Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Buck had read countless articles about suicidal thoughts. They all said the same thing—that no one wakes up one morning and simply decides to end it all. It’s a process, a slow descent that takes months, sometimes even years. Maybe that process had been happening to him, but if it had, he hadn’t noticed. All he knew was that on November 27th, at the monthly gathering in the Grant-Nash house, something inside him finally clicked.

It had been a warm, inviting evening. The house was filled with laughter, the rich scent of Karen’s homemade lasagna hanging in the air. Buck had excused himself to go to the bathroom, and when he returned, his seat was no longer his own. Jonah, his nine-month-old nephew, sat giggling in his high chair, happily banging a tiny fist against the table.

Everyone was talking, engaged in their own conversations. Maddie and Chimney were sitting close together, his arm wrapped protectively around her. Bobby and Athena shared a knowing glance across the table, exchanging a silent conversation only long-married couples could understand. Hen and Karen were side by side, whispering about something that made them both chuckle. Ravi was talking animatedly with May, they had linked arms, their connection effortless and natural. And there was Eddie, leaning toward Chris, the two of them laughing at a joke only they seemed to understand.

Buck stood there, unnoticed, watching them all. No one was angry with him. No one was ignoring him out of spite. No one needed him. And that was the moment it hit him: his absence wouldn’t change a thing.

A mental list started forming in his mind. Maddie, Bobby, Athena, Chimney, Hen, Chris, and Eddie. Seven people. Seven letters. Seven reasons to stay.

But Maddie didn’t need him anymore—she had Chimney and their daughter, a beautiful little family of her own. Bobby and Athena were perfectly happy; they had each other. Hen had never needed him, not really. Chris… Buck and Chris had managed to rebuild their friendship after Texas, but things with Eddie had never been the same since. They were fine, amicable, but there was a distance now, a space that hadn’t been there before.

So where did that leave him?

The thought was oddly freeing. For the first time in a long time, he felt permission. Permission to leave, to stop fighting, to finally let go.

As the conversations continued around him, Buck took a deep breath and forced a smile, slipping back into the gathering like nothing had changed. But inside, he knew—something had shifted. And for the first time, that thought didn’t scare him.

__

Eddie smiled at Buck as he returned to the table. Buck smiled back, but neither of them said a word.

It had been like this ever since Eddie came back from Texas. An unspoken distance had settled between them, something quiet but heavy, lingering in the spaces where words should have been. They weren’t exactly avoiding each other, but it felt like they were walking on opposite sides of the same road, careful not to drift too close.

Buck knew why. He knew exactly why he was the one pulling away.

Because if he got too close, he’d ruin him.

Eddie had spent so much time putting himself back together—somewhere far away, somewhere that had nothing to do with Buck. Texas had fixed him, or at least given him the space to breathe again. And Buck? Buck didn’t want to be the reason he fell apart all over again.

So he stayed quiet.

Even when Eddie’s eyes searched his, even when there was something just on the edge of being said—Buck kept the words locked behind his teeth.

Because maybe, just maybe, Eddie was better off without him.

__

Buck wanted to die. He wanted to let himself fall, to simply stop existing. It wasn’t as if something terrible had happened in the past twelve months. Not since Maddie had been kidnapped. Not since Eddie had left.

Eddie had eventually come back, without much of an explanation as to why. Buck hadn’t questioned it. He had simply accepted it. Maybe that was the moment when this feeling had latched onto his soul, sinking in like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Buck wouldn’t call his life a smooth ride. No, if he was being honest with himself, he’d been through a lot of shit. His childhood had been a mess, a long chain of disappointments and neglect. Then came the explosion, the lawsuit, the tsunami, the lightning strike, and so many other things that had chipped away at him. He had been falling for a long time.

For a while, Eddie had caught him, had held onto him, grounding him in ways no one else ever had. But Buck wasn’t easy to hold onto. Holding onto him was exhausting—too exhausting for Eddie to keep doing it. And so, eventually, Eddie had let go.

Now, Buck was on the verge of hitting the ground.

And he didn’t think anyone had noticed.

He functioned. That was what Buck did. He always functioned because he was terrified of what would happen if he didn’t. If he broke, if he let people see the cracks, they might decide he wasn’t worth keeping around.

So he smiled. He laughed. He worked. He showed up. And no one suspected a thing.

Now, he sat in his small apartment, the one he had moved into after Eddie came back. The air around him felt heavy, suffocating. On the table in front of him lay seven sheets of paper. Seven letters. Seven names. He stared at them for a long time before finally picking up a pen. He knew how long it could take to write those letters. Some people need day, some months, some even more. And some never finishes them, either they’d do it before or they couldn’t do it at all.

He started with the very first one.

The easiest one, so he thought.

"Dear Hen,"

Chapter Text

Dear Hen,

Have I ever told you what my first thought was when I saw you? Probably not, and honestly, I can't even remember it now. But what I do remember is the first time I heard you speak. You said, "Always." That was the first word I ever heard come out of your mouth. It stuck with me. And from that moment on, you were there. Always.

You stood by me even when I was stupid enough to fire myself, when I thought I had no way out. You didn't leave my side. I don’t know if I ever really thanked you for that, for sticking around when things were... less than perfect.

You were the perfect drinking buddy, the one who could laugh with me even when the world seemed like it was falling apart. You were the Alaric to my Damon. Yeah, I know, you never watched The Vampire Diaries , but trust me, I had a lot of time on my hands lately, so don't judge me. But it’s not just about the show—it’s about the bond, the kind of friendship that stays with you even when everything else is uncertain.

__

Buck headed to work, the unfinished letter to Hen still in his pocket. He understood now why some people took so long to write their letters. It wasn't just about the words; it was about finding the right ones, the ones that could capture the feeling, the things you couldn’t say out loud but hoped the other person would understand. It was harder than it seemed.

As he walked into the station, he spotted Bobby heading in his direction.

"Good morning, Buck," Bobby greeted, his voice warm as always. Buck smiled and gave him a nod, the kind of casual acknowledgment that had become second nature by now.

The smile felt a little off, though, like it didn't quite reach his eyes. Buck couldn’t remember the last time it did. It had been a while since he'd felt anything truly real.

He'd been thinking about this a lot lately—about the way things had shifted, about how he'd changed without even realizing it. A few days ago, he'd watched a film called Speak, a movie about a girl who stopped speaking completely. It wasn’t because she couldn’t speak, but because she chose not to, to see how long it would take for people to notice that something was wrong. In the movie, it didn’t take long. People noticed. They cared. They asked questions. They reached out.

But Buck, he knew it would be different for him. No one would notice. No one ever did.

He was the guy who kept talking, kept being the loud one, the one with the jokes and the endless stories. The one who never stopped talking, no matter how much he wanted to shut his mouth sometimes. It was easier to keep filling the silence with words than to let it sit there, heavy and uncomfortable. But lately, that constant chatter, the noise he created to fill the empty spaces, felt more like a mask. And as he stood there, nodding at Bobby and giving his usual, easy smile, it hit him: no one was really listening anymore. Not even Bobby. Not even Hen.

No one noticed when he was quiet.

It was so much easier to disappear now.

The thing was, Buck used to be the center of attention—whether he wanted to be or not. He had that energy about him, the kind of charisma that made him impossible to ignore. He was the one who’d crack a joke in the middle of a serious conversation, the one who would break the tension with a random story or an offhand comment that would make everyone laugh. He had always been the guy who made everyone feel better. But now, he was starting to feel like the guy who didn't quite belong anywhere. Like he was standing in the corner of a room full of people, hoping someone would see him, but knowing that no one really would.

He sighed, pulling himself out of his thoughts as Bobby spoke again.

"Everything okay, Buck? You seem... off."

Buck glanced at him, trying to read his expression. Bobby was a good guy—hell, Buck trusted him—but there was something in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t asking because he wanted to know, but because it was the polite thing to do. He wasn’t really asking if Buck was okay, not in the way that mattered. Not like he used to.

"Yeah, just tired," Buck replied, offering a quick shrug, a gesture so practiced it felt almost automatic.

Bobby looked like he was going to say something more, but Buck quickly shifted the topic. "So, what's on the agenda today?"

"Same as always," Bobby replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Just another day in paradise."

Buck chuckled softly, but it didn’t feel real. It felt like a sound that had been hollowed out, something that came from the outside and not from within. He was used to this routine—the banter, the lightheartedness—but it felt so much heavier now. The weight of everything that had happened, everything that was happening, hung around his neck like a chain he couldn’t shake off.

He realized then that it wasn't just about being seen or heard. It was about being understood. And that was something Buck hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe ever.

He used to think that if he just kept talking, kept being himself, people would eventually get it. They’d understand him. But now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t even understand himself anymore.

"Right," Buck said, nodding again, trying to shake off the heavy thoughts that had started to creep up on him. "Same old, same old."

As Bobby walked off, Buck found himself standing there, staring at the floor, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His mind wandered back to the letter in his pocket—the unfinished letter to Hen. He’d started it days ago, but something always held him back from finishing it. The words felt too big, too important, like they needed to be just right. But how could he write something that could capture everything he was feeling, when he barely understood it himself?

He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say to her. He didn’t know if it was too late. He didn’t know if it was right.

