Archive of Our Own

See, the thing is, Eddie is gay. Like, really fucking gay. 

It’s not a new, sudden revelation. He’s had the thought he might be queer for a while, ever since he made the varsity baseball team and saw Tyler Combs undressing, but he hasn’t put much time or effort to contemplating his sexuality because there’s always been something else for him to focus on—Shannon, serving, finances, dead-end relationships with women, his career, his son. 

He loved Shannon, too. Still loves her, actually; the time they spent with one another is something he’s going to treasure for the rest of his life no matter what, and nobody is ever going to take that away from him. 

But she’s gone, and he’s healing from that loss, and Christopher is gone, too, and he misses that kid like crazy and can’t wait to have him back because he will be back, this Eddie knows, and Buck’s figuring himself out with Tommy, and they’re happy, something they both deserve, and work is good and finances are great and he’s gay, really gay, and now there’s time to explore that part of himself. 

Which is how he finds himself at a queer-friendly bar on a Friday night, recommended to him by a Facebook group he’s silently part of. 

It’s a nice place, though not something he expected to find in LA. There’s an atmosphere about the place that reminds him of the queer bar in south central Oklahoma he sneaked into before he was of age when they were up there for a baseball tournament—the music, the smell, the feel, the welcoming mood of it all: it’s like he’s properly at home in his skin for the very first time in his life, free and unburned by subduing who he truly is. 

The place is crowded, but he finds an empty stool near the end of the bar. There’s a couple names carved into the wood, worn over by weeks of sliding slippery glasses; he can make out a few letters but nothing else. He rubs his thumb over the etchings and smiles, warmed by the memories of those before him. 

One of the bartenders walks up in front of him. They’re gorgeous, dark-haired and heavily tattooed with pretty brown eyes and gold hoops through both nostrils and their septum. The pin on their well-worn Scooby-Doo shirt reads he/him.

“Can I get you anything?” 

Eddie swallows. “Um, I actually don’t know,” he says, laughs, and ducks his head because he’s a weak man with no game. “This is my first time. What’s good here?” 

The bartender raises a brow and leans against the counter, smiling crookedly. “All of it,” he says, reaching beneath the bar and bringing out a sticky, plastic menu. “Bar favs are here. You can’t go wrong with any of them, but you look like a margarita guy and all of those are here.” 

Eddie follows the man’s fingers as he points at the sections, only half paying attention. He’s never been one for hand tattoos—they’re impractical for his line of work—but he’s enamored with the bartender’s ink, full swirls of creeping ivy and leaves stemming from a flower on the back of his hand. 

Wow. 

“What’s your favorite?” 

The bartender’s crooked smile grows a little devious, sweet and sensual all at once, and a pool of liquid heat gathers in the pit of Eddie’s tummy. “Beau’s Prick is my favorite,” he replies, tapping the the scrawled words. “It’s a prickly pear margarita with a dehydrated lime garnish. Delicious.” 

A lava-hot flush crawls up Eddie’s chest, wrapping around his neck and plunging down his back. “Yeah?” Throat suddenly dry, he swallows again; he can’t look away from the man’s eyes, caught in a web he doesn’t want to get out of. “I’ll take one. Please.” 

“Salt or sugar?” 

Eddie hums. “Sugar.” 

“Good choice.”

The bartender saunters off and begins to work on the margarita, pilfering through clinking glasses and reaching for ingredients. Eddie watches, fascinated with the way the man moves in those jeans and boots, with the way his shirt draws up to reveal his back as he reaches over his head for the tequila, until he realizes what he’s doing and then jerks his attention away. 

Jesus Christ. He’s terrible. 

This isn’t the first time a man has flirted with him. Hell, this isn’t the first time he’s reciprocated attention, either, but it’s different. Though only officially out to himself, he’s no longer a repressed, closeted man running away from the possibilities of joy because he was afraid of authentically interacting with wistful partners. Instead, he’s budding and proud, feeling out a new reality now that he has room to breathe and be who he is. 

A glass full of pretty pink liquid, complete with a cheap green umbrella hanging over the top, appears in front of him. “Let me know what you think, pretty boy.” 

Eddie sends up a quick prayer to whoever happens to be listening upstairs that he has rosacea thick enough it covers the blush burning beneath his cheeks. He takes the glass, licks some sugar from the rim, and pours some liquid down his throat. 

It’s good. Delicious, actually. Sweet in a muted, thorny way but fruity somehow, too, and better than any margarita he’s ever had before. He takes another drink almost immediately, too preoccupied to answer with anything except nods of approval. 

The bartender laughs. “That good, huh?” 

Eddie nods. “Yeah—yes.” He grins, best as he can, and licks the sugar off his lips. “Delicious, like you said.” 

“Glad to hear it.” 

Eddie takes another drink, enjoying the flavor and pretending his attention isn’t concentrated on the bartender. It’s just—he’s handsome, okay, in a way Eddie hasn’t ever allowed himself to properly appreciate, tall and lean and dark-eyed, and it’s nice to be looked at like this. Like he’s a catch or something; somebody to want, somebody to cherish. 

Nuts. 

“Who’s Beau, anyway?” 

The bartender grins boyishly. “Me,” he says. 

Eddie’s entire body goes hot, all over all at once, and he opens his mouth to say something hopefully witty but he chokes on his spit, embarrassing and loud, and the bartender—Beau—chuckles like he’s endeared or something, and puts his elbow on the table. He gets comfortable, chin in hand, and smiles at Eddie as if he’s never been more smitten.

“So, pretty boy,” Beau begins, “tell me about yourself.”  

Eventually, over conversations left off and picked up throughout the next few hours, the tension fizzles out of Eddie’s body and he’s able to operate normally. He and Beau talk about everything under the sun—their careers, their education, their friends, their family. 

Eddie mentions Christopher, the best thing to ever happen to him, and shows Beau a few pictures of them and Buck. Beau brings up his daughters—toddler twins, spoiled by him and their mother, his ex-girlfriend, who he co-owns the bar with—and they trade horror stories for a few moments. 

He learns that Beau went to school for meteorology but dropped out of graduate school because a life in academia isn’t something he wants. Eddie tells him about how many stations wanted him after he graduated the academy and says he picked the 118 because of the captain. Beau’s mother was a firefighter in Oklahoma; when she retired and moved to LA to rekindle the relationship she had with her first girlfriend, he followed her and felt ready to explore his own sexuality. Eddie talks about Shannon a little bit and butterflies flutter in his tummy when Beau covers his hand in empathy. 

