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It was something that was well known within the 118, and most of the LAFD as a whole. Bobby was an excellent chef, obviously. But he could also teach very well. But there was exactly one person who could not be taught, no matter how much time Bobby spent with him, as well as his best friend.
That would be Eddie.
It was a running joke that the kitchen in Eddie’s home wasn’t actually his. Sure, he supplied the food and the dishes and the pots and pans. And he certainly reaped the benefits from what came out of it. But no, that kitchen belonged to Buck and Carla. And Christopher as well now, as Buck was teaching him in the same ways that Bobby had first taught him.
But Eddie? Eddie burned water, nearly set his microwave on fire, and actually set his toaster on fire in a spectacular fashion that Buck and Christopher would never let him forget about. (It didn’t help that Chris had recorded the entire event on Buck’s phone from his safe place by the door, while Buck put out the fire and proceeded to give Eddie all sorts of hell for it. It was all kinds of impressive, actually.)
He also shattered the blender, but Buck didn’t exactly know that yet, and he wasn’t about to admit to it.
In any event, Eddie didn’t have the talent for cooking. He tried, and failed, and was finally banned from it altogether. He stuck to things that didn’t need to be prepared, or meals that just needed to be microwaved while following the directions clearly printed out for him, with Chris supervising him. And he accepted it. He had other talents, just not cooking.
Unfortunately, right now he didn't have a choice.
With the end of the Blackout, and Ana leaving, Eddie had been left with an explosion in his (Buck’s) kitchen, and a soon to be hungry pre-teen who would want food within a few hours. Normally that would be ok, he’d either call over Buck to spend the evening, or just order out.
But Buck was with Chimney, both of them in complete misery after Maddie’s decision to leave. And most of the restaurants that he trusted (due to allergies and sensitivities and preferences) didn’t have much in the way of ingredients, which meant they were all closed. Even the pizza place that they loved was turning people away.
There wasn’t much in the pantry that he could use, but there was an unopened box of pasta that he could probably cook up, at least until he braved the grocery store the next day.
Plan in place, Eddie carefully unearthed the stove and found the only pot that wasn’t disgusting to fill with water. Once he filled it (and remembered to add a bit of salt, Bobby would be so proud), he turned to sink and made a decision to start on the mountain of dishes.
He was just finishing up filling the dishwasher with the first load when the pot started boiling, which meant he could add the pasta. In all honesty, he was babying the pot, keeping an eye on the pasta and watching the timer.
With only seconds to go, he heard the front door open and Christopher’s excited shout of “Buck, you’re here!” Eddie shook his head. Of course Buck was here. He had to check in on them after the breakup. Because that was just how Buck was, caring and kind, even when facing his own heartbreak.
Eddie was still somewhat lost in his thoughts when he went to pull the pot off of the stove. Just as he grabbed the handle, he remembered a conversation with Buck about that particular pot. The handle was also metal, so he’d need a pot holder to safely move it. It was the entire reason that within two weeks, a new collection of actually good pots and pans had appeared in his kitchen, ones that were safer to teach Christopher with.
The moment he put all of that together, fiery pain lanced up his arm. He quickly set the pot back down on the stove (and didn’t splash it, a miracle in of itself) and rushed over to the sink, dousing his hand in cool water, doing everything in his power to not start swearing.
That… lasted about five seconds.
As he stood at the sink, muttering curses under his breath, the kitchen door swung open. “So, Christopher said you were cooking,” Buck was saying, talking before even stepping foot into the room. “Which I know you wouldn’t be, because you are ban- what happened.”
The younger man sprinted to his side, carefully touching his wrist to get a look at the burn making a startling appearance on Eddie’s palm and fingers. “Shit, Eddie, that looks like it hurts,” he said, voice lowered in what was probably an attempt to keep Chris from finding out that his dad had hurt himself in the kitchen. Again.
“Yeah. I’m aware,” Eddie bit out, doing everything he could to not let the pain get to him. “The pasta is still on the stove…”
Buck nodded, silent request heard loud and clear. He turned back to the stove and carefully moved the pot to a cool burner before taking in the state of the pasta. “Eddie, I know you tried hard, and you got burned for your attempt, but you’re supposed to stir the pasta. It’s a giant lump.”
The other man let himself lean against the sink in defeat, keeping his hand under the water. “Fine, so I can’t cook. I tried, and I figured that you won’t be over tonight, so I had to feed Chris something.” He wasn’t annoyed so much as resigned in defeat. He just couldn’t do it at this point.
“There isn’t any… wait, why does the kitchen look like an explosion went off? What did you do before I got here?” The sound of defeat and wonder (and honestly shock, if Eddie really thought about it) was easy to hear. “And the good pots and pans… there’s so much food stuck to them. Eddie, this is gonna take forever to clean up!”
Christopher’s giggles from the doorway stopped Buck’s rant before he could really get going. He poked his head in and took stock of the state of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I tried to do the dishes, but I wasn’t allowed to.”
Buck nodded, making a decision on the spot. “Pack it up, Diazes. I have food at the loft. We can eat something edible there!”
As Buck quickly ushered a cheering Christopher from the kitchen, he caught Eddie’s eye, who gave him a nod. They’d deal with the disaster that was the kitchen tomorrow, once they were both rested and fed.
He was just wrapping his hand in clean bandages when he heard his phone ding. Carefully, he picked up the device. “Buckley, you are dead!”
The text was from the 118 group chat. It was just two pictures, taken by a sneaky Christopher. One was Eddie cooking, the other was Eddie defeated at the sink, hand in water. As he stalked out of the kitchen to strangle his laughing best friend, more texts came in: sarcastic jokes from Hen and Karen, a quick message from Bobby reminded him to actually listen to his lessons, and even a simple smiley face from Chim.
It would be a while, but they’d be ok.