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“Okay, kiddo, time for bed,” Buck says, leaning forward on the couch. He rests his elbows on his knees and gives Christopher another minute while he rubs his eyes, trying to bring some life and energy back to himself after dozing for the last who even knows how many minutes. He definitely missed the last half of the movie, easy. He couldn’t say what it was about if he tried.
But he’s far from the only one. Eddie and Christopher are all melty beside him, Eddie barely able to keep his eyes open as the movie credits roll. His legs are stretched out, resting on a pillow on the coffee table—that Buck put there and he complained about for all of five minutes before giving in to the small comfort, you’re welcome —with so little space between them that their thighs are pressed together. Christopher’s tucked into his other side, under his good arm, his glasses getting smushed. He’s either sleeping or incredibly close to falling; either way, his eyes aren’t open and his breathing is slow.
At least they’d had the foresight to have him brush his teeth and put on his pajamas earlier so Buck won’t have to drag him through doing it now.
“Mmm, sorry, Buck,” Eddie mumbles. He shifts slightly, detangling from his son and pressing closer to Buck, but has to stop as he jostles his arm, a wince taking over his face. He’s less cautious about hiding his pain when he’s tired.
Right, Buck thinks with practiced ease at this point, a funny ache in his heart that he ignores entirely. Eddie will need a pain pill before bed. No conveniently forgetting about it tonight . Or trying to convince Buck (or Carla, on the nights she spends here) that he’s already taken it.
Stifling a yawn, Buck waves him off. “S’okay. I’ll just carry him.”
Buck’s not too tired that he doesn’t notice the envious expression Eddie quickly forces away. He doesn’t comment on it, even as guilt blooms in his chest. It’s neither of their faults that Eddie was shot and that Buck has to be the one doing a lot of the physical aspects of parenting right now. That’s what Dr. Copeland says, and what he and Eddie have been preaching at each other back and forth for weeks, ever since he got to come home from the hospital. Still, he can’t help but wish that Eddie could be the one taking Christopher to bed.
No one said the preaching has been working. For either of them, clearly.
But how can it when there are so many reasons to feel responsible?
No, they didn’t ask that bastard to shoot and almost kill Eddie in broad daylight. But there’s more than just one way to hurt. And not being able to parent Christopher like he has before hurts Eddie, even more so when he has to watch Buck do it easily.
The fact is that Buck loves it here—loves getting to take on a role like this for a kid he loves so much. But every bit of joy is tainted with guilt. It feels like he’s stealing something from Eddie.
Okay, that’s just about enough of that bleak rabbit hole.
He stands and faces them, bending down and wiggling his fingers between their bodies where it’s sleep-warm and cozy. Eddie’s chest hitches slightly as the back of his hand brushes against him. For a brief second—all that Buck will allow himself—they stare at each other. In the dark, lit only by the TV, Eddie’s eyes are dark brown and unreadable. Something in the air feels charged, a hush over his skin that just makes him want to lean forward and—
His heart beating in his throat, Buck looks away first. He cups his hands under Christopher’s body and inches him gently away, up into his arms. Chris goes easily, not really waking up except to blink at him once, murmur, “Bucky…,” and slip back under. His arms circle around Buck’s neck and hold on.
Before Buck stands up fully, Eddie reaches out with his good hand to pet Christopher’s hair, pushing a few strands out of his face. “Goodnight, mijo,” he whispers, getting only a mumble in response. A soft smile steals over his face, his eyes moving from his son to Buck. “Hey, Buck?”
He readjusts Christopher as he straightens his back, easily taking the boy’s weight. “Yeah?”
The light’s hitting his face differently now, but Buck still can’t read him. It’s not a familiar experience—usually Buck knows everything he’s thinking. But sometimes… sometimes, they have moments like these. Where there’s some disconnect, a shadow hiding pieces of Eddie from him even as their eyes meet, when Buck can see the intensity even if he can’t make sense of it.