And it’s nice, chatting and opening himself up like this and being accepted fully in return by somebody who understands what it’s like. He doesn’t regret the path he took to get here—how can he, you know, since it gave him Shannon and Christopher—but he’s glad to have finally arrived to who he truly is. 

At a quarter after midnight, Beau steps through the tiny half-door partitioning off the bar and comes to stand beside Eddie. “It’s my break time, pretty boy,” he says, stepping into Eddie’s space like he’s a small moon circulating a giant planet. “Wanna go to the back with me?” 

Eddie bites his lip. He knows what this means, know he’s being propositioned by someone he met just a few hours ago, and this will be his first time with a man, but there’s liquor in his veins and excitement in his tummy and arousal simmering low in his groin and he loves the way Beau makes him feel wanted, makes him feel sexy. 

Besides, Christopher is gone and Shannon is dead and Buck is dating Tommy. It’s okay for Eddie to do something selfish for once. 

He nods. “Yeah,” he says, laughs, and shakes his head. Excitement thrums beneath his chest, white-hot and bright; he’s so giddy he’s nearly vibrating. “Sure. Lead the way, cowboy.” 

Beau smiles, softly, and steps back to allow Eddie to stand. He reaches for Eddie’s hand, tangles their fingers, and brings Eddie toward the back of the bar. 

FIVE

For clarification purposes, Ravi is pansexual. Labels aren’t something he’s ever cared for out of personal preference, but when people ask—which is more often than one would think—he tells them pansexual. 

(At first, he thought he was gay. He had a few boyfriends in high school, but graduation and vacation and exposure to girls other than the ones he grew up with proved to him that he is, in fact, attracted to more than just men. It’s complicated, a headache to explain, especially when he thinks about the differences between romantic and sexual attraction, oh boy, but he got there in the end.)  

Anyway. 

Point is, Ravi’s pansexual. And a little bit aromantic, but that’s something he’s still coming to terms with. 

All this to say, he isn’t in the mood to pursue a romantic relationship at the moment. It isn’t in the cards—he’s a full-time firefighter, part-time landlord, and freelance fanfiction writer. He’s got over two thousand author subscriptions; he’s so cool online and he’s got a few stories he needs to update before the end of the month. 

Sometimes, though, he gets an itch under his skin. A vibration that runs deep in his veins, hot like he’s in a fire with no gear, and jerking off by himself only tempers the arousal for so long until he feels as if he’s going to rattle off his bones. 

And on those nights—days—he opens up a random dating app. Grindr’s the one.  

(Grindr isn’t the place to find a lasting romantic relationship, in Ravi’s opinion. It can be done—he’s seen it—but he doesn’t put much merit on dating apps and tends to only use them to get off with somebody through the phone because, again, he’s not looking for something lasting which seems to be normal and understood on Grindr amongst everyone. So.) 

After an all-over shower where he indulged in his favorite candy apple scrub, he checks the locks on the doors and slides between his silk bedsheets, naked as the day he was born. He shimmies around a moment, star-fishing and enjoying fresh washed skin against honeysuckle-scented sheets like a scheming cricket. 

He’s never going to get tired of that feeling. 

Once comfortable, he slaps around on the bed until he finds his phone. The screen is bright in the dimness of his room, illuminating a small triangle around his face; he unlocks it, swipes till he finds the app, and then settles against the pillows as he finds somebody to help him get off. 

He flips through for a couple minutes, judging based off pretty smiles and intriguing bios and presence of fish in profile pictures. He doesn’t have a type, not really, and sometimes he scrolls through the app for name inspiration for the original characters he introduces into his fics, so he just waits for somebody to stand out to him. 

He swipes and swipes and swipes—and then swipes some more, for the next five or so minutes. And it’s kind of boring, really, because there’s nobody piquing his interest in the slightest. 

Except. 

The name catches his eye because it’s one he knows very well. It isn’t unique, though, especially in southern California where there’s a large hispanic population. The bio isn’t stimulating, either—something generic, a silly quote that drips with gay millennialism because they can’t seem to ever pick a struggle—so he thinks nothing of it because the Eddie Diaz he knows isn’t queer. 

Regardless, out of sheer curiosity, he gives the profile picture a quick look before swiping the other way. 

And then does not, in fact, swipe the other way because that is, in fact, Eddie Diaz, the one he knows, and he is, in fact, on an app for queer men. 

Huh. 

Lots of thoughts run through Ravi’s mind, each leading him down a rabbit hole that ends in two possible conclusions—either Eddie’s queer, a perfectly normal and valid revelation a bit later in life, or somebody is using his picture to catfish unsuspecting victims on the internet. Which isn’t unheard of, according to Chim and Buck, especially since Eddie’s an attractive man. 

Mind made up, he screenshots the profile and clicks over to his messages, scrolling down till he finds Eddie’s name. 

hey man
somebody might be using your face to catfish
saw this on grindr
might want to look into it 

He sends the screenshot, watches the read notification pop up, and waits for Eddie’s response, biting his lip with anticipation. It’s not everyday something like this happens; as much as he avoids the drama of A shift as best he can, he won’t deny it’s appealing and entertaining. 

LOL
This is so funny. 

Ravi makes a face. “No, it isn’t,” he says to himself because it isn’t funny. Using somebody’s photo and name in order to trap people on the internet isn’t something to laugh about. Ravi’s a bit disappointed in Eddie considering this very thing happened to Buck. 

it might be funny rn but this could be an issue
you better take care of it
don’t want anybody throwing water at you lmao 

It’s okay
It’s me 
I’m gay! Aha! 
🌈

Ravi makes a face again, much different than one a moment ago. Eddie’s always been a terrible person to text, dull and dry in a way that Ravi doesn’t quite understand because he’s so reactive in real life, but it’s hard to misinterpret the rainbow emoji and the declaration of sexuality. 

He clicks around until he’s dialing Eddie. Eddie answers on the third ring. 

“Hey, Ravi. What’s—”

“Since when are you gay?” Ravi asks, cutting Eddie off, but it’s a little harsh and abrasive, not the tone he was aiming for, so he amends, “Since when are you out and on dating sites for men?” because Eddie is his friend and he wants to make sure there’s no hard feelings between them.  

