Archive of Our Own

September, 2038

Christopher waits for the coffee maker to be done as he starts setting up his computer for his weekly facetime call with his dad. It's a habit they’ve built since Christopher moved away from home for work. 

He's acquired a sort of coffee obsession that has gotten him through countless all nighters, nightmarish projects and awfully tedious meetings. Chris loves his job— more than he can even put in words, really— but it has its ups and downs sometimes. It comes with the territory of being a responsible adult, he guesses. 

Christopher adjusts the webcam, making sure the lighting is decent. The soft hum of the coffee maker fills the small apartment, blending with the faint buzz of his monitor booting up. He checks the time—five minutes until the call.

His dad never misses these. No matter how busy his schedule is or how far apart they are, these weekly conversations have become a tether to home. A reminder that, even as life speeds ahead, some things remain constant.

As the coffee maker beeps, Christopher pours himself a cup and breathes in the rich aroma. It's the little things, he thinks. These moments of quiet before diving back into the chaos of work deadlines and emails.

His phone buzzes with a notification—a calendar reminder about an early meeting tomorrow. Christopher ignores it for now, focusing instead on the call about to start.

The screen flickers, and soon, his dad's face appears. A bit grayer around the edges than Christopher remembers, but the same warm smile is there— dimmer and weaker than it was a few years ago, Christopher notices. 

"Hey, kiddo," his dad says, voice steady and familiar.

Christopher smiles back, lifting his coffee mug in greeting. "Hey, Dad. How's everything back home?"

“Good, good. Y'know, normal.” Eddie shrugs. “We got a new probie at the station, he's kind of a mess and so reckless— He keeps pulling the stupidest tricks, I swear to God.” His dad lets out a put upon sigh and Chris’ shoulders shake with poorly contained laughter. 

“That sounds stressful.” Christopher wants to point out that this probie sounds awfully similar to a certain someone a lifetime ago, but his dad always gets this really strange, almost mournful expression whenever he's mentioned, so Chris tries to avoid it. 

“He's giving me more gray hairs than you,” Eddie huffs and shakes his head but the corners of his lips tug upwards . He squints his eyes and tilts his head, “That's a nice cup you got there, bud.” 

“Oh,” he looks down to the cup in his hand, white with a planet painted on the center and bold, big letters that read ‘Fuck you, NASA —with hatred, Pluto.’ It got a chuckle from Chris when he first got it in the mail and now it's his favorite mug in the entire universe. 

Chris swallows and sighs. Maybe there's no avoiding it. 

“It was a gift,” he says, “from, uh, Buck.” 

Eddie’s face shifts, just slightly, but it’s enough for Christopher to notice. That flicker of something—grief, maybe, or regret—barely contained behind his eyes.

“Oh,” Eddie says, and it’s almost too soft to catch. He clears his throat and musters a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That's really nice of him.” 

“He sent it after I told him about my new project.” 

Buck sends Chris funny, silly Nasa related gifts whenever Christopher has anything interesting at work, be it a promotion, a project or even sometimes just for the sake of it. They email back and forth every week or so, and sometimes they even have time for a quick call to catch up. Buck is pretty much still an important person in Cjristopher's life, and he can't help but to feel slightly guilty about it. So he doesn't tell Eddie any of this, keeping his updates about Buck as vague and scattered as possible— he's always careful, always treading lightly, like stepping around shards of glass neither of them knows how to pick up.

He isn't even sure exactly what happened between Buck and Eddie to… drift apart the way they've done throughout the years. Eddie claims it is just the cycle of life, it's hard to keep in touch with people when you're in different states. There's work and girlfriends and wives that come in the way and one day you just… don't reach out as often as you would've done before. 

Christopher thinks that's bullshit and he wants to be angry that the men sometimes still treat him like a kid, hiding things from him with a misguided sense of protecting him. 

“He’s doing good,” Christopher offers after a beat, and the words feel heavier than he expects. “He's talking about marrying Jules— his latest girlfriend. But between you and I, I don't think his heart's on it.” 

Between Chris and God, he thinks Buck is making the same mistake Eddie made five years ago: forcing a relationship that's so painfully obvious not meant to be. And it will have the same result, too: divorce. A bitter, sad divorce that left Eddie with more gray hairs and worried lines than any of them cares to admit. 

“Good for him,” Eddie says awkwardly. “I imagine you didn't share much about this super secret, confidential project of yours, huh?” 

“I told you, dad,” Chris rolls his eyes and almost whines, feeling for a moment like the petulant teenager he once was. “I can't tell you much. It's just—”

“Very important and very confidential, I know, I know.” Eddie nods. “Just promise me you're being safe.” 

Christopher softens. Some things just never change. “I promise, dad. I swear.” 

Eddie exhales, his shoulders easing just a little. “Good,” he says, but there’s still something distant in his voice. Like he’s not entirely convinced or maybe he’s just lost in thought.

Christopher watches his dad carefully, trying to read between the lines. Eddie’s never been great at talking about the heavy stuff—not without getting defensive or brushing it aside like it’s nothing—but Chris knows him too well to let it slide completely.

“Hey, Dad?” he starts, hesitant.

Eddie looks up. “Yeah?”

Chris hesitates for a second longer, fingers tracing the rim of his mug. He’s not sure what exactly he’s trying to get at—Buck, the divorce, or maybe just the ache that still lingers whenever Eddie looks too tired or too lonely. But instead, what comes out is, “You ever talk to him?”

Eddie blinks. “Buck?”

Christopher nods.

For a second, Eddie looks like he might deflect, but then he sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Not really.” He pauses, like he’s searching for the right words, but then settles on the simple truth. “Not in a long time.”

Chris swallows the disappointment that rises, even though it’s not surprising. “Why not?”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping away from the screen. “It’s complicated, kiddo.” 

Chris bites the inside of his cheek. “Not a kid anymore,” he mutters; and then— “You should call him,” Chris says softly.

Eddie looks up again, startled.

“I’m serious,” Chris continues. “You should. It’s not too late, Dad.”

Eddie’s mouth opens like he’s about to argue, but then he stops, an array of too complicated emotions flickering across his face too fast for Chris to even attempt to decipher them. “Maybe,” he says finally, which Chris knows means a no that he doesn't say outright to not worry him. 

Chris sighs and forces himself to let it go. Not push the issue anymore, at least not on what's left of this call. 

They let the conversation drift after that, back to safer topics like work and coffee and Eddie’s new probie who apparently managed to flood the station kitchen last week. And Christopher listens, sipping his coffee and letting the sound of his dad’s voice fill the space.

They say their goodbyes and Chris is left with a weird, strange feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. 

Christopher sits at his desk for a moment after the call ends, staring at the blank screen as it fades to black. The apartment feels quieter now, the hum of the coffee maker long gone. He exhales and runs a hand through his hair before pushing himself to stand.

He rinses out his mug and sets it in the sink, already making a mental list of what he needs to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting. His mind drifts back to the conversation with his dad—those carefully guarded silences and half-truths—and Christopher shakes his head, trying to focus.

Work first.

It's a big day tomorrow— the most important day of his life, and if it all goes well… a revolutionary day for the entire world as well. 

He checks his research notes and runs the math over and over again until his vision starts to blur. It’s late—too late to be obsessing over details he already knows inside and out—but sleep doesn’t come easy when his thoughts won’t stop circling back to Buck and Eddie and everything they’re not saying.

Eventually, Christopher shuts the laptop, double-checks his alarm, and forces himself into bed.

—

The next morning comes too soon.

His alarm blares at 5:30 AM, and Christopher groans, smacking the snooze button before reluctantly rolling out of bed. The floor is cold against his feet, as he grabs his crutches leaning against the nightstand and he shuffles to the kitchen for the first of what will probably be many cups of coffee.

The apartment is still dark, the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds. He leans against the counter, savoring the warmth of his mug, and mentally runs through the day ahead.

He makes the meditation exercises that Dr. Steinberg recommended for the experiment. Christopher needs to be in top shape, mentally and emotionally for what he's going to do. 

By the time he’s showered, dressed, and out the door, the sun has started to rise, casting a pale orange light over the city. He lives practically next to the Center, so he only has to walk a few minutes before he arrives at work. 

The office is already buzzing when he arrives.

He makes his way through the maze of desks and down a hallway, waving his access pass to the scanners four times before he gets to where he needs to be. 

In the room, Dr. Steinberg and Dr. Angulo are already waiting for him. 

“Christopher” Angulo says, offering him a tight smile, she's nervous— probably more nervous than him. We were just going over some last minute details. The planning, engineering, and execution of the Chronopiston Chamber couldn’t have gone better.” 

It took a lot of time and effort, but they discovered a phenomenon called atomic excitation: when photons pass through a medium and get absorbed, electrons swirling around atoms in that medium jump to higher energy levels. When these excited electrons lapse to their original state, they release that absorbed energy as reemitted photons, introducing a time delay in the light’s observed transit time through the medium. This led to where they are today— about to make history. 

Christopher's hands are sweating, making the grip on his crutches a little more difficult than usual. 

Dr. Steinberg smiles knowingly and in comfort as well, “Doctor Diaz, without you, we wouldn’t have a stable wormhole to work with. I know that you and I have worked together on exotic matter, but it’s down to you. This is truly magnificent and I'm so proud of what we accomplished here.” 

It sounds a little like goodbye, so Christopher shakes his head and waves it off, shrugging. 