Buck had never been good at saying the things that really mattered. He’d always relied on jokes and stories to cover up the parts of himself that he didn’t know how to express. He’d always been the loud one, the one who talked a lot because it was easier than letting anyone get too close. But now? Now he wasn’t sure he could hide behind words anymore.

He thought about Eddie. Thought about everything that had happened, how things had been when Eddie came back from Texas. How they'd both danced around the things they really needed to say to each other, like there was some invisible barrier keeping them from getting too close.

It wasn’t just Eddie, though. It was everyone. It was the way he had learned to disappear. It was the way no one noticed when he was silent, when he wasn’t the one filling up the space with noise.

It was easier to be invisible.

__

It was a quiet shift. So quiet, in fact, that Buck found himself walking over to the large dining table in the break room and sitting down. He pulled out the crumpled, unfinished letter to Hen from his pocket, smoothing it out on the table in front of him. The words were still there, half-formed, like a puzzle that couldn’t quite be completed. But there they were, sitting on the paper, just waiting to be said.

If anyone walked in right now and asked him what he was doing, Buck knew the whole thing would fall apart. The questions would start, the curiosity, and before he knew it, everyone would be poking into something that wasn’t meant to be shared. Nobody came to check what Buck was doing that afternoon in December.

__

I’m sure you’ll wonder why I’m writing this. Maybe even why I’m writing it to you. But, Hen, you’ve always been there, even when I’ve been a mess. You’re one of the few people who could stand to have me around, and for that, I’m grateful.

I know this might be a lot to take in, and I can already imagine you reading this and thinking I’m being overdramatic or that I’ve completely lost it. Maybe that’s true. Maybe I have. But please, try to understand. I don’t expect you to fully get it, and honestly, I don’t think you should. But I need to say it anyway.

I don’t know how else to explain it. Over time, everything’s just built up. The pressure, the weight, the way it all starts to feel like it’s closing in. I’ve been carrying it around for so long, and I’ve tried, God knows I’ve tried, to make it work, to find a way to make everything make sense. But, Hen, it just doesn’t anymore.

I think you know, at least on some level, that I’ve never been the best at dealing with things. I try to cover it all up with humor or trying to be the loud one, the guy who doesn’t take things too seriously. But the truth is, that’s never been who I am. It’s just a mask I’ve worn. And now? Now I’m done with pretending.

You’re a good person, Hen. You don’t need to hear that from me. I know you’re strong enough to stand on your own, even when things get hard. But I need you to know that it’s not because of you. It’s not because of anything you’ve done or haven’t done.

I’ve just reached a point where I can’t keep going. The weight of everything is too much. I’ve tried to get through it, tried to ignore the dark thoughts, but they’re always there, and no matter how much I push them down, they always rise up again. I know you’ll probably hate me for doing this, but I don’t want to be a burden anymore.

I’m not expecting you to forgive me. Hell, you probably won’t even understand. But I’m writing this because, in some strange way, I think you might be one of the few people who might wonder what happened, who might need some kind of explanation. Even if it doesn’t make sense, even if it’s not enough.

Please don’t blame yourself. I know how that might sound—like I’m asking for some kind of absolution—but I need you to understand that you didn’t fail me. This isn’t your fault. It’s not about you, Hen. It’s just something I’ve been battling for a long time, and I don’t know how to fight it anymore.

You’ve been good to me, more than you might realize. We haven’t always been close, but in a strange way, your presence has always been a steady one. And for that, I want to thank you.

I’m doing this because it feels like the only way I can finally find peace. Maybe that sounds selfish, but I don’t know how else to explain it.

Take care of yourself, Hen. You don’t need me to tell you how strong you are. You’ve shown it time and time again.

Goodbye,
Buck

__

Buck placed his pen down slowly, his fingers trembling as they lingered on the cool surface of the kitchen table. It was late, the small, dimly lit room feeling colder than it should be. The kitchen, usually bustling with the sounds of meals being prepared or the occasional hum of the coffee maker, was eerily silent now. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator’s motor in the corner of the room.

He wiped his eyes, feeling the dampness on his cheeks, the tears he hadn’t even realized were there. His mind was still racing, but his body felt like it was in a daze, almost like the letter he had just written wasn’t his own words. It felt too raw, too real for something he had been too afraid to say out loud for so long. And yet, here it was, laid out on the page—his emotions, his thoughts, his darkest fears—all poured out in messy ink.

He snorted bitterly under his breath. "Cause I’m a real tough kid, I can handle my shit," he mumbled, his voice cracking as he quoted a line from a Taylor Swift song. He almost laughed, the sound coming out more like a choked sob. It was so ridiculous—this was what he was left with. He had just bared his soul in a letter he’d never intended to send, and now he was humming a pop song as a way to cope with the aftermath.

The contradiction was overwhelming. How had it come to this? The letter, the finality of it all—it had become a testament to everything he’d been holding in for so long. And yet, in the silence of the kitchen, it didn’t feel like enough. No matter how many times he read it over, no matter how carefully he crafted the words, the emptiness in him still remained.

He took the sheet of paper, carefully folding it in half. He didn’t even know why he was putting it in an envelope, knowing full well he wasn’t going to see anyone again. Still, he did it. It felt like the only thing left to do, the only piece of action he could take. His handwriting was still as sloppy as ever as he scrawled “For Hen” on the front of the blue envelope in the same shaky, unsteady script.

And then, without another thought, he stood up.

The room seemed to spin as he walked towards the bathroom, his legs feeling like they were moving through molasses. He was numb, like he wasn’t fully present in his own body anymore. His mind was a mess of fragmented thoughts, but there was one thing that stood out clearly—he needed to finish it. He needed to do it now.

Once he stepped into the bathroom, the small space felt suffocating. He leaned over the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain as if he needed something solid to anchor him. He didn’t have to think about it anymore. He didn’t want to.

And then, it happened. His stomach lurched violently, and before he could even react, he felt everything he had eaten in the past few hours rise up. The harshness of it all hit him like a wave, his body reacting as if it couldn’t hold onto anything any longer. He leaned over the sink, bracing himself, the taste in his mouth unbearable.

This is it, he thought. I’m really doing it.

It felt almost surreal. His mind was too clouded, his body shaking with the effort to breathe through the pain. But the thought of it being over—the uncertainty, the darkness, the weight of everything that had been building inside him—was almost a relief. For the first time in a long while, the chaos felt like it was being quieted, like the storm in his chest was finally slowing down.

After what felt like an eternity, he stood up straight, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The cold bathroom air felt sharp against his skin, and for a moment, he was aware of the stillness again. His heart pounded in his ears, the silence pressing down on him.

But there was no turning back now.

1/7

Chapter Text

Dear Chimney,

You have been so much more than just a friend to me—you’ve been a brother in every way that counts. Through everything, through the worst of it, you have always been there. For me, for Maddie, for everyone who has ever needed you. And I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much that really means to me.

You are the best husband I could ever hope for my sister to have—the kind of man who stands by her side no matter what, who loves her through every storm, who makes her feel safe in a way she’s never truly had before. And as a father, Chim, there’s no one better. Jee-Yun, Jonah and whatever little troublemaker comes next—they have the dad they deserve. The kind of dad who shows up, who loves them unconditionally, who will always put them first.

I wish I had been as good to you as you have always been to me. And for that, I need to say I’m sorry. I let you down when Maddie disappeared. I know I did. You were hurting just as much as I was, and instead of standing by you, instead of being the friend and brother you needed, I pulled away. My loyalty to her… it outweighed everything else. Not because I didn’t care about you, but because I was so afraid of losing her.

I see that now. I see all the ways I failed you, all the ways I should have done better.

—

Buck sat on the worn-out couch in the firehouse lounge, absently twirling a loose thread on his sleeve. The station was quiet, the kind of lull that felt unnatural—like the calm before a storm. He let his head rest against the back of the couch, eyes unfocused, lost somewhere in his own thoughts. That was becoming a habit lately. Just existing in the space between one call and the next, one breath and the next.

The cushion beside him dipped suddenly, and without looking, Buck already knew who it was. Eddie. There was a kind of familiarity to the way Eddie moved, the way he took up space, the way his presence settled next to Buck’s like it had always belonged there. And yet, something was different. They weren’t them anymore—not in the way they used to be. Before Texas, before the distance that had crept between them like an unspoken ghost, they had been effortless. Now, everything felt heavy, careful, like walking on ice that was just waiting to crack beneath them.

Eddie didn’t say anything at first, just sat there, mirroring Buck’s silence. That was another thing that had changed—Eddie didn’t push anymore. Before, he would have nudged, prodded, picked away at the edges of whatever was eating at Buck until it all came spilling out. But now, he just sat beside him, waiting. Maybe he was tired of waiting.

“How’s it going?” Eddie finally asked, his voice deliberately casual, like he wasn’t trying too hard.

Buck nodded, the lie already forming before he even had to think about it. “I’m good.”

It was short, clipped—barely enough words to fill the space between them. But Eddie only nodded in return, the way people do when they know they’re being lied to but don’t want to press.

Before Texas, Eddie would have seen right through him in an instant. But this wasn’t before. This was after. And after came with distance, with unspoken things that built walls neither of them had tried hard enough to break down.