On the other end, Eddie laughs softly. “Since I was born, I think,” he replies, open and easy. “It’s been at the back of my mind since I can remember and it’s time I faced it instead of running away from it. I’ve got the time now.” 

“Ah, man. Congrats. Does Buck know?” 

Eddie coughs, once, which is suspicious. “Why would Buck know?” he asks—which is, again, suspicious, because Buck usually knows everything if it involves Eddie. 

Thoroughly invested, Ravi wraps the sheets around his chest and shifts upward to lean against the headboard. “Because it’s Buck,” he replies. He isn’t as imbued in their lives as some of the others, but he knew from the very first shift that Eddie and Buck are a package deal with a heavy amount of baggage and repression. “I just thought—”

“You’re the only one who knows,” Eddie rushes to say, cutting Ravi off. He laughs again; there’s no suspicion in his tone this time. “Well, you and the few men I’ve hooked up with the last couple weeks.”  

Ravi fights the urge to kick his feet in glee. “Are you having a hot girl summer?” 

“A what?” 

“C’mon, dude. You’re LA’s number one gay bachelor right now. You should have a hot girl summer.” 

Eddie blinks—well, Ravi assumes Eddie blinks. “I don’t know what that means,” he says, which is just a tragedy. “Besides, I haven’t had any luck on the app. It’s like I repel hot men or something.” 

“Well, yeah. Your profile is shit, man.” 

“What?” 

“You’ve got time, right?” Ravi asks, and then moves on before Eddie even has a chance to answer. “Wonderful, great. So first, what we’re going to do is work on that horrible bio of yours so we can turn those few men into a few dozen men by the end of the month.” 

Eddie squeaks. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” Ravi says, and then starts in on the multitude of tips and tricks he’s learned over the years to catch someone’s eye because Eddie is his friend, somebody he cares about, who deserves to enjoy this turning point in his life as much as he can. 

FOUR

You know, Chim’s kissed a couple dudes throughout his lifetime—a few New Years parties, a pal from high school, his old neighbor Allen Strait who was, in fact, not very straight. 

Does this make him bisexual? He doesn’t know. He’s also been a bit of a disaster, something he’s embraced instead of running from, and he’s never really given much thought to his sexuality because he’s kissed more women than men. 

Sometimes, though, he can’t help but think about it.

He has Maddie, the love of his life, and a wife doesn’t make him straight but he isn’t comfortable calling himself bisexual because he’s never had a boyfriend—which, you know, having a boyfriend as a man doesn’t make you more bisexual, either, but, wow, it’s all sorts of complicated and he isn’t sure he feels the need to put a word on what he is if he’s ever asked. 

Not that anybody’s going to ask because, you know, he’s a man with a wife, so. But for him and his own peace of mind, bisexual works best, even if he prefers women and even if it’s something he wants to keep to himself. 

All this to say, as a man who has enjoyed kissing other men before, he notices something up with Eddie almost immediately—and no, it isn’t that thick bush of a mustache on his upper lip. 

Eddie sits down at the table across from Chim, wincing as he does so, and tears into the two omelets on his plate with bright gusto after getting comfortable. His mustache isn’t terribly new, but it is fuller and cleaner than it was a few days ago, and it looks good on him, as much as it doesn’t exactly feel like him just yet. 

However, there’s a dark red mark on the side of his neck that looks an awful lot like a juvenile hickey that catches Chim’s eye. 

But, hey, Christopher is gone to El Paso and Marisol is nowhere to be seen and perhaps Eddie’s having a bit of a midlife crisis, so Chim is in no place to judge. Like, at all. He bought a hot tub a few months ago because he wanted to spice things up; it’s better than a motorcycle and he and Maddie have used it generously, but the point is still there. 

“So,” Chim begins, angling himself forward so he can catch Eddie’s eyes, “is the mustache staying?” 

Eddie, both cheeks packed full of eggs and maple sausage, nods, and uses his big cup of orange juice to help wash it down. “I mean, I kind of like it,” he says, shrugging. “It’s nice. I feel cool.” 

“It looks good on you,” Hen says, kicking Chim beneath the table. “Don’t let anybody who can’t grow a mustache make you feel bad for it.” 

“Hey! I can grow a mustache, thank you.” Chim rubs his shin vigorously and cuts his eyes at Hen. “Besides, I didn’t say it looked bad.” 

“You were thinking it.” 

“Oh? And since when have you been able to read my mind, Henrietta?”  

“I don’t need to read your mind to know what you’re thinking, Howard.” Hen flicks a piece of scrambled eggs at Chim before turning back to Eddie, politely disregarding the ketchup stain in the center of Chim’s chest. “Ignore him, Eddie. It looks great.” 

Eddie smiles. “Thank you, Hen,” he says, exaggerating his tone and giving Chim an embellished stink eye. “At least I have somebody on my side.” 

Chim pulls a face. “I’m always on your side, man,” he insists, sniffling as if he’s been truly hurt, and then breaks out in a chuckling fit when Hen rolls her eyes and stands, taking her empty plate to the kitchen. “What does Chris think about the mustache?” 

(And no, Chim is not an asshole for bringing Christopher up, thank you very much. He knows more or less what happened, though some of the details are none of his business; Eddie talks to Chris everyday and lets the crew know how he’s doing so there is nothing wrong with Chim asking.) 

Eddie shrugs, reaching for his orange juice once again. “He hasn’t seen it yet,” he replies, “but the guy I’m seeing likes it. Like, really likes it.” 

“Mm, I see,” Chim says, not seeing. “Run that part back again for me.” 

“Hmm? That Chris hasn’t seen it yet?” 

“No, the other part.” 

“Oh, that I’m gay?” 

“Yes.” 

“Uh huh.” 

Chim inhales slowly. “This is the part where you elaborate,” he provides helpfully, hopefully, but Eddie has the baffling talent to somehow seem surprised at this statement. “Eddie.” 

Eddie giggles like a mischievous young boy. “Surprise, I’m gay,” he says as if that’s explanation enough. “The guy I’m seeing—Dean—likes my mustache.” 

Wonderfully, Ravi chooses this moment to take a seat next to Eddie’s left. “Oh? So my advice did work?” 

