movements hadn’t begun yet. Buck sat up slowly, the blanket slipping off his shoulders as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. The weight of the night before pressed against him, but—somehow—it didn’t feel heavy.

It felt real.

Permanent.

Buck took his time shaking off the remnants of sleep, letting the morning settle around him. The quiet felt different—charged, like something had shifted beneath the surface. He could still hear Eddie’s voice in his head, the way it had pressed into him, deliberate, undeniable.

You’re my best friend.

That wasn’t a new truth. Wasn’t something Buck hadn’t known before. But last night—last night, it had been something else. A realization, a quiet tipping point that Eddie had stepped into, something Buck had seen written all over his face long before he’d said a single word.

Buck exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face before pushing himself up from the couch. His body ached slightly, the weight of sleep clinging to his limbs, but his mind was awake.

Eddie was in the kitchen, already pouring coffee, the steady rhythm of his morning movements grounding. He glanced up when Buck walked in, something soft and knowing flickering across his face.

And Buck—Buck still wasn’t sure what to say.

But Eddie didn’t push. He just slid a mug across the counter, easy, natural, and Buck took it without hesitation.

Maybe words weren’t necessary. Not yet.

Before going to the firehouse, Buck has one thing ti do. One that is on his mind for a while now, and he didn’t get the chance yet. Christopher is outside, on his phone. And Buck approaches him slowly.

He hesitated, then took a cautious step forward. “Chris, I need to say something. I need you to really hear me. I’ve had this conversation with your father now, but never had the chance to have it with you.”

Christopher met his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Buck began. “I’m so, so sorry. For leaving. For not calling. For not saying goodbye. I thought I was protecting you.”

Chris was quiet, his expression unreadable.

“I told myself you'd be okay without me,” Buck went on, voice shaking. “That your dad would be enough, and that I was only ever the extra piece in your life. I convinced myself of that. Because it was easier than facing the truth — that I hurt you. That I abandoned you when you needed me.”

Chris’s voice broke the stillness, gentle but firm.

“Even when I was mad at you,” Chris said, “I needed you. And you were gone. Silent.”

Buck’s face crumpled. “I know. I know I was. And I hate myself for it. I thought silence would be kinder than explaining something messy. But all it did was leave you in the dark. I left you wondering, hurting. That’s on me. I never wanted you to feel abandoned.”

He took another step, careful and slow. “You didn’t deserve that, Chris. You’re not someone people walk away from. You’re someone people should stay for. I should have stayed. I should’ve fought harder. I failed you.”

Chris’s eyes glistened, but he didn’t look away.

“I was angry at first,” he admitted. “Then sad. Then I just started pretending it didn’t matter. But it did. You mattered. You still do.”

Buck blinked fast. “I never stopped loving you, kid. Never. And I know that love isn’t enough to fix it. But I’m here now. I’m not running again. And if it takes the rest of my life to earn your trust back, I’ll do it.”

Chris stepped forward. “You’re already doing it. You came back.”

Buck let out a shaky breath, relief and sorrow tangled together. “Yeah,” he whispered. “And I’m never leaving again. Not unless you tell me to.”

Chris wrapped his arms around Buck’s waist and held on tight. Buck dropped his head and held him back, arms wrapping around the boy like a promise.

“I don’t want you to go,” Chris murmured into his chest. “Even if I’m still hurt. I want you here.”

“I’m here,” Buck whispered, eyes closed. “I’m here, and I love you. Always.”

They stayed like that for a while, until Chris broke the hug, saying:

“Okay, I love you, but it’s too soon for all that. Couldn’t you wait until later?”

A small laugh escapes Buck’s lips. That kid was really something.

The drive to the firehouse is familiar, routine—even after everything that shifted between them. Buck sits in the passenger seat, watching the city roll past, the weight of last night still lingering somewhere in his chest. Eddie doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t bring it up. But Buck notices how he glances over more often than usual, how there’s something settled in his expression, something sure.

When they pull into the lot, the usual energy of the firehouse greets them—Hen and Chim are already mid-argument about something ridiculous, Bobby’s reviewing reports, and the scent of coffee hangs heavy in the air.

Buck steps out of the truck, stretching briefly before following Eddie inside, their steps falling into sync like second nature.

“What’s with you two?” Chim calls out as they step into the common area, eyes flicking between them.

Buck furrows his brow. “What?”

Chim gestures vaguely. “You’ve got a vibe.”

“A vibe ?” Eddie echoes, raising an eyebrow.

Hen snorts. “Yeah, like—extra in sync today. Usually Buck is bouncing off the walls by now.”

Buck huffs, grabbing a coffee cup and ignoring her smirk. Eddie shakes his head, amusement flickering across his face as he grabs his own cup.

But Buck knows— knows —that something between them has shifted. Maybe it’s subtle, maybe it’s not something anyone else can put words to, but it’s there.

The fear of being pushed aside isn’t gone. It’s recent enough to still ache. That feeling had wrapped itself tight enough around him to become his second nature. Especially with Eddie, after everything. But the fear feels quieter now. Smaller. 

Because he is not questioning it anymore.

Not when Eddie looks at him like that.

Like Buck was never on the outside to begin with.

“So,” Chim says, drawing out the word as he props his elbow on the table, “are we gonna talk about the fact that Buck is weirdly quiet today?”

Buck groans, tipping his head back against the chair. “It’s literally been twenty minutes.”

Hen smirks. “Yeah, but normally you’d have at least argued with Chim twice by now.”

“I just walked in,” Buck argues, gesturing vaguely toward the door like it proves his point.

Chim shrugs. “And yet, the vibes are different.”

“Stop saying ‘vibes,’” Buck mutters, taking another sip of his coffee.

Ravi, clearly sensing the inevitable, cautiously grabs a protein bar from his bag and stays quiet, eyes bouncing between them like he’s watching a tennis match.

Eddie snorts but doesn’t say anything, clearly amused. Bobby finally looks up from his papers, raising an eyebrow. “As long as you’re not about to start another betting pool.”

Hen grins. “Oh, I wish there was something worth betting on.”

Buck gives her a flat look. “I am not acting weird.

Hen shrugs, sipping her coffee. “I dunno, Buckaroo. You’ve got a look today.”

“What kind of look?” Eddie asks, leaning back casually, clearly enjoying Buck’s irritation.

Hen tilts her head, considering. “Like… thoughtful.

Buck groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “Do I have to file a formal complaint to just exist in this firehouse?”

Chim grins. “You could, but I’d love to see how you word it.”

The teasing continues, Hen and Chim tag-teaming their relentless observations, and Buck feels himself relax into it. It’s easy, familiar—exactly what he expects when walking into this place.

But through all of it, Eddie sits beside him, steady, present, there.

Even amidst the routine, he feels it—the weight of something new, something unspoken lingering between him and Eddie.

It isn’t obvious. Not enough for anyone to call it out, not enough for Buck to feel like the ground beneath him has shifted completely. But it’s there. In the way Eddie’s eyes linger for just a second longer when Buck speaks, in the way their movements sync without thought, without effort.

Calls come in, pulling them out into the city, into the adrenaline, the focus. And for those moments, Buck lets himself fall into it, lets himself exist in the work—the thing he’s always understood, always felt certain about.

Because every time he turns his head, Eddie is there.

*

The firehouse is in the thick of mid-shift—calls coming in, reports being updated, the usual ebb and flow of movement keeping them busy. The adrenaline from their last call still lingers, the scent of smoke faint on their gear, but now they’ve settled into that in-between stretch of time, waiting for whatever comes next.

Buck is half-listening to Chim and Hen argue about something trivial when the TV catches his attention.

The news anchor’s voice is steady, the headline flashing in bold across the screen: Famous Businessman Arrested on Fraud Charges—Faces Multiple Counts.

Buck’s breath stutters for half a second as he catches the name in the report— Nate’s father.

He straightens, pulse kicking up, the sounds of the firehouse fading as he focuses on the details scrolling across the screen. Eddie notices immediately, shifting beside him. “Buck?”

Buck barely hears him, already reaching for his phone.

The world outside the firehouse suddenly feels much bigger than the routine of their shift, the easy banter, the steady rhythm of a day at work. Now Buck doesn’t hesitate.

The phone rings, each second stretching as Buck listens for Nate’s voice.

When he picks up, his tone is clipped, wary—like he already knows why Buck is calling. “Hey.”

Buck exhales. “I saw the news.”

There’s a pause, then a quiet breath on the other end. “Yeah.”

Buck waits, giving Nate the space to say whatever he needs to say, not pushing—but not letting go, either.

Nate exhales again, heavier this time. “It’s…a mess.”

Buck knows that tone. Knows the weight of it, the way it presses against ribs like something too heavy to carry alone.

“You wanna talk about it?” Buck offers, voice steady.

Nate hesitates, but Buck knows him—knows that hesitation isn’t a no, just a pause.

And then—softer, resigned—Nate says, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

Buck listens carefully as Nate lets out a long breath, the tension in his voice shifting—not relief, not anger, just exhaustion.

“I should be happy, right?” Nate says, voice edged with something Buck recognizes. “I am happy. He’s finally gone. No more pretending, no more damage control.”

Buck hums softly, letting Nate process, letting him put words to the storm inside his head.

“But now it’s me,” Nate continues, voice tight. “Every headline, every conversation—it’s all about me . What I knew, what I didn’t, what it was like growing up with him.” He scoffs, sharp and bitter. “Like I wanna relive it for strangers.”

Buck shifts, gripping his phone a little tighter. He knows that feeling—the way people turn their attention to you when everything falls apart, like your pain is something they’re entitled to examine.

“You don’t owe anyone a statement,” Buck says finally, voice steady, certain. “Not the press, not your coworkers, not anybody who thinks they have a right to your story.”

Nate lets out another breath, slower this time, the frustration easing slightly. “Yeah.”

Buck leans against the counter, glancing around the firehouse, catching Eddie’s gaze across the room. Eddie nods, subtle, like he already understands what Buck is doing— why he’s doing it.

“I’ve got your back, man,” Buck says, softer now. “Whatever you need.”

Nate is quiet for a moment, then—finally—a small, tired chuckle. “Yeah. I know you do.”

Buck stays on the phone with Nate for a while, letting him talk through the mess, letting him vent, letting him feel everything without expectation. There’s no neat resolution, no perfect words to fix it—but Buck knows that sometimes, being there is the only thing that matters. Nate had done it for him.

Buck barely gets a sip of his water before Hen’s voice cuts through the firehouse noise, sharp and teasing.

“So, who’s Nate?” she asks, eyebrow raised, arms crossed like she already knows she’s stirring something up.

Buck exhales, shaking his head, but before he can answer, Chim jumps in. “Ohhh, this sounds juicy.

“It’s not,” Buck deadpans.

Hen smirks. “Right, because you never get mysterious phone calls mid-shift.”