Eddie cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Chris has something at school in a month on Tuesday,” he said, his voice lighter now, like he was making an effort to keep things normal. “He wanted me to ask if you’d come.”

Oh. Chris wanted him to come. Not Eddie.

That distinction stung more than Buck wanted to admit. Once upon a time, Eddie wouldn’t have felt the need to phrase it like that. He would have just invited him outright, because of course Buck would be there. But now, everything came with qualifiers.

Still, Buck nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Of course. I’d love to come.” One month… That sounded like a good deadline (no pun intended). He could deal with another month. Another Christmas, another New Years, Chris school thing and then… He might be ready. Might have written all his letters.

“Good,” Eddie said, nodding again. The silence stretched between them, something unfinished hanging in the air. Their conversation had technically run its course, but neither of them moved. It felt like they were standing on opposite sides of a canyon, looking across at each other but not knowing how to bridge the gap.

Eddie exhaled slowly, then turned to Buck again, his brow furrowed. “Hey, man… are you sure you’re okay?” His voice was softer now, less performative. “I know we haven’t had a lot of time to hang out lately, but I miss you. If you ever want to do something—grab a beer, watch a game, whatever—just let me know. My door’s always open.”

Buck swallowed hard. The words should have been comforting. They should have made him feel like he wasn’t as alone as he had convinced himself he was. But all they did was make his chest ache.

“Thanks,” he managed to say, voice barely above a whisper.

And then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt, Hen and Chimney walked in from the kitchen, laughing about something Buck hadn’t been paying attention to. Hen’s gaze landed on them immediately, and with a smirk, she said, “Well, well, Buck and Eddie, reunited at last.”

The joke landed awkwardly, pulling the weight of the moment down with it. Buck stiffened, the tension in his shoulders returning full force. Eddie barely reacted, but Chimney, ever perceptive, was already changing the subject.

“Jonah almost took his first steps today,” Chimney announced, grinning as if his son’s near-accomplishment was the greatest thing to ever happen.

Eddie let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “The kid’s nine months old, man. What are you even talking about?”

And just like that, they fell into a discussion—Chimney arguing that his kid was advanced, Eddie countering with amusement, Hen chiming in with her own input. It was an easy, familiar back and forth, the kind that Buck had once been a part of without even thinking. But now, it felt like white noise.

He sat there, watching them, the conversation playing out around him, but not really hearing it. He felt separate from it all, like an outsider looking in. Like maybe he didn’t belong there anymore.

He clenched his hands into fists in his lap, trying to shake the thought away. But it lingered. It stayed.

And he had no idea how to fix it.

—

I know I might not be in a position to ask you for anything, but I need to anyway. Please, take care of Maddie. She’s going to blame herself—I know she will. And she doesn’t need that weight on her shoulders. She has carried enough already. Please, tell her that. Make sure she knows this isn’t her fault. And please tell your kids funny Buck stories as they get older, so they will know how to not do it.

I thought about apologizing, I really did. But the truth is… I’m not sorry. And maybe that is what I’m sorry for. I love you.

Buck.

—

It was the same routine as after Hen’s letter. The same shaking fingers, the same quiet, deliberate movements. Buck folded the letter carefully, pressing the creases down with his thumb, as if making it perfect would somehow make it easier. It didn’t. He reached for one of the six remaining envelopes, slipping the letter inside before scrawling Chimney across the front in his usual messy handwriting. His hand hesitated for just a second before he sealed it shut.

And then the nausea hit.

Buck barely made it to the bathroom in time. He gripped the sink for support, chest heaving, before dropping to his knees over the toilet. His stomach twisted violently, and everything he had eaten that day—though it hadn’t been much—came back up in painful, shuddering waves.

Every letter made it more real. Every letter was another step closer.

And that terrified him.

But at the same time, it was freeing in a way he hadn’t expected. The weight of everything he had been carrying for so long—the guilt, the exhaustion, the loneliness—was finally lifting, piece by piece, letter by letter.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time, he was finally in control.

2/7

Chapter Text

Dear Athena,

When we first met, you didn’t like me. Actually, no—let’s be honest. You couldn’t stand me. I was reckless, arrogant, always throwing myself into danger without a second thought. I know I frustrated you. Hell, I frustrated everyone. But you? You never held back from telling me exactly what you thought. I can still hear your voice, sharp and unyielding, cutting through my bullshit like a knife. And I won’t lie—back then, I thought you were terrifying.

I’m pretty sure that even by our second and third encounters, you still weren’t my biggest fan. But then, that little girl. That day. We saved her together. And something changed.

I don’t know if you even realized it, but from that moment on, you took me in. Not officially, not in any way that people might notice, but you did. You watched out for me, called me out when I needed it, made sure I wasn’t completely destroying myself. And I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you for that.

Because the truth is, you filled spaces in my life I didn’t even realize were empty. Spaces I had spent years pretending didn’t exist, because it was easier that way. The space of someone who cares unconditionally. Someone who protects. Someone who loves, not because they have to, but because they choose to.

You became something I never had—a steady, guiding force, a voice of reason when mine failed me, a mother.

And I know I’ve never told you that. I probably never would have, if I wasn’t writing this now. But it’s the truth. You are, and always have been, my mother. Even if I was never really your son.

__

Buck sat in the back corner of the small café, head lowered, fingers absentmindedly spinning his pen. In front of him lay a half-written letter—Athena’s letter.

Every sentence felt heavier than the last. He had rewritten it countless times, crossed out words, started over, then started over again.

There was so much he wanted to say, but every time he thought he had found the right words, they felt wrong. Too much. Too little. Incomplete.

The soft chime of the café door opening pulled him from his thoughts. He tensed. His eyes flickered upward just in time to see Athena stepping inside, scanning the room with that sharp, assessing gaze of hers.

Shit.

With a quick movement, he folded the letter and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Then he grabbed his coffee, lifting it to his lips as if he’d been doing nothing but casually enjoying his drink.

Athena spotted him instantly and made her way over, moving with the same quiet confidence she always had.

"Hey, Buck," she greeted as she slid into the chair across from him. "So I finally managed to drag you out of your cave."

Buck forced a small smile. "Guess so."

"And here I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to answer your phone," she said, tilting her head slightly.

"I've just been… busy."

Athena raised an eyebrow. "Too busy to check in?"

"Not on purpose," he said, evasively, taking another sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

A waitress approached, and Athena ordered a black coffee before turning her attention back to Buck.

"So," she said, leaning back in her seat, "what have you been up to?"

"Not much. Just work."

"Uh-huh." She studied him for a moment, her eyes sharp, as if she could see right through him. "And besides work? Everything okay?"

Buck nodded, maybe a little too quickly. "Yeah. I'm good."

"Mhm."

She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go—for now.

"So," Buck said, grasping at the chance to shift the focus off himself, "anything new with you?"

"Oh, you know Bobby—always keeping me busy." She smirked slightly. "Other than that? Nothing you don’t already know. Michael’s planning another trip, Harry suddenly wants to play basketball, and May is still trying to figure out what’s next for her."

"Sounds like a lot."

"Always." Athena picked up the coffee the waitress had placed in front of her, murmured a quick thank you, and blew gently over the steam.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

Buck tapped his fingers against the table absentmindedly, his mind drifting back to the letter in his pocket.

"So," Athena said after a beat, glancing briefly toward his jacket, "what were you up to before I got here?"

"Nothing special," Buck said too quickly.

Athena pressed her lips together, saying nothing. Instead, she took a slow sip of her coffee, giving him space to speak.

He didn’t.

__

The conversation with Athena had thrown Buck off more than he wanted to admit.

She was right—he had pulled away.

Ever since that dinner, nearly a week ago, he had started withdrawing. Not all at once, not in a way that people would immediately notice, but gradually, quietly. He stopped reaching out. He stopped answering messages right away. He let calls go to voicemail. It wasn’t that he was ignoring them, not really. It was just easier this way.

And the others… well, they didn’t reach out either. Not in a real way. Not the way Athena had.

Athena had been the first. The first to really look at him and see something wasn’t right. The first to push. And when he had seen the concern in her eyes—the honest, raw worry—it had rattled something in him.

It had been a long time since someone had looked at him like that.

It didn’t matter, he told himself.

She would be fine. They all would.

They would survive.

He just needed to do this one thing for himself. This one last thing. And that didn’t make him a bad person. It didn’t make him selfish.

He slowed to a stop, bending forward with his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath.

His lungs burned, his chest ached, and his entire body was screaming at him to stop. He had been running for miles, pushing himself harder, faster, until the pain in his body became louder than the pain in his head.

The thick evening air clung to his skin, humid and heavy, making every breath feel like a battle. His heart pounded wildly against his ribs, and for a moment, he thought he might throw up.

But he welcomed the pain.

He needed it.

It was the only thing that made him feel real.

He clenched his fists, tilting his head back to stare up at the darkening sky. The streetlights buzzed faintly, flickering against the deep indigo above him.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted someone to stop him.

He wanted Athena to have followed him, to have seen the way his hands trembled when he picked up his coffee, the way his voice wavered when he told her he was fine.

He wanted someone—anyone—to say, "I see you."