“Just one last stage to go through,” he breathes out, his heart jackhammering inside his chest as his mind flies a mile a minute.

Suddenly, Dr. Page Sinclair is bursting through the door and freezes when all eyes turn to her. She smiles sheepishly and shrugs.”Sorry for the delay, my alarm decided to start working on the most important day of my career. Go figures,” she huffs and Chris can't completely resist the little, fond smile tugging at his lips.

“No worries,” Angulo says. “We're just going over everything one last time before we begin with the experiment.” 

Page comes to stand next Chistopher, nudging his shoulder slightly, and they exchange a small grin between them before focusing back on the meeting. 

“While every test we’ve run has been perfect, there is always the chance for error. Of course, you’re all aware of that. In order to keep this mission as safe and accurate as possible, Christopher, you'll need to use the skills you’ve learned in meditation to clear your mind before and during the test.” Aaron Steinberg says seriously. 

Angulo continues, “The chances of landing inaccurately are minuscule. The calculations have been done again and again, and will be further calculated with the specific stats and information the on-site Chronophysists gather from you. We’re virtually positive that you will all land correctly. However, on the off-chance that an error does occur—”

“I look for the closest facility,” Christopher says and then goes through every safety protocol that's been drilled into his head for the last year or so. 

The room hums with energy—nervous excitement and a low thrum of electricity radiating from the equipment. Christopher finishes reciting the protocols, his voice steady despite the adrenaline racing through him. He knows them like the back of his hand, but saying them out loud one last time feels grounding.

Dr. Steinberg gives him an approving nod. “Good. Very good.”

Dr. Angulo adds, “Remember, time dilation is a factor we’ve accounted for. From your perspective, it may feel like mere minutes or hours, but on this side, we’re monitoring down to the millisecond. Stay sharp, Chris.”

Christopher nods, adjusting his crutches.

“Okay,” he breathes out, feeling his pulse quicken. “Let’s do this.”

The Chronopiston Chamber looms ahead—sleek and metallic, surrounded by glowing control panels and faintly humming coils of energy.

Page steps closer, her voice low but firm. “You ready?”

Christopher looks at her, searching for any hint of doubt, but all he sees is confidence—the kind he desperately wants to hold onto. He swallows hard and nods. “Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be.”

They check his vitals, his blood pressure, his heart rate, his pupils and then Christopher is changing into the neutral, non-descriptive clothes they’ve given him before they all gather around the Chamber. It's truly a work of art, Chris thinks— made of the finest, most advanced materials they could find, and a thing that years ago he only could've imagined coming from a sci-fi movie. 

Really, it sort of resembles the Tardis from Doctor Who— not completely, but his brain can't help but make the connection anyway. Buck would've snorted at his thoughts and would've called him a nerd, probably, while ruffling his hair and looking at him with so much pride… 

Christopher shakes his head. He needs to focus right now. 

“Good luck,” Page says, and for a moment, he feels the weight of what’s about to happen settle fully on his shoulders.

He steps into the chamber.

The door seals behind him with a hiss, and suddenly it’s just Christopher and the machinery, the soft glow of the controls illuminating the enclosed space. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, focusing on the meditation techniques he practiced. Calm. Clear. Present.

A voice crackles in through the comm system. “Initiating sequence in five… four… three…”

Christopher exhales and opens his eyes.

“…two… one.”

The world shifts.

A pulse of light envelops him—brighter than anything he’s ever seen, so strong and intense that even when he closes his eyes shut again it's still there— and for a moment, it feels like he’s weightless, untethered from everything. There’s no up or down, no sense of time. Only… nothingness. Almost like he's floating in gravity zero, somewhere out there in the universe. 

He starts feeling a slight tingling in his limbs that slowly increases more and more until Christopher is sure he’s having a heart attack or something and he’s about to die. His heart starts jackhammering inside of him and his breath quickens, his senses become distant and fuzzy, almost dreamlike; or like he’s suddenly plastered, drunk off his ass even though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in almost a year.. 

It almost feels like his soul is separating from his body. It feels like what he thinks dying is like, and it's terrifying. He thinks maybe he should've talked with Eddie a little longer yesterday, he should've called Buck before going to sleep, should've called his aunts, the rest of his family. 

More than that, it feels hot, as if he’d  been transported into a burning house without firefighting gear. It feels like the flames are coming from inside of him and slowly destroying him, slowly turning him into just a pile of ashes. 

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stops.

He’s lying down and he isn't sure where he is but he's pretty sure something went wrong. Something went very, very wrong. The pricking of cold, rough sand against the back of his arms and neck, along with the too bright sky above him making him groan and squint his eyes, tell him that much. 

The second Chris’ arms stop tingling, he brings his hands to his face, neck, chest, stomach, inspecting every part of his body to make sure he's okay. He’s alive. The burning pain in his chest is gone and he can now take a full deep breath without feeling a step away from falling into his grave. 

“Dude, are you okay?”

Christopher blinks and sees a girl in a bikini peering at him with a frown etched on her face. 

“Uh,” he says dumbly. “I- I don’t know.”

Chris slowly pushes himself up to sitting and tries to calm his racing heart, he searches for his crutches and his glasses— the crutches are fine but his glasses are cracked in one of the lenses and he winces as he puts them on again, blinking rapidly and trying to think of what his next move should be. 

He knows the steps he needs to take, following the safety protocol he worked out with NASA. 

“Did you fall? Did you hit your head?” The girl asks, this time a little more frantic as she waves someone over. 

“No, no. I'm okay, don't worry.” 

“Do you want us to call someone? Take you to the hospital?” Now the woman is being a tiny bit condescending but honestly? Chris is way too tired, sore and confused to even begin to care. 

“I'm fine,” he grunts, as the girl and the man help him up. “Uh, what day is it?” 

“Friday?” 

Christopher sighs and purses his lips. If he asks what month and year it is, they will surely force him to the hospital or something, so instead he politely asks if he can use her phone. 

The girl hesitates for a moment, clearly unsure, but then hands over her phone. “Uh, sure. Here.”

Christopher mumbles a quick thanks and takes the phone, his fingers shaking slightly as he checks the date info. 

November 21th, 2024

Christopher digs in his mind and he's pretty sure of two things: somehow he ended up back in Los Angeles and his dad is still living here. 

He's gonna have to figure out why the time and place changed so drastically from what was supposed to be a test run of the Chrono Piston chamber, but that's a problem for later.

“Actually,” Chris chuckles nervously as he hands the girl her phone back. “I can't remember his number right now, but I'm staying at my dad's. Do you guys think you could give me a lift?” 

The girl and the guy exchange a strange look but then they both shrug and agree easily. 

They haul him up into a van that stinks of weed, sunscreen and pine, and they play Beatles songs all the way to Eddie's house, Christopher guiding them and giving them directions every few minutes or so. He can only breathe in relief when the old but familiar sight greets him, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. 

“Do you need us to walk you in, dude?”

“No, thank you.” Chris replies maybe a little too quickly to be considered polite. “Thanks for the ride.” 

“Anytime, man.” The guy reaches a hand out of the van's window and claps him on the shoulder like they're old friends. Chris smiles warily and gives a jerky nod, watching them drive out of the neighborhood with a bemused expression. 

Chris made them park in front of the house at the other side of the street— he sees Buck's Jeep in the driveway and only has to wait for a few seconds before he sees the man walk out, smiling and waving Eddie goodbye like there's nothing wrong in the world. The expression falls and fades away as soon as the door is closed behind him,  a frown etched on his face and his lips in a slight pout, pulling downward.

Chris is too far away to see the tears in his eyes but Buck wipes at his eyes angrily as he stomps his way to the Jeep, closing the door so hard the sound of it reverberates and echoes in the otherwise empty, peaceful street. 

This must be the day dad told him he's moving back to Texas, he thinks. 

Christopher watches Buck sit in the Jeep for a moment, gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him together. It's kinda unnerving, standing in the sidelines and seeing all of this. 

His last memory of Buck in person is when he took a weekend off work to visit him. He stayed at Chris’ apartment and asked a million and one questions about all of Chris' work and research— whatever he was allowed to tell him. Buck asked questions about space and quantum physics that he barely even understood whenever Chris tried to explain some of his theories to him. He asked if Chris was happy and then smiled brighter than the sun when the answer was yes— the crinkles in the corners of his eyes had been more pronounced, his hair scattered with gray and white, especially at his temples, with a scruffy beard to tie the look together. 

It's unsettling, trying to grasp the image of him then and the one now. 

He wants to go to him, to say something—anything—but before he can even take a step, Buck’s Jeep roars to life and pulls away from the curb.

Christopher’s heart sinks. 

But . 

He can fix this. 

Screw the safety protocols and the rules. Screw everything. 

Chris can fix this. 

He tightens his grip on his crutches and limps toward the front door, his nerves buzzing with adrenaline. He hesitates briefly before knocking.

It takes a few seconds, but then the door swings open.

And there’s Eddie.

Christopher’s breath catches.

His dad looks younger—fewer lines around his eyes, less gray in his hair—but there’s something heavy in the set of his shoulders. Something weary. Recognition lacks from his gaze. 

“Hello?” Eddie stares.

There’s a flicker of polite confusion, his eyes scanning Christopher like he’s trying to place him—like he knows he should know him but can’t quite figure out why.

“Can I help you?” Eddie asks cautiously.

Christopher opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His mind blanks. All the scenarios he imagined—the ways this might play out—scatter out like dust.