Buck scoffs, setting his water down. “He’s a friend.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything.

Buck catches it immediately—the way Eddie’s posture subtly shifts, the way his jaw tightens just slightly, like he’s not reacting, but Buck knows him well enough to see the truth beneath the silence.

“Friend, huh?” Chim pushes, grinning. “That kind of friend?”

Buck huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh my god, no. We met when I was—” He stops, hesitates for half a second, because the words feel heavier now. “When I was figuring stuff out.”

That’s when Eddie finally speaks—voice even, controlled, but Buck catches the sharp edge beneath it. “Figuring what out?”

Hen glances between them, interest clearly piqued, but Buck doesn’t look away from Eddie.

There’s something new in the air now, something stretching between them, something tightening.

Buck exhales slowly, carefully. “Just… life. Nate was dealing with his own stuff.”

Eddie’s lips press together, his fingers tapping idly against the table, and Buck knows knows exactly what this is.

Jealousy.

Buck watches Eddie carefully, measuring the tension that lingers between them. The shift is subtle—Eddie isn’t outright glaring, isn’t snapping—but Buck knows him too well to miss the way his fingers tap against the table just a little too quickly, the way his jaw tightens slightly, the way his eyes won’t meet Buck’s for longer than a second.

Jealousy.

It isn’t loud. Isn’t demanding. But it’s there—settled deep in the quiet of Eddie’s expression, in the way he bristles just enough at the mention of Nate.

Jealousy.

Buck isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“You sure you don’t wanna elaborate?” Hen prompts, sipping her coffee, clearly delighted by whatever she’s picking up on.

Buck sighs. “ Yes , I’m sure.”

Chim nudges Eddie’s arm. “What do you think, Diaz? Mysterious friend from Buck’s journey—should we be concerned?”

Buck expects Eddie to brush it off, to roll his eyes, to fire back with some smart remark.

But instead—Eddie just shrugs, his expression too neutral. “Buck can do whatever he wants.”

Hen raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

Chim whistles low. “That sounded pointed.

Buck huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “ Oh my god, can we not do this right now?”

Eddie exhales sharply, pushing himself up from the table with too much force, like he’s suddenly decided he has something else to do. “I’m gonna grab another coffee.”

Buck watches Eddie disappear into the kitchen, his movements sharp, deliberate— controlled. He knows Eddie well enough to recognize what that means.

Hen leans against the table, smirking. “Buckaroo, buddy —you do see what’s happening, right?”

Buck groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yes, Hen. I see it.”

Chim whistles low. “Damn. Diaz really does not like mystery man Nate.”

Buck huffs, shaking his head. “It’s not like that.”

Hen arches an eyebrow. “Then why is Eddie in there soul-searching into his coffee right now?”

Buck exhales, glancing toward the kitchen, catching the subtle tension in Eddie’s shoulders as he pours a fresh cup. It’s not anger. Not frustration. Just— discomfort.

Because Eddie is used to knowing everything about Buck.

And Nate?

Nate is outside of that circle.

Buck pushes himself up, ignoring the amused glances from Hen and Chim as he heads toward the kitchen. Eddie doesn’t look up when Buck steps beside him, but Buck catches the way his fingers tighten slightly around his coffee cup.

“You wanna talk about it?” Buck offers, voice low.

Eddie exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing to talk about.”

Buck knows that’s not true. But Eddie is Eddie —he won’t push, won’t say it outright. He just expects Buck to get it.

And Buck does.

Because no matter how complicated things get—Eddie is still his best friend.

The rest of the shift moves forward with the usual rhythm—calls come in, equipment gets checked, reports are filed. Buck and Eddie fall into their usual pattern, working seamlessly alongside each other, but there’s an underlying tension that lingers. It’s not sharp, not disruptive, but it sits there, hovering just beneath the surface.

Buck doesn’t bring up Nate again. Eddie doesn’t ask. But Buck catches the way Eddie watches him—quick glances when he thinks Buck isn’t paying attention, the way his jaw tenses slightly when Buck talks to anyone else for too long, the edge in his voice when he casually asks, “You good?” after a quiet moment.

“Yeah.”

It’s not anger.

It’s something else.

Something Buck knows but isn’t ready to name yet.

By the time the shift ends, the exhaustion settles deep in their bones, the weight of the day pressing against them. Buck tosses his duffel into the truck, slamming the door shut before glancing over at Eddie, who does the same with his usual efficiency.

The drive home is quiet but not uncomfortable. The radio hums in the background, the city lights flashing past as they move through the familiar streets.

Buck exhales slowly. He knows they need to talk.

And judging by the way Eddie’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel—so does he.

*

The house feels different tonight. Not because anything has changed physically, but because the weight of the day—the weight of last night—sits between them like something tangible. Chris is already asleep, the stillness pressing against them as they move into the kitchen, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting shadows against the walls.

Eddie sets his keys down. Buck leans against the counter.

There’s a beat of silence—charged, expectant.

Then, finally, Buck says, “So… are we gonna talk about it?”

Eddie scoffs softly, shaking his head. “Talk about what ?”

Buck tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. “Come on , man. You’ve been weird since Hen brought up Nate.”

Eddie exhales sharply, his fingers pressing against the counter. “I’m not weird .”

Buck huffs a laugh. “You stormed off for coffee, Diaz.”

Eddie tenses, his jaw clenching, like he’s debating whether he even wants to say what’s in his head.

Buck doesn’t push.

He just waits .

And eventually—Eddie lets out a long breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know, okay?”

Buck watches him carefully, his voice softer now. “Don’t know what ?”

Eddie swallows, shifting slightly, his fingers tapping against the counter like he needs something to ground himself. “I didn’t like the way it felt.”

Buck furrows his brow. “What?”

Eddie exhales, frustrated—but not at Buck. At himself . “Hearing about Nate. Hearing— you talk about Nate. Like he knows things about you that I don’t.”

Buck stills.

Because that is the truth Eddie has been circling around all day.

Buck lets the words settle between them, lets the weight of them mean something .

Then, quietly, says, “Eddie… you already know me.”

Eddie looks up then, something raw in his expression.

Eddie lets out a slow breath, his fingers tapping restlessly against the counter, like he’s trying to work through something too big to say outright. Buck watches him carefully, giving him space, but not letting him retreat.

“I do know you,” Eddie says finally, voice rough, like the words cost him something. “But there was this whole part of your life I wasn’t there for. And was my fault that I wasn’t there” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I hate that so much.”

Buck’s chest tightens. There it is.

So this isn’t about Nate. It’s about the months Buck spent running, about the pieces of himself he found during that time—pieces Eddie wasn’t there to see. And even though Buck came back, even though everything settled, there’s still a space in Eddie’s mind where that gap exists.

Buck doesn’t tell that he felt that way, too. That the gap wasn’t just Eddie’s. Buck felt it in the curve of his smile, in the inside jokes between him and Christopher that he wasn’t a part of. He missed watching Chris grow. So, for more painful that it is, that time was necessary for both of them, he get that now. It doesn't justify the pain, but it helps to explain it. 

But he doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, Buck steps closer, leaning against the counter beside him, their shoulders nearly touching. “You didn’t miss anything,” he says quietly. “I’m still here. I’m still me.

Eddie holds his gaze for a long moment. Then, finally, he exhales, tension easing slightly, just enough for Buck to see the shift.

“You really didn’t like Nate, huh?” Buck says, voice lighter now, teasing just a little.

Eddie snorts, shaking his head. “Nope.”

Buck huffs a laugh, nudging Eddie’s arm lightly, and for the first time all night—Eddie laughs , too.

"He’s fine"

Buck nods, exhaling softly, letting the words settle. He knows Nate will get through this—knows he’s strong enough to navigate the mess, even with the weight of public scrutiny pressing down on him.

Eddie watches Buck carefully, something unreadable in his expression. Buck doesn’t push, doesn’t tease—just lets the quiet stretch between them, warm and familiar.

Eventually, Eddie shifts, grabbing his coffee cup and shaking his head with a small smirk. “Still don’t like him.”

Buck laughs, rolling his eyes. “Noted.”

And with that, the weight of the conversation eases.

For now.

But Buck knows—knows that Eddie will always be watching, waiting, making sure Buck is okay.

And then—Carla steps out of Christopher’s room.

Buck catches the movement out of the corner of his eye, glancing up just as she closes the door behind her with careful precision, her expression neutral. Too neutral.

Eddie sees it too.

Carla doesn’t speak immediately—just looks at them, her gaze flickering between Buck and Eddie with quiet calculation, like she’s assessing something.

And then—she smirks.

Buck tenses automatically. Eddie exhales, rubbing a hand over his face like he already knows what’s coming.

“So,” Carla says, dragging out the word with too much amusement. “How’s everything going in here tonight?”

Buck furrows his brow. “Uh… fine?”

Carla hums, crossing her arms. “Right. Fine.”

Eddie glares at her, unimpressed. “Carla.”

She grins, tilting her head just slightly. “I just think it’s interesting how much unspoken energy is floating around in this house tonight.”

Buck groans, tipping his head back against the couch. “Oh my God.”

Eddie points at her. “Stop.”

Carla raises an eyebrow. “Stop what ?”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Whatever this is.”

Carla shrugs, entirely unfazed. “I’m just saying—you two have a lot to talk about.”

Buck scoffs. “We just did.”

Carla’s eyes flicker between them, too knowing. “Sure. Keep telling yourselves that.”

Buck sputters, shifting uncomfortably, but Eddie just stares at her.

Buck groans. “Can we please not do this right now?”

Carla raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Oh, so there’s something to do?”

Buck sputters. “That’s not what I—”

Carla laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, honey, I don’t need you to say anything. I already know .”

Eddie lets out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw, clearly choosing patience over arguing. Buck watches him carefully, noting the way his shoulders tense, the way his fingers curl just slightly into his palm before he exhales again, smoothing out the reaction.

Carla studies him for a moment, then sighs dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. “I’ll leave you boys to pretend this conversation never happened.”

Buck groans again, tipping his head back against the couch as she walks toward the door. Eddie watches her leave, shaking his head in exasperation, and when the door clicks shut, Buck lets out a sharp breath.

The second the door clicks shut, Buck lets out a long, suffering groan, dragging both hands down his face. “I hate her.”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.”

Buck sighs, slumping against the counter. “Okay, fine, but I hate how she always knows things .”

Eddie smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s terrifying.”

Buck narrows his eyes at him. “You were just getting interrogated too, don’t act like you’re off the hook.”

Eddie shrugs, way too casual. “I wasn’t the one squirming.”

Buck gapes at him. “Excuse me— you were absolutely squirming.”

Eddie sets his coffee down, arms crossing as he leans against the counter, eyebrow raised. “Nah, I was calm.”

Buck huffs, shaking his head. “Lies.”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head before turning toward the fridge, clearly pretending that this conversation—just like Carla predicted—is about to be completely ignored.