But no one was coming.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t that he wanted to die.

He just didn’t want to live like this anymore.

__

You saw me.

And I needed that more than anything else. More than I can even begin to explain.

Please, don’t be angry with me.

I know—I know this is selfish. Or at least, that’s what people will say. That’s what you’ll probably say. But this isn’t about anyone else. This is a decision I made for myself, one I came to on my own.

And I truly, truly believe… it’s better this way.

For everyone.

Please, believe me when I say this was never your fault. You couldn’t have changed anything. You couldn’t have saved me.

But you did love me.

And I loved you so much.

I still do.

Buckaroo

___

The third envelope, the nausea, his spidery handwriting on the envelope, his trembling fingers, his walk to the toilet, falling to his knees in front of it and emptying the contents of his stomach and then, feeling a little, little bit lighter.

3/7

Chapter Text

Dear Bobby,

Buck picked up the pen, his fingers tightening around it as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The weight of what he was about to write settled deep in his chest, pressing down like an anchor dragging him beneath the surface. This was the letter that would set everything in motion—the one that would push him over the edge and solidify the decision he had already made. He had four letters left to write. Bobby. Maddie. Chris. And… well, the last one would come when the time was right.

But now, it was Bobby’s turn.

Bobby, the man who had believed in him since day one. The man who had taken a chance on him when no one else did, who called him ‘kid’ like it was some kind of badge of honor. Bobby, who had knelt beside his hospital bed after the lightning strike, hands clasped so tightly in prayer that his knuckles had turned white. Praying. Begging. Hoping that Buck would make it through, that he would wake up, that he would stay.

And Buck had. He had fought his way back.

For what?

So he could undo it all now?

His stomach twisted at the thought, and for a brief moment, doubt crept in like a slow-moving tide. Maybe Bobby had been right to pray for him back then. Maybe Buck had been meant to stay. But that was then. Back when he still had problems to solve, when there were people who needed him. Eddie. Bobby. Chris.

But now?

Now, they didn’t need him anymore.

Now, he was free to go.

Buck swallowed the lump in his throat and lowered the pen to the paper. He hesitated for only a moment before the words began to spill out.

__

Dear Bobby,

I don’t even know where to start. You were—are—so much more to me than just a captain. You have been my mentor, my role model, my friend. In a lot of ways, you were th e father I never had, though I don’t think I ever told you that. I should have.

I remember the first time we met. I was just some reckless kid who thought he could take on the world with nothing but arrogance and adrenaline. And you? You saw something in me that no one else did. You gave me a chance when no one else would have. You saw past all the bullshit and decided I was worth keeping around. I’ve spent years trying to figure out why.

Why did you fight for me? Why did you take the time to guide me, to teach me, to mold me into someone better?

Why did you care?

Because I know I made it hard. I know I tested your patience, pushed every boundary, ignored every order. And still, you stood by me. Still, you looked at me like I was worth something. Even after everything, after every mistake I made, every time I nearly got myself killed, you still called me ‘kid’ like it was something good. Like it meant I belonged.

And I did.

For a while, at least.

But things are different now, Bobby. I can’t be that reckless kid anymore. I don’t know how to be him, and I don’t know how to be anyone else. And I know—God, I know—what you would say if you were here reading this right now.

You’d tell me that it gets better. That I’m not alone. That I’m loved.

I believe you. I do. But, Bobby, love has never been enough to fix me. And I need you to understand that.

You prayed for me once, remember? When I was lying in that hospital bed, hanging on by a thread. You prayed that I’d make it, that I’d open my eyes, that I’d stay. And I did. Because back then, I still had something to fight for.

Now, I don’t.

And I need you to let me go.

I know this will hurt you. I hate that. If I could spare you this pain, I would. But I need you to believe that this isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have saved me. You did everything you could—you gave me a purpose, a home, a family. And I am so, so grateful for that.

But this is my choice. And I need you to let me make it.

Take care of them, okay? Hen, Chimney, Eddie, Maddie. Chris. They need you.

And, Bobby? Take care of yourself, too. You deserve that.

Love always,
Buck.

__

Buck stared down at the words he had written, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. No. This was too easy. Way too easy. He glanced at the clock—less than half an hour. That’s all it had taken. His throat was tight, his eyes wet, but he didn’t feel sick. Why didn’t he feel sick?

His fingers clenched around the paper before he could stop himself, crumpling it into a tight ball. With a force that was just shy of violent, he hurled it into the trash can in the corner of his kitchen. This wasn’t right. He was making this too easy on himself.

Buck wasn’t stupid. He never had been, not really. He knew Bobby loved him. He knew Hen and Chimney did too. He knew Maddie did—God, of course, Maddie did. And Eddie… Eddie, who had pulled him out of the rubble, who had looked at him with so much trust and expectation. Eddie, who had let him be a part of Chris’s life like it was the most natural thing in the world.

So why the hell couldn’t he accept that? What the fuck was wrong with him?

A strangled noise clawed its way out of his throat, something between a sob and a scream. And then suddenly, he was moving.

The chair he had been sitting in crashed backward as he shoved himself to his feet. His hands found the closest object—a coffee mug Maddie had given him for Christmas last year—and he hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, ceramic pieces skidding across the floor. The sound barely registered before he was reaching for something else, anything else, grabbing the stack of unopened mail on the counter and sweeping it onto the floor.

He gasped, his breath hitching painfully as his chest tightened, burning from the effort of breathing. His vision blurred as more tears welled up, but he didn’t wipe them away. He couldn’t. His hands weren’t steady enough.

His fingers found the edge of the table, curling so tightly his knuckles turned white. And then, with an agonized growl, he flipped it over. The weight of it sent a deafening crash through the apartment as it hit the floor, the sound echoing around him.

He stood there for a moment, heaving, his entire body trembling. The silence that followed was deafening. The room was a mess—shattered glass, papers scattered across the floor, furniture overturned. Chaos. Just like his mind. Just like his life.

And then, finally, his knees buckled.

He sank to the floor, his body folding in on itself, arms wrapping around his middle as though he could somehow hold himself together. But he was already falling apart.

A sob tore through him, followed by another, and another. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, but it was useless. He was crying too hard to stop it, the tears spilling over, soaking into his shirt. His body shook with the force of it, his breath coming in uneven, gasping shudders.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, curled up on the floor of his destroyed apartment, drowning in everything he had been trying so desperately to push down. Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Because this was it. He had nothing left to fight with. Nothing left to give.

And no matter how many times people told him they loved him, no matter how many times he tried to believe it, the truth remained the same.

He wasn’t enough.

He had never been enough.

And he never would be.

__

Buck walked into the firehouse the next day as if nothing had happened. He went through the motions, exchanging casual greetings, grabbing a cup of coffee, settling into the usual routine. But beneath it all, he knew. He knew what had happened last night. He had seen the cuts on his hands that morning in the bathroom mirror, red and angry against his skin, a reminder of his breakdown. Now, he just had to hope that no one else would notice.

For a while, it worked. He buried himself in work, keeping busy, keeping his hands in his pockets whenever possible. But then Bobby sat down across from him, his face serious, his eyes scanning Buck like he already knew something was off.

“Kiddo,” Bobby said, his voice calm, steady—like it always was when he was about to say something that Buck wouldn’t necessarily want to hear. “Athena and I are having Christmas dinner at our place on Christmas Eve. That way, everyone can spend Christmas Day with their families. Everyone’s coming, and we’d love for you to be there.”

Christmas dinner. Christmas Eve. Family. The words barely registered before Buck nodded automatically.

“Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”

Bobby nodded, but his eyes flickered downward, and Buck knew exactly what he was looking at. His hands.

“Oh no,” Bobby muttered, reaching out before Buck could react. “What happened?”

Buck hesitated and followed Bobby’s gaze. His hands were resting on the table, and now that he was actually looking, he could see the two thin, jagged cuts across his knuckles. Small, but noticeable. Dammit.

“Nothing,” Buck said too quickly, pulling his hands back. “Just a small accident at home.”

Bobby’s expression didn’t change. He just gave him that look—the one Buck hated, the one that meant Bobby didn’t believe a single word coming out of his mouth. But instead of pressing, Bobby just stood up.

“I’ll grab some disinfectant,” he said simply, already walking away. “Doesn’t look like you cleaned those up properly.”

Buck sighed, running a hand down his face. He didn’t argue. He didn’t see the point. Within minutes, Bobby was back, setting down a small first-aid kit on the table and pulling out antiseptic wipes. He was quiet as he worked, dabbing gently at the cuts, his touch careful but firm. It was an oddly familiar sensation, something Buck had experienced more times than he could count over the years. Bobby taking care of him.

“You should be more careful,” Bobby said softly, applying small bandages over the cuts. “Hands are important in our line of work.”

Buck swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Bobby finished wrapping up the last bandage, then pushed a pair of gloves toward him—the better-padded ones Buck knew Bobby favored. “Take these,” he said. “They’ll protect your hands.”

Buck hesitated before taking them. “Thanks.”

Bobby didn’t say anything else. He just gave him a small nod before standing up, and a moment later, the alarm rang, calling them out to a new emergency. The moment was over. It was like nothing had happened. But something had.