Eddie blinks sleepily at him and whispers, “Thank you.”
Oh. His mouth goes dry, and he has to wonder, Is something happening right now? But no—that’s silly. It’s just late and dark and thei— Eddie’s son is between them. And Dr. Copeland keeps saying that they’re both going through Some Shit, with capitals and everything, so it’s okay to be emotional, to search for meaning where there’s none to be found. (Like why the fuck someone would shoot Eddie, of all firefighters in Los Angeles. And why the fuck Buck had to be standing right in front of him when it happened.)
So no, nothing’s happening. It’s just Buck reading too much into things. Again.
“Of course. Always,” he says after a moment, really meaning it, though the words don’t understand or convey the half of his devotion. Buck would do anything for these two. Even move in for months to care for them both and break his own heart in the process.
Well, it’s not like anyone’s ever accused him of thinking with his head, not when he’s got a perfectly good bleeding heart right there to steer him.
But Buck doesn’t let himself think about that. Instead, he takes a step back and turns before Eddie can respond, carefully moving from the living room to Christopher’s bedroom. Maneuvering in through the door, he makes sure not to smack the boy’s head on the door frame—that was a mistake he’s only ever made once and still feels guilty about.
Shifting Christopher in his arms again, he holds him one-handed and uses the other to pull his sheets back. They’re dark and covered in twinkling stars, and they never fail to make Buck smile, even now—once the world opens back up again, he’s taking Chris back to the planetarium asap.
The little boy doesn’t wake as Buck gently lays him down, tucks him in, and carefully pulls his glasses off. He sets them on the nightstand with his heart full of fondness—even though he aches knowing how much Eddie wishes he could be the one doing this, Buck truly loves putting Christopher down for bed at night.
He turns off the lamp, then steps back to the bed, where he bends down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Chris,” he whispers, slowly standing back up—
—only to jump when Christopher’s hand comes out to latch onto his wrist. “Bucky,” he whines, his eyes only open in slits like he just can’t open them any more than that. Tugging on Buck’s wrist, he pouts, “Stay.”
“I am, sweetheart,” Buck promises, disentangling his hand enough to hold Christopher’s. “You’re stuck with me for a few more weeks at least.” Luckily, there’s no time to think about how his time here has an expiration date, not when this adorable kid is right in front of him.
“Nooo,” Christopher says, bringing their joined hands to his chest. His eyes are closed again. “Stay.”
“I’ll stay right here until you fall asleep, okay?”
“Hmph,” is all Christopher says to that, clearly slipping back into dreamland. Sometimes Buck is still shocked, even years into knowing him and essentially being another parent right now, by how much he trusts Buck.
And god, doesn’t that thought just rip right through him. He tries not to refer to this situation as him parenting Christopher—Eddie is still his dad in every way that counts, that matters. Buck’s just using his hands to feed, clothe, and transport the kid, really, while Eddie can’t.
But no amount of attempting to mentally distance himself from the reality can convince his foolish heart. No, he’s not Christopher’s other dad, but he’s acting like one. He’s being treated like one. Eddie and Chris—and Carla, Abuela, Pepa, even Eddie’s sisters, and shit, Maddie’s teased him about it too—have accepted him into this role in their lives so smoothly, he’s positive that leaving won’t be an easy process.
He’ll have to leave, he can’t stay here forever. This is temporary until Eddie’s healed up again, that’s all.
But he doesn’t want to go.
Christopher falls asleep as Buck sits there, trying not to lose his mind. He watches him breathe, calming the anxiety that always lingers in his mind if Christopher’s okay or not. Under his hand, still held in the little boy’s, he can feel his heart beating.
It won’t be very long at all before he never gets to have this again.
Yeah, he was close with Eddie and Chris before the shooting—closer than he’s probably ever been to anyone, he thinks sometimes—but it’s different now. He’s had a taste of domesticity, of family with them. He’s taken part in their morning rituals, cooked them breakfast, folded Christopher’s laundry alongside Eddie’s and his own. The teachers at Chris’s school know him.