Buck watches him, the way his shoulders are loose now, the tension easing out of him.

Carla’s words still hum in the back of Buck’s mind, pressing against the edges of something neither of them are ready to name yet.

But for now, they’ll pretend. Just like always.

*

The house is quiet now—Carla has gone, and the teasing from earlier still lingers in the air like an unspoken challenge. Buck exhales, stretching his arms above his head as he wanders toward the kitchen, his mind still circling everything that happened tonight.

And then—his socked foot betrays him.

It happens fast. One second he’s walking, the next—his foot slides against the smooth floor, his balance tipping dangerously backward.

Oh, crap— ” Buck yelps, arms flailing as gravity tries to claim him.

Eddie reacts instantly .

A quick, decisive movement, his hand gripping Buck’s wrist before he can hit the ground, before Buck even fully processes that he’s about to wipe out.

Their momentum pushes them closer—too close.

Buck swallows hard, breath short, his chest almost pressing against Eddie’s, his hand clenched in Eddie’s grip, steadying him.

Eddie doesn’t let go.

For a beat—just one charged, unspoken beat—they stay there, Buck breathing hard, Eddie’s fingers curling around his wrist just enough for Buck to feel it.

Eddie exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You are a disaster.”

Buck lets out a short, breathless laugh. Eddie’s gaze flickers down—to Buck’s hand, still tightly in his, to the small space between them, to the way Buck hasn’t pulled away.

Something shifts.

Something hangs heavy between them, waiting—waiting for someone to break, for someone to say it.

But then—Chris’ door creaks.

Eddie drops Buck’s wrist, stepping back smoothly, too smoothly.

Buck blinks, still recovering from the near wipeout, still feeling the ghost of Eddie’s grip.

Chris walks into the kitchen, yawning.

Eddie clears his throat. “You should be asleep.”

Chris shrugs, grabbing a glass of water, completely unaware of whatever had just happened between them.

Buck exhales, running a hand over his face.

Several minutes later, his pulse is still elevated from earlier—from the near fall, from Eddie’s grip, from the look they shared before Chris interrupted. He knows Eddie feels it too. Knows it in the way his fingers still twitch occasionally, like the memory of Buck’s wrist in his grip hasn’t fully faded.

The storm rolls in quietly, a slow build of tension in the sky, the weight of heavy clouds pressing down. The first droplets tap against the windows, soft and deliberate, before the rain really starts—steady, rhythmic, filling the air with electricity.

Buck exhales, standing by the door, watching the downpour. Eddie steps up beside him, crossing his arms, staring out into the storm. The silence stretches—not awkward, just charged , something neither of them are naming.

“We’re not gonna pretend this time, right?” Buck asks softly, voice barely above the sound of the rain.

Eddie doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lets out a slow breath, shaking his head, just slightly . “Not this time.”

Buck swallows, shifting closer. “So what are we doing?”

Eddie huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s nothing light about it. His gaze flickers to Buck’s, holding steady—like he’s deciding something.

Then—before Buck can fully process what’s happening, Eddie moves.

Quick, deliberate. His hand catches Buck’s wrist again , but this time—this time he doesn’t let go .

Buck sucks in a breath, staring at him, his heart hammering in his chest.

Eddie’s eyes drop—to Buck’s mouth, to the space between them, to the way neither of them pull away .

The rain pounds against the earth, the storm crackling around them, wrapping them in something electric .

Buck shifts, half an inch forward, testing, waiting.

And then—

Chris’ voice echoes from his room, loud and unrelenting .

“DO YOU TWO EVER STOP STARING AT EACH OTHER?!”

Buck jerks back, laughing , tipping his head against Eddie’s shoulder as Eddie groans, rubbing a hand over his face.

I’m going to bed,” Chris calls out again. “ Good luck with all this.

Buck wheezes, gripping Eddie’s arm for support. Eddie just shakes his head, muttering, “This kid .”

Eddie huffs, dragging a hand down his face, shaking his head in pure exasperation. “Chris is gonna make this unbearable.”

Buck lifts his head, grinning. “Oh, absolutely .”

The moment is broken—but not lost .

Because Eddie’s still looking at Buck.

The world has narrowed to this .

To the soft hum of their breath curling into the storm.

To Buck’s pulse hammering against his ribs as Eddie’s fingers tighten just slightly around his wrist—still holding, still steady.

Eddie’s eyes flicker down—just for a second, just for a heartbeat—before meeting Buck’s again.

Buck swallows.

Eddie steps forward.

Closer.

So close Buck can feel the warmth of his breath, the intent in the space between them.

The storm rages on, lightning splitting the sky in sharp, blinding flashes, rain hammering against the earth in steady, relentless waves. The world feels small —just the two of them standing at the door, breath mingling, hearts racing, the moment tipping into something neither of them can ignore.

Buck doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Because Buck knows —knows what’s about to happen, knows the weight of it, knows that this isn’t something they’ll pretend away.

Not this time.

Chapter 20: Chapter Sixteen: My fears. My hopes. My dreams.

Summary:

“Growth,” Chris says solemnly. “I’m proud of you both. Took you a hundred years and a million near-death experience to figure it out, but hey—romance.”

Buck and Eddie share a laugh, the kind that softens everything inside them. Outside the window, the sky is soft blue and full of promise.

Notes:

tw: homophobia.
If you that topic trigger you, continue carefully. It's the misuse of the word "fag" and the aftermath of it.
Also, how do we feel about going into the final chapters??

Chapter Text

Eddie’s hand drifts up—hesitant, fingers brushing against Buck’s jaw like he’s memorizing the shape of him, like he’s afraid the moment will dissolve if he touches too firmly.

Buck leans into it. Just barely.

Their eyes lock, and everything else—the storm, the house, the years of side-stepping this thing between them—falls away.

“Buck,” Eddie says, soft and strained, like he’s fighting every instinct he’s ever had to keep things simple. “I—”

Buck’s heart stops .

"You don't need to say anything." 

Buck's breath touch Eddie's lips. Warm, featherlight, like a secret passed between them.

Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, his hand still cradling Buck’s jaw as if to anchor himself there, in this moment where silence says more than words ever could.

He leans in—not rushed, not uncertain. Just finally.

Their lips meet in a kiss that’s soft and steady, like the hush after a storm. It’s not about fireworks or urgency. It’s about something that’s been waiting quietly, patiently, to be known.

Buck’s lips are soft, tentative at first, shaped by uncertainty but anchored in something deeper—years of quiet wanting, of sidelong glances and unspoken truths. Eddie meets him with equal gentleness, like he’s memorizing every second, afraid to rush and lose the gravity of it. Their mouths move together in perfect sync, not hurried, not desperate—just right . Like two puzzle pieces that always knew where they belonged.

It’s good. Familiar. A grounding, soul-deep kind of kiss that feels less like a beginning and more like a return. And when they finally part, their noses brush, breath mingling in the quiet space between them. Nothing explosive—just steady, certain, real .

Buck studies him, brows slightly drawn like he’s waiting for the world to pull the rug out from under them. But when Eddie opens his eyes again, there’s nothing there but certainty.

He reaches up and touches Buck’s chest—right over his heart. Their foreheads touch again, and Eddie lets himself lean into it this time, no hesitation. Outside, the rain softens into a hush against the roof, like the storm’s given them permission to breathe.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Eddie murmurs, thumb brushing along Buck’s jaw. “But I want this. I want you.

Buck closes his eyes, wraps a hand around Eddie’s wrist like he’s anchoring himself to this promise. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Later, long after the last words have faded and the world outside has settled into sleep, Eddie pulls back the covers and gives Buck a look. Not an invitation wrapped in expectation—just one that says stay.

Buck doesn’t hesitate. He toes off his shoes, shrugs out of his jacket, and slips under the blanket beside Eddie like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They lie there, not touching at first. But the space between them feels too loud, too unfinished. Eventually, Buck shifts—slow, tentative—and Eddie moves too, like they’re caught in the same quiet current.

Shoulders press and legs align, like gravity won’t allow anything less. The kind of closeness that speaks louder than touch ever could.

Buck lets out a breath, like his lungs had been holding onto something for too long. Eddie feels it against his neck, warm and steady. “This okay?” Buck asks, just above a whisper.

Eddie nods, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah. It’s more than okay.”

There’s no need to fill the silence. Not when their bodies are already speaking—saying I’m here , I’m not leaving , You’re safe.

At some point, Buck’s hand finds Eddie’s. Their fingers tangle loosely, comfortably, like even in sleep they’ll keep reaching for each other.

*

Buck stirs first, blinking into the quiet, unsure for a moment where he is. Then he feels it. Eddie’s warmth pressed along his side, their hands still tangled between them like even sleep didn’t dare separate them.

Eddie's breathing is slow, even. Peaceful in a way Buck doesn’t often get to see—no tension in his shoulders, no defenses drawn up behind his eyes. Just Eddie, open and unguarded in the early light.

Buck doesn’t move. He just watches for a while, lets the comfort of the moment sink into his bones. Their legs are tangled under the sheets, and he can feel the steady rhythm of Eddie’s heartbeat through the slight brush of their knees.

Eventually, Eddie blinks awake, lashes fluttering like he’s dreaming still. His eyes find Buck’s, and there’s no panic—no need to rearrange himself or explain away the night. Just a faint, sleepy smile.

“Hey,” Eddie mumbles, voice rough with sleep.

“Hey,” Buck whispers back, heart quietly undoing itself.

They stay like that a while longer—no rush, no rules, just warmth and the quiet certainty of something beginning.

The kitchen is filled with the comforting scent of toasted bread and sizzling eggs, the kind of domestic quiet that hums with meaning. Buck stands barefoot at the stove in one of Eddie’s old T-shirts, sleeves a little too tight around his biceps, while Eddie slices fruit beside him—shoulder brushing shoulder like they don’t quite know how to stop touching yet.

Christopher’s voice carries through the house, bright and curious. “Dad? Buck?”

Eddie grins, wiping his hands on a towel. “In the kitchen, mijo.”

Christopher comes in, eyes lighting up at the sight of them together. Then he stops—pauses mid-roll—and his eyebrows lift ever so slightly. He smirks. Christopher squints at the scene unfolding in the kitchen, arms crossed like he’s judging a cooking competition.

Buck at the stove. Eddie setting plates. Shared glances and that suspiciously domestic hum that screams we had a moment.

He rolls into the room, eyeing Buck’s too-tight borrowed T-shirt. “So... this a sleepover situation or are we calling it ‘accidentally fell into each other’s arms in the storm’ now?”

Buck freezes, spatula mid-flip. Eddie sighs audibly.

“Morning to you too,” Eddie mutters, sipping his coffee with the long-suffering look of a dad who’s realizing his teenager has discovered the power of well-placed sarcasm.