When Buck got home that night, he walked straight into his kitchen and stared at the trash can. The crumpled letter was still sitting there, partially covered by an empty takeout container. He didn’t know why, but he reached in, pulled it out, and carefully smoothed out the creased paper, running his hands over the words he had written.

Too easy, he thought. It had been too easy to throw it away. Too easy to pretend it wasn’t there. That wasn’t fair—not to Bobby, not to himself.

So he grabbed an envelope, slid the letter inside, and sealed it shut. Then, as he turned toward the bathroom, he felt it—the nausea rising in his throat. His stomach twisted painfully, and within seconds, he was on his knees in front of the toilet, heaving violently.

Three more letters. Three more.

He could do this.

He had to.

4/7

Chapter Text

The week after Buck had written Bobby’s letter had been good. Really good. He hadn’t started another letter, and Maddie had invited him to go Christmas shopping for the kids with her. He had agreed without hesitation, and it had felt... normal. Easy, even.

They spent the afternoon strolling through stores, Maddie enthusiastically picking out gifts while Buck trailed beside her, pretending not to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices. They bought a dollhouse for Jee, something Maddie insisted she would absolutely adore. For Jonah, Maddie picked out some kind of interactive book that spoke to you. Buck found it a little creepy, but Maddie had assured him that it was great for cognitive development. “Alright, sure, whatever you say, Doctor Maddie,” he had joked, earning an amused eye-roll from his sister.

But the hardest gift to pick out had been for Chris. Buck had agonized over it, walking the aisles again and again, trying not to dwell on the gnawing thought that this would be the last Christmas present he ever gave him. He pushed that thought away and instead focused on finding something Chris would genuinely love. Eventually, he decided on a set of board games that Chris had mentioned wanting for months. Something they could all play together. Something that, at least for a little while, might make Chris smile.

After their shopping, Maddie suggested they grab something to eat. They ended up in a cozy little diner, sharing plates of fries and laughing over stupid stories. For the first time in a long time, Buck felt light. The closer he got to his deadline, the easier things seemed to become. It was as if he had finally let go of the weight pressing down on him. He didn’t have to worry about the future anymore because, soon, there wouldn’t be one. And that thought wasn’t scary. It was... freeing.

“Mads,” Buck said suddenly as they finished their meal.

Maddie looked up at him, still sipping her milkshake. “Yeah?”

“Do you know how much I love you?”

Maddie blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. “Uh, yeah? Are you okay?”

Buck laughed, shaking his head. “I’m fine. Can’t I just tell my big sister I love her?”

Maddie smiled, but there was a flicker of something uncertain in her eyes. “Of course, you can. And I love you too.”

They paid the bill and left the diner, stepping out into the chilly evening air. Maddie shivered, hugging her coat closer around herself. “You wanna come in for a bit?” she asked when they reached her house.

Buck hesitated. “Nah, I think I’ll just head home.”

Maddie gave him a look, as if she wanted to say something more, but instead, she just nodded. “Okay. Thanks for coming with me today.”

“Anytime.” It was a lie. He knew it. This was the last time he was ever gift shopping with his sister. His beautiful, perfect, smart big sister, who had done nothing, but to care for him her whole life. HSe didn’t deserve that.

He stood by his truck and watched as she walked up to the front door. It was Chimney who opened it, a smiling Jee balanced on his hip. The little girl beamed when she saw her mom, reaching out with grabby hands. Maddie laughed, taking her daughter into her arms, kissing her temple as they disappeared inside. Buck could see them through the window, Maddie and Chimney talking, their little family wrapped in warmth and laughter.

They didn’t need him.

He got into his truck and sat there for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, chest tight.

Maybe, just maybe, Maddie had noticed something was off. Maybe she had almost said something. But she didn’t, because she had a life. A good one. A life that was full, even without him in it.

And soon, it wouldn’t just be without him. It would be free of him.

And that was okay, he decided.

__

Maddie,

I don’t really know how to start this, because how do you put a lifetime into a letter? How do I make sure that the last thing I ever say to you is enough? I don’t think I can, not really, but I need to try. You deserve that. You’ve always deserved more than what life gave you, and I wish I could have been the person to make sure you got it. But you have Chim now, and Jee and Jonah. You have love, and safety, and happiness. You have everything you always should have had.

I know this is going to hurt you, and I hate that. I hate that I’m doing this to you, but Maddie, please, please understand—it’s not your fault. It never was. There’s nothing you could have done to stop this, because this was never about you. It’s about me. It’s about something broken inside of me that I never learned how to fix. And maybe that’s the hardest thing to admit. That I tried. I really did. I fought for so long. But I’m just… tired, Mads. I’m tired in a way that sleep can’t fix. In a way that time doesn’t heal. And I know you’re going to think I should have fought harder, held on longer, but Maddie… I’ve spent my whole life holding on to something that was never meant for me.

Do you remember when we were kids, and I would follow you around everywhere? I must have been so annoying, always tugging at your sleeve, always wanting to be where you were. You were my world, Maddie. You were the only person who ever really saw me. I don’t know if I ever told you that. If I didn’t, I should have. I should have told you a lot of things. Like how you saved me, over and over again, in ways you probably never even realized.

That’s the thing about you—you were always saving me. Even when you were the one who needed saving. You took care of me when no one else did. You protected me, you loved me when it felt like no one else would. And I wish I had been able to do the same for you. I wish I had been stronger, been better. I wish I had fought harder for you when you needed me most. Maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be here. Maybe if I had, this letter wouldn’t exist.

But Maddie, you have to believe me when I say—this is not your fault.

You have a life now. A beautiful, messy, wonderful life. You have a family. A home. A love that’s real and steady and safe. And I need you to hold onto that. I need you to live the life that I couldn’t. Not for me, not out of guilt, but because you deserve it. Because you fought for it, and you won. And I am so, so proud of you.

I don’t want you to feel like you failed me. You didn’t. If anything, you were the only thing that ever kept me going for as long as I did. You were my light in the dark, the one person who never turned away from me, even when I was at my worst. You never stopped believing in me, even when I stopped believing in myself. I hope you know how much that meant to me. I hope you know how much I love you.

And I do, Mads. I love you so much. That’s why this is so hard. Because I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want you to hurt. But I also don’t know how to stay. I don’t know how to keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. And I know you would tell me that I don’t have to pretend, that I can talk to you, that we could find a way to make it better. But Maddie… I don’t think there is a way. Not for me.

Please don’t be angry with me. Please don’t hate me for this. I know it’s selfish, I know it’s cruel, and I know it will leave a hole in your heart that no one else can fill. And I’m sorry for that. God, I am so, so sorry. But if you ever loved me, and I know you did, then please—let me go. Let me have this. Let this be the one thing that is truly mine.

I need you to take care of yourself. I need you to be happy. I need you to keep laughing the way you did when we were picking out presents for Jee and Jonah. Do you remember that? God, you laughed so hard at that talking book, and for a second, just a second, I almost let myself believe that everything would be okay. That I could stay. That I could be part of this life. But then I saw you with Chim, and with Jee, and I realized—you already have everything you need. And that made it easier. Not easy, but easier.

You don’t need me anymore, Maddie.

And that’s okay.

That’s good.

I need you to live, Maddie. I need you to keep moving forward, even when it hurts. Even when it feels impossible. Because if there is anyone strong enough to survive this, it’s you. You’ve already survived so much worse. You’ve walked through hell and come out the other side. And I know you will make it through this too. Because that’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been.

You are so much more than the things that have happened to you.

You are love, and kindness, and strength.

You are the best thing that ever happened to me.

And I need you to remember that.

I need you to remember me, not for this, not for the way it ends, but for the way it was. For the way we laughed. For the way we fought. For the way we loved each other, even when everything else fell apart.

You were my first home, Maddie. And I will love you until the end of time.

Evan.

5/7

Chapter Text

Buck stood outside the Nash-Grant house, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. His breath made small clouds in the cold December air. Through the large windows, he could see the warm glow of the lights inside, shadows moving around—laughter, people embracing, the clink of dishes. Everything seemed peaceful. Cozy.

He knew he was welcome here. But a part of him couldn’t bring himself to just walk in.

He reached into his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing against the folded letter he hadn’t brought himself to open yet. It was for Chris. But he didn’t know what to write. How could he? Chris wasn’t a little kid anymore. He was 14 now—a teenager—and things had changed. Buck still remembered the way Chris had looked up at him with wide eyes when he was younger, the way he clung to him when Buck picked him up from school. But now, Chris was different. He was growing up. Almost too fast.

When he entered the house, it was immediately warm. The smell of cooked food filled the air. The sound of laughter, chatting, and the faint crackle of a fire in the fireplace greeted him.

“Buck!” Bobby called from across the room, his voice booming above the chatter. He waved as he stood near the kitchen counter. “Come on in! Get yourself some food!”

Buck hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath before making his way into the living room. He was trying to push away the heavy feeling in his chest. As he stepped inside, he saw Athena setting the table, her face lighting up when she saw him.

“Hey, you made it! Good to see you, Buck,” she said, walking over to him and giving him a quick hug.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, though his voice didn’t sound as sure as he intended. He entered the house and greeted everyone. He nodded to Eddie and he nodded back, it wasn't cold, but it wasn't particularly inviting either.