Eddie scoffs. “Don’t sound too proud of yourself,” he says, elbowing Ravi in the side affectionately, brotherly—which, when did this happen, what the fuck. Chim is lost. “But yeah, we’ve got a second date tomorrow and I’m excited for it. He’s taking me axe throwing and go karting.” 

“Sounds like it’s gonna be a fun time.” 

Eddie giggles, again, and Chim is simply off-kilter. What the fuck, the sequel. 

“Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

Eddie turns toward him and Hen. “Sorry, sorry.” He ducks his head apologetically. “I’m, uh, gay.” 

Chim nods. “Okay, yes, I love this. Congratulations and I’m so happy for you, man, really.” He takes a drink of his coffee. “This is just news to me.” 

“Oh, it was news to me too,” Ravi adds, spearing a link of sausage with his fork. “I caught him on Grindr and thought somebody was using his face and name to catfish people.” 

Chim blinks, mouths what the fuck, and says, “But you’ve dated women the entire time I’ve known you,” which isn’t very nice or supportive, so he rushes to add, “Which is fine, but I’m just a little confused.” 

“S’okay, Chim. I get it.” Eddie wipes his mouth with a paper towel. “Shannon was my best friend and the only woman I’ll ever love. It was easier to convince myself I could live a life with her than be who I really am ‘cause I wasn’t ready to accept myself but she’s gone now. I’ve been trying to fill her absence with women instead of working to be who I really am ‘cause I thought it would be easy, too, but it’s not and I’m tired of living half my life.” 

Chim nods, feeling simultaneously chastised for asking and warm with appreciation that Eddie took the time to explain it. “Thank you for telling me that,” he says, reaching beneath the table to nudge Eddie’s foot with his own. “I’m proud of you, man. And I’m really happy you’re living your truth now, even though you’re doing it with that squirrel on your upper lip.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes and chunks his dirty napkin at Chim’s head. Ravi laughs, and the charged atmosphere dissolves to something much lighter and sweeter. The three of them dig back into their food, yapping casually and mindlessly. 

Eventually, Buck wakes up and makes a plate. He sits down on Eddie’s right, ruddy-cheeked and hair unbrushed, and yawns. “Morning,” he grunts, about as much of a morning person as Jee, and slouches against Eddie’s shoulder. “You wanna catch a movie tomorrow night?” 

“Can’t,” Eddie replies. “I have a date.” 

“With who?” 

Eddie finishes off his breakfast. “His name is Dean,” he answers, and then stands and heads toward the kitchen to wash his plate. 

Buck frowns, watching him go, and turns back toward his own plate. “His name is Dean,” he repeats, seemingly lost, and picks at his hash browns before a light goes off in his head and he moves to take off after Eddie. “What do you mean ‘his name is Dean?’ Eddie?” 

Chim kicks Ravi beneath the table. “Buck doesn’t know Eddie’s gay?” 

“Nope.” Ravi shakes his head. “I’m choosing peace and minding my business. That is one situation I do not want to touch with a ten foot pole.” 

Chim hums. “Speak for yourself,” he says, jumping up from the table and rushing toward the kitchen because this is one conversation he has got to be present for. Maddie is never going to believe this. 

THREE

After kissing a boy for the first and only time when she was a teenager, it didn’t take long for Hen to realize she was a lesbian.

She didn’t fight with it too hard. There was no shame or fear in her heart; she knew some girls kissed girls and some boys kissed boys, and there was nothing wrong with that. Her dad wasn’t around and her mom learned to be supportive eventually, and Hen found at a young age being afraid and running from the inevitable isn’t going to slow it down. She’s faced her fears head-on since, with squared shoulders and a high chin, because she has goals and aspirations and dreams that she will see through because she deserves to . 

That being said, she is nosier than Chim. 

It’s one of her best kept secrets. She doesn’t reveal the curious, busybody side of herself too often because she likes the air of mysteriousness that surrounds her—Karen is a sucker for it, okay—but sometimes she just can’t help herself. 

And Eddie Diaz coming out as gay at thirty-three and having what Ravi claims is a “hot girl summer” piques her interest beyond reason. 

Because, like, listen. She is no stranger to witnessing folks come out later in life—Michael, for one, and Buck, as well, as whirlwind as that was, and she has a gleaming suspicion about Maddie that she keeps between her and her wife because it isn’t her business but hey, there’s something undeniably queer about those Buckleys—and each time it’s glorious to see. 

Some people don’t realize who they are until they’re older. Some people learn at a young age. Some people aren’t safe or secure or ready to be who they truly are until they’re older. Some people have the support system to begin living their truth at a young age. 

There’s no right or wrong way to be queer. And every time a queer person over thirty comes out, an angel gets their wings. That’s the rules. Jesus said so. 

Regardless, it’s a beautiful thing to have the privilege of observing. 

This is Eddie Diaz, though. Eddie Diaz. And perhaps Hen doesn’t know him as well as Buck—who was apparently caught off guard with his nonchalant announcement at breakfast the other day according to Chim, which, okay, weird—but she is fully invested in analyzing Eddie’s every single action at the moment. 

And honestly? He hasn’t changed much at all. 

Besides that damn mustache. Wow. 

He’s still the guy he’s always been. Silly, ridiculous, somehow incredibly competent and one of the biggest losers she’s ever seen, but perhaps that’s because she’s seen him squeal like banshee when a spider caught him off guard while cleaning the storage closet. He’s just Eddie, more or less the same guy he’s always been. 

There’s a few differences, though. Inconsequential new gestures and mannerisms that aren’t large, if witnessed one by one, but add up to to be a something sweet and grand and liberating. 

Eddie’s gay. Eddie’s gay, and he isn’t hiding from it, and he’s living his life as a gay man, and that brings an air of joy and liberation to his everyday life. It’s remarkable. 

And annoying. Kinda. Because now he has men approaching him while they’re on calls, which has Buck acting some type of way, which has Chim grilling Hen on every moment because he knows how close she’s watching Eddie, which has Hen funneling her observations to entirely too many people, which has Karen kicking her feet and giggling when she gets the rundown. 

Phew. 

Anyway. 

The call was easy, simple and straight to the point. A three vehicle pileup on a busy side street; no major injuries, but the sedan sandwiched between the two pickup trucks was smashed so tight the driver had to be cut out. Eddie and Buck took over that operation, and the man—young, conveniently attractive with blond hair and dark eyes—appreciated it. 

