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It’s a moment of relative peace in the firehouse, not that any of them would say it aloud. (Buck had already known the rule, but the dishwasher incident only cemented his resolution to follow it fervently.)
He’s placing a wet paper towel on the cutting board next to his soon-to-be butchered onion, ignoring the strange look he receives from Hen. Instead, he just listens to Chim as he teases Bobby for his latest gaffes in social media.
“- okay, I am glad you’ve found a realm of the Internet that is meant for you, I am, but” - a muffled giggle - “Bobby, your photos are so bad.” A smile plays on Buck’s lips as his knife cuts smoothly through the onion’s layers, halting before slicing all the way through. He doesn’t look up from his work, but the sound of his friends’ laughter plays delightfully in his ears.
Bobby doesn’t quite rise to the bait, simply rolling his eyes as he turns over the chicken on the stove. “I’m not a photographer, Chim. I’m just sharing pictures of what I make.”
Buck can’t help but butt in, tossing his captain a playful grin: “Really, Bobby? I thought for sure based on your blurry composition of your french toast that you were a professional.”
Bobby opens his mouth to object, likely to counter that they aren’t that bad, but he’s interrupted by the gratifying sound of their friend erupting into laughter. Buck can’t help a smile as Chim doubles over, clutching his stomach. The paramedic points a finger at their captain’s exasperated expression, only cackling harder which only serves to make Buck give a chuckle of his own.
Buck has only just turned his attention back to his task, turning the onion to start cutting it crossways, when Chim’s laughter finally dies down enough for him to straighten up. He wipes away a lone, nonexistent tear as he catches his breath. He gasps out a giggling, “Oh, God, Buck, I love you, man,” as he shakes his head and continues to snicker.
Abruptly, Buck’s own chuckles cease. Distantly, he hears Chim continue to laugh, but it sounds muffled. It sounds like they’re all in another room, while walls surround Buck on every side. His chest, his lungs, his heart - they don’t feel tight, not really, but instead eerily still. He doesn’t - was that - did he - ?
“Buck, watch the knife!”
It sounds far away, but it pulls Buck back in. He realizes his mouth is hanging open (when did that happen?) and promptly closes it. He tears his gaze away from Chimney as he notes the presence of someone on either side of him. He sees Bobby, eyebrows knit together with concern as he scans his face. He turns and sees Hen, who’s frowning and looking down towards his hands, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s bleeding.
A swelling of red rises from the small cut, and he’s quickly surrounded by urgent questions, prodding hands, worried brows. It’s barely anything, and when he finally processes Bobby’s concerned, “Buck?” - sounding like maybe he’d already said it a few times - he simply murmurs a quiet curse, ripping his hand away. He sucks the injured finger between his lips to stop the bleed, waving them away with his free hand.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says, and finally they start to disperse, sending concerned looks his way every once in a while until they’re eventually convinced.
And he is fine, even if he freezes whenever he looks at Chim for the rest of the day.
It doesn’t seem like a big deal to Buck, when he decides that he’s going to get Denny a birthday present. It really isn’t even a decision; he knows the soon-to-be nine-year-old is super into Mythbusters - they’d fallen into a rapt conversation about the show at the last extended one-eighteen gathering. He knows the kid’s birthday is quickly approaching, because it’s all Hen and Karen can talk about because apparently he keeps changing his mind about what kind of cake he wants.
So, when the ad comes up on the sidebar of a paranormal investigation blog he's scrolling through at three in the morning, he doesn't even think about going over to Amazon and following links until he's sure he's found a Mythbusters t-shirt that the boy would like.
This is why he doesn’t think much of it when he catches Hen on the day of, just as she’s rushing out of the bay at the end of their shift. He hands her the wrapped present - the wrapping is shoddy and there’s a lot of tape and it’s a little lumpy for it to be just a boxed shirt, but he tried his best, okay? - and says, “Hey, here’s Denny’s gift. Lemme know if he likes it, yeah?” He doesn’t notice Hen staring at him and blinking blankly, doesn’t stay, he just makes his way back towards the locker room.
Only, he’s halfway there when there’s a rush of footsteps behind him, and then suddenly he’s feeling a harsh tug on his arm. He doesn’t resist, because he recognizes Hen’s hand, but he’s caught off-guard when he’s hauled bodily into a tight embrace. His limbs freeze even as Hen’s warm arms squeeze him tight, pressing her head into his shoulder. After a few seconds, he finally comes online and returns the hug through a series of bewildered blinks, hands awkwardly patting the spot between Hen’s shoulder blades.
At least, that is, until she crushes him particularly hard and his feet leave the floor for a moment. All he manages is a squeak, while Hen says, in the same, strange angry tone that you might use upon seeing a particularly adorable cat, “This is so sweet! I love you, Buckaroo.” Buck doesn’t have the brain power to process it as his boots make contact with the ground again when Hen releases him. He doesn’t really process her giving him a squeeze on the shoulder or the thanks over her own as she finally makes her way out of the bay either - he's too busy trying to push nonexistent words out of his mouth.
He’s still trying to make the words, still has his arms mid-air, wrapped around nothing, when a probie’s lingering, perplexed stare finally pulls him back into reality, his feet finally kicking into action.