Finally, he manages, “This is gonna be hard to believe, specially for you, but— I'm Christopher. Your son. I, uh, come from the future?” His voice turns higher at the end of the sentence and it makes it sound more like a question than the fact he was trying to announce. 

Eddie freezes.

“What?” His voice is sharp, disbelieving, and his posture gets more defensive. He can see a hint of anger simmering underneath. “Look, man, if this is some kind of sick joke—”

Christopher swallows hard, forcing himself to stand straighter. “Dad. It’s me.”

Eddie shakes his head, stepping back as if creating distance might make the impossible less real. “I don’t—”

“I can explain,” Christopher rushes out, heart pounding. “But you have to let me inside first.”

Eddie doesn’t move.

“Please,” Christopher adds, softer this time.

Eddie goes to close the door on his face, so Chris blurts out the first thing he can think of. 

“I still have mom's letter!” 

This makes Eddie freeze, the door halfway closed as they stare at each other, his father’s eyes are wide and alarmed. “W–what?” 

“Mom's letter. You gave it to me one night and then I asked what was for dinner and you said pizza.” Christopher takes a deep breath and keeps going. “I have a birthmark in the shape of… a very disfigured dog in my lower back and you told me it always made you laugh when you changed my diapers when I was a baby.” 

There's a flicker of confusion, of hesitation and Eddie opens the door a bit wider. 

Chris takes this as his sign to keep going. 

“When we first moved here you tried to build a treehouse in the backyard but you couldn't figure out a way to keep it steady and the tree was too small, so you just let me have ice cream for dinner for three days straight and we never ever brought it up again. After mom died we spent a whole day at the beach, just the two of us and you helped me build like… at least ten sand castles.” 

Christopher takes a shaky breath. “I know this is insane, and I can explain—sort of—but it’s me. Christopher.”

For a long moment, Eddie just stares. “That’s not funny.” His voice is sharp now, guarded. “How do you know all of this?” 

“It’s not a joke,” Christopher insists, stepping forward despite the way Eddie instinctively shifts back.

Eddie's expression softens for a brief second, the door halting in its tracks. His eyes flicker with a mix of confusion and vulnerability, but he's still cautious.

"How is any of this possible?" Eddie asks, his voice quieter, almost uncertain. "How…?"

Christopher nods, his grip tightening on the crutches as his heart races. "I promise I can explain."

Eddie stands frozen for a moment longer, eyes searching Christopher's face like he's trying to find some kind of reassurance in the younger man's features. Finally, with a long, hesitant breath, he opens the door wider, just enough for Christopher to step inside.

"Come in," Eddie mutters, though he still looks like he’s struggling to process everything. "But you better explain.."

Christopher exhales, relieved, and steps across the threshold. As soon as he’s inside, the weight of the moment presses down on him. The air is thick with uncertainty and a strange sense of déjà vu, like he’s stepped into a version of his past that he never expected to see again.

Eddie motions toward the living room, where the familiar old furniture sits in the same spots it always has. "Sit," he says gruffly, like it’s an order rather than an invitation.

Christopher limps over to the couch, and once seated, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. "Dad… I know this is insane, but I need you to listen to me. I’m from 2038. I was in a time travel experiment and something went wrong."

Eddie crosses his arms, his face still a mask of disbelief, but there’s a flicker of concern beneath it. "Time travel?" he repeats incredulously. "Kid, this sounds like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. And what do you mean by 'something went wrong'?"

Christopher’s mind races, trying to figure out how best to explain everything without overwhelming his father. "I don’t know how it happened, but something caused the machine to malfunction. It wasn’t supposed to land me here, in 2024. I was supposed to be somewhere else, just for a test run."

Eddie rubs his forehead, pacing a little as if trying to make sense of it all. "Okay," he mutters, "Okay, so you're… really from the future. And you’re saying the machine screwed up and you ended up back here?”

“Yeah?” 

Eddie's eyes study him intently, taking in every little detail. 

“You look like him,” he says quietly, full of awe and disbelief. “Whenever I think of Chris growing up, I imagine… you.” 

Eddie huffs and shakes his head as he sits heavily on the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees and running his fingers through his hair over and over again, pulling at the strands and muttering to himself. 

Chris sits quietly on the couch at a safe distance from him, waiting for his dad to process all of this. 

It's an insane thing to believe in, Christopher is aware. Hell, if he wasn't the one that helped create the literal time machine, if he didn't have the math and science to back it up… it would be hard to believe for him as well. 

A part of him thinks maybe he should've gone to Buck. He would believe in this immediately, Chris thinks fondly. He's always been way too trusting and a tiny bit naive like that but Christopher kinda loves that about him, and the fact that he's managed to hold on to that even in his early fifties. 

“Okay,” Eddie lets out a slow breath and straightens in his seat as he gazes over at Chris. “Let’s say I believe you. What the hell is going on? How did this even happen?” 

“Well, I started working at NASA right out of college—”

“You're working at NASA,” Eddie blinks and his voice gets really quiet. “Wow.” 

“Yeah, you and Buck were really proud.” 

“Of course we were. We would. I—” Eddie frowns. “This is so really confusing, kiddo.” 

“I know,” Chris says softly. “Anyways, I shouldn't even be here. In case of error there was this protocol I had to follow—”

“And you didn't.” 

“And I didn't.” 

“Why?” 

Christopher feels a lump in his throat, unsure how to answer. He never thought it would be this difficult to explain, but the words feel trapped. He looks down at his hands, grasping the crutches for something solid to hold on to. "I—I need to fix things. I know I shouldn't. Time travel is so new and we truly don't even know how changing even the smallest of details could affect the future or the universe we live in, even. But… I need to fix things.” 

Surely, any future where his dad and Buck are happy can't be that bad, right? 

Eddie’s expression falters for a moment, the weight of Christopher’s words settling in. “What do you need to fix?” 

“I… I don't even know how much to tell you.” Chris sighs in frustration.

“You know, for a genius scientist, you didn't think this through at all, did you?” 

Christopher huffs out a nervous laugh. "Apparently not." He shifts on the couch, trying to ease the weight of Eddie's stare. "Look, I didn’t have time to think. The machine malfunctioned, I ended up here, and… I saw Buck."

Eddie’s jaw tightens at the mention of Buck’s name. “Yeah? What about him?”

Chris hesitates, but there’s no point in holding back now. “I saw him leave your house. He looked upset. And then I remembered—this is the day you told him you were moving back to Texas, right?

Eddie flinches, but quickly masks it. “He was fine.” 

“Dad, he wasn't.” 

“That's— God, I need a beer.” Eddie grunts. “You calling me dad, looking like… that.” He gestures towards Chris with hand. “I feel like I hit my head and this is one of those really weird dreams.” 

“Sorry,” Chris frowns. “I just… I can try not calling you dad, I guess.” 

“No, it's okay. I think… I think I'm starting to believe this, a little. That's crazy, right?” 

“Stranger things have happened.” Chris shrugs. 

Eddie stares at Christopher for a long moment, like he’s trying to ground himself in the present—whatever version of the present this is. Then, with a heavy sigh, he leans back in the armchair and rubs his hands over his face.

“Stranger things, huh?” Eddie mutters. “I don’t know about that, kid.” He drops his hands and looks back at Christopher, his expression softer now, but still guarded. “You’re really from the future?”

Chris nods. “Yeah.”

“And Buck…” Eddie’s voice falters. “What happens to him? Is he okay? In your future?”

Chris hesitates. He didn’t come here to lie, but the truth feels heavy—like too much too soon. “He’s… good,” he says carefully. “I mean, he’s alive. He’s still Buck.”

Eddie frowns. “That’s not really an answer.”

“I know.” Chris swallows. “It's complicated. Look, you guys… you don't really talk anymore.”

“That’s—” Eddie frowns. “Why?”

“I'm not sure. Neither of you would talk to me about it… but I think part of the reason is you moving to Texas with me.” 

“I couldn't just leave you, Chris. I can't.” 

“I was going to come home eventually, dad.” Chris says softly. 

Eddie’s shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his hair again, clearly overwhelmed. “I can’t even begin to wrap my head around this,” he mutters. “Time travel? The future? And now you’re telling me I screwed things up so badly with Buck that we don’t even talk anymore?”

Chris shifts nervously on the couch, his grip tightening around his crutches. “I don’t think it’s just that. It’s… complicated.”

“Yeah, you said that already.” Eddie exhales sharply, leaning back against the chair. “Jesus.”

For a moment, the room is silent, filled only with the faint hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock. It’s surreal, sitting here like this, Chris thinks. It’s like stepping into a memory, but everything feels just a little… off. He isn't sure how to describe it.

“Are you hungry?” Eddie says suddenly. “I think we could have an early dinner, get some rest and figure everything else out in the morning.” 

Christopher exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, grateful for the reprieve. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Food sounds good.”

Eddie pushes himself up from the armchair, still moving like he’s in a daze. He heads toward the kitchen, pausing briefly as if double-checking that Christopher is still there—still real. Chris doesn’t move, letting his father take the time he needs to process.

He glances around the room, taking in the familiar furniture and framed pictures on the walls. It’s almost identical to the way he remembers it from his childhood, though a few details stick out—things he’d forgotten or maybe just never noticed back then. There’s a slight layer of dust on the shelves, and a couple of unopened mail envelopes sit piled on the side table. It feels lived-in but lonely, like a house caught between being a home and a memory.