Chris was sitting on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, eyes glued to his phone. He was 14 now, but Buck still remembered the little boy who used to ask him to play video games and watch cartoons. Chris looked up as Buck approached, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Buck! Merry Christmas,” Chris said, setting his phone down.

“Merry Christmas, Chris,” Buck said with a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Chris was older now—almost too grown-up for Buck’s taste. The small kid who used to sit on his lap was now almost as tall as Buck, with a slight scruff starting to grow on his chin. He looked almost like a young man. It was a little hard to get used to.

Buck sat down on the couch next to Chris, his body stiff. He tried to push the feeling of disconnect away. He had always been there for Chris—he had always been “the cool uncle Buck.” But now, Chris had his own world, his own friends, and Buck wasn’t sure where he fit in anymore.

“So, what’s new with you?” Buck asked, trying to sound casual.

Chris shrugged, his attention already back on his phone. “Not much. Just school. You know, the usual stuff.”

Buck nodded, not sure what to say next. He wanted to ask about school, about his friends, about the things that mattered to a 14-year-old. But something felt different. Maybe it was just the awkwardness that had settled in, or maybe it was the fact that Buck hadn’t really spent much time with Chris lately.

Athena walked in with a tray of drinks, placing it down on the coffee table. “Dinner’s almost ready. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Buck replied, even though his stomach felt like a knot.

“Good,” Bobby said, joining them. He clapped a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “We’re doing a little bit of everything tonight. A Christmas feast for the ages.”

Chris laughed, “Can’t wait. Maybe I’ll finally be able to eat as much as I want without anyone telling me I’m gonna get fat.”

Buck chuckled at that. “Good luck with that,” he said, ruffling Chris’s hair.

Chris just rolled his eyes but smiled, clearly not minding the attention.

The conversation flowed easily from there, everyone talking over each other as they finished getting the table ready. It felt like any other family dinner. But Buck could feel that tension deep in his chest, that familiar heaviness that refused to lift.

Dinner was a little too loud, a little too chaotic, but in a good way. It was familiar. Comfortable. Athena kept refilling drinks, Bobby made jokes, and even Chris seemed more relaxed than usual. It was a perfect holiday evening, but in the back of Buck’s mind, he couldn’t escape that nagging feeling that this might be the last one.

After dinner, they all gathered in the living room, the fireplace crackling. Chris was sitting next to Athena, flipping through his phone, and Bobby and Athena were talking about their plans for the New Year.

Buck just watched. He wanted to be part of it all, wanted to feel like everything was okay, but it was hard to shake the feeling of being on the outside.

Chris leaned over to Buck, nudging him gently. “Hey, you okay?”

Buck looked down at Chris, surprised. “Yeah, just… tired,” he said, offering a small smile.

Chris just nodded, not pressing further, but Buck could tell he was paying attention. Chris always had a way of sensing when something was off.

When the evening started winding down, Buck realized he had never written the letter to Chris. He had avoided it for so long. What was there to say? What could he say?

Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it was enough that Chris had someone who cared about him, that he wasn’t alone.

As the night went on, Buck quietly slipped away from the group and went into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, breathing deeply. The house was quiet now, everyone lost in their own conversations, their own thoughts.

And maybe that’s how it should be. Buck didn’t need to say goodbye. Not yet. Not to Chris. He didn’t want to be that person who left without a word, but right now, it was enough just to be here, to be part of this.

He let out a deep breath, glancing around the kitchen. Everything seemed right—at least for the moment. And maybe that’s all that mattered.

__

Buck lay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. The early morning light crept through the blinds, casting soft shadows across his bedroom. Outside, the city was quiet—unnaturally so. No sirens, no honking cars, no hum of life outside his window. Just stillness.

He had begged Bobby to put him on shift today. Practically pleaded. But Bobby had just given him that knowing look, the one that meant he saw right through Buck’s bullshit.

“You worked last Christmas, Buck,” he had said, his voice firm but kind. “Go spend the day with your family.”

What family?

Maddie had invited him, of course. She had insisted, actually, calling him three times and leaving increasingly exasperated voicemails when he didn’t pick up. But he had politely declined. He loved his sister, really, but Christmas with two small kids, Chimney’s parents, and all the chaos that came with it? It was too much. Maddie would try to pretend everything was fine, that he was fine, and Buck couldn’t stomach that today.

Bobby and Athena were spending the day with Michael and his husband, along with Harry and May. Hen and Karen had gone out of town, probably to visit family. And Eddie and Chris—

Buck didn’t even know where they were.

So that left Buck here. Alone.

He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up over his head like a child hiding from the world. He told himself it was fine. That he had chosen this. That he wanted it this way. But the lump in his throat told a different story.

An hour passed. Maybe two. Eventually, his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since last night’s dinner at Bobby and Athena’s. With a sigh, he forced himself to sit up.

The apartment was cold when he stepped out of his bedroom, the heating system struggling against the December chill. He grabbed a sweatshirt from the back of the couch and pulled it on as he made his way into the kitchen.

The counter was cluttered with dishes he hadn’t bothered to clean, an empty pizza box from two nights ago sitting next to the sink. He ignored it all, going straight for the coffee maker.

As the machine sputtered to life, Buck leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyes were puffy, his body heavy with exhaustion. He hadn’t slept well.

Hadn’t slept well in weeks.

The worst part was that he had nothing to distract himself today. No shift, no calls, no emergencies pulling him away from his thoughts. Just silence.

He poured his coffee and took a sip, grimacing at the bitterness. No milk. No sugar. He didn’t care enough to fix it.

Walking over to the couch, he collapsed onto it, pulling a blanket over his lap. He reached for the remote, flipping through channels without really looking. Everything was Christmas movies or cheerful morning talk shows. He landed on some old action movie, the sound of explosions filling the empty apartment.

A knock on the door made him freeze.

For a second, he thought he had imagined it. But then it came again, louder this time.

He sighed, setting his coffee down before dragging himself to his feet.

When he opened the door, he was met with the last person he expected.

Chris.

Standing there in a hoodie and jeans, a wrapped gift clutched in his hands.

“Hey, Buck,” Chris said, shifting on his feet. He looked a little nervous, his dark eyes flickering up to meet Buck’s.

Buck blinked, his brain struggling to catch up. “Chris? What—” He glanced past him, expecting to see Eddie, but the hallway was empty. “What are you doing here?”

Chris shrugged. “My dad had to work today. So I asked if I could come see you.”

Buck swallowed hard. “Eddie let you come here alone?”

“He dropped me off. Said he’d be back in a few hours.” Chris hesitated, then held out the gift. “Merry Christmas.”

Buck stared at the present, at the carefully wrapped paper and the little bow on top. His hands felt shaky as he took it.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside.

Chris walked in, glancing around the apartment. Buck suddenly saw it through his eyes—the mess, the empty takeout boxes, the fact that there wasn’t a single Christmas decoration anywhere.

Chris sat down on the couch, pulling his legs up under him. “You didn’t decorate?”

Buck let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t really feel like it.”

Chris just nodded, like he understood.

Buck sat down next to him, staring at the gift in his hands. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“Aren’t you gonna open it?” Chris asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck muttered, carefully pulling at the wrapping paper. Inside was a framed photo.

It was from the summer a few years ago. A picture of Buck and Chris at the beach, both of them laughing, covered in sand. Chris had drawn something on the frame—little stick figures of the two of them, with “Best Friends” written at the top.

Buck felt his throat close up.

Chris shifted beside him. “I just… I thought you might like it.”

Buck stared at the photo, swallowing against the wave of emotion crashing over him.

“Chris, I—” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look up. “Thank you. I love it.”

Chris smiled, leaning against Buck’s side. “I know Christmas isn’t really Christmassing this year,” he said after a moment. “But I didn’t want you to be alone today.”

Buck closed his eyes, taking a slow breath.

Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

He wrapped an arm around Chris’s shoulders, pulling him in. “I’m really glad you’re here, buddy.”

Chris just nodded against his side. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

To Buck’s surprise, Christmas had actually been… good.

Not just tolerable. Not just something to get through.

It had been fun.

Chris had made himself at home the second he walked in, kicking off his shoes and plopping onto the couch like he belonged there. They had ordered way too much takeout—Chinese food, because Chris had decided that was their new Christmas tradition. “Turkey is overrated,” he’d said matter-of-factly as he shoveled lo mein into his mouth, and Buck had laughed, nodding in agreement.

After dinner, they played the games Buck had gotten Chris for Christmas. Video games, card games, even a board game that Buck had thought would be boring but somehow turned into an intense, hour-long competition. They had laughed so hard that at one point Chris had to clutch his stomach and gasp for breath, and Buck had realized with a strange kind of warmth in his chest that this was the happiest he had felt in a long time.

They had ended the night watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, curled up on the couch under the same blanket. Chris had been barely awake by the time the credits rolled, his head heavy against Buck’s arm.

“Want me to get you a pillow?” Buck had asked, voice soft.

Chris had just hummed sleepily. “M’good.”

Buck had smiled.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Buck gently shifted Chris off of him, careful not to wake him as he stood up. His muscles were stiff from sitting in the same position for too long, but he ignored the discomfort as he made his way to the door.