Buck ignores the voice of his captain coming from his chest radio. There are still two more apartments, and he isn’t leaving until he makes sure there isn’t anyone left.
He makes quick work of the first, yelling out and getting nothing in return, shoving doors open until he’s sure there’s no one. The next one, he feels the slightest bit of resistance against the door as he pushes, and then he hears what sounds like a faint shriek over the roaring of the fire and sprinklers. The door is pushed further and he barely takes a step forward before he sees the source of the sound, a small bundle of black just within the doorway to the laundry unit.
Still ignoring the calls of, “Firefighter Buckley, Buckley, Buckley,” he rushes forward and scoops up the bundle to see yellowish eyes peeking out from the voidish black. He murmurs a soft comfort that will be lost among the noise, and folds an arm around the cat before rushing his way out of the apartment.
He and the cat, whose squirming has been a bit less than helpful, make it out without so much as a scratch on either of them. Buck’s feeling the satisfaction of a finished evacuation wash over him when the sudden boom of the flashover and its following cacophony echo behind him.
He’s barely handed the cat off to its grateful owner - ( “Oh, Ringo, thank God!) - when he’s cornered into the back of the truck by a fuming Bobby. The man launches into him, and Buck is paying attention, he is, but then Bobby’s saying, “You have to stop being so reckless! You have an entire team who loves you, you can’t just keep treating your life like it doesn’t matter!” - and that - that makes Buck’s brain stop. His thoughts have frozen, his body has frozen, his mouth has frozen.
A moment later, “Buck, are you even listening to me?”
And Buck tries to speak, his mouth opening and closing a couple times with no sound, before finally a squeak and a bewildered, “Wh - loves me?” because - because that doesn’t make sense. Buck doesn’t get that.
Buck doesn’t get love. He can give it out, no question, lets his heart bleed for pretty much anyone, but he doesn’t get to receive it. The only person who has ever loved him was Maddie, so this? This doesn’t make sense.
But then Bobby’s just huffing out, “ Yes, so would you please be more careful?” and Buck just nods automatically, even as his thoughts tumble over each other without actually sticking anywhere. Bobby clearly notices that he isn’t being heard, because he just sighs and leaves Buck with a promise to continue this discussion later and a feeling of broken ground beneath his feet.
The Diaz household is quiet - the only sound is Buck’s humming of some theme song from one of the shows he watches with Chris - he doesn’t know which, because even though he actually pays attention to the shows they watch instead of tuning them out, the upbeat intros just end up running together in his head. The stumbled melody falls through his lips through da da das , his head kinda nodding back and forth, as he cracks an egg into the bowl in front of him.
He doesn’t jump when he suddenly feels warm hands on his hips, slowly moving up to wrap around his waist. He simply leans back into the embrace, continuing his work, even as his hums stop as a content smile takes over his lips. He does let his eyes slide shut for a second, though, as he feels a soft kiss press into his neck, Eddie’s lips staying there for a moment, before they shift and murmur a soft love you into his shoulder.
That’s when everything startles into noise, a hard crunch sounding as the next egg completely crumples underneath Buck’s fingertips, a thud into the counter as Buck whirls around and backs against it, Eddie sharply stepping back to avoid the flinging of the broken yolk.
All Buck manages is a fittingly cracked, “What?”
Eddie just blinks at him for a second, the little line between his eyebrows drawing them together, his shoulders tense as his mouth falls open in question, before something visibly shifts through his mind and his entire body softens. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just carefully takes Buck’s wrist in his hand before quietly guiding him over to the sink, leads him through the motions of washing his hands. Once he’s satisfied and has toweled them dry, he gently takes those fingers and intertwines them with his own. He lightly tugs them towards himself, pulling so he can settle his forehead against Buck’s own.
“I said, ” he whispers in the humming space between them, his voice quiet but unshaking, undeniable, “I love you.”
For a moment, in the quiet and still kitchen, Buck just stares at him. Blinks. The words hover in the air, and his skin resists them, resists the foreignness, but then - then he really looks into Eddie’s eyes, and they’re unblinking, absolutely certain as they stare back at him, and Buck just - breaks.
He crumbles forward, tearing his hands out of Eddie’s so they can wrap around and grab his shoulders instead, his face immediately sinking against the dip of his neck. His fingers’ grip is probably digging just a little hard into Eddie’s skin, he’s probably leaving the collar of Eddie’s t-shirt wet and hot, there’s probably snot on his shirt, too, but Eddie doesn’t complain. He just holds Buck close, his hands rubbing up and down across his shoulders and back, wandering up every once in a while to drift through the soft buzz of Buck’s hair where he’s nestled his lips. He murmurs more, “I love you, I love you, te amo siempre, querido,” letting the words melt into Buck’s hair.
Later, once Buck has stopped trembling, his eyes no longer spilling but still bright, once they’ve cleaned up the mess of eggs from the floor and counter, once they’ve gotten back into the rhythm of breakfast and Eddie is turning the bacon, Buck will manage a quiet, croaking, but no less true “I love you, too.”
And Eddie will smile at him, pull him away from the cutting board where he’s been staring at the uncut apples for far too long, and press a kiss to his knuckles with a fond, “I know.”