Eddie’s voice breaks the silence. “I’ve got frozen pizza or pasta.”

Chris smiles faintly. “Pizza’s fine.”

“Of course it is.” Eddie’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile before he turns back to the kitchen, muttering, “Some things never change.”

Chris leans back into the couch and closes his eyes for a moment. He can still feel the hum of adrenaline in his veins, but the exhaustion is starting to creep in now that the initial panic has subsided. He hadn’t even considered how draining this would be—mentally, emotionally, even physically.

The sound of cabinets opening and closing drifts in from the kitchen, followed by the faint hum of the oven heating up. Chris lets himself relax, just for a second, before his mind inevitably starts to race again.

He needs to figure out his next move. Coming here was impulsive, and he knows it. The logical part of his brain—the scientist part—screams at him to stop and calculate the potential risks, to find a way back to his own time before he causes irreparable damage.

But then he remembers Buck. Remembers the way he looked when he drove away, the raw pain written all over his face.

And he remembers the years that followed. The distance. The silence.

No matter what the risks are, Chris knows he can’t leave things like that. Not again.

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and Chris opens his eyes to see his father standing in the doorway, holding two beers. He hesitates for a moment, then sets one down in front of Chris. “Figured you might need this.”

Chris raises an eyebrow but takes the bottle anyway, twisting off the cap. “You’re just giving beer to someone who claims to be your time-traveling son?”

Eddie shrugs. “I think I deserve one too after the day I’ve had.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping their beers and listening to the oven timer tick down. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s not awkward either.

Finally, Eddie sets his bottle down and looks at Chris with an intensity that makes him squirm.

“You said you need to fix things,” Eddie says carefully. “What does that mean? What exactly are you planning to do?”

Chris swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But I can’t just… leave things the way they are. Not if I have the chance to make them better.”

Eddie’s eyes darken. “You’re talking about Buck.”

“Not just Buck.” Chris shakes his head. “You too, Dad. You deserve to be happy.”

Eddie flinches like the words hit a nerve. “I was happy. I am happy,,” he says quietly. “I mean, I'm trying to do the right thing—for you.”

“I know,” Chris says quickly. “And I’m not blaming you. I just think maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to be one or the other. Maybe you don’t have to choose.”

Eddie stares at him for a long moment, and Chris wonders if he’s pushed too hard. But then the oven timer dings, and Eddie lets out a heavy sigh as he stands up.

“We’ll eat first,” he says gruffly. “Then we rest and we can think about all of this tomorrow morning, okay?”

Chris nods, relief flooding through him.

They still have a long way to go, but for the first time since waking up in this timeline, he feels like maybe—just maybe—they’ll figure it out.

—

Being back in his childhood room is… a lot. It's like he’s back to being fourteen years old— the delicate wounds that he once thought closed, are now wide open again. Really, it surprises him how little it takes to nudge the scabs out of place and start the bleeding anew. 

He remembers the anger and the resentment he felt towards his father— God, he had been so hurt, so painfully, maddeningly furious. And sad. And just, confused. 

But now, being a grown adult himself. He thinks he can understand his dad a little better now. Can give Eddie the grace and patience Chris wasn't capable of as a hormonal, angsty teenager. 

Christopher lies back on the old twin bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spins lazily above him. The rhythm is almost hypnotic, but his thoughts are anything but calm. The weight of everything he’s done—and everything he still has to do—presses down on him, making it hard to breathe.

His brain won’t shut off. Memories from his childhood clash with the knowledge of the future he left behind. It’s disorienting, like living in two timelines at once, and it leaves him feeling untethered.

He shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the bed creaks under his weight. The sound is so familiar it makes his chest ache. It’s the same bed he slept in when his mom was still alive, when she tucked him in that one Christmas night they shared before the accident— he remembers it vaguely, everything fuzzy at the edges. The ghost of her laugh, the Cjristmas presents, the tension fluttering in the air between his parents, the kisses to his forehead.  The same bed he cried in after she died, muffling his sobs into his pillow so Eddie wouldn’t hear.

And now here he is again—older, wiser, and somehow more lost than ever.

Chris rubs a hand down his face and forces himself to focus. He can’t afford to spiral right now. He needs a plan.

Step one: Figure out how to fix things with Buck.

Step two: Convince his dad not to move back to Texas.

Step three: Find a way back to 2038 without destroying the timeline in the process.

It sounds simple when he lays it out like that, but he knows it’s anything but. Changing the past is dangerous—he’s spent years studying the theoretical consequences of time manipulation and still, it's all speculation from his part. Theories that only now are beginning to be proven with this trip. He's basically a blind man feeling his way through the dark, an unexplored territory that can either end up in catastrophe or with a decently positive outcome. 

But Christopher isn’t here to save the world. He’s here to save his family.

And maybe that’s selfish, but he doesn’t care.

Sleep is hard to come by. Christopher basically spends most of the night tossing and turning around in his twin bed— he's gotten used to the much bigger, softer, better bed he has back home. His home in the future or whatever. It was expensive but it was one of the first things he bought with his first paycheck and he misses it more than it's probably normal. 

And when he finally manages to fall asleep, it feels he's rudely awakened not much later, by sound and voices from the kitchen. 

More than one voice. 

He doesn’t get up right away, rolling onto his back and listening for a moment. He can hear Eddie moving around in the kitchen and Buck's soft voice. After a bit, Chris oh so quietly gets up and moves to the hallway, curiosity and nosiness getting the best of him. 

“I still have the baked goods from yesterday, Buck.” 

“Okay, but these are fluffier, Eds.” Chris hears the exasperation in Buck's tone, mixed with just a hint of a whine. “Besides, you're gonna miss all of my treats once you move to Texas.” 

Chris moves a little bit closer. getting to see just Eddie's figure leaning against the kitchen counter and just a fraction of Buck's hand and arm, the rest of him covered by the divider. 

“Yeah… about that.” Eddie rubs his temples with two of his fingers. “Uh, I think maybe I'll stay here. At least for a little bit longer. Maybe, probably. Nothing's decided yet.” 

Buck's hand edges closer until he's almost gracing Eddie's fingers on the counter, just a few tiny millimeters of space left in between them. 

“Oh, what made you change your mind?” 

“Uh…” Chris sees his dad panic. Despite all of his mistakes and that sick, twisted emotional affair with the woman who looked like Shannon, Eddie's never really been a good liar. You can tell right away by the way his eyes start to move like crazy, and he scratches the back of his neck in a nervous tick. “I don't know. I think maybe I should give Chris more time and space?” 

“Okay…” Even Chris can hear how unconvinced Buck is by that answer. “I mean, not that I'm complaining. I know you miss Chris, but— things won't be the same without you. I'm just confused, I think.” 

“It's a big decision and yesterday I was… emotional, I think. I'm just gonna take a few days to think it over. Or a week, maybe? I don't know, Buck.” 

“Right, okay. Well… you know I just want what's best for you and Chris. I just want you guys to be happy.” Buck leans forward and Chris can now see a fragment of the side and back of his head, as he gazes at Eddie intently, a hand coming to rest on his dad's shoulder and squeezing softly. “I have your back, Eds.” 

“I know,” Eddie whispers so quietly that Christopher doesn't even hear it, just sees Eddie's lips form the words. 

Then they're pulling each other into a crushing hug. Buck is pressing Eddie against his chest, strong hands stroking over his back and Eddie's disheveled hair. Their noses are buried in each other’s shoulders and his dad's knuckles are bleeding white with the strength he's holding on to Buck, pressing soothing words into their shirts. Christopher can't hear them, but he's not meant to. Really, this feels like intruding in a moment that's not meant for him to witness, a moment so intimate and tender between Buck and Eddie that shame and guilt fills Christopher for invading it. 

The sight conjures a memory from the deepest depths of his mind, another one that feels more like a fantasy than an actual memory— fuzzy at the edges and distorted with the passage of time. Chris couldn't have been older than four and his mother hadn't left yet— he remembers waking up from a nightmare or something and grabbing his teddy bear, clumsily getting out of bed and padding his way down the hall as he used the wall for support. 

Eddie had come home late from… Christopher doesn't even know, but his mom had been waiting in the kitchen for him with hot chocolate and everything. They had hugged and Eddie had folded into her arms, burying his head in his neck. 

At age four, Chris hadn't even grasped the concepts of privacy or timing, so he had smiled and stumbled, running his way right into his father's legs, wanting to be part of the moment. 

In the present— or is it a different version of a much recent past?— the moment breaks when Buck’s phone pings with a notification. 

Buck pulls away first, his hands lingering on Eddie's shoulders and one even brushing against his cheek for a millisecond before he looks down and reaches for his phone. His back is to Christopher, so he can't really see the expression on his face, but when he speaks his voice is strained and tense. 

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “It's a message from Tommy.” 

Christopher barely has time to process the way the mood shifts—how Buck steps back, shoulders squaring as if bracing for impact, and how Eddie’s face tightens almost imperceptibly, the softness from before draining out of him like water through a sieve.

Tommy.

Christopher doesn't know the specifics but he knows that man was hell for Buck. They got back together briefly, he thinks, somewhere around this time or a little bit later and then he thinks dad spent an entire night on the phone a few months after, comforting Buck for a second break-up. 

Eddie chooses that moment to look at anywhere else but Buck and for a split second his gaze falls on Christopher, his eyes widening comically and panic quickly rising in his expression.  Chris lifts a hand and moves as quickly as he's able back to his room. 