Chimney’s been teasing him good-naturedly about flooding the group chats with pictures of Christopher and Eddie, but Hen… Hen keeps giving him these looks, like she knows. Like it’s obvious to her how much he aches to be theirs, all the time, forever.
He doesn’t want to lose any of this, but he has to. Eddie will get better and Buck will have to leave.
It won’t hurt any less for it being him going instead of being left behind.
Of course, it doesn’t help that Eddie and Christopher keep saying stuff like this. Stay. Don’t go. All it takes is a pout and a slightly-pathetic whine of please, Buck , and he’s done for.
They joke and talk about things that imply Buck will still be right there with them years in the future. Like it’s just a given that now that he’s here, he’s here for good and they aren’t going to let go of him without a fight.
He still can’t get over the way a few days ago, when they were talking about Chris growing up so fast, Eddie so casually said, “Of course you’ll be there when Christopher graduates high school. We’re gonna sit together and cheer so loud we’ll embarrass him.”
With that and so many other, similar comments constantly swirling in his head, how can Buck be expected to treat this like it’s temporary?
How can he be expected to give this up? To act normal and keep things platonic? To share the bed with Eddie like he has been on and off the past few weeks, but especially every night so far this week?
He can’t handle that. Not tonight. Not when his skin is buzzing with the charge in the air, and his heart is fluttering like he’s a teenager, and not when Eddie was looking at him like that earlier. He just can’t.
His mouth dry, he stands up from his crouch beside Christopher’s bed. His knees are weak from holding the position for so long, definitely not at all because of where his thoughts went.
Carefully distangling his fingers, he takes a deep breath and makes himself walk away. In the hall, he only allows himself a moment to feel the despair clawing up his throat and prickling in his eyes. The night’s not over, he has to help Eddie take his pain meds and get ready to sleep; once that’s done, then he can lock himself in the bathroom and cry about it. But right now, he can’t afford to even think about any of it.
He runs a hand over his face, and when he pulls it away, he unconsciously checks for blood, even though he knows there won’t be any. It’s a habit now, formed from an untold amount of nightmares—if there’s no blood on his face, he knows he was just sleeping or remembering. Not reliving it. Not still caught in it.
God, he’s a mess.
He shakes his head at himself, and forces his legs to take him back to the living room, where Eddie’s still sitting. The TV is silent, hovering on the menu of shows he and Eddie watch together without Christopher. Obviously, he’s been waiting for Buck.
“That took a while,” Eddie says. He doesn’t sound angry or jealous; just pointing it out. “Go okay?”
“He, uh, he woke up for a second there.” Buck shrugs and sits on the couch, leaving much more space between them than there was earlier. He hopes Eddie won’t notice, or at least won’t say anything when he inevitably does. He just needs some space, can’t risk sitting so close without Christopher there to distract himself with.
Eddie tilts his head slightly. “Oh yeah? What’d he say?”
Oh, nothing, just asked me to stay and sent me into a mental spiral about losing the both of you. Trying to be casual, Buck says, “What? Nothing really.”
Eddie’s gazing at him. Buck feels paper-thin, see through, and tries to keep his face straight, even though he knows he’s going to fail. After a moment, he turns to sit facing Buck better, careful not to bump his arm as he moves. Sure enough, Eddie doesn’t let it go. “So should I ask what took so long, then, or why you look so upset? Your choice.”
Buck swallows. “I’m not upset.”
“You came out here looking like you were about to cry, Buck.”
Fuck.
When that doesn’t get a response, he tries, “Did he say something to hurt your feelings?”
Buck shakes his head. “He wouldn’t…,” he trails off, picking at the cushion under his body. What is he supposed to do here? Lie? Tell the truth? Avoid for as long as he can get away with it?