“I’m just saying,” Chris says, walking around the counter like a talk show host making a dramatic reveal. “It’s kind of obvious. Buck’s wearing your shirt, your hair’s a mess, and you’re both smiling like you got hit by a romance movie.”

Buck turns red. Eddie clears his throat.

Christopher grabs a banana from the fruit bowl, peels it, and takes a dramatic bite like he’s just delivered the final verdict on a court case. “Took you long enough,” he says around the mouthful. “Do I get a godfather now or what?”

Buck chuckles, flustered. “You’ve got no chill, kid.”

Chris grins, mouth full. “Nope. Lost that around age ten, somewhere between algebra, the shooting, the lightning, and realizing you two were emotionally constipated.”

Eddie groans. “ Mijo...

But he’s smiling, and Buck’s shoulders shake with laughter, and breakfast tastes a little better in a house finally full of truth.

Christopher grins like he’s just won a years-long bet. “Do I get pancakes to celebrate or what?”

Buck is already reaching for the mix. “You get all the pancakes you want, buddy.”

“So,” Christopher starts, loading syrup onto his stack with absolutely no subtlety, “have we upgraded from ‘weirdly intense roommates’ to ‘soft-launch couple’ yet?”

Buck chokes on his juice.

Eddie rubs the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, do you practice these lines before you come to the table?”

Chris shrugs. “I observe. I adapt.”

Eddie sighs but glances at Buck, who offers a quiet smile—the kind that makes things feel less terrifying.

“We’re… figuring it out,” Eddie says, voice softer now. “Nothing’s official or labeled yet.”

“Yeah,” Buck adds, his voice tentative but honest. “It’s new. Not the feelings, but—saying it out loud. Living in it.”

Christopher studies them both, and for a moment, the sass fades. “So… you're still scared?”

Eddie nods, steady. “A little. But we’re not running from it anymore.”

Chris pops a piece of pancake into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, then points his fork at them. “Just don’t be weird about it, okay? No whispering when I walk into rooms. No staring at each other like it’s a fanfic. And no kissing in front of my food.”

Buck laughs. “That’s fair.”

“Also,” Christopher adds, almost as an afterthought, “if you hurt him, Buck, I get the Xbox in the breakup.”

Eddie nearly drops the coffee pot. “Christopher.”

“And if you hurt him, Dad, I get a new pc set-up. With good speakers.” Chris leans forward, eyes gleaming. “RGB lighting, mechanical keyboard, noise-canceling headset. I’ve made a spreadsheet.”

“You made a—”

“Google Doc. Shared folder. It’s color-coded.”

Eddie nearly spits out his coffee. “Excuse me?” Christopher raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed. 

“What? Emotional damages. I’ve suffered through years of repressed pining and meaningful silences. That deserves some compensation.” Buck tries to keep a straight face, but he’s losing the battle fast.

Eddie groans dramatically, but there’s no heat behind it. Just that soft, worn kind of joy he only ever lets shine through at this kitchen table, with these two people.

“Fine,” he mutters. 

Chris grins, victorious. “Deal. I’m not planning on needing it. Just covering my bases.”

And somehow, amidst the pancakes and sarcasm, it feels like they’re building something—messy, new, and incredibly real.

*

Later that day, the three of them pile onto the couch with plates balanced on knees and a movie queued up, the kind of lazy afternoon that only comes after a week that demanded too much.

Christopher flips through the streaming options like he’s conducting business. “We’re not watching anything depressing, weird, or ‘critically acclaimed but soul-crushing,’” he declares, throwing a not-so-subtle look at Eddie, who raises both hands in surrender.

“No film criticism allowed,” Eddie says. 

Buck chuckles, nudging Chris with his knee. “What counts as acceptable viewing, oh wise one?”

Chris pretends to ponder, then grins. “Something with explosions and a 50% Rotten Tomatoes score. Comfort chaos.”

As the opening credits roll, Buck stretches out a little more comfortably, his arm draped behind Eddie on the couch—not quite holding him, but just there. Steady. Casual.

Until Christopher glances over and smirks. “You two are so awkwardly domestic.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but his hand finds Buck’s where it rests, threads their fingers without looking.

“Better than emotionally constipated,” Buck mutters, smirking.

“Growth,” Chris says solemnly. “I’m proud of you both. Took you a hundred years and a million near-death experience to figure it out, but hey—romance.”

Buck and Eddie share a laugh, the kind that softens everything inside them. Outside the window, the sky is soft blue and full of promise.

And in that little house—TV flashing, hands clasped, a kid between them who never let either of them lie to themselves for long—it finally feels like a beginning that’s going to hold.

*

To everyone else at the station, Buck and Eddie are just... Buck and Eddie. Teammates. Best friends. The usual banter, the usual dynamic. No one sees the extra second their eyes linger in the locker room. No one catches the subtle touch of a hand on the small of a back as they pass in the hallway. No one hears the way “be safe” lands a little heavier when said on a call.

They’re good at this—Eddie with his unreadable poker face, Buck with his expertly deployed chaos to deflect attention.

Hen side-eyes them once or twice. Chim squints hard one day when Eddie casually hands Buck a thermos with your favorite, extra cinnamon muttered like it’s no big deal. But nothing concrete. Nothing that sticks.

Just two firefighters. Just the usual bond.

They make it two weeks without raising a single red flag.

Calls come, calls go—fires, rescues, traffic pile-ups—and through it all, Buck and Eddie move as one. Like always. Only now, there’s a pulse of something unspoken behind every glance, every hand on a shoulder, every you good? passed between breathless moments.

And still, no one catches them.

Hen tilts her head more often now, but says nothing. Chimney is suspiciously quiet. Even Ravi paused once, eyes narrowing at the way Buck said Eddie’s name with just a little too much softness. But the moment passed.

Then comes the early shift. 4:45 a.m. The kitchen is quiet. Most of the team is asleep upstairs.

Buck stands in the doorway, wrapped in his hoodie, hair rumpled and eyes still soft from sleep.

Eddie’s already at the counter making coffee.

No one else is around.

Buck steps forward slowly, leans against the opposite side of the island. “How long do you think we can keep this up?” he murmurs, voice low and rough in the hush.

Eddie hands him a mug without looking. “As long as we want. They’re not seeing it because it’s not new to them. We’ve always been… close.”

Buck smiles over the rim of the cup. “So basically: we’ve been emotionally married for years, and now we’re just adding Sunday mornings and shared drawers.”

Eddie finally looks up—eyes warm, familiar. “Exactly.”

They sip in silence. A quiet, pre-dawn truce. Until a sleepy voice floats down from the stairs:

“Just don’t forget to actually tell them before the marriage," Hen yawns, smirking from the railing.

Buck sputters into his coffee. Eddie groans into his hand.

Hen disappears with a chuckle and a wave. “Your secret’s safe. I’m happy, by the way, that you finally figured it out.”

Then there’s a call. Routine structure fire. Everyone’s fine, but the adrenaline lingers as they gear up back at the station. While Buck’s checking the rig, he catches two newer probies from another shift whispering by the lockers, glancing his way.

He doesn’t say anything at first. But later, when they’re all winding down in the rec room, the tension catches fire.

Hen’s scrolling on her phone, Chim’s muttering about inventory, and Bobby is off the floor when one of the rookies casually mutters to the other, just loud enough: “ —That fag”

The room stills.

Buck doesn’t freeze. Doesn’t flare. He just stands, slowly, eyes fixed on the rookie who said it.

Hen looks up, brows knitting. Chim stops talking mid-sentence.

“You wanna run that back?” Eddie’s voice isn’t loud, but it slices through the room like a snapped hose under pressure. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous in its stillness.

The rookie blinks, realizing too late that his ‘whisper’ was anything but.

Hen shifts forward on the couch, her phone forgotten. “You got something to say about one of your own?” Her tone is flat. That makes it worse.

Chim’s already on his feet, not saying a word, just standing there. The unspoken weight of a station that’s seen each other bruised, burned, and baring their hearts.

The room is quiet, except for the humming of the vending machine and the rookie’s regret rising like smoke.

“Apologize,” Hen says simply.

The rookie stammers something that isn’t enough. Won’t ever be, maybe. But Buck’s expression softens just enough to say: you’ve got a chance to do better. Don’t waste it.

Bobby reappears in the doorway. He takes one look, reads the air, and nods toward his office. “Now.”

The rookie falters, eyes widening. “I didn’t mean—I was just joking.”

“That’s not a joke,” Bobby says from the doorway, his face like stone. “That’s discrimination.”

Chim doesn't speak, just stands next to Buck without hesitation. A silent wall.

“You meant it,” Buck cuts in. “Maybe you didn’t mean for anyone to hear, but you meant it.” He looks him dead in the eye. “You put every queer firefighter out there at risk with that mindset. You think anyone’s gonna trust you on a roof, in a collapse, if they know you’d rather see someone as a punchline than as a partner?”

The room is electric with silence. No one breathes.

Bobby finally speaks again, voice level but firm. “You’ll be filing a statement. And if I hear another word like that in this house— ever —you won’t just be off my shift. You’ll be off the job.”

The rookie stammers an apology, eyes darting everywhere but at the people he’s hurt.

Later, after the dust settles, Buck and Eddie are in the locker room, just the two of them. Buck leans back against a bench, quiet.

“You okay?” Buck asks, putting a hand on Eddie's cheek.

Eddie leans into the warmth without thinking, just for a second. He blinks slowly, like shaking off smoke, then meets Buck's eyes.

“I’m fine,” he lies. But his voice is too even. Too clean.

Buck doesn’t move his hand.

“You don’t have to be.”

It’s not a challenge. It’s not pity. It’s just the truth, offered without conditions—something Buck has gotten used to from Eddie, but still doesn’t always know what to do with.

For a moment, the tension in Eddie’s shoulders slackens. Just a little. He glances around the room, sees Hen giving him that look—the one that says go on, let yourself have this.

Eddie exhales through his nose, eyes flicking away for a second before he says, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He pauses, lets the silence settle around them like ash.

“I’m just… mad. That this kind of thing still happens. That even after everything, there are still people who think like that.” His jaw works, teeth clenched around the anger he's trying to keep from spilling. “It’s 2025, Buck.”

Buck nods, hand not moving. “You’ve earned better.”

“I know,” Eddie says, voice low.

Buck’s thumb brushes his cheekbone twice.

“You’re not doing it alone.”

And Eddie leans into that, letting the rage simmer into something quieter, steadier. Not gone—but no longer burning him from the inside out.

The clang of metal echoes as the last tool’s racked. Engines idling. Doors closed.

“Everyone. Front and center,” Bobby says.

Not asks . Says.

The entire A-shift lines up—some still in turnout pants, sweat darkening undershirts. Buck stands off to one side, arms crossed. Eddie nearby, ready. Hen and Chim wait like coiled springs.

Bobby steps forward. His voice is low, but it hits like thunder.