Eddie follows a couple minutes later. 

“Look, I need to go to work— I called to cancel but there was no one available to cover for me,” Eddie says in a hushed whisper. 

“That's okay, dad,” Chris snorts. “I'm almost thirty, I think I can manage to stay home alone for less than a day.” 

Eddie gives him a look but then shakes his head and reaches for his back pocket, pulling out a wallet. “I left you some breakfast in the kitchen and here's some money just in case you need it.” He hands Chris a few wrinkled dollars. 

“I think I'm gonna need to go to the E.R if your breakfast is as bad as I remember it,” he quips and smirks at Eddie's glare. 

“God, you really are my son, huh.” Eddie smiles ruefully and after some more hovering and a few more goodbyes, he finalñy leaves. Chris hears his steps fading down the hallway and a few seconds later the sound of the door closing. 

He decides maybe he'll go to the library after putting something in his stomach— look for some physics books and come back home, start researching what's the closest NASA facility he can go to once he fixes things here. 

There's a lot on his mind and he can already feel the day will be long and tiring. 

–

It's a little unnerving the idea that his fourteen year old son is living miles away from him, while at the same time his almost thirty year old son that comes from the future is currently at home, back in his childhood bedroom and making snarky comments about Eddie’s cooking. 

Eddie's never been into sci-fi movies or anything like that— really, Adriana was the only one in his family that would be obsessed with the stuff while his mother and Tía Pepa grumpily muttered under their breath that it was the devil's thing and that Hollywood was correcting their perfect little girl. 

Sophia always prefered chick-flicks and Eddie always leaned towards action movies or whatever telenovela Abuela was into at the time. (And okay, maybe secretly he liked rom-coms and chick-flicks but that was nobody's business but his own!) 

The thing is, right now? Eddie isn't sure what to believe or what to do. He's not like Buck— if Christopher had gone to him, the man would've been so excited and probably would've come up with a perfect plan already. Despite what most people and sometimes Buck himself might believe, Eddie thinks he's one of the smartest people he knows. Sure, he has his moments. but— Buck is good at thinking outside the box, at solving issues when he's under pressure; Eddie's seen it countless times in rescues or even in his own life, when Buck would pull him out of panic attacks or crises. 

Chris and him agreed the less people they know about this whole travel thing the better, though. So the poor kid only has Eddie to help him out. 

“Hey,” Buck's voice startles him out of his thoughts as he comes from behind Eddie and throws himself on the couch, his elbow digging painfully against Eddie's abdomen before he moves and settles next to him. “Okay, spit it out. What's wrong?” 

“Nothing's wrong,” Eddie says automatically. “I'm fine.” 

“You've been acting weird all day,” Buck frowns and rests his head on the back of the couch, looking up at Eddie with wide, worried eyes. “You didn't even tease me about listening to Taylor Swift on the drive here. You always do that, even though I know you love her too,” Buck pokes him obnoxiously with his fingers until Eddie is squirming and pushing him away. 

“Stop.” 

“Just tell me what's wrong, Eds.” Buck pleads quietly, low enough that no one else at the station would hear him. 

“Nothing's…” Eddie trails off before he can finish the sentence and sighs. He looks down at Buck and their faces are so close that he can see the tiny freckles on his nose. “I just have a lot on my mind, with Christoper and y'know, everything.” 

Buck hums softly and closes his eyes for a few seconds, seconds that Eddie takes selfishly and desperately, drinking him in. 

Chris’ words haunt him just like Shannon's ghost does and Eddie aches with the weight of it all. He can't fathom a future where Buck isn't by his side, where they're not partners, where they're not best friends. 

A future without Buck sounds bleak and hollow. Eddie has a lot of baggage and a mile long of regrets trailing behind him, but Buck is one of the few bright spots. He has his back and he sees Eddie, gets him in a way Eddie thought Shannon did back when they were just dumb kids in love. 

The comparison isn't fair, Eddie realizes— Buck and Shannon are such different relationships in such different stages of Eddie's life. 

“I can hear you overthinking,” Buck opens one eye and squints at Eddie, his nose wrinkling. “I can even see smoke coming out of your ears.” 

“Are you going to answer Tommy?” he blurts out the question before he even realizes what he's saying, not only surprising Buck but himself as well.

Buck straightens in his seat and opens both his eyes, regarding Eddie with the slightest tilt of his head. “I'm not sure yet,” he says slowly. “You know, I've been agonizing over him for weeks and just begging my phone to show me a message from him… but now that it's happened— I don't know. I think I should feel more excited than I actually do.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It's like,” Buck licks his lips. “I saw his text and I was like, oh! okay! and felt a little bit of— I'm not even sure. I think I didn't really feel anything, just a very mild annoyance that it– that it interrupted us.” Buck swallows hard and his brows furrow. “Is that weird?” 

Eddie feels relief, so he doesn't think he's in a place where he can judge Buck for any of his feelings. 

“I don't think it's weird.” 

A beat of silence passes between them and then— 

“Do you think I should text him?” Buck's voice is strained and he's looking at Eddie with such unwavering, intense focus, as if he's asking something else. 

Eddie weirdly feels like he's about to take some test, like whichever answer he gives matters and might drastically change things. It feels as if Buck is expecting something from him and for the life of him Eddie can't figure it out. 

“I think… I think he really hurt you,” Eddie says tentatively. “And that the reason he had for it was stupid,” he states, bold and a little angry on behalf of Buck. “And I think you deserve better.” 

“Eddie, I—” Buck stops and looks at him for a beat too long. Eddie feels like an open wound, like a nerve exposed to a wildfire, every sensation just too much and burning him from inside out. Like vines tightening around his heart, thorns latching onto him and making him want to flinch away— and at the same time he wants to get closer, wants to reach and first his hand in the fabric of Buck's shirt, wants to tell him about time travel and the devastating, heartbreaking, overwhelming newfound terror of not being by Buck's side in the future. 

Instead of doing any of that, Eddie waits. He waits and waits for Buck to finish the sentence, to say whatever he needs to say. And maybe this is the wrong time— it's definitely the wrong place to do this, to have a conversation as monumental as this feels. They're at work after all, and Hen or Chim could walk on them at any moment,  or Bobby could yell at them to clean the trucks or the añarm could go off and break them from this reverie. 

But Eddie waits, he isn't sure for what exactly. 

“I—” Buck stutters and then chuckles, shaking himself off. “Yeah, thanks, man.” And there’s that. 

Eddie tries not to dwell in the disappointment pooling in the pit of his stomach or the hopelessness rising up his throat. He doesn't even know why he's feeling any of this and the confusion only manages to make him feel even more off-kelter..

The sharp blare of the station alarm shatters the moment, echoing through the bay and cutting through Eddie's spiraling thoughts like a knife. Both he and Buck snap into action instantly, rushing to get their gear on. 

“Let’s go!” Bobby’s voice booms from across the room, already moving toward the truck with Hen and Chim hot on his heels.

Buck and Eddie exchange a quick glance, and Eddie thinks—hopes—for just a flicker of a second that Buck’s eyes linger a little too long before they both break apart and head for the rig.

A heavy rock of something Eddie is too tired to decipher settles into Eddie’s gut as the engine roars to life. 

–

They're changing in the locker room when Buck asks if Eddie wants to have dinner. He's been doing that more and more since Christopher left— before his breakup Tommy would tag along most of the time, but Eddie likes it better now that it's just the two of them.

Or well, it was just the two of them. Now Eddie has Christopher… back? Sort of. In a really weird, baffling way that he's still trying to come to terms with. 

Eddie is distracted by the small glimpse of soft, tanned skin he sees when Buck is changing into a clean shirt, the muscles of his abdomen moving and contracting as he does, so he doesn't really register the words until he hears Hen and Chim stifle some laughs. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I can’t tonight.”

Buck frowns as he fixes the neck of his shirt and tilts his head to look at Eddie. “Why not?” 

The first thing he notices is how hurt Buck looks, and Eddie hates himself for being the cause of that. 

“I'm just really beat tonight,” Eddie lies. “And I promised Chris I'd call him before bed. Not that he cares, but.” He shrugs. 

“He cares, Eds. Of course he cares. He's just… mad, and confused. But he'll get over eventually,” Buck says softly. “You're his dad and he loves you.” 

“Thanks, Buck.” 

“C'mon,” Buck squeezes his shoulder and his hand lingers for a bit as they walk out the station and through the parking lot. They wave goodbye to Hen and Chim who are getting in their cars and then get on the Jeep. 

The drive home is short and quiet, with the music from Buck’s playlist playing as background noise. 

“Hey, Eds?” Buck calls when Eddie is getting out of the car. He stops and turns around slightly, looking at him expectantly. Buck has his hands on the steering wheel and he's gripping it strongly, his knuckles white with the force of it. 

“Yeah?” 

“We're okay, right? You and I?” 

“Of course we are,” Eddie frowns. “Why?” 

“I just— Look. I know you're hiding something. I know you, okay? And even though I thought we weren't keeping secrets from each other anymore, I understand if you need time or want to deal with whatever’s going on on your own. But I'm here and I'll always be here whenever you need me, okay? I just— I need you to know that.” 

Not always. Not if what Chris says comes true, Eddie thinks, his chest tightening. 

“I know.” Eddie sighs. “We're okay, I promise. I have a lot on my mind but trust me, you and I? We're still a team, Buck.” 