Like, really appreciated it. So much he sought Eddie out after getting the all-clear from Hen to ask Eddie out in front of Buck. 

Hen watched the whole thing, feigning disinterest and nonchalance as she cleaned and packed up the ambulance. Eddie fumbled over his words a little bit, forever the awkward man when somebody besides Buck shows interest in him, and ended up with the man’s phone number before he left with his sister. 

The man walked off, strutting like a peacock with the brightest tail feathers in the whole forest; she kept listening to Eddie and Buck, though, and she’s glad she did. 

Oh, boy, is she glad. 

“Hey, Eddie?” Buck asks after the man has gotten into the vehicle and driven away. “What was that?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Buck makes a noise in the back of his throat. “You know—that guy. William.” 

“It was Waylon,” Eddie corrects. “What about him, Buck?” 

A noise comes from the cab of the ambulance, grabbing her attention from the two losers just outside the doors. “Hey, Hen.” It’s Chim—of course it’s Chim. “D’you think if we ask Bobby really nicely he’ll let us—”

“Shh!” Hen hushes him quickly, fervently. “Quiet.” 

Chim raises a brow, thoroughly piqued and ridiculously interested. “What are we doing?” he asks in a whisper, fighting back a grin. “Is something happening? Do I need to get my phone? Should I call Maddie?” 

“Why would you—never mind. Come here.” Hen grabs his shoulder and hefts him through the opening until both of them are settled comfortably in the back of the ambulance and shifted just right to see the boys through the gap in the door. “Just shut up and listen.” 

Buck laughs, stilted and fake. “He asked you out and you took his number,” he reminds Eddie (and Chim, too, who wasn’t present when Waylon, apparently, asked). “You’ve never done something like that before.” 

“I’m trying new things,” Eddie replies, shrugging. 

“New things being the entire population of gay men in LA,” Chim adds. Hen elbows him in the gut, hard. “What? I’m right.” 

He is, but Hen isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing. 

Buck makes a face. “Yeah, but—but you should throw it away,” he insists, reaching out and tugging on the sleeve of Eddie’s turnout. How romantic. “It’s never a good idea to date somebody you meet on a call. You know how it ends, Eddie.” 

Buck knows all about this. Abby, Ali, Taylor, Natalia, Tommy—there’s a trend in the people he’s interested in. Tommy breaks the mould, but not enough for Hen to consider him in a separate category. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Eddie sighs, hangs his head, and shrugs his shoulders. “Besides, I’ve got a date with Marcus tomorrow night, anyway.” 

Buck blinks. Hen raises a brow. Buck blinks, again. Chim coughs, choking on his spit. Buck blinks for a third time. 

“Marcus? What happened to Dean?” 

Eddie chuckles. “The same thing that happened to Addison and Walker and Garrett.” He claps Buck on the shoulder, digging his fingers through the thick layer of Buck’s turnout. “I’m keeping my options open, Buck. It’s a good time. Call it my Eddie 1.0 phase if you want, but I’m having fun.” 

Oh. Oh. This man is a slut. Good for him. 

“And I’m being careful, okay?” Eddie continues, sweet and soothing. “You don’t have to worry about me. Matter fact, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night with Tommy, come over after the date. We’ll have beers and talk about our sex lives.” 

Buck turns red—bright red, like his birth mark and the ambulance—and sputters, saying something so diluted and twisted neither Hen or Chim can make it out. It makes Eddie laugh, though, and whatever tension in the air between them fizzles when Bobby calls out to take off. 

Pensively, Hen and Chim turn to one another. “Did you know—”

“—I suspected it, but—”

“—it’s been so long, I didn’t—”

“—think it would ever happen.” 

“What are you two doing?” a third voice comes through, startling them to the core. Bobby stands at the back of the ambulance, arms crossed. “Let’s get back to the station.” 

Caught, they mumble their acquiescence and finish readying the ambulance for transport. They giggle like mischievous school age kids the rest of the day. 

TWO

Maddie figured out in her late twenties she is bisexual. 

Looking back with the context she has now, she should’ve known. Sarah B., the friend she had when she was a young teenager—the one who lived down the street, who had blonde hair and pretty green eyes and lips that glowed like wet cherries when she smiled at Maddie because of the gloss she used—should’ve been her awakening. 

And Sarah S., too, who moved in and stole all of Sarah B.’s attention. She was so pretty, too, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and Maddie wanted so badly to be like them that she dyed her hair and tried to change her name. 

All of it was a mess, though. It made her look desperate and it pushed both of them away, and she wasn’t friends with either of them after they moved off a year later. 

But then she met Doug, and the weird feelings in the pit of her stomach for the girl that got away drifted in the wind like dandelion dust, and it was good with him until it wasn’t, and her sexuality was the least of her worries while she was trying to survive a man who couldn’t decide how or when he wanted to kill her.   

She figured it out, though. Eventually, at least, when she was flipping through photo albums, and all the posts she’s glimpsed through on Reddit validated her realization, citing many people figured themselves out later in life and that it was perfectly okay. 

Everybody flourishes at their own time and their own pace. Life isn’t a competition, as much as it superficially seems to be; many people figure themselves out early and even more realize much later in life, and that’s okay. All of it. There is nothing to be ashamed of in taking a little longer than others. 

Of course, she has Howie now, and she hasn’t told him she likes girls, too, because it was, again, not very high on her mind when they met. 

She’ll bring it up to him. One of these days. Probably. She’s in no hurry, not really, but she doesn’t want to hide this part of herself from him forever; there’s no doubt in her heart he won’t meet her with open, loving arms. She knows him so well, like the front and the back of her hand. 

If there is a god, somebody who creates everybody from ashes and dust, they must’ve molded Howie just for her. 

All of this to say, it makes sense that it took Buck into his thirties to figure out he’s bisexual, too. 

It came as a mess of epic proportions, when Buck rushed over to gush about Eddie and Eddie’s new friend Tommy and how confused he felt about the entire thing. She had a suspicion, one she didn’t put much belief in because surely he wasn’t going to follow in her shoes, but then he let a pronoun slip while he was ranting to her about Eddie, again, and everything came together. 

After the first couple seconds, the surprise wore off. She expected it, if in the back of her mind. She thought it would be Eddie who opened Buck’s eyes, though, and not an older man. 