He has no idea—all he knows is that he can’t be honest about this with Eddie. No matter how much the guy loves him, it’s all platonic, even if Maddie says otherwise. He can’t reveal his feelings and ruin everything between them. Why speed up losing his family when he could keep his mouth shut and have a few more weeks?
Eddie shrugs with one shoulder. Buck can’t tell if he’s trying to be casual for Buck’s sake, or if he’s actually feeling it. “Hey, kids can be little assholes sometimes. You’ve seen how he roasts me.”
“Hah, yeah.”
For a few moments, they’re both quiet, Eddie watching him and Buck not quite able to meet his eyes. Then, like he’s picking up in the middle of a sentence—a quirk he got from Buck—Eddie says, “But you can be honest with me, you know? You can tell me anything. Even if it’s something like this. I won’t get offended. If he said something—”
“I know,” Buck interrupts, not wanting Eddie to think Christopher did anything wrong any longer. He twists a bit too, the corner of the couch at his back, and curls his legs up so he’s in a loose ball. He watches Eddie clock the motion, but not even his scrutiny is enough to make Buck drop the comforting pose. “He really didn’t say much. He just asked me to stay with him until he fell back asleep, and I said of course I would. It was fine. That’s not why I… looked upset.”
Eddie leans forward a bit, head dipping like it does when he’s trying to meet Christopher’s eyes to get him to open up about something. Buck used to think that was the dad in his best friend, but now he knows it’s just him being a caring, wonderful man. He hates when either of them are upset, always wants to fix things.
If Buck ever let himself think about this, he’d be able to admit that that’s something he loves about Eddie.
But he doesn’t let himself think about it, so whatever.
Eddie finally catches his eye. Achingly gentle, he asks, “What happened then? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Buck tries, but even to himself, he doesn’t sound convincing.
Eddie skeptically asks, “You sure?”
“Yep,” Buck says, turning to the TV. “Let’s watch something.”
Eddie hesitates. “I wouldn’t usually push, but… Buck. Come on, talk to me. Something happened.”
“I’m fine , Eddie.” But rapidly heading towards crying for real this time. “Actually, forget the TV, I’m too tired. Let’s just go to bed, okay? Please.”
“Buck—“
“Oh, and don’t think I forgot you need to take your pain meds first.” Does it count as a diversion if it’s true?
For a long moment, Buck’s worried Eddie won’t let it go. He can usually tell when Buck needs to get something off his chest, and when he’s not ready to talk about it. He doesn’t force him either way, but maybe tonight will be different and he’ll keep pushing. Everything already feels charged, like one wrong step will have Buck falling off a cliff into some uncharted territory.
But finally, Eddie sighs, and gives in. “Alright.”
Buck stands and tucks his hands into his pockets, then realizes, “Shit, wait, do you want any help?” He steps forward just in case, one hand coming up to hover in the air. He hasn’t had to help Eddie up from the couch for a while now, but sometimes—especially at night, they’ve found—he gets stiff and has some trouble.
Eddie shakes his head, frustration slashing across his face as he slowly maneuvers himself up. “I got it.”
Awkwardly, Buck nods and steps back out of his space. Once he’s standing, they both pause, waiting for the other to go first. Buck tips his head, and after a moment, Eddie rolls his eyes in exasperation but takes off for the kitchen.
But his annoyance doesn’t last long. Eddie watches him in concern as Buck gets him a drink and his pills; it’s a practiced routine by now, having done it several times a day for weeks. They don’t talk much as he takes it, letting the not-quite silence of the house settle over them.
“Here you are,” Buck says as he hands it over—usually, he says it with a flourish, like a waiter serving a delicious meal. It made Eddie huff a laugh through his nose those first days back home, when he was angry and hurting and nothing but Christopher cuddles made him feel better. But this time, he can’t muster up the energy to, and his voice comes out too soft, too muted.
“Thanks,” Eddie murmurs. He throws back the pills quickly and swishes the water; as much as he hates it, it barely lasts a few seconds. Once he’s done, he rolls his shoulders and groans. “God, I’m ready for bed.”