“We don’t tolerate hate.”

Dead silence.

“Not here. Not ever. I don’t care if it’s a muttered word, a so-called joke, or ‘just locker room talk.’ If it mocks someone’s identity— if it endangers the trust in this house —it has no place under this roof.”

His gaze slices through the group like a charged hose line.

“This station runs into fire. Into chaos. And the only reason we walk out again is because we believe in the person next to us. You throw a slur like a smoke bomb and think no one will choke on it? You're wrong.”

A few firefighters shift uneasily. No one speaks.

“No one’s asking you to be perfect,” Bobby continues, his voice now like steel scraping pavement. “But you will be accountable. You will show up for the people you serve, and for the people you wear this patch with. That includes every queer firefighter on this crew—open or not—who needs to know we’ve got their back.”

He lets that settle. A long, tight silence. Bobby lets the last words hang in the charged silence, then steps forward again, eyes sharp.

“This fire station,” he says, “has a long history of captains who closed their eyes to this kind of stuff. Let it slide. Laughed it off. Pretended it wasn’t their job to deal with ‘locker room language.’”

His voice hardens.

Not on my watch. If I ever hear that kind of hate in this house again—no warnings. No sit-downs. Actions will be taken. Immediate. Permanent.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. It’s the kind of stillness that comes before a flashover—controlled, deadly serious.

Then he locks eyes with the group one more time.

“If that’s a problem for you,” he says, stepping back, “don’t wait to be reassigned. Walk out now.”

No one moves.

And then—quiet, sturdy—Hen says, “Hell yes, Cap.”

Bobby nods once. Sharp. Final. Then walks off.

The station has gone still, lit only by low hallway fluorescents and the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Buck stands outside Bobby’s office for a long beat before raising his knuckles and knocking twice.

“Yeah?” comes Bobby’s voice from inside.

Buck pushes the door open. Bobby’s at his desk, paperwork scattered, reading glasses perched low. He looks up, and something in his expression softens when he sees who it is.

“Hey,” Buck says, voice low. “Got a minute?”

“Always,” Bobby replies, setting the papers aside. 

Buck steps in, closes the door behind him. Doesn’t sit. Just stands there for a second, like he’s still figuring out where to start.

“I just wanted to say... thank you,” he finally says. “For what you said, what you did, earlier.”

Bobby leans back in his chair. “Buck—”

“I mean it,” Buck cuts in gently. “And I know you didn’t do it for me. But it mattered.”

Bobby nods slowly, eyes steady. “I did it for this team, yes, but of course it was for you, son. Because no one on my crew should ever wonder if I’ve got their back. Not on something like this.”

There’s silence again, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Anyway,” Buck says, half-smiling, “I just wanted you to know it meant a lot. That speech? That wasn’t just protocol. That was you drawing a line. And we all saw it.”

Bobby stands, walks around the desk, and places a hand on Buck’s shoulder.

“That line’s going to stay there, Buck,” he says. “And I’ll make damn sure no one crosses it again.”

Buck nods once, eyes glassy but clear. “Good.”

Buck’s halfway out the door when Bobby calls after him, voice casual but loaded with meaning. 

“So…” Bobby drawls, “when do I get the chance to talk to Eddie about breaking your heart?” 

Buck stops, blinking. Turns around slowly. “What?” 

Bobby leans back in his chair, folding his arms, all mock innocence. “I’m just saying. If someone hurts my favorite chaos magnet, I feel like I should at least get five minutes and a disappointed glare.” 

Buck huffs a laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You are not my dad.” 

“No,” Bobby says, eyes twinkling. “But I’ve got the coffee addiction, the exasperation, the protective instincts, and the gray hairs you helped give me—so I’m close.”

Buck’s trying hard not to smile now. “How long have you known?”

Bobby shrugs. “Let’s just say—long enough to root for you both, and not long enough to get in the way.”

Buck pauses. That lands softer than he expected.

“I’ll let you know,” he says, quieter this time. “If you need to give Eddie the talk.”

“Good,” Bobby says. “I’ve been working on my disappointed head tilt.”

Buck nods once, letting the words settle. Then, gently: “Thanks.”

Bobby raises his coffee in a silent cheers, and lets him go.

*

The TV’s on low, some cooking show neither of them’s really watching. Christopher’s already in bed, and the whole house feels like it’s exhaling.

Buck’s curled into the corner of the couch, socked feet tucked under him. Eddie sits at the other end, a hand resting on his knee, absently tracing the edge of a throw pillow.

Neither speaks for a long time. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that says you’re safe here.

Buck’s eyes shine in the blue wash of the screen. Finally, Eddie says:

“I’m terrified of what would happen if you left again,” he admits, voice cracking open. “Even now. Even after everything. That fear—it still chokes me sometimes. I just… it would be a heartbreak I would never get over. That time could never mend.”

Buck doesn’t speak. Just reaches across the couch and takes Eddie’s hand, fingers threading through with such ease it’s like they never let go.

“I’m here now,” Buck says. “We both are.”

“I’m sorry for what I did to you. I don’t think I will ever say it enough. But I will fight for you, everyday.”

“I forgive you, Eddie. Already have.”

Silence scratches between them. After a while, Buck says, “Bobby knew.”

Eddie looks over. “About us?”

Buck nods. “Said he’s been rooting for us.”

Eddie lets out a small breath. “That tracks.”

Buck glances at him. “You okay with that?”

Eddie gives a faint smile. “Yeah. I think I like being worth rooting for.”

Buck nods, lips quirking up. “You are.”

There’s another stretch of silence, this one warmer. Then, slowly, Buck shifts. Leans his head against Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie doesn’t move. Just reaches up and runs a hand gently through Buck’s hair.

They stay like that for a long time.

Chapter 21: Chapter Seventeen: Lover

Summary:

There’s a beat of silence before Bobby speaks, voice low but gentle. “So. You and Buck.”

Eddie shifts. “Yeah. That’s... official now.”

Bobby nods slowly. “Good.” Another pause. Then: “You scared?”

Eddie looks up, thrown. “What?”

“It’s not a trap, Eddie. I’m just asking. Are you scared?”

Notes:

SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING YESTERDAY! Things get wild here with my family, but here is the chapter!

By the way, there is only one to go. I am not ready for this to end ugh;

Chapter Text

Buck notices it first in the little things.

Eddie keeps checking his phone when he thinks Buck’s not looking—not in the distracted way, but in that low-key scheming kind of way. And Chris? He’s got this secret grin every time Buck enters the room, like he’s part of a plot he can barely contain.

They’ve both started whispering more. Disappearing into the kitchen. Chris closing tabs on the tablet suspiciously fast when Buck walks by.

Buck raises an eyebrow one evening when he finds the two of them huddled over something in the backyard.

“Homework?” he asks, suspicious.

Chris shrugs. “Math stuff.”

Eddie chimes in quickly. “Trigonometry.”

Buck squints at them, but doesn’t push. He knows something’s up—Eddie’s been humming around the house like he’s trying not to give away a surprise. He’s wearing his “I’m planning something and trying very hard not to look like I am” face.

So Buck plays it cool. Doesn’t ask. But in the back of his mind, there’s a question looping like a siren warming up: What the hell are they up to?

He’s not worried. If anything, he’s kind of touched. Intrigued. And just the tiniest bit smug that maybe he’s about to be on the receiving end of something made with love and a little chaos.

Which, in that house, is basically a tradition.

*

The air smells like fresh-cut grass and something vaguely cinnamon coming from the kitchen. Buck stretches on the couch, half-awake, half-listening to Chris humming in the next room.

Eddie’s been in and out all morning—checking the backyard, fiddling with a string of lights that weren’t there yesterday, and muttering things like “Where did I put the good plates?” under his breath.

Buck had offered to help, naturally. Eddie had very calmly said, “Nope. Your job is to sit there and look pretty,” which earned him an arched eyebrow and a flushed grin.

Now, Buck’s beginning to piece things together. Sort of.

Chris keeps sneaking glances at him, then whispering to Eddie with the world’s worst poker face. There’s a playlist quietly playing from Eddie’s phone—songs Buck recognizes from road trips and late nights and that one time they slow-danced in the kitchen after a storm knocked the power out.

Something is definitely happening.

But Buck still doesn’t know what .

He peers through the sliding glass door into the backyard, where Eddie’s rearranging chairs that already look perfectly arranged. There's a small table set with two place settings—and the good plates.

Buck swallows. His heart skips. Oh.

He doesn’t know for sure—not yet—but there’s a warmth blooming in his chest, soft and buzzing and a little terrifying.

And just then, Eddie walks in with two glasses of water, looking like he’s trying very hard to seem casual and absolutely failing at it.

“You ready?” Eddie asks, a little too breezy.

“For what?” Buck asks, trying to mirror the tone, though his voice comes out slightly hoarse.

Eddie shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave Buck’s. “Just… lunch. With me. In the backyard. That’s all.”

Chris zips by, stage-whispers, “ He practiced like, three times. It’s super cute.

Eddie groans. Buck laughs, heart in freefall.

He still doesn’t know exactly what Eddie has planned—but whatever it is, he’s already in.

The sun’s warm but not overbearing, filtered through the branches of the lemon tree overhead. Buck steps out to find the backyard completely transformed—fairy lights strung between fence posts, two plates set on the small table with actual cloth napkins, and a little speaker playing something slow and familiar.

Eddie’s standing awkwardly by the chairs, running a hand through his hair like he’s about to bolt.

Buck slows to a stop. “Okay... definitely not just lunch.”

Eddie grins sheepishly. “You caught me.”

Buck raises an eyebrow. “So what is this?”

Chris appears just behind him with a flourish. “It’s a thing, ” he stage-whispers again, then pats Buck’s arm. “Good luck,” and disappears with the dramatic flair of a kid who knows exactly how important this is.

Eddie clears his throat. “I, uh... I had this whole speech. Practiced it. Screwed it up. Started over. Thought maybe I should wait, or plan something fancier. But then I remembered it’s you.”

Buck steps closer.

“You don’t need a big gesture,” Eddie says, voice steadier now. “You just need the truth.”

He takes a breath.

“I love you. I’ve loved you in about a hundred ways over the years—some I didn’t have a name for at the time. But now I do. And I want more than shared grocery runs and Tuesday night tacos and pretending we’re not already halfway to forever.”

Buck’s eyes shine, lips parted, breath held.

“So,” Eddie says softly, “what I planned—what I’ve been planning—is this: I want to ask you to be my boyfriend. Out loud. Official. No room for doubt.”

He smiles, nervous but sure.

“Will you?”

Buck doesn’t answer right away. He just steps in and cups Eddie’s face in both hands, eyes locked, full of something impossibly full.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, of course. You idiot.”

And when they kiss, it’s not fireworks or fanfare. It’s home. Finally.

From the kitchen window, Chris pumps both fists in silent victory.