When he opened it, he wasn’t entirely sure what he expected.

But it wasn’t Eddie.

“Hey, Eds,” Buck said, surprised.

Eddie gave a small nod, stepping forward without hesitation. Before Buck could react, Eddie pulled him into a quick, firm hug.

“Merry Christmas, Buck,” Eddie murmured against his shoulder.

Buck barely had time to register the warmth of it before Eddie pulled away. His expression shifted into something almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry for just dropping Chris off like that,” he said. “He insisted. And then I tried calling you, but my messages weren’t delivering, and my calls weren’t going through, so—”

“Hey,” Buck interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s fine. He’s always welcome here.”

Eddie hesitated, his gaze flickering past Buck into the apartment. Buck saw the way his eyes scanned the room—the leftover takeout containers, the blanket Chris had been wrapped in, the small mess of wrapping paper on the coffee table. But it wasn’t that stuff Eddie was really looking at.

It was the emptiness. The lack of decorations. The way Buck’s home didn’t look like someone had been celebrating Christmas at all.

Something dark flickered across Eddie’s face, but he didn’t say anything about it.

Instead, he exhaled and said, “I’d come in, but Chris and I have to head to my aunt’s for dinner.”

Buck nodded. “Yeah, of course. No worries.”

Eddie didn’t invite him.

Buck noticed that.

Last year, he had spent Christmas evening with them—Peppa had all but insisted. But this year?

Maybe Eddie thought he was fine. Maybe he thought Buck had other plans. Maybe he just didn’t want him there.

Buck shoved the thought away before it could settle too deep.

Chris appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. “Hey, Dad.”

“You ready to go, buddy?” Eddie asked, voice gentler than before.

Chris turned to Buck, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. “Thanks for today,” he said against Buck’s chest.

Buck closed his eyes for half a second, squeezing back. “Anytime, bud.”

Chris pulled away and grinned up at him. Then he turned and followed Eddie toward the hallway.

Eddie paused just before stepping out.

“Oh,” he said, as if remembering something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, pressing it into Buck’s hand.

“For you,” Eddie said, his voice quieter now. “Merry Christmas.”

Buck looked down at the box, his fingers curling around it. “I—” He swallowed, guilt curling in his stomach. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Eddie just shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall after Chris.

Buck stood in the doorway for a long moment before finally shutting the door.

The apartment felt so much quieter now.

He sank onto the couch, the small box still clutched in his hand. Slowly, carefully, he opened it.

Inside was a Saint Christopher medal.

Just like the one Eddie wore.

Buck’s breath caught in his throat. He traced his fingers over the cool metal before glancing at the inside of the box’s lid.

There was a note, handwritten in Eddie’s familiar, slanted print.

We’ll get through this. Until then, take care of yourself.

Buck inhaled sharply.

His vision blurred for half a second, but no tears came. He was too empty for that. Too drained.

Instead, he just sat there, staring at the medal, alone in his silent apartment.

__

Hey, buddy.

I don’t really know how to start this letter. I guess there’s no right way to say goodbye, is there? No perfect words that can make this easier for either of us. But if anyone deserves a proper goodbye, it’s you.

I want you to know that I didn’t write this because I think you wouldn’t understand. You’re the smartest kid I know, Chris. You always have been. I wrote this because I need you to hear this from me, because I need you to know how much you mean to me.

And I need you to know that none of this is your fault.

I mean it. Not even a little bit.

I know how your brain works, exactly like mine—you’ll start searching for reasons, wondering if you missed something, if there was a moment where you could have stopped this from happening. But there wasn’t. There never was. This was never something you could have changed, okay? So don’t carry that weight. I know you—you take on so much already, more than you should have to at your age. You feel responsible for things that were never yours to hold. But not this. Not me.

If I could ask one thing of you, Chris, it would be this: Please, please don’t let this make you sad forever. Be angry if you need to be. Be hurt. Be confused. But don’t let this dim that light in you. You are the brightest person I have ever met, and I need you to promise me that you won’t let this take that away from you.

I know I probably don’t have the right to ask that. I know I don’t get to control how you feel. But if I could make sure of anything, it would be that you still find reasons to laugh, to love, to be excited about things. Because the world is so much better with you in it.

God, Chris, you have no idea how much better you made my world.

When I met you, you were just a little kid—so small, so full of questions. And I was—well, I was a mess. I still am, I guess. But back then, I was all over the place, trying so hard to prove myself, trying so hard to be something that mattered. And then you came along and just… let me be your friend.

You let me in.

You never cared if I messed up. You never cared if I wasn’t perfect. You just liked me for who I was, and do you have any idea how rare that is? How special that makes you?

You changed my life, kid.

You taught me more about love, about family, than I ever thought I’d get to know. You made me want to be better, not because I felt like I had to, but because I wanted to be someone who deserved a kid like you looking up to me.

You have no idea how many times you saved me without even knowing it. Just by being you.

I hope one day, when you’re older, you’ll look back on all of this and understand. I hope you’ll remember the good things—the days we spent together, the dumb jokes we made, the games we played until way too late at night. I hope you’ll remember how much I loved spending time with you, how much I would have done anything to make sure you were happy.

Because I did, Chris. I loved you so much.

I still do.

And I always will.

I know you’re going to be okay. You have your dad, and you have so many people who love you, who will always take care of you. But more than that, you have you. And that’s enough. You are enough. You always have been.

Take care of your dad for me, okay? He’s not as tough as he pretends to be.

And take care of yourself.

Be kind to yourself. Let yourself be happy. Let yourself love and be loved.

You deserve everything good in this world, Chris.

Never forget that.

I love you, buddy. Always.

Buck

6/7

Chapter Text

New years came and went by without Buck giving it a second thought. The morning of January 4th arrived with an eerie stillness. Buck made his bed as if it were any other day, smoothing out the sheets with practiced precision. The room smelled faintly of laundry detergent, a testament to his restless cleaning spree over the last few days. Everything in his apartment was in perfect order—his clothes folded neatly in their drawers, dishes washed and stacked in the cabinets, even the books on his shelf aligned with an almost obsessive attention to detail.

On his kitchen table sat an empty glass beside a half-drunk bottle of cheap whiskey. The amber liquid glowed under the dim kitchen light, a stark contrast to the cool metal lying beside it. Wrapped neatly in a cloth was a firearm, one he had owned for years but never used. It had traveled with him through different phases of his life, tucked away in the back of a drawer, forgotten. Until now.

His hands didn’t shake as he reached for the six envelopes he had prepared. Each was addressed with careful penmanship, sealed with the weight of finality. Bobby, Maddie, Athena, Hen, Chimney, Chris. One was missing.

Eddie.

He had nothing written for Eddie. Nothing that could capture what he meant to him, nothing that wouldn’t make it harder. So, the page had remained blank, the only thing he had managed to write being, “Dear Eddie,” before his hand had frozen over the paper. No words came. Not the right ones, at least. And now, there was no time left to find them.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt borrowed. Like it didn’t belong to him anymore.

The plan was simple. Go to Chris school thing. Tell him how much you love him. Smile at Eddie so he wouldn’t suspect a thing. Drop the letters off, one by one. Give them a final gift—the truth, even if it was ugly. Then return home, pour one last drink, and finally let go.

As he shrugged on his jacket, his phone buzzed on the counter. The screen lit up with a name he hadn’t expected to see so early.

Eddie.

For a moment, Buck hesitated. His fingers hovered over the device before finally picking it up. He pressed it to his ear, his voice steady. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Chris wanted me to call youHe wanted to aks if you would make it to school on time. I think he is just nervous.”

Buck glanced at his clock he still had over half an hour.

“Yeah, I’ll be there on time.” He answered, as he already left his empty apartment behind.

“Good, See ya.” Eddie ended the call quick.

“Yes. See you soon.”

He loved Eddie. He truly and fully had no other feelings for this man than simple love. That was the real reason he had waited for so long to start with his letter. Now it was too late. Maybe? Buck took the blanc piece of Paper from his pocket and wrote  thre few words, behind the dear Eddie.

Dear Eddie,

I love you.

Evan.

__

Eddie had saved him a seat, nodding silently as Buck sat down beside him. They hadn’t spoken much lately. Not for lack of trying on Eddie’s part—Buck knew Eddie was worried, but Buck had gotten good at deflecting, at keeping the conversations surface-level. “I’m fine,” he always said, and Eddie always frowned like he didn’t believe him. But he never pushed.

The event was a presentation about family—family structures, ancestry, the importance of connection. Buck swallowed down the bitter laugh that threatened to rise in his throat. Great. Exactly what he wanted to sit through right now. He stared down at the program in his hands, not really reading the list of names, until movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Chris was grinning at him from where he sat among his classmates, eyes bright with excitement. Buck forced himself to smile back, giving a small wave. He could do this—for Chris.

One by one, the students took the stage. Some had big posters with family trees, others had slideshows, some even had short videos. Buck tried to pay attention, but his mind wandered. His fingers curled into fists against his knees as he tried to ignore the creeping weight pressing down on his chest.

Then, Chris’s name was called.

The applause was polite as he rolled onto the stage, confidence radiating from him. Buck sat up straighter, forcing himself to focus. Chris adjusted his microphone, looking down at the note cards in his hands before clearing his throat.