“Heh, yeah, me too.”
He starts down the hall, but Buck doesn’t follow him. He lingers there in the kitchen, watching him go, his heart aching in his chest.
Eddie only takes a few moments to realize Buck’s not behind him. He turns, giving him a weird look. “Aren’t you coming?”
Buck swallows. “Um… no. Not tonight. I think I’m just gonna sleep on the couch.”
“What? Why?”
“I dunno, I’m just not feeling very tired and I don’t want to keep you up— “
“You just said you wanted to go to sleep, Buck,” Eddie points out with a raised eyebrow. “Look, you don’t have to talk about whatever it is, but I’m not gonna make you sleep alone when you’re upset.”
“Eddie, no, you’re not making me sleep alone,” Buck protests. His eyes are heating up; he can’t do this forever. It’s so hard to say no when it’s all he wants, and nothing he can have at the same time. His heart shudders in his chest. “I’m good.”
“Yeah, sure. But if you’re sleeping on the couch, so am I.”
“With your shoulder still fucked up? No, you’re not.”
Like it’s obvious, Eddie makes a face and sweeps his good arm down the hall. “Then come join me in bed. Do I have to beg, man? Please. Neither of us can handle that couch, so let’s just go sleep in my bed like normal.”
He shudders. He doesn’t mean it like that, Buckley. Not like that. “Not tonight, Eddie.”
“Why not? You don’t let me sleep alone when I’m not feeling well, so—“
Buck has to turn his face away before Eddie can see the way tears are starting to spill over his cheeks.
He never knows if he should feel selfish and greedy when he joins Eddie in his bed, or like he’s entirely overthinking everything. Best friends can literally sleep next to each other; it doesn’t mean anything, even if they wake up tangled in the morning. Eddie needs him there to wake him from nightmares and help when pain surges would attack at all hours, those first few days back.
But he can’t—has never been able to, at least to himself—deny that he takes a lot of enjoyment and solace out of it. The feeling of a warm, solid body under his hands; knowing that it’s Eddie, who has his back, who’s alive and there with him; those moments before Eddie wakes up when it’s soft and syrupy and he can pretend it’s real. It gives him peace like he’s only ever known in Diaz family group hugs… until reality rips it all away again.
Most of the time, he can convince himself it’s okay to be a little greedy. Dr. Copeland says they both need support after such a traumatic event, and Eddie’s told him before— when it was dark and thei- the bed was warm, and they couldn’t see each other’s faces— that it helps him, too. To be able to hold. To be held. To feel Buck’s heart beating against his chest.
But he can’t handle that tonight. Not when the inevitable end is closing in, not when Eddie’s acting like this. “I just can’t. I can’t.” His voice breaks on the last word.
Eddie’s face is the picture of hurt confusion. He comes closer, not quite stepping into Buck’s space, his hands hovering low in the air like he isn’t sure what to do with them. “Buck… what is going on? Why—”
He doesn’t mean to say it. But in the face of Eddie’s concern and care, his words (so similar to Christopher’s, stay, join me, come on, Buck, please? ), it just erupts out of him, refusing to be held in any longer.
“I’m in love with you, Eddie.” Unable to meet Eddie’s eyes except in quick glances, he continues, half rambling, half venting a fraction of the thoughts that have been plaguing him for weeks, months. Maybe even years. “That’s what’s been upsetting me, okay? And I-I just don’t think I can share the bed anymore, o-or right now at least, because of my feelings. It’s not fair to you or to me. So, um. So, it’s better if I just stay out here. I’m sorry, I know—I know having me there helps with the nightmares but it’s not a good idea, okay?”
He isn’t sure if the weight off his chest feels more like relief, or like loss. Wiping his eyes, he can’t bear to see the expression on Eddie’s face—as long as he doesn’t look, it could be disgust or anger, judgement or acceptance or reciprocation. (He doesn’t allow himself to hope for that last one, not for a second.)