They stand there for a long moment, forehead to forehead, the soft buzz of the backyard lights flickering on as the sky begins to slip into that golden hour hue.

Eddie’s the first to speak, voice barely above a whisper. “I was gonna say more. Had a whole speech planned.”

Buck smiles. “You kinda already nailed it.”

“Yeah?” Eddie grins, relieved.

Buck nods. “Simple. Honest. Felt like you.” He reaches out to straighten the collar of Eddie’s shirt, because it gives his hands somewhere to go. “And maybe I’m biased, but... best lunch invitation I’ve ever had.”

Eddie laughs, quiet and crooked. “Chris helped with the playlist.”

“Oh, I figured,” Buck says, nudging Eddie gently. “There’s a suspicious number of songs with the word ‘forever’ in the chorus.”

They both glance toward the window where Chris is very clearly pretending not to spy on them anymore. He ducks out of view with a giggle.

“I think we owe your kid dessert,” Buck says.

“We owe him a lot more than that,” Eddie replies softly, and Buck catches the way his voice falters just a little on the edge of emotion. “He wanted this for us even before we figured it out.”

“I know,” Buck says. “He’s been ahead of the curve since day one.”

They sit down at the table, finally, and Buck watches Eddie as he pours two glasses of sparkling lemonade with all the focus of someone determined not to mess up the part after the big ask.

Buck reaches across the table and laces their fingers together.

“Boyfriends, huh?”

Eddie looks up, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Kinda nice to hear you say it.”

“Kinda nice to be it.”

And just like that, the air around them settles into something that feels new and familiar all at once. A beginning, built on years of everything else.

It’s late when the dishes are done and the backyard lights flicker out, but neither of them is in a rush. Chris is fast asleep. The house is quiet.

Buck sits at the edge of the bed, uncharacteristically still, watching the light shift across the wall. Eddie steps closer, and there’s no grand gesture this time—just hands finding each other like they’ve done it a thousand times, like they were made to.

The kiss is slow, steady. Not urgent, but sure. It’s not about discovery—it’s about knowing.

They undress each other not like it’s something new, but like it’s a favorite page they’ve both memorized and never get tired of rereading. Words aren’t needed. Everything important is said in the way Buck curls a hand behind Eddie’s neck, or the way Eddie sighs into the curve of Buck’s shoulder like it’s home.

There’s a kind of reverence to it—like they’re carving this moment into memory, like they’re finally letting the love that’s been simmering all this time pour out, quiet and sure.

Afterward, they lie tangled in sheets and limbs, their breathing synced, hearts loud in the hush.

And in the dark, wrapped in the quiet hum of a life they built inch by inch, they rest—no longer waiting, no longer almost.

Just together.

*

Buck wakes first.

He doesn’t mean to, but the warmth of the room and the way the sunlight filters through the curtains stirs him gently from sleep. For a second, he’s not sure what woke him—until he feels the slow rise and fall of Eddie’s chest under his arm. They're still tangled, still close.

And then he remembers everything. The lights. The question. Yes.

He smiles into the pillow.

Eddie stirs beside him a few moments later, eyes still heavy with sleep but already smiling. “Morning,” he mumbles, voice rough and real.

Buck lifts his head. “Hey.”

They don’t move much. There’s nowhere to be. Nothing demanding them. Just this house, and the boy down the hall, and the quiet certainty between them.

Eventually, Buck slips out of bed to make coffee, stealing one of Eddie’s hoodies on the way, even if it’s too tight on him. When Eddie joins him a few minutes later, Chris is already at the table, swinging his feet and pretending he wasn’t waiting for them both to come out together.

“Did you say yes?” Chris asks, mouth full of toast but eyes bright.

Buck laughs. “I did. In case the kiss in the backyard wasn’t clear.”

Chris shrugs. “I just like confirmations.”

Eddie sits beside him and ruffles his hair. “Confirmed. Definitely.”

The rest of the morning is slow and kind. Pancakes. A few cartoons. The three of them curled up on the couch, Chris in the middle, Eddie’s arm behind Buck like it’s always been there.

And when Buck glances over at Eddie, Eddie catches him looking and smiles—that small, private kind of smile that says this is real now. And it is.

Later, they find themselves walking one of the quieter trails just outside the city—Eddie, Buck, and Christopher, whose energy seems endless despite pancakes and an early cartoon marathon. The sun filters softly through the trees, warm on their backs, and there's a kind of peace in the rhythm of their steps.

Chris walks a few paces ahead, earbuds in, but only one in. He’s scrolling through music on his phone, occasionally glancing back to check that Buck and Eddie haven’t wandered off or started kissing in public again.

“By the way,” he calls over his shoulder, voice dry, “if you two are gonna hold hands the whole time, can we at least pretend I’m not here?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Buck snorts. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t realize public displays of affection were outlawed by the Teen Supreme Court.”

“They are,” Chris says, dead serious. “Punishable by exaggerated groaning and refusal to join for ice cream.”

Eddie smirks, nudging Buck. “Brutal.”

“Unforgiving,” Buck agrees. “But fair.”

Still, even with the teasing, Chris keeps glancing back—checking in. It’s in the way he waits for them at a bend in the trail, or how he casually tosses Buck a water bottle without being asked. He’s grown up, sure, but that protective streak of his? Still very much intact.

They stop near a shaded overlook, the city sprawled out in the distance. Chris flops onto a bench, stretching his legs.

“You guys happy?” he asks, without looking at them.

The question catches them off guard—quiet, honest, and very much not part of the sarcasm routine.

Eddie looks at Buck. Buck looks back.

“Yeah,” Eddie says finally, voice low. “We are.”

Chris nods once, satisfied. Then, “Cool. Now stop being weird about it.”

Buck raises a brow. “We’re being weird ?”

Chris shrugs. “It’s just—now that it’s official, you’re both acting like you’ve got this big secret when literally everyone knew already. Even Pepa.”

Eddie sighs. Buck laughs. And Chris—well, he just grins to himself, one earbud back in, leading the way down the trail like the future’s already waiting for them.

The sun is just starting to dip as they pull into the driveway. The air is tinged with that familiar scent of evening jasmine and someone a few houses down lighting a barbecue. The neighborhood is calm in that sacred Sunday way—slow, golden, unhurried.

Eddie unlocks the front door while Chris kicks off his sneakers and disappears down the hall with a “ Don’t worry, I’ll pretend not to hear anything mushy.

Buck pauses in the entryway, taking in the home he’s walked into a thousand times.

Eddie glances over his shoulder and sees the way Buck lingers there.

“You good?”

Buck nods. “Yeah. Just... taking it in.”

Eddie steps beside him, bumps their shoulders together. Buck doesn’t say anything. Just lets out a quiet exhale and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. 

Eddie smiles into the moment. 

Chris pops his head around the corner, phone in hand. “So are we ordering pizza, or should I pretend the fridge is inspiring?”

Eddie laughs. “Pizza. Extra garlic knots.”

“Nice,” Chris says, disappearing again like a magician.

Later, they’re all on the couch—Eddie in the middle, Chris with his legs draped over both their laps, a movie playing softly in the background. One of those old action flicks Eddie loves. Buck pretends to care about the plot.

There’s no grand declarations. Just a quiet kind of certainty.

And when Buck looks over at Eddie, and Eddie catches him, neither of them has to say a word.

*

Hen’s pouring coffee when Buck strolls in, looking suspiciously well-rested. Eddie follows a beat later, casually brushing shoulders with him on the way to the fridge.

Hen raises her brow. Bobby, sitting at the table with his paper and oatmeal, doesn’t even look up.

Chimney, however, blinks. Looks at Eddie. Then Buck. Then back again.

“Okay,” he says, pointing his spoon at them. “Something’s different. What happened? Who got laid? You—you’re glowing. You’re both glowing.”

Hen sips her coffee. “Huh. So observant.”

“I know, right?” Chim says, puffing up a bit. “It’s a gift.”

Buck and Eddie exchange a glance. Buck scratches the back of his neck. “We, uh... we’re dating.”

Bobby pats Hen’s arm. “You owe me twenty.”

Hen smirks. “No. I knew before you did.”

Chimney nearly chokes on his toast. “Wait—you knew? You knew? How did I miss it?”

Ravi, sitting at the end of the table casually eating yogurt, chimes in without missing a beat: “Wait... that wasn’t official already?”

Chim gapes at him.

“You thought they were together?” he asks.

Ravi shrugs. “I thought they were just private. I mean... it’s Buck and Eddie. C’mon.”

Hen laughs. “He’s not wrong. You two have had joint custody of my emotional bandwidth for years.”

Buck looks mildly offended. “We’re not that obvious.”

“Oh, honey,” Hen says, smiling, “You really are.”

Chim points accusingly at Bobby. “I expect a speech. You give everyone a speech.”

Bobby folds his paper, stands, and walks right past Buck with a pointed nod. “Not for him.”

Then he turns to Eddie, claps a hand on his shoulder.

You , however, get the dad talk.”

Bobby’s voice was calm. Even. Which somehow makes it more ominous.

Eddie gives Buck a quick glance. Buck just raises an eyebrow— good luck scribbled all over his face. Eddie steps into the office. Bobby’s already seated behind the desk, one leg crossed, coffee in hand. He gestures to the chair opposite him.

“Close the door,” he says.

Eddie does.

There’s a beat of silence before Bobby speaks, voice low but gentle. “So. You and Buck.”

Eddie shifts. “Yeah. That’s... official now.”

Bobby nods slowly. “Good.” Another pause. Then: “You scared?”

Eddie looks up, thrown. “What?”

“It’s not a trap, Eddie. I’m just asking. Are you scared?”

Eddie leans back in the chair, exhales through his nose. “A little. Not of him. Not of us. Just... how much it matters.”

Bobby smiles faintly. “Yeah. That’s the part that always gets you.”

Eddie’s quiet for a beat, then says, “Now that we’ve said it out loud—now that we’re calling it what it is—I’m suddenly thinking about everything. How we show up for Chris. The team. What happens if it goes wrong.”

“You’re a single father, a firefighter, and one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You know how to do hard things, Eddie. This?” Bobby gestures between them. “This is worth the risk. Because I’ve watched you two build something solid for almost a decade. Quietly. Carefully. Like laying down bricks every day without ever looking up.”

He pauses, lets that sit.

“But now you’ve finally looked up—and realized you’re standing in a house. Don’t walk out of it because you’re scared of putting the furniture.”

Eddie lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You always this poetic when you’re giving the dad talk?”

“I save the best metaphors for the most emotionally repressed.”

Eddie smiles, more freely now. “I’m not planning to screw it up.”

Bobby gives a warm nod. “I know. Just—don’t be afraid to let him see you afraid sometimes.”

Eddie swallows. “Thanks, Cap. Really.”

“And this is the part where I remind you that Buck is all-in, every time, with every piece of himself.”