(Buck has a thing for older people. There was his kindergarten teacher, and then Abby, and now Tommy. It makes sense. Mostly.) 

However, like all of Buck’s previous relationships, this one ends, too. 

Tommy is a good man, one who suppressed a major part of who he is for a plethora of reasons Maddie can’t begin to understand. Howie has advocated for his growth and Maddie has seen it first hand with the way he treats those around him now that he’s no longer being influenced. 

He’s kind and firm in his boundaries, allowing Buck to set the pace of their relationship but also being an active participant as their romance progressed. He’s unlike any of the previous people Buck dated—besides the obvious, you know—and he was good for Buck. 

But being good for Buck doesn’t mean he’s right for Buck.  

According to Buck, the breakup was sweet, amicable and friendly. They had fun, but their wants in life didn’t align and Buck decided they would be better off as friends. Tommy agreed without a fight and the two shook hands and went their separate ways. 

(Until next week, when Jee has her birthday party. Tommy is invited and has already promised to be there with a gift. Maddie doesn’t think it’s going to be awkward in the slightest, as long as Buck has something else to focus on.) 

Speaking of Buck—he’s on his third glass of her best wine. Her first is still halfway full. And all he’s done since coming over and changing into his pajamas is whine about Eddie. 

“You know,” she begins, cutting into yet another monologue chronicling Eddie’s latest exploits, “I invited you over for the night so we could talk about your breakup with Tommy. I didn’t expect Eddie to be a huge topic of conversation.” 

Buck huffs. “The breakup was fine. We’re still friends. We’re going to Dave and Busters with Eddie and his boyfriend of the week the next time we’re off.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “I don’t even know their names anymore, Maddie. I couldn’t keep up after Josh.” 

“Our Josh?” 

“No. Josh H.” 

“Why Josh H.?” 

“Because he’s already been through Josh L.” 

Maddie puts her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. “It sounds like Eddie’s having his Buck 1.0 phase,” she comments. “Howie said Ravi called it a hot girl summer?” 

Buck cuts his eyes at her, dark and serious, and perhaps if he wasn’t dressed in a pair of dinosaur pajama pants with a matching shirt he would be intimidating but, the fact of the matter is she changed his poopy diapers when he was a baby and knows he still sleeps with a nightlight. He isn’t as terrifying as he believes he is. 

“That is not what Buck 1.0 was doing. I was going through something.” 

“Is that so?” Maddie takes a sip of her wine—her favorite, Santa Margherita’s Pinot Grigio. She keeps a minimum of three bottles on hand for moments like this. “Well, maybe Eddie’s going through something, too.” 

“Yeah, the entire population of single queer men in LA.” 

She very nearly crosses herself at that. “Buck.” She shakes her head; the way her brother’s mind works is interesting to witness. 

“Maddie.” He gives her a haughty look, hands on his hips and brows raised. “It’s true.” 

She slants her head a bit. There’s something else going on here, something else that Buck’s either refusing to speak about or failing to acknowledge, but it’s—

—oh my God. 

She giggles, takes a sip of her wine, and giggles some more. 

“Evan,” she begins, folding her hands in front of her, “maybe Eddie is having a hot girl summer like Ravi said, but what is the problem? It’s nothing you haven’t done before. What’s the issue with Eddie enjoying himself?”

“Because they’re not good for him. Waylon was cool until he let loose some racist remarks. Sebastian was great, but he never made time to work with Eddie’s schedule. Adrian didn’t like kids and told Eddie so when Eddie announced to everybody that Chris is coming back for the new school year. Caleb was just passing through on the PBR tour. Joe Allen had a wife and kids he lied about.” Buck shakes his head. “None of them were enough good for him, Maddie.” 

“Then who is?” 

Buck pulls out a chair and takes a heavy seat. “Somebody who makes him a priority,” he begins, reclining back and opening himself up. “Somebody who has love in their heart for kids and understands his schedule as a firefighter and doesn’t lie to him or leave him after a couple days. He deserves somebody to who puts him first, and doesn’t run away when things get bad or complicated, and makes him smile and laugh and enjoy life even when things are shitty.” 

“So somebody like you.” 

“Yeah, somebody like—” Buck stops, blinks, and the sparkle in his eyes is brighter than the all the stars in the sky. “Oh.” 

Maddie grins. “Oh, indeed.” She finishes off her glass. “Grab another bottle of wine. We’re going to be here for a while.” 

ONE

Though very few people know it, Bobby is a queer. He’s only loved three people in his life. 

Athena, of course. She’s his equal in every way—she pushes him and challenges him and cheers him on when he succeeds, holds him when he fails, reminds him it’s not over until he decides it’s over. Their jobs brought them together, but their continued choice of dedication and devotion has keep them from ever leaving one another. 

She’s his future, his hero, the most important person in his life. She’s the woman he wants to live the rest of his time out with, peaceful and sweet and easy. 

Marcy was an angel, the kind of woman that deserved only good things in life. They met at a volunteer convention; she was supporting her father, a reformed pastor, and he was battling to pull himself out of the darkness of addiction. They bumped into each other and there was no going back. 

He loved her deeply. It wasn’t enough, but it was his best, and they had a lot of great years together before everything went down in flames. 

His first love, though, was John Epps, a fellow firefighter. Johnny was a year older than him, with long black hair he kept in tight braids and hazel eyes and a smile sweeter than the tea he’d make everyday at the station. 

Johnny fought to have them on the same shift, and they were inseparable. Where one went, the other followed; there was nowhere either of them could go that the other wouldn’t find. 

Shared shifts led to shared outings which led to spending the night and eventually sharing a house together. It made the most sense—they never wanted to be apart from one another, so why not live together?

It was great. Perfect, even, because Bobby was living with his best friend and working with his best friend. It couldn’t get any better than that. 

Except it did. 

One night, after a particularly good shift, they were having a glass of tequila after dinner. Johnny said something, and Bobby laughed, and then Johnny leaned in and kissed Bobby for the first time, and it was magical. 

Moving from best friends to boyfriends was effortless. Johnny made him feel special every moment of every day, even though they had to be careful who they allowed in. Nothing changed, not really, but everything became better and brighter and more brilliant than it ever had been before. 

Eventually, Johnny got a call from a fire station in Oklahoma where he was from. His goal was always to return home and do for his community what he could, so it was no shock when he accepted the transfer. He asked Bobby to come with him and Bobby considered it, but ultimately said no. 