Just when he’s about to turn away and find some patch of floor to lie down on and stare at the ceiling, a hand comes up and lands heavily on his shoulder. His head shoots up, his eyes scanning Eddie’s face even as he fears what he’ll find. But what he sees is something… familiar. Something he’s never quite able to put a name on because no one word seems like enough.
Fondness, exasperation, hope, an undercurrent of anxiety, tinged with intensity that makes Buck squirm.
“Buck,” he says. His fingers tighten on Buck’s shoulder, his thumb pressing gently against his throat, and it’s only then that Buck consciously realizes he’s using his bad arm. The one Buck made worse by pulling him to safety, the one he’s been taking extremely special care of ever since. He inhales like he needs to gather his courage, meets Buck’s eyes, and goes for it. “I love you too, I'm in love with you too.”
A sharp breath punches out of Buck. He sinks slightly, leaning toward Eddie, who doesn’t let go.
“How could I not be? You're perfect for us. And I don't mean the things you do for us, I mean…,” he shakes his head, “you belong here. You belong with me, with Christopher, in our house, our family. We’ve been trying to tell you for weeks."
His world feels like it’s spinning on its axis; he’s sure he’s dreaming. There’s no way Eddie could really feel the same way he does. No way he’d be saying these things to him anywhere else except in a fantasy. He stutters out, “R-really?”
Thumb sweeping in a small line, Eddie nods. “Yeah, really. You’re our best friend, we kind of want to keep you. Even when you’re apparently having breakdowns and keeping them all to yourself.” He says it teasingly, with a soft jostle of his shoulder.
“I-I’m sorry,” Buck says, but he doesn’t think Eddie’s actually upset with him. “I just got to thinking about how I’m going to have to move out soon, since you’re almost all healed, and I got in my head about it, and then— “
“Hey, I understand. I’m sorry I—well, I’m not sorry my pushing led us to finally telling each other how we feel, but I am sorry it upset you.”
Oh shit, Buck thinks dreamily. He’d never known Eddie’s something of a closet romantic.
Honestly, he’s still not sure he’s entirely awake.
“There’s no one else I’d rather share a bed with; there’s no one else I’d let in my bed, other than you, Buck. I’m not gonna make you come with me, but if that’s all that was holding you back, don’t let it. You belong there, too. I want you there if that’s what you want.”
“It’s all I’ve wanted,” Buck says earnestly, his eyes wet and his lips curling into a smile, “since before I even temporarily moved in here.”
“Then come on,” Eddie encourages. His hand slips down his arm, and without fumbling, their hands clasp together. His palm is warm and solid and he’s alive, and this is real. This is real.
Eddie loves him .
He’s giddy with the thought as they head down the hallway together. “Hey, Eds?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you say it again?”
Indulgently, Eddie says, “Any time you wanna hear it, just ask. I love you, Buck.”
When they get to the bedroom, Buck can’t hold it in anymore—he pulls Eddie against him, careful with his shoulder, and hugs him. Eddie’s arms come up around his back and cling on just as closely, and for a few long moments, they stand there like that, swaying. Buck wants to kiss him badly now that he knows Eddie is interested, but… they can save that for the morning. They’ll have a lot to talk about anyway, and he wants to make sure they’re both on board before he springs something on the guy.
He can’t resist a sweet kiss on the underside of Eddie’s jaw before he pulls away. Eddie shudders slightly, a soft breath leaving him. When they’re out of each other’s arms, even in the dark, the love in Eddie’s eyes shines through.
“Come on,” Buck murmurs, taking the lead this time. He pulls the sheets down on the bed, and they both climb in, immediately curling into each other. They’ve done it so many times before through quarantine and healing, but it’s different this time, the new meaning coloring in the edges and leaving no room for any more insecurities.
This is where he belongs. Right here, in Eddie’s arms, in his bed. There’s nowhere he’d rather be.