Eddie straightens. “I know.”

“I know you do,” Bobby says. “But you overthink. You bottle. And Buck? He’ll keep pouring into you even when it empties him out. Don’t let that happen.”

There’s a long pause. Eddie nods once. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Bobby’s voice softens, but the edge stays. “Because he loves you. Has for a long time. And I’ll never forgive you if you make me comfort Buck while also yelling at you. That’s exhausting.”

Eddie laughs, running a hand down his face. “Fair.”

Bobby uncrosses his leg, leaning forward slightly. “Now get out of my office. And tell Buck I want my coffee mug back.”

Eddie blinks. “He took your—?”

“He did. Again. I know everything.”

Eddie laughs as he reached for the door.

*

Smoke coils into the sky as the 118 pulls up. Civilians are already being evacuated. Bobby barks assignments—Eddie and Buck are on primary search, second floor. It's instinct. It’s routine.

But routines are funny things—they lull you into a rhythm, make you think you know how the fire’s going to dance.

Inside, visibility drops fast. The hallway’s a war zone of heat and smoke. Buck leads, thermal camera in hand. Eddie moves close behind.

They find a woman coughing in the stairwell. Buck helps her down, steady and sure, like always.

Then they split—just for a minute—to clear opposing rooms.

Eddie steps out again, his voice sharp over comms. “Buck, what’s your—?”

A groan erupts from above.

Eddie spins.

And watches, helpless, as the ceiling in the hallway collapses—right where Buck had gone moments earlier.

A flash of fire. A thud.

Then silence.

“Buck?” Eddie shouts. “BUCK—”

Chapter 22: Chapter Eighteen: I Choose You and Me

Summary:

“Hey,” Eddie whispers.

Buck tries a smile. “Didn’t die?”

“Not even close.”

“Still,” Buck murmurs, voice hoarse, “you could’ve waited for backup.”

“I’ll wait for a lot of things,” Eddie says. “But not that.”

Buck closes his eyes again, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a terrible listener.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, leaning forward to press his forehead gently to Buck’s. “And you’re stuck with me.”

Notes:

I can’t believe this is the last chapter (crying emoji), it’s been quite a ride.
First of all, thank you for all the comments and kudos, I tried to answer all of you anytime I could.
Second: how do we feel about an spin-off of this fic? About the OG characters like Nate, or maybe even Christophers and May’s point of view? Let me know your thoughts on it.
Third, but not least: enjoy it. Epilogue is coming out tomorrow.

Chapter Text

“Buck!”

The hallway fills with dust and smoke so fast it blinds. Eddie’s heart kicks up in his throat as the ceiling crashes down ahead of him—wood, plaster, and fire swallowing the corridor where Buck had just been.

He sprints forward instinctively. Flames snarl just a few feet beyond. He can’t see through it. Can’t hear anything.

“BUCK!”

Nothing.

Radio to his mouth, hands shaking, Eddie barks into comms. “Firefighter down! Buck was in the west hall when the ceiling gave!”

Static.

He tries again. “Buck, come in. Buck, do you copy? Buck—say something!”

Still nothing.

The world tightens into a roar of flame and fear. Eddie steps closer, reckless. “Dammit, talk to me—Evan!”

Then, just as the silence begins to stretch past the point of breath—

A crackle. Then a cough. Weak, muffled.

“…I’m here” He coughs. “I’m… stuck.”

Eddie exhales so hard it’s almost a choke. “Thank God.”

“Can’t… move my leg,” Buck’s voice wavers, rough and thin. 

“Stay there! I’m coming to you.”

“No. Don’t. Not stable. Don’t—”

But Eddie’s already moving.

Bobby’s voice barks through comms: “Diaz, hold your position—wait for backup.”

Eddie ignores it.

Smoke claws at his lungs as he pushes forward, heart hammering loud and wild. He follows instinct, not logic—years of calls, of knowing Buck’s gait, Buck’s rhythm, Buck’s stubborn refusal to stay where it’s safe.

“Buck, keep talking to me,” he calls, ducking beneath a leaning crossbeam.

“Still here,” Buck says, weaker now. “Can’t move. My leg... something’s pinning—”

Another loud creak, something groaning above.

Eddie scrambles over the rubble, helmet knocked slightly askew, sweat cutting lines through the soot on his face. The fire growls somewhere behind him, too close and far too loud.

“Hang on, Buck,” he mutters like a mantra, crawling toward the crumpled hall where Buck’s voice crackled through the radio moments ago.

And then, he sees him.

Buck is on the floor, dust and soot streaking his face, his helmet cracked, left leg twisted beneath a collapsed beam. The flames haven’t reached him yet—but they’re licking closer.

Eddie drops beside him instantly. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“Nice of you to drop in,” Buck rasps.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath that’s almost a laugh, almost a sob. “Only because you couldn’t stay put for five minutes.”

Buck’s eyes meet his, glassy with pain but steady. “You didn’t wait.”

Eddie’s jaw tightens. “Not a chance.”

Above them, another beam groans—warning shot.

Eddie grabs for his radio. 

“I’ve got him. Need extraction now—he’s pinned. East wall about to go.”

A ceiling panel shudders overhead, glowing orange at the edges.

“Alright,” Eddie says, snapping into focus, “I need to get this off you before the rest of this place comes down. You with me?”

Buck nods once. “Always.”

Eddie braces himself, muscles straining as he wedges the pry tool under the beam. 

Through gritted teeth, he counts. “On three. One... two—”

A second beam groans, then splits behind them.

“Eddie, go!” Buck shouts, voice ragged. “If the roof goes—”

Eddie doesn’t flinch. “I said on three,” he snarls, and hauls with everything he has.

The beam shifts. 

Inches. 

Then more.

Buck cries out as his leg’s freed—but he’s moving, scrambling, Eddie grabbing his arm and pulling them both back just as the hallway behind them caves.

Fire licks through the gap where Buck had just been.

Eddie shields him with his body, ash raining down. 

For a second, neither of them speaks. 

Just breathing. 

Just alive.

“Remind me,” Buck mutters, coughing, “to never question your dramatic timing.”

Eddie huffs out a half-laugh, hands still gripping Buck’s jacket. “Only if you promise to stop doing this to me.”

Buck nods weakly. “Deal.”

The radio crackles—Bobby’s voice sharp, urgent. “We’ve got you on thermal. Hold position. We’re breaching now.”

Eddie lets his head rest against Buck’s for just a moment, just long enough to close his eyes.

Relief doesn’t have a sound. 

But it feels like breathing again.

The crew led by Bobby clears the last of the debris, and flashlights slice through the haze—Hen first, voice urgent. “We see them!”

Eddie doesn't let go of Buck even when help arrives. Doesn’t move until strong hands are pulling debris off Buck’s legs and wrapping an oxygen mask around his face.

“Easy,” Hen says, kneeling beside them. “We’ve got you.”

Buck tries to nod, but his body’s trembling—more shock than injury now. Eddie’s voice stays in his ear the whole time, low and steady. “Almost out. You're okay.”

They load Buck onto a backboard, Hen checking vitals while Chim radios in the ambulance. Eddie climbs in alongside without asking.

Bobby stops him at the doors. “You good?”

Eddie meets his eyes—worn, raw, but solid. “Not until he is.”

Bobby nods once, tight. “We’ll follow right behind.”

And then the doors close, sirens rising in the distance like the release of held breath.

*

The room is quiet, dimmed to let Buck rest. He’s propped up slightly, bandaged, bruised, but whole. Breathing steadily.

Eddie sits beside the bed, hands folded. Watching him like he’s afraid to blink.

There’s a knock at the door. A nurse. “He’s cleared for visitors. But keep it calm, okay?”

Eddie nods. “It’s already calm.”

As the door shuts, Buck stirs. Blinks his eyes open.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers.

Buck tries a smile. “Didn’t die?”

“Not even close.”

“Still,” Buck murmurs, voice hoarse, “you could’ve waited for backup.”

“I’ll wait for a lot of things,” Eddie says. “But not that.”

Buck closes his eyes again, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a terrible listener.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, leaning forward to press his forehead gently to Buck’s. “And you’re stuck with me.” Buck doesn’t respond. “You scared me,” he says. “And I know it comes with the job. I’ve said that a million times to a dozen people. But when it’s you—”

He stops. Shakes his head.

“I can’t lose you.” The again is not said. He doesn’t need to.

“You didn’t. I’m not going anywhere,” Buck says. “Okay?”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. Just presses a kiss to his collarbone, soft and lingering.

“You better not.”

Buck’s lips are just brushing Eddie’s—soft, slow, more promise than urgent—when the door creaks open.

“Alright, Romeo and Romeo,” Hen says, strolling in like she’s been waiting for this moment. “Visiting hours still count, even if you’re dating one of our own.”

“We brought snacks and moral support!” Chim announces.

Buck pulls back a fraction, groaning. “Was that really your entrance line?”

Chimney shrugs. “I was gonna say ‘get a room,’ but technically you already did.” He slips in behind Hen’s, carrying a balloon that reads ‘You Survived!’ in bold neon letters. “And let me just say, for the record, I am thrilled to be living in the post ‘is Buck and Eddie a thing?’ era.”

Ravi appears last, bringing a bouquet of severely mistreated flowers, and quietly pushing the door closed behind him. “Not like it was a secret.”

Bobby lingers in the doorway, his smile small but warm. “How’s the pain?”

Buck winces. “Tolerable.”

“Good. Because I told the whole crew you’d be fine, and I don’t like being wrong.”

Buck just huffs a laugh, utterly unapologetic. “You all really don’t knock, huh?”

“You left the door half-open,” Bobby says, stepping forward with a paper cup of coffee for Eddie. “That’s basically an invitation.”

There’s no teasing after that. Just a quiet respect that settles over the room like an exhale everyone’s been holding.

And even as Hen steals the Jell-O cup from Buck’s tray and Ravi starts fluffing his pillows without permission, they all know it:

This is family.

*

Bobby lingers for a moment near the door, taking in the low murmur of conversation around Buck’s hospital bed. Hen’s finishing up a story about Ravi getting lost in the parking garage, her hands animated. There’s laughter — real, warm — and Buck’s smiling, but there’s a drag to his eyes, a tension in his shoulders he’s not bothering to hide.

Bobby sees it. And he knows Buck.

“Alright,” Bobby says, clapping his hands once, not loud but commanding. “Visiting hours are over. Let’s give him a break.”

Hen raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure the nurse said we had another—”

“I know what I said,” Bobby replies, voice even but final. “He needs rest.”

They don’t argue. Just share a few glances, finish their goodbyes. Ravi shakes his hand, Hen squeezes Buck’s arm on the way out, and Chim makes a dumb joke about him milking the injury too long and Buck barely has the energy to roll his eyes.

Once the door clicks shut, Bobby turns back. The room feels quieter without the others, the silence settling soft around them.