Oklahoma was Johnny’s home. Minnesota was Bobby’s until it wasn’t. 

Johnny left on a cold October evening, kissing Bobby one last time before he boarded the flight. They called every week, and then every month, and then every once in a while, until it all stopped. 

He misses Johnny, and he misses Marcy, and he loves Athena. Everything worked out the way it was supposed to in the end. 

The relationship he had with Johnny is part of the reason he fought so hard to bring Eddie onto the team all those years ago. He saw a bit of himself in Buck, the self-destructive and mutilating side they work to hide, and knew Eddie would do for Buck what Johnny did for him. 

He was right, of course. 

Buck and Eddie apart are powerhouses in their own right, competent and quick-witted and ready to step in at all times, but together they’re something else. The beginning was rocky, with Buck peacocking about and Eddie attempting to find his footing in a new reality he found for himself and his son, but everything worked out in the end just the way Bobby expected. It was the cherry on top to the team they worked hard to build. 

However, he never imagined they’d fall in love with each other—and then avoid each other like a pair of idiots. 

(Bobby has a plan. It’s not the best plan, but it is a plan, and it’s working. So far. A little bit. Kind of.) 

“Bobby? What are you looking at?” 

Startled, he lets the go of the shades between his fingers and spins around to face Athena. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her brows is raised, as if she’s caught him doing something he ought to not be. 

“I’m watching Buck and Eddie not talk to each other.” 

She huffs. “Bobby Nash, you are ridiculous.” She purses her lips. “Move over.” 

Bobby chuckles and steps to the side, allowing his wife room. They peep through the same part in the shades, eyes locked on how close Buck and Eddie are; they’re quiet, either speaking lowly or not at all, as Buck works the grill and Eddie fans the pesky bugs away from the food. 

“I was wondering why those two arrived so much earlier than everyone else,” Athena muses, ever the detective, and glances over at him. “You’re playing matchmaker.” 

Bobby shrugs. “Something has to give,” he says, cataloguing Buck’s movements as he turns to speak to Eddie and then looks away, chewing on his lip. “Working with them the last few months has been hell.” 

“That bad?” 

“That bad.” Bobby nods. “Raise the window, please. I want to hear whatever they say.” 

Athena carefully undoes the lock on the window and raises it just high enough to hear the crackle of the grill. The sound of whizzing bugs permeates the air; faint music from the speaker harmonizes well with nature. The tension between the two of them leaks inside, catching both Bobby and Athena in its grip. 

Buck sets the spatula down and glances toward Eddie. “Is, uh, Blake coming?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “We broke up,” he replies. “He wasn’t the kind of person I want in my life.” 

“None of them are.” 

Eddie cuts his eyes toward Buck. “What’d you say?” 

“Nothing.” Buck chuckles and shakes his head, closing the lid on the grill to the let the meat cook in the heat. “Are you ready to go get Christopher? I bet he’s excited to see you again.” 

Eddie sets down his beer bottle. “Don’t act like that.” He crosses his arms, leveling Buck with a complicated glare. “What did you mean by that?” 

Buck’s eye ticks once, twice, and then he crosses his arms, too. Excitement zings up Bobby’s back—everything’s falling together just as he planned. 

“None of the men you’ve been dating are the right fit for you. They don’t prioritize you, they don’t talk to you, they don’t treat you well, and they don’t want anything to do with you outside of the bedroom. They don’t take you serious and they don’t like that you have a son and they use you to make themselves feel better because they lack something important in their lives. They throw you away after a week or two because they think you’re not good enough for them, but they’re the ones who aren’t good enough for you.” 

Buck takes a breath. Bobby blinks. Eddie’s mouth drops open. Athena gasps. 

“You deserve somebody who puts you first, Eddie,” Buck continues, entreatingly. “You deserve somebody who cares for you and doesn’t try to mold you into being somebody you aren’t. You deserve somebody who adores Christopher and makes time for you and loves you for who you are and not who they think you should be.” 

Eddie swallows. “Wow. Tell me how you really feel, man.” He laughs and takes a sip of his beer with shaking hands. “Since you know everything, why I can’t find a man who loves me for me? Huh?” 

“Because you’ve already found him,” Buck answers. “Me.” 

Athena puts her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my.” 

“It’s about time this happened,” Bobby says. “I’ve been waiting years for them to come to their senses.” 

“Aren’t you worried about the paperwork?” 

“HR paperwork for workplace romances isn’t real.” 

Buck steps forward, half pleading. “It’s me, Eddie.” He scrunches his face up like he does when he’s about to cry. “It’s always been me.” 

Eddie steps forward, too, because there’s a magnetic pull between the two of them that neither can deny. “I didn’t know you were an option, Buck,” he says, soft and quiet, and reaches his hands out to grab both of Buck’s. “I swear I didn’t know.” 

“I’ve been an option since day one.” 

“I didn’t know,” Eddie says, again, and Bobby believes him. That day, all those years ago—Eddie was doing his best to survive. He wasn’t thinking about anything other than keeping his son comfortable and happy. Everything else was second to Christopher. “If I’d have known—”

“It’s okay. I didn’t know, either.” Buck smiles, a little teary-eyed. “But I know now, and you do, too, and I’m ready for you if you’re ready for me.” 

Eddie grins, toothy and wide, and says, “Oh, I’m ready for you.” He launches himself forward, wraps his arms around Buck’s neck, and pulls him into a wet, deep kiss. 

Bobby chuckles. He moves back away from the window, bringing Athena with him, and curls his arms around her shoulders. “Another job well done,” he declares. “How’d I do, Mrs. Nash?” 

She rolls her eyes, fond and exasperated in equal measure. “You did wonderful, Captain Matchmaker,” she praises, bringing him down to her lips for a kiss that tastes like laughter and forever. 

+ ONE

Honestly, Chris doesn’t really give a shit about gender and sexuality. 

(He’s fourteen. He can cuss now. Sophia said so.) 

But for real. He understands it, as much as it changes everyday according to the person, and supports and acknowledges those around him as they figure themselves out and find a label that works the best for them, but he doesn’t really care about it in regards to himself. 

It’s not something he’s thought much about before. He likes hanging out with girls, and he likes hanging out with boys, too, and maybe that’s why his friend group is so large, but he’s never thought about what that means because he doesn’t see a reason. 