Buck’s shoulders relax at Eddie’s reassurance, but the tension in his jaw doesn’t fully fade. Eddie notices because, of course, he does. He knows Buck better than anyone, maybe even better than Buck knows himself sometimes. And right now, Buck is worried—about him, about them—and Eddie hates that he can’t ease that worry completely. Not when his life feels like it’s balancing on the edge of a knife.

“Alright,” Buck says quietly, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s agreeing with Eddie. His fingers finally loosen their grip on the wheel. “Goodnight, Eds.”

Eddie offers him a small smile, one he hopes looks more convincing than it feels. “Night, Buck.”

He steps out and shuts the door. Buck doesn't drive away until Eddie is safely inside, and he sees the Jeep driving away from the window next to the entrance. 

“Hey,” Chris startles him and Eddie turns around with a hand in his heart. 

“Jesus kid, you scared me.” 

“You forgot I was here?” 

“No, I don't think I could ever forget my son time traveled from fourteen years in the future just to tell me how bad I fucked up,” Eddie snarks, a little sharper than he intended to. 

“I ordered Thai,” Chris says. “And for the record, that's not why I'm here.” 

“I'm still not sure why you're here, bud,” Eddie says once they're sitting at the table. “I would appreciate a little more information.”.

“Yeah, I've been thinking and I think I need to figure out a way to go back before I alter the space-time continuum too much.” Chris sighs and rubs his eyes from under his glasses, skewing them a bit. “So, I think you shouldn't go to Texas— It didn't help at all, dad.” Chris looks at him seriously. “I was so mad at you when that happened, I think it made things harder for both of us. We worked through it, but… yeah.” 

“Okay,” Eddie blinks, trying to process this information. “I guess that's – That's fair.” 

“And I think you should ask Buck out.” 

Eddie chokes on his own spit and it takes him a few seconds before he can meet Christopher’s eyes.

“W-what?” 

“You're lonely. And divorced. And I saw you and Buck dance around each other for years until you wouldn't even call each other. You're clearly miserable without him.” 

“Chris, I'm straight.” Words he's said almost in automatic, words that feel flat to his own ears even now. 

Hadn't he said the same thing to that priest a few weeks ago? But even then, they felt a tiny bit like a lie. 

Chris tilts his head and his eyes squint. He clearly doesn't think Eddie is saying the truth, but he is! He swears.

“I loved your mother—”

“I know you did, dad. No one's denying that.” Chris sighs. “Look, I don't care what you are or whatever label you want to put on yourself. I'm just telling you that I've seen the future and that I would like you to do things this time around that will make you happy. That's all I want, dad. For you, for us, to be happy.” 

And isn't that a sucker punch to the gut. Everything he's tried to push down deep for years and years and keep there in this secret box inside his heart is now bubbling up to the surface and there’s nothing to stop it. 

He loved Shannon. He still does love her, thinks about her every day— he had a twisted, sick affair with a woman that looked like her because of how much Eddie missed her. And he will always love her. He loved kissing her and holding her hand and listening to talk for hours on end, having a child with her. He loved Shannon. 

But for a split second, Eddie tries to be honest with himself. Tries to listen to what Christopher is telling him and he tries to look at it from a new perspective. 

Eddie can't deny that he feels the most intricate, most exciting mix of emotions whenever Buck is around. Or even when he isn't around and Eddie misses him, his presence,  his warmth next to him. 

He remembers the first real, genuine moment they shared in the back of that ambulance and the feel of Buck's hand on his when they shook them in truce. He remembers after the tsunami, when he looked up at Buck’s face scattered with scars and guilt and how all Eddie wanted to do in that moment was comfort him and hug him and never let go. He remembers so many moments— the shooting, when Eddie thought he was dying and their eyes locked with each other, he couldn't fucking breathe but at the same time he was relieved the last thing he would see would be Buck's face. He had felt peace and had known that Chris would be taken care of. 

He remembers less than a year ago, when Buck came out to him, told him about Tommy. At the time Eddie didn't understand what about it made him feel unsettled and he felt guilty for thinking he was being an asshole and a bad friend— but maybe, he really was just jealous and terrified of losing Buck to someone else, and too much of a coward to even admit it to himself. 

Eddie was good at compartmentalising - he always had been, so his feelings for Buck were just another thing he locked away, deep down inside. He'd watched Buck and Tommy date for a couple of months, silent but supportive - in his heart he was sure it wasn't right for Buck, but he hadn't wanted to be the one to say it out loud. That would be crossing some kind of invisible line in their relationship, and neither of them was ready for that.

Tommy just didn't understand Buck the way Eddie did, simple as that. 

He’s terrified, is the thing. Buck makes him feel young again, makes Eddie feel like he can just be himself around him— not Eddie the soldier, not Eddie the bad husband that let his wife down in more ways than he can count, not Eddie the single dad that falls short more often than not, not Eddie the perfect son his parents expect him to be. With Buck everything's easier. Eddie can be goofy and silly and anything he feels like being and Buck would be right there with him, having his back. 

But Jesus, he's past thirty, he’s far too fucking old to be going through a sexuality crisis. He’s far too fucking old to be locking himself in his house to cry about a boy to his son. 

But Chris has opened the window now, though, and Eddie can't stop his mind from crashing through it. 

“You know,” Chris says softly, pushing his food around  the plate. “When you got married, you invited Buck to the wedding. I'm not sure if you were relieved or upset that he didn't show up, but I know you weren't completely… present, there in the moment. I'm not even sure you were even the tiniest bit happy,” Chris sighs. “Grandma introduced you to Paloma and I think you just stuck with it because you felt you had no other choice— I never understood and I don't think I ever will, but I know it wasn't what you wanted. I know it didn't make you happy.” 

“Chris—”

“And as a kid, I never really noticed it. Didn't even cross my mind, but I think maybe I see it clearer now.” Christopher keeps going, sounding like he's been wanting to say this to Eddie for a long time. “You need to stop living your life according to what you think it’s  “right” or what other people might expect from you.” Chris takes a deep breath. “Grandma is gone now, and I really did love her and miss her, but fuck her. Fuck her for letting you think her way was the only way.” 

Hearing his mother will be gone sometime in the future is hard, it fills him with a swirl of crushing, suffocating complicated emotions. Grief for what's going to happen, anger, but also— the smallest amount of relief. Eddie is tired, exhausted really at all of these thoughts about the future, memories he doesn't have yet… he doesn't even have the energy to chastise Chris for his vocabulary. 

“I think— I think I need to lay down for a bit,” Eddie says faintly. “I'm sorry. It's just— a lot to process.” 

“Yeah, okay, dad.” Chris sighs again and looks up at him when Eddie pushes away from the table and stands up. “I'm sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, mijo.” Eddie smiles, a tiny and fragile thing that barely tugs at his lips but there nonetheless. He can't help it when he reaches and ruffles Chris' hair as he walks by— he might be a thirty year old man but to Eddie he's always gonna be his kid. “Goodnight, bud.” 

Eddie retreats to his bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him. The room feels smaller than usual, the walls pressing in as he paces back and forth, running a hand through his hair.

Everything Christopher said is still echoing in his head, overlapping and blurring together until it’s too loud to ignore. The memories he doesn’t have yet—the marriage, the distance from Buck, the way it all fell apart—feel real enough to haunt him.

He sinks onto the edge of the bed and scrubs his hands down his face, exhaling sharply.

Eddie lies back on the bed after changing into some sport shorts and a ratty old tshirt from his days in the army, staring up at the ceiling. The room is dim, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside his window, casting faint lines of shadow across the walls. He can hear the muffled sounds of Christopher moving around the house, the faint noise of the TV being turned on in the living room.

His chest feels tight, like something heavy is pressing down on it, and he rubs at the spot with the heel of his palm as though that will help. He exhales sharply, trying to will the tension away, but it lingers.

He drags in a shaky breath and shifts, tugging the blanket up over himself. He should sleep. God knows he needs it. Maybe in the morning, everything will make more sense.

He is restless and tense, tossing and moving in bed. He turns onto his side and then the other, hitting the pillow and then burying his head in there. He tries to let the exhaustion finally pull him under. 

Eventually, his body gives in to the weight of the day, and he drifts off. 

The quiet sound of distant laughter is the first thing Eddie hears when he gets home from work. His first tour has just ended and he's been helping at his dad's office a bit. 

The laughter is coming from upstairs, he thinks, where Shannon and Christopher are probably getting ready for bed. Chris treasures bathtime with Shannon, and once they're done Eddie will read him a storybook while he falls asleep. When the story is over, Eddie might talk a bit about Chris' day and what he's done while Eddie was away, he might even give in and sing a soft tune until Chris’ breathing is even and his eyelids are fluttering the way they do when he's dreaming; and then Eddie will meet Shannon back down in the kitchen and they'll have a quiet dinner just for themselves. Chris is too young to eat with them still; he’ll have had his chicken nuggets or mac and cheese before bath time. Dinnertime is about the only time Eddie and Shannon have together anymore, as work and a demanding little three year old seem to have taken up every second of their free time.

Eddie kicks his shoes off by the door and hangs his jacket on the coat rack. He heads for the stairs next, walking quietly so he can continue listening to two of his favorite people laugh and enjoy bath time. He can distinctly hear Chris’ squeal of delight and Shannon's fond, endearing cackle— she snorts a little and Eddie finds that adorable. It's one of the first things he noticed about her, back in school. 