Buck’s already slumping lower into the bed, like the act of pretending he’s fine has finally let go of him. He sighs, and it comes out heavier than expected.

“You didn’t have to clear the room,” he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Yeah,” Bobby says, pulling the chair closer again. “I did.”

Buck doesn’t argue. His eyes are half-lidded now, lashes casting shadows against the bruises that still color his face. The IV ticks quietly beside him.

“I’ve seen that look before,” Bobby adds. “That barely-holding-it-together thing you do when you're worn down but trying to prove you’re not.”

Buck manages a tired smile. “I’m bad at hiding it, huh?”

“You’re not. But I’ve had more practice reading it.”

A pause. Bobby leans in slightly, not intrusive — just present.

“You don’t have to perform for me, Evan.”

Buck blinks at the sound of his name. Bobby doesn’t use it often. It always lands like something real.

“I’m not your kid,” Buck says softly, almost like he’s reminding himself.

“No,” Bobby agrees. Then, gently: “I know I’m not your dad, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you like you’re my kid.”

And there it is. Simple. Unvarnished.

Buck doesn’t have the words for a while. He just presses the heel of his hand to his eyes, hiding the emotion that leaks through anyway.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he finally whispers. “If I had to choose… I’m glad it’s you here, as my father figure..”

Bobby doesn’t say anything more. He just reaches out, places a steady hand on Buck’s shoulder, and gives a kiss on his head.

Buck nods, slow and grateful. 

He leans against the pillow, and darkness pulls him.

*

The front door clicks open with a soft thunk, and Buck steps inside on crutches, moving slowly but smiling wide.

“Welcome to Casa Diaz,” Eddie announces with mock grandeur, balancing Buck’s bag on one shoulder and a takeout bag in the other. “Population: one stubborn patient, one protective firefighter, and one teenager who already called dibs on choosing the movies.”

From the hallway, Chris calls out, “And none of you are touching the remote unless you bribe me.”

Buck exhales as he sinks onto their shared couch, muscles loosening like they recognize this room better than any medicine.

“God, I missed this stupid couch,” he mutters, adjusting the pillows automatically.

Eddie grins, setting Buck’s bag down near the hallway. “You say that every time we come back from anywhere longer than an hour.”

“And I always mean it.”

Chris pokes his head in from the kitchen. “I reheated soup and didn’t burn anything.”

Buck perks up. “You are a miracle.”

“Obviously,” Chris says, tossing him a cheeky grin. “Also—you’re banned from trying to help with anything. I see you stand without those crutches, I’m calling Pepa.”

Eddie chuckles, settling in beside Buck, one hand resting over the thin blanket spread across his lap. No need to ask if he’s okay. The answer lives in the quiet exhale Buck gives when Eddie leans close. It’s there in the familiar sounds of their house—dishes clinking, Chris humming something under his breath, the wind moving through the lemon tree outside.

Eddie runs his fingers slowly through Buck’s hair, absent-minded, gentle. Every so often, Buck lets out a soft hum—contentment distilled into sound.

“You okay?” Eddie murmurs eventually.

“Better than okay,” Buck says, not moving.

And he means it.

It’s not just that the house is quiet. It’s the weight of belonging. The rhythm of their lives, meshed so deeply now it feels like breathing. They don’t need to fill the silence. It’s already full.

Buck blinks slowly, watching the flickering light across the ceiling. “You know what I keep thinking?”

“What?”

“I didn’t know what ‘home’ really meant until it looked like you yelling through a wall of smoke.”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. The words land soft, but they hit hard. Eddie stills, hand pausing mid-motion in Buck’s hair. His chest tightens—not painfully, but full. The kind of full that makes it hard to breathe for an entirely different reason.

He wants to respond, but his mouth won’t quite catch up to his heart.

Instead, he just leans in. Brushes a kiss through Buck’s hair, lingering like it says everything he can’t.

He thinks about how many times he’s fought to keep Buck safe, how many moments he’s tried to swallow down what this—they—really meant. And now it’s here, real and undeniable, nestled right between them on their own damn couch.

He pulls Buck just a little closer. Says nothing.

But the silence? It’s loud with I love you, too.

Chris grumbles sleepily without opening his eyes. “If you two get any softer, the couch is gonna dissolve.”

Buck snorts. Eddie chuckles. And Chris, barely hiding his smile, adds, “Also… I’m stealing the last cookie.”

No one stops him. Because this—this is it.

Healing. Living. Loving.

The house is still, humming with post-rain quiet and the occasional creak of cooling pipes. Chris is asleep in his room, door cracked just enough to let the hallway light spill in like a sentinel. And in their room, Buck stirs.

Eddie’s awake. After that moment on the couch, Buck’s words had stayed with him, curling somewhere beneath his ribs like a second heartbeat.

He watches Buck shift beneath the blanket, a faint crease between his brows even in rest. Eddie reaches out gently, running his hand through Buck’s hair until the tension eases just a little.

“You didn’t know what home meant…” Eddie whispers. “But I think I’ve been looking for that word since the day we met.”

Buck’s eyes crack open, just barely. “You talking to yourself again?”

Eddie smiles. “To you. Sort of.”

Buck rolls slightly toward him, enough for their knees to touch beneath the covers. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “I just... I keep thinking how fast everything could’ve changed. How close I came to—”

Buck's hand finds his beneath the blanket. “But it didn’t.”

Eddie nods, swallows. “I’m not gonna waste any of this. Not a second.”

Buck’s thumb rubs slow circles across his knuckles. “Then promise me we’ll keep building it. Our weird, loud, soft little home.”

Eddie leans in, their foreheads brushing in the dark, the way only people do when they know the shape of each other’s hearts.

“I promise,” he says. “Even when it’s hard. Especially then.”

Buck doesn’t reply right away. He doesn’t need to. The way he leans into the warmth between them says it all.

Eddie’s heart pounds, but not with fear—with the kind of fire that won’t stay quiet anymore.

“I’ve loved you for a long time. Before I had the words. Before I let myself look at it straight on. But this? What we have now? It’s not casual. It’s not something I stumbled into. It’s a choice I’ve made every single day.”

He stands, needing space to breathe it out.

“I choose you, Buck. Over and over, with all the things that come with you—your chaos, your stubbornness, your heart that’s too damn big. I choose your late-night kitchen rambles and your need to organize the spice cabinet alphabetically. I choose the way you love Chris like he’s always been yours. Because he has been.”

Buck’s eyes are wide, jaw slack, unmoving.

Eddie presses on.

“You’re not just the man I love. You’re the man I trust with everything—my son, my life, my peace. You’re not my backup or my almost. You’re it. So I’m saying it out loud, in the house we built together, with no fire, no trauma, no 'what if.' Just us. Because you deserve it. Again. And again. And again. Everyday.”

He steps closer, close enough now to feel the weight of everything between them.

“I love you, Evan Buckley. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget what that means.”

Buck doesn’t move for a second—just stares at him, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the moment. And then he kisses him. Not tentative. Not like a question. Like a vow. 

When they part, foreheads pressed together, Buck whispers:

 “I’ve always been yours. Even before I knew it. I think I spent so long trying to figure out where I belonged… chasing it in all the wrong places. Running into fires just to feel like I mattered. But somehow, in all the noise, you were always there.”

Eddie’s breath catches, eyes locked to his.

Buck continues, voice thick with emotion.

“You saw me—before I even saw myself. You let me into your world, your home, your heart. And you never slammed the door when I got messy or loud or scared. You just... stayed. And that’s what love is to me now. You, standing still.”

He presses their hands together, palm to palm.

“I don’t want a perfect life. I just want this—what we’ve built. I want middle-of-the-night grocery runs and shared glances across the living room and arguing over movie nights and laughing because we always pick the same one anyway. I want you. For the rest of my life, I want you.”

Eddie’s eyes are glassy now, lips parted as if trying to speak, but Buck presses one last kiss to them—gentle, reverent, steady.

“And I’ll spend every day proving it,” he whispers. “If you’ll let me.”

And somewhere between the tears and the quiet, Eddie exhales—shaky, awe-filled—and whispers back, “I already did.”

They wrap around each other, slow and complete.

They didn’t need anything but that: the love that survived the burn, the rubble, and all the things they never said until they did.

They don’t need fireworks. 

They’ve walked through fire.

And still, they remain.

Chapter 23: Epilogue

Summary:

The best kind of forever.

Notes:

The end, and I can’t thank you enough for reading it until here.

Chapter Text

The ranch is glowing.

Golden light spills over the hills as laughter trails from the porch like music, low and familiar. A breeze rustles the wildflowers just beyond the fence line, and someone’s got a guitar out, but no one’s paying that close attention. Not when the evening smells like grilled corn and cedarwood and second chances.

Buck steps out from the house barefoot, tie undone, a whiskey glass in hand. His wedding band catches the last light of the sun, and he turns it absentmindedly as he scans the crowd: Chris is laughing near the barn with Cynthia and Julie, all of them trying to explain TikTok to Joe, who listens with a good-natured shake of his head. Elizabeth watches nearby with Ann’s daughter in her lap, smiling like she knows the trick to life and isn't in a rush to say it.

Eddie appears beside Buck a moment later, brushing his hand along Buck’s lower back as if just to say I’m here. He always is.

“Still feels unreal,” Buck murmurs.

“What does?” Eddie asks softly.

“That they all came. That we made it. That I’m still wearing your ring and no one’s set off a fire extinguisher.”

Eddie smirks. “Day’s not over.”

“Please, let’s not start a fire today,” Bobby says. 

Athena is by his side, laughing, while she has Maddie’s baby in her arms. They watch as Chimney balances three cupcakes while Maddie tries to stop Jee from feeding one to a very determined goat. 

TK and Carlos sit off to the side under the big oak, their son curled between them like a perfectly placed puzzle piece. Hen and Karen are dancing barefoot in the grass while Nate spins Ann in a clumsy, joyful circle and nearly topples them both into a bale of hay. May, Liv, Harry and Ravi are also there, dancing together as the song runs.

Buck turns to Eddie, voice quieter now. “This is the most important moment in my life. Right here. This view. This moment. You.”

Eddie’s eyes shine with everything he can’t quite say out loud, so he takes Buck’s hand instead and presses it to his heart.

“This,” he agrees.

Behind them, someone yells, “Photo time!”

Buck groans. “I swear if Chim insists on a pyramid again—”

But they go anyway. Always. Together.

As the sun slips behind the ridge and the camera clicks, Buck pulls Eddie closer. And in that frame, everyone fits. The found family. The ones who stayed. The ones who fought. The ones who taught Buck kindness when he didn’t know he deserved it, the ones who built him a home when he didn’t know he already had one.

The camera captures it—their forever.

And in that moment, every person who helped make them whole is right there with them, grinning, wild, safe, and real.

This isn’t the end.

This is what comes after.

The best kind of forever.