His dad did, though. 

See, while Chris was staying with his grandparents for the summer—something he doesn’t regret, by the way, even though it hurt his dad to let him—they put him up in his dad’s old room. 

And he’s nosy. Like, nosy as hell. So of course he was going to go through all of his father’s things he left behind. He can’t be blamed. Sophia said she would’ve done the same thing, anyway. 

Chris found a lot of stuff. There were dozens of photos of his mom, candids and class pictures, on dates or at church or swimming or at baseball games, and she was so pretty. She liked to wear a puffy blue jacket—his dad’s letterman, the one hanging in his closet at his house in LA. 

His mom and dad lived a life before they had him, as short as it was. They were fun and silly, and they smiled all the time in the pictures and went on lots of dates and had tons of friends, and they loved each other a lot even though it wasn’t enough in the end. 

But it wasn’t just pictures of his mom. There were pictures of a boy named Tyler Combs, too. 

Tyler was a little bit older than his dad. They were in high school together, on the same baseball team; there were as many pictures of his dad and Tyler as there were of his dad and his mom, which is kind of weird since his dad has never said anything about his friend. 

So Chris asked Adriana because he’s nosy. Which, duh. 

She told him a lot. She said his dad and Tyler were close friends who spent the night together all the time, hung out all the time, and played ball with each other all the time; they were almost inseparable, is what she said, and it wasn’t until after Tyler left for college that his dad realized other people existed. 

(“Your dad started dating your mom a few weeks after Tyler left,” she said. “I thought it was weird, but not because I didn’t like your mom. I liked her and I miss her, too. But it was just weird because I thought your dad was gay.” 

“Is he?” 

“I don’t know, Chris. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s so weird with women. Maybe it’s because his soulmate is a man.” She shrugged. “It’s not something to be ashamed of, if he is gay, but he never told me anything. I think about it sometimes, though.”)

Now, Chris isn’t somebody to speculate, but he kind of couldn’t help it after that. Laying in bed that night—his dad’s bed from when he was Chris’s age—he let his mind drift and wonder, and he agreed with Adriana. 

His dad is weird with women. So weird Chris doesn’t even like to ask him for advice when it comes to girls because he’s so terrible at it. He much prefers asking Buck, if he has to talk to anybody at all. 

And it makes sense, you know, just like Adriana said. Like, there’s a reason the relationships his dad had with Ms. Flores and Marisol didn’t work out, and it’s because his dad is gay. His dad was never chasing what he had with his mom—he was chasing what he could’ve had with Tyler Combs. 

The only person who Chris can think of that makes sense for his dad is Buck. 

(Well, Tommy too. He’s a cool guy, funny and awesome, and he has a PS5 which is so fucking neat, but Tommy doesn’t make as much sense for his dad as Buck does. Besides, Tommy and Buck are dating.) 

Buck’s been there. The entire time, through it all—their move, his dad’s problems with getting him care he isn’t supposed to know about; the earthquake and the well and the tsunami and the gunshot, and the bake sales and the late nights and the trips to the zoo—and there’s nobody else he can imagine with his dad other than Buck. 

So, yeah, it makes sense for Buck to be the person his dad spends the rest of his life with. He just needs his dad to realize it, too. He’s kind of stupid sometimes, though, and Chris just might have to tell his dad when he sees him next. 

(After a trip to the restroom, though. Toilets on plane rides scare him and he prefers to hold it until he’s landed.) 

The restroom at LAX is somewhat crowded, but the handicapped stall is open and he’s quick to relieve himself and wash his hands. Sophia, who flew with him because his grandparents couldn’t, waits for him against the wall outside. 

“Your dad texted and said he’s waiting on us outside,” she tells him when he walks out of the restroom. “You can go find him while I get our bags, if you want.” 

Chris nods and meanders toward the exit, where vehicles and people zoom by faster than should be allowed. Outside, the air is warm and dry, a stark contrast to the temperatures in El Paso; it doesn’t take long for him to find his dad, leaning against a tall pillar off to the side and out of the way. 

His dad hasn’t changed too much. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a maroon t-shirt and boots that look new; his hair’s brushed differently, though, and there’s a weird squirrel of a mustache across his upper lip that makes Chris shiver. Other than that, he’s mostly the same. 

Buck’s with him. Buck is the same, too. Buck is holding his dad’s hand. 

But Tommy—

“What the fuck?” 

His dad chooses to lift his head up and notice him at this time. “Christopher?” he says, a little bemused, and then, when it sinks in, he yells, “Christopher!” and comes running forward. 

Chris is caught up in a tight, warm hug, and he tenses for a moment before melting against his dad’s chest because it’s home—he’s home and he’s with his dad and all the complicated, twisted and warped thoughts leave his mind because he’s home. 

He’s home. It took him a while, but he’s back. 

Another set of arms encircle the both of them. It’s Buck, of course, and Chris roots around in his dad’s arms until he can twine a fist in the fabric of Buck’s t-shirt because he missed him, too. He missed both of them so much and he didn’t even realize it until now. 

What a blessing. 

He giggles, caught up in it all, and eventually wiggles his way out of their arms and takes a step back. “Hi,” he says, looking at the both of them in person for the first time in months. His chest expands and he’s overcome with so much emotion he buries himself into his dad’s arms again. “Missed you. Missed both of you.” 

His dad says something, thick and choked, but he can’t make it out. Buck’s big hand comes up and holds the back of his head, soothing and kind. 

“We missed you, too, kiddo,” Buck says. “A whole lot.” 

Chris sniffles. “I have so much to tell you,” he says against his dad’s chest. “I did so much. I had so much fun.” 

His dad chuckles. “I bet you did. I have so much to tell you, too.” His dad leans back to get a look at him, teary-eyed and red-faced, and then glances at Buck who’s looking on with a weird expression on his face. It isn’t bad, though, because it makes his dad smile. “We have so much to tell you, baby.” 

Chris can probably guess a few of the things they have to tell him, if their intertwined hands moments ago is anything to go off of, but that doesn’t feel like a conversation to be having outside of the airport surrounded by strangers while they wait on Sophia to get their bags. 

Oh, no. It can wait. Chris is in no hurry; his dad is finally living the life he’s always wanted, the one he didn’t have a chance to when he was younger, and that’s all that matters right now. 

However. 

“Dad, what the fuck is on your face?”