He can picture the way Christopher is probably splashing about and Shannon is wrinkling her nose while she laughs, even though she should be scolding their son. Chris is too cute to yell at, they've both decided, and that's probably why he knows he can get away with pretty much anything. 

But when he finally reaches the bathroom and leans against the doorframe… there's nothing, no one inside. The tile floor is wet and the bathtub is halfway full with plastic ducks and a toy boat floating around.

“Chris? Shannon?” He calls but his voice echoes through the apparently empty house. 

Eddie frowns confused. He could've sworn he heard them just a second ago! 

Eddie moves to Chris’ room but it's all wrong, the photos in his nightstand are gone, the toys that are usually scattered all over the floor are nowhere to be seen. With panic rising in his chest, Eddie moves frantically to the room he shares with Shannon— the closet’s doors are wide open and showing him the clothes that used to be there are gone. The bed is perfectly made and there's a note on top of the covers that reads ‘This is all your fault.’ 

No, Eddie thinks and starts making his way through the entire house. Searching desperately, his movements becoming more and more erratic. He turns around on his feet and suddenly the walls are gone, the furniture and everything else disappears and leaves Eddie standing alone on a… beach? He looks down and his toes are buried in the sand. the gentle waves of the ocean brushing against his feet. 

When he looks up, he sees a figure in the distance. At first it was hard for him to recognize it. but then he does and Eddie feels insurmountable  relief swelling in his chest. Everything will be okay if he's there.

“Buck?” Eddie calls and takes a few steps forward. “Buck!” 

He calls, over and over, but to no avail. He knows his calls don’t fall upon deaf ears, but they might as well, for all it gets him.

The sun is hitting Buck's hair just right, making it look an ethereal shade of bright golden. He looks like an angel and Eddie is running, reaching for him desperately, crying, begging him to wait! He isn't catching up but it’s okay, because he’s been doing this all his life and he’ll do it forever more.

Eddie wakes up sweating, heaving, grasping at his covers and whimpering like a child alone in the dark.

But now he knows what to do. 

–

The next morning, Chris is wearing Eddie's clothes— he's as tall as him now but the clothes look baggy on him, he doesn't have as many muscles, Chris is lean and a little on the lanky side but God, he looks so grown up Eddie wants to cry. 

They decided on taking a sort of road trip to the Space Center in Houston— after some investigation, Chris discovered that Dr. Angulo is working there and she's the closest from their time travel experiment they can reach. It's not ideal but Chris has told Eddie he's pretty positive he can convince her that all of this is real and they can kick start creating the Chrono Piston chamber… a second time around. 

Eddie has to take a few days off work and even though Bobby doesn't ask any questions and doesn't cause any issue for Eddie, he can still feel the man's worry and concern through the phone. Buck is… tougher. 

Eddie knows what he needs to do and he can't just— He can't spring it out on him and then take off, so he does the cowardly thing and just sends Buck a couple of texts and promises he'll explain everything later. 

“You know, I can go on my own,” Chris says slowly as he watches Eddie hover over the bags in the back of his car. “You don't have to come with me. It's okay, dad.” 

“No, I want to.” He sighs and closes the trunk with a dull thump as he smiles at Chris reassuringly. “Seriously.” 

Chris doesn't fight it that much. (He is secretly delighted that they get to do this, just the two of them. He talks to Eddie a lot in the future but it's not the same and Chris has missed this closeness, this proximity to his father. Besides, they never really took road trips together— maybe when they moved to L.A and a couple of times with Buck.) 

They don't take pictures— of course not. It would be irresponsible of Eddie to walk around with photos of him and a 30 year old Chris on his phone. It would be very hard to explain, too— but they do have fun. 

They stop at gas stations and buy way too many sweets and Chris doesn't really talk any more about the future— he's probably said more than he should've already— be he talks about what he remembers of this time, the memories Eddie’s missed while Christopher was shutting him out living in Texas. He talks about that friend from chess club that he kinda, sort of had a crush on but nothing came of it and some anecdotes from competitions and pool parties Eddie hadn't been told about. 

Eddie talks about Shannon, shares some details and things that he never said to Chris— apparently not even in the future, judging by the surprise playing on his face and the way he eagerly takes in every word that escapes from Eddie's mouth. In a way, this is like a second chance for both of them to make it right, to straighten a few things that never got resolved. 

“We were going out for date night with a couple of Shannon's friends,” he starts, gaining Chris’ attention quickly. Eddie isn’t looking at him, his eyes focused on the road as they leave L.A  “They were always a bit weird, all of Shannon's friends were— we didn't really hang out in the same circles— but they were good company. They picked the place, and it was like a bar, or something, and Shannon made me come home early from work— it was before I got deployed for my first tour—  so we could be on time and I was only, like, seven minutes early and your mom made fun of me for it but we still got there on time,” he smiles.

Chris waits quietly while Eddie pauses, reliving the night moment by moment. “So we got in my dad's old car, because she was pregnant and couldn’t drink, so she was my designated driver for the night. She hated driving that car, but she did anyway. I was so in love with her that night, with her little baby bump peeking out of her dress,” he says, sighing and shaking his head while he collects himself.

“So we went to the bar and her friends were already there, and at one point this guy at the bar tried to flirt with me, and it was just- it was a strange night. I drank way more than I should have, Amy practically had to carry me to the car.

“So we were heading home, and I wasn't  drunk, but I was definitely tipsy. I kept touching her face and saying stupid things, I wish I remembered exactly what. I just remember how beautiful she looked, especially in the moonlight, I couldn’t stop touching her and telling her how beautiful she was. And she kept,” Eddie chuckles and blinks the tears away. “She kept giggling and telling me how much of a dork I was. And I told her she was my best friend in the whole word and that I could listen to her for hours.” 

“I think that's the honest thing I ever said— because she was my best friend. Your mother had this way of pulling me in and making me feel like a fool and the most special person all at the same time.” Eddie huffs. “Sometimes I wonder if maybe it would've been better staying off as friends… but then I wouldn't have you,” he reaches over the console and squeezes Chris’ shoulder affectionately as he glances at him with teary, glistening eyes. “And you're the best thing we ever made, kiddo.” 

Chris chokes up but he forces himself to ask more questions. What was her favorite color? Her favorite subject at school? Did she like science? Did she do sports? 

(Chris feels like he’s learning a completely different side of his mom and like his dad is actually making the effort to talk about her, about the good stuff.  They tried a few times in the past? Chris’ past and Eddie’s future, he guesses, but it was always tense and awkward and Chris would be filled with so much anger and resentment. With time they stopped trying, so he's grateful for this new opportunity.) 

“Do you think she would be proud of me?” Chris asks, timid and scared as Eddie finally parks the car in front of the space center— the car's dashboard is a mess of empty candy wrappers, napkins and one small stain of sauce, and the inside it's starting to feel kinda stuffy with the Texas’ hot weather and the sun shining down on them, but he is reluctant to leave. 

“Mijo, you invented freaking time travel.” Eddie huffs out a tiny laugh. “And even if you hadn't,  you're kind and funny and so incredibly smart. You're a good person,” Eddie forces Chris to look at him. “And your mother would be so, so very proud.” 

Chris wishes he could've landed back in time before she died, maybe he could've stopped it from happening— even though añl the scientists in the project agreed that messing with life and death as if they were God was not a good idea and they would definitely not be able to foresee the consequences it might bring. Still, Chris thinks, it would've been nice. 

“Thanks for all of this, dad,” he says as they get out of the car and Eddie walks him to the door. 

“No, Chris. Thank you. ” Eddie cloakes out. “You're so grown, Chris, Jesus. And you're still fixing my messes, and for that I'm really sorry.” He pats Chris' cheek softly. “But I promise that I will do better this time around, I will do right by you. When you go back to your future, everything will be okay, yeah? I promise you that.” 

“Okay, dad.”

“Be safe, yeah?” 

“See you in the future, dad.” 

“See you in the future, Chris.” 

Eddie holds the tears at bay until Chris is way past the doors and out of his sight, and he is back in the privacy of his truck. But once he starts driving, he is wiping at his eyes and sniffling loudly. 

It's so stupid, because Chris is fine. His teenage son is at his parent's house and probably having the best time of his life. And his 30 year old son is safe and will be back home in surely no time at all. Everything is fine and Eddie is just being an idiot. 

Soon enough, his thoughts wander and focus on Buck. The drive takes almost an entire day, so he has plenty of time to think and overthink and make himself sick with imaginary, possible scenarios. He rehearses what he wants to say and how he wants to say it and he mentally prepares himself for every possible outcome. 

Above all, Eddie makes himself the promise that no matter what, whatever happens now or in the future, he will never leave Buck. He will never drift apart the way Chris told him they would— if he can change anything from the future, Eddie wants it to be that. 

By the time he makes it back to Los Angeles is almost four in the morning— And Eddie drives straight to Buck's apartment. Is late, so fucking late, and he isn't even sure if the man has work in the morning or not, but selfishly? He can't bring himself to care. 

He's been bursting at the seams with all of these emotions— emotions that he's been denying himself of for years and that are now rising up to the surface, they're impossible to contain. Eddie likes to think of himself as a patient man, as someone who can body a storm and keep himself steady throughout all of it… but he also thinks he kept Buck and himself waiting enough. 

Buck doesn’t answer the door at first.

Eddie stands there, fists clenched at his sides, exhaustion gnawing at him, but the anticipation pounding in his chest keeps him upright. He knocks again—louder this time—and finally hears shuffling on the other side.

The door creaks open, and there’s Buck, bleary-eyed, hair a mess, and shirtless, wearing only sweats that hang low on his hips. Eddie’s breath catches, his rehearsed words tumbling away like loose pebbles down a cliff.

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice is rough with sleep, and for a moment, his face twists with confusion—then concern. “What’s wrong? Is Chris okay?”

“Chris is fine,” Eddie rushes to assure him, stepping forward like he might reach out, but Buck doesn’t move, his shoulders still tense. “Everything’s fine. He 's fine.”

Buck’s brow furrows. “Then why—”

“I just—” Eddie cuts himself off, swallows hard. His heart is a wild, frantic thing, and he doesn’t know how to settle it. “I needed to see you.”

Buck’s mouth parts slightly, but he doesn’t speak. Instead, he steps aside and lets Eddie in.

The apartment is dimly lit.

The living room is littered with blankets and pillows from what looks like an abandoned attempt to fall asleep on the couch. The sight twists something sharp in Eddie’s chest—Buck’s always had trouble sleeping when something feels off, and Eddie’s abrupt texts must have set him spinning.

Buck watches Eddie closely as he shuts the door, arms folding over his bare chest like he’s bracing himself. “You didn’t tell me anything, Eddie. You just said you’d explain later, and now it’s later. So talk to me.”

Eddie stares at him, throat tight, and wonders how he’s supposed to go about this.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie finally says. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that. I just… I needed to figure some things out.”

Buck’s arms drop, his expression softening even as concern lingers in his eyes. “Eddie, you know you can talk to me about anything, right? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I was scared that you moved to Texas in the middle of the night without telling me.” 

We .

It’s such a simple word, but it knocks the air right out of Eddie’s lungs.

He steps closer, hands trembling before he shoves them into his pockets. “You always say that,” he murmurs. “That we’ll figure it out. That I’m not alone. You’ve been saying it since the moment we met, and I—” Eddie exhales sharply. “I don’t think I ever really let myself believe it.”

Buck frowns, but Eddie doesn’t stop.

“I should’ve said this a long time ago, and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, but Buck—” He hesitates, panic clawing at the edges of his resolve, but he pushes through it because Christopher’s right. He’s wasted enough time already. “I need you to know how much you mean to me. How much you’ve always meant to me.”

Buck’s breath hitches. “Eddie…”

“I’m scared,” Eddie admits, the words falling out like a confession he’s been keeping locked away for years. “I’m scared because everything I thought I knew about myself—about what my life was supposed to look like—it’s all changing. But the one thing that’s stayed the same through all of it is you.”

Buck’s eyes are wide, glassy in the dim light. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and Eddie’s pulse roars in his ears.

But then Buck takes a shaky step forward. And another.

“Eddie, are you—” He stops, voice breaking. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Eddie nods, his heart pounding so loud he swears Buck must hear it. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I think I am.”

For a beat, there’s nothing but silence.

Then Buck surges forward, grabbing Eddie by the shoulders and pulling him in. It’s not quite a kiss yet—just their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling as Buck laughs wetly, disbelieving.

“God, Eddie,” he breathes. “I don't—,” Buck lets out another stuttered sigh. “I love you.” 

Eddie lets out a shaky laugh of his own. “I think I do.”

And then Buck’s hands are cupping his face, and Eddie finally lets himself lean in, finally stops fighting the pull that’s been there all along.

The kiss is soft and slow—tentative at first, like they’re both afraid the moment might shatter—but then Buck tilts his head and deepens it, and Eddie melts into him completely.

It feels like an actualisation of a seven year old want, it feels like a dream come true and every other cliché known to men, because Eddie is just a little bit drunk on Buck's taste and on his warmth and just him in general, and sadness and happiness all at once.

Eddie thanks God and the stars and Christopher that he won't have to live in a future where Buck isn't by his side, because right now the mere idea of living in that timeline makes Eddie’s skin crawl with disgust and fear. 

He doesn’t focus on all that now, though. How could he when he has Buck’s lips pressed against his own, when Buck’s tongue is running along the seam of Eddie’s lips, waiting for them to part? How could he when their tongues make contact -- hot and wet and too much?

Not enough. Never enough.

His hands fist in Buck's curls, and they’re just as soft as he imagined them. What he couldn't have pictured even in his wildest dreams, though, is the way Buck moans into Eddie’s mouth when Eddie tightens his grip, pulling at Buck’s hair slightly.

“Tell me this is real,” Buck breathes hotly into Eddie’s ear, once he’s released the other man’s lips and kisses along his jaw to his ear. “Please, tell me I'm not dreaming and that I'll wake up with you gone.” 

“I'm real, this is real.” Eddie whispers. “I'm not going anywhere, Buck.” 

– 

Eddie blinks the sleep from his eyes, the next morning. It takes him a moment before he remembers where he is, and why there's an arm firmly wrapped around his waist and someone pressed against his back, Buck's warm breath tickling the back of his neck. 

“Morning,” Eddie raps out in a hoarse, gravelly voice full of sleep remains. He can feel Buck is awake, though, and he can't help the giddy smile that graces his lips. 

“You're not a dream,” Buck whispers and then Eddie feels him kiss his shoulder sweetly. 

Eddie turns around so they're facing each other— Buck's hair is a mess, pointing to every direction possible from aññ the many times Eddie ran his fingers through the strands last night, and his right cheek is covered in pillow marks. The soft morning light streams through the window above them, though, and Eddie thinks Buck's never looked so beautiful as he does now. 

“I'm real,” Eddie smiles tenderly and then, not caring for morning breath at all, surges forward and kisses Buck. Just because he can. Just because he gets to do that whenever he wants now. 

He shuffles closer on the mattress, and Buck's body grows soft and compliant, when Eddie’s body heat melts into him.

“So, not that I'm complaining or anything— but what made you knock on my door at 4:00 AM to confess your undying love for me?” 

“Who said anything about undying?” Eddie deadpans and then pinches Buck's cheek playfully. “And would you accept it if I said I can't really tell you and you might not believe me anyways but now everything's okay and I'm here to stay for good?” 

Buck tilts his head and frowns but answers almost immediately, “Yeah, I trust you.” 

“Good,” Eddie gives him another kiss. 

“What about Chris, though? You don't want to go to Texas to be with him?” 

“Nah, he'll come back.” Eddie says confidently. If these past few days have taught him anything, it is that Christopher knows what he's doing way more than Eddie ever did. It still hurts and Eddie misses him more than life itself, but he has to trust in his son. And he does. 

Buck kisses him again and really, Eddie thinks it shouldn't be as easy to just kiss a man after just recently coming to terms with everything. But somehow it is. 

Then again, everything's always been easy with Buck. Even when it wasn't.  

He doesn’t think anything of it when Buck starts playing with the seams of the sweatpants he lent Eddie last night, doesn’t do anything but smile slightly when Buck slips his finger inside to touch his skin. He doesn’t really pick up on it until Buck shifts to start kissing at his neck, taking his finger away from his kneecap and trailing his hand up the seam of his jeans.

Eddie can’t help but react, letting out a breathy little sigh as Buck sucks a mark into his collarbone. His hand stops at the meaty part of Eddie's upper inner thigh, squeezing gently and making Eddie twitch a bit.

He slides his hand up Buck's spine to play with his hair, scratching at Buck’s scalp while Eddie nips at his neck. Buck moans quietly against his skin and Eddie shivers, the sound going straight to his crotch.

He’s not hard yet, nerves of not measuring up to Buck's expectations rearing up his head and making him hesitate. It's not Buck or that he's not enjoying himself, but that Eddie's more inexperienced than he likes to admit and he's never— He's never even kissed a man before Buck. Let alone ever been with one. 

“I can hear your overthinking,” Buck breathes out against Eddie's neck. “We don't have to do anything, you know. We can take it slow,” he reassures him. “Sorry I got a little carried away just now,” he props himself on one elbow and looks at Eddie seriously. “but I love you and I can wait for as long as you need.” He looks down and trails a finger down Eddie’s arm. “I know how overwhelming your first experience with a man can be—” 

“It's not that.” Eddie says and then backtracks. “I mean, not really. I thought it would be harder, but… it's not. Maybe because it's you, ” he licks his lips. “I just… I want you, I'm just a little bit scared, I think.” 

Buck hums and kisses him chastely. “We can take it slow,” his fingers ghost over Eddie's cheekbone. “We have the rest of our lives, after all.” 

Eddie softens, practically melts into the mattress. 

“Yeah, you're right. We do.” 

They still have a lot to talk about but— they both know what they have is forever. They've danced around it for years and maybe they didn't realize it since the beginning, but what matters is that they got there in the end.

– 

October, 2038 

Christopher’s been back for a few weeks already and it's been a whirlwind of research, taking notes of the information they've gathered and writing an article to publish in any scientific magazine worth a dime. They also need to deal with press and social media and— Well, making a groundbreaking discovery in science that changes how we look at the universe and our understanding of space and time can be a bit overwhelming. 

But Christopher came back and with him an array of new memories flooding his brain: Buck and Eddie’s wedding, the baby girl they adopted together and that now is currently ten years old and the best little sister that Christopher could've ever asked for, one that she adores and loves to pieces; family's vacations, Christmases with all of them together. 

It makes Chris grateful that the experiment went wrong in the first place. 

Time travel, who would've thought?