“My name is Christopher Diaz,” he began, his voice strong, unwavering. “And today, I want to talk about my family.”

Buck felt a pang in his chest. Chris looked so grown up, so sure of himself. He was proud of this kid. So damn proud.

Chris continued, “My family is a little different from some of yours. I have my dad, Eddie Diaz.” He gestured toward Eddie, who gave him a small nod of encouragement. “And I had my mom, Shannon, who passed away when I was younger.” A brief pause, a moment of quiet respect. Then, Chris smiled. “And then, there’s the rest of my family. My grandparents, my aunts, uncles, cousins. Some live in Texas, some in Mexico, some even as far as Sweden! But my family isn’t just about where we come from. It’s about who’s there for you, no matter what.”

Buck’s stomach twisted. He could feel where this was going, but he couldn’t look away.

“In Los Angeles, my family is my dad.” Chris glanced at Eddie, then looked directly at Buck. “And there’s Buck.”

Buck’s breath hitched.

“Buck isn’t my dad, but he might as well be, anyways he’s my family,” Chris said, his voice steady. “He’s been in my life for as long as I can remember. He’s the one who taught me how to make the perfect cupcakes, who lets me pick all the songs on road trips, even when I know he hates some of them.” A few people in the audience chuckled. “He’s the one who carried me out of a tsunami, who always makes me laugh when I’m sad. He’s the one who’s always there, no matter what.”

Buck’s ears were ringing. His vision blurred slightly at the edges as Chris kept talking, as he kept listing all these things, these moments that Buck hadn’t realized had meant so much. He felt Eddie shift beside him, probably watching his reaction, but Buck couldn’t move. He could barely breathe.

“Family isn’t just about who you’re related to,” Chris finished, looking out at the crowd. “It’s about who loves you, who takes care of you, who you can count on. And I’m really lucky, because I have a family that loves me a lot.”

Applause filled the room. Chris beamed, rolling off the stage with the same confidence he’d had going up. He returned to his seat, immediately turning to search for Buck’s reaction. Buck tried—he really did—to hold himself together, to keep his face neutral, to not let the weight of those words crush him where he sat.

But he couldn’t.

He barely mumbled an excuse to Eddie before he pushed back his chair and made a beeline for the exit. He didn’t stop until he was in the hallway, until he found the nearest bathroom, until he collapsed in a stall and retched into the toilet. His hands were shaking as he braced himself against the cold porcelain, his breathing ragged. The weight of it was unbearable.

Chris loved him.

Chris saw him as family.

As a dad.

Chris would miss him.

Chris had lost his mother; he couldn’t lose his ‘might as well be my dad’ dad.

A quiet knock on the stall door startled him. He barely had time to wipe his mouth before Eddie’s voice reached him. “Buck,” he said softly. “Let me in.”

Buck hesitated, then unlocked the door. Eddie stepped inside, closing it behind him. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at Buck, his expression unreadable. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Come home with us,” he said. “Tonight.”

Buck shook his head. “Eddie, I—”

“Don’t argue,” Eddie interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “Chris wants you there. And if I’m being honest, so do I.”

Buck swallowed hard. He wanted to say no. He wanted to go back to his empty apartment, to be alone, to keep everything buried deep where it couldn’t hurt anyone else. But Chris’s words echoed in his head, refusing to be ignored.

Family isn’t just about who you’re related to.

“Okay,” Buck whispered. “I’ll come.”

Eddie nodded, like he’d expected that answer. “Good,” he said simply, then clapped a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

__

Before Buck could react, Chris threw his arms around him in the tightest embrace he could manage. For a moment, Buck just stood there, frozen, feeling the warmth of the boy in his arms, feeling the way Chris clung to him like he truly belonged there. And maybe he did. Maybe, despite everything, despite all the ways Buck felt like he was failing, this moment was real.

“I love you so much, kid,” Buck murmured into Chris’s hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea.”

Chris pulled back slightly and grinned up at him, his eyes bright. “I think I have some idea,” he said teasingly before hugging him again.

Buck squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the tears that burned at the edges of his vision. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be loved this much. But Chris didn’t know that. Chris just saw him—just Buck—and loved him anyway.

Eddie cleared his throat beside them, his expression softer than Buck had seen in a long time. “Alright, buddy,” Eddie said to Chris, “let’s not suffocate Buck before we even get home.”

Chris laughed but didn’t let go right away. When he finally pulled back, he was still beaming. “Are you coming home with us?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

Buck opened his mouth, but Eddie was already nodding. “Yeah, Buck’s coming with us,” he said firmly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They walked out of the school together, Chris practically bouncing between them, still high from the praise he’d gotten from his teachers and classmates. In the car, he couldn’t stop talking about how nervous he’d been before the presentation, about how he’d practiced his speech in front of his mirror, about how some of the other kids had families that were “boring” compared to his.

“I mean, no offense to them,” Chris continued as Eddie drove them home. “But come on, my family is way cooler. Dad was in the army, we’ve got family in Mexico, in Sweden, and I have Buck, who’s saved my life like, a million times. Who else can say that?”

Buck let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think it’s been a million times.”

Chris gave him a pointed look. “Feels like it.”

Eddie, keeping his eyes on the road, smirked. “I think he’s got a point, Buck.”

The warmth in Buck’s chest spread until it felt like it was going to burst. He turned to look out the window so neither of them would see the way his face crumpled for just a second. He didn’t deserve this. He really didn’t.

When they got to the Diaz house, Chris immediately dragged Buck into the living room, pulling out a board game that he insisted they play together. Eddie sighed but didn’t argue, letting them set it up on the coffee table while he went to grab snacks. Buck let himself sink into the moment, letting the laughter and friendly competition wash over him. For the first time in a long time, he felt… okay. He wasn’t thinking about the letters in his pocket, about the deadline he had set for himself. He was just here, with Chris and Eddie, and for a little while, that was enough.

The afternoon turned into evening, and before Buck knew it, Chris was yawning, his head drooping against Buck’s shoulder as they sat on the couch watching some superhero movie he’d picked out. Eddie chuckled, standing up and stretching. “Alright, kid, time for bed.”

Chris groaned but didn’t argue, already half-asleep. As Eddie helped him up, Chris turned back to Buck and mumbled, “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

Buck hesitated, his heart twisting in his chest. He swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Yeah, buddy. I’ll be here.”

Chris grinned sleepily, satisfied, and let Eddie lead him down the hall to his room.

Buck sat there in the quiet living room, staring at the blank TV screen, his thoughts spinning. He wanted to believe what he’d just said. He wanted to believe he could keep doing this, keep being there for Chris, for Eddie, for all of them. But deep down, he wasn’t sure he could.

Eddie returned a few minutes later, looking at Buck carefully. “You okay?”

Buck forced himself to nod. “Yeah,” he said, voice softer than he meant it to be. “I’m good.”

Eddie stared at him, his jaw tightening, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. There was frustration in his eyes now, barely restrained anger simmering beneath the surface. "Buck, don't give me that bullshit. I've really tried to hold back, I really have, but I can't anymore. I thought if I gave you space, you'd come to me when you were ready, that you'd tell me what was going on when you felt safe. But you haven't. And now I'm done waiting."

Buck blinked at him, his heart hammering against his ribs. His fingers twitched at his sides. He thought of the gun and the whiskey waiting for him at home, the plan he'd been carefully crafting for weeks now. Eddie had a point. He was drowning. But Eddie couldn’t know. He couldn’t.

"Eddie..." Buck tried, voice calm, trying to soothe, to placate, but not enough to let Eddie see too deeply, not enough to let him crack open the pieces Buck had been barely holding together. This was supposed to end tonight.

Eddie took a step forward, his voice lowering, his tone softer. "Buck, please. Talk to me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m not leaving."

And that was it. That was the breaking point.

Buck’s entire body tensed like a wire about to snap. His breath hitched, and then he was shouting before he could stop himself. "But you did leave, Eddie! You did! Don’t stand there and tell me you wouldn’t leave because you did! You left me! You left me alone!"

Eddie flinched, but Buck was too far gone to stop.

"Yeah, I get it, okay?! It was for Chris. You did it for him, you did it for your son. But don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t leave me, because that’s exactly what you did! You packed up, and you left! And I—" Buck’s breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. His chest tightened, the room tilting as the edges of his vision blurred. "I— I can't breathe."

His hand clutched at his throat instinctively, his body betraying him as panic clawed its way to the surface, the weight of it suffocating. His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest, each beat deafening in his ears. He staggered back, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. The panic attack hit him full force.

And then Eddie was there.

"Buck," Eddie said, voice urgent but careful. He reached out, grabbing Buck before he could collapse completely. "Hey, hey, just breathe. I'm here. Just breathe."

But Buck couldn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the spinning to stop, trying to shove down the emotions that were ripping through him. He was breaking, shattering apart in Eddie’s arms. A grown man, reduced to a mess of silent, heaving sobs.

Eddie’s grip tightened, one arm steadying Buck while the other smoothed down his back. "I'm here, Buck. I swear to God, I'm here. I'm not leaving. I’m not going anywhere."

Buck barely heard him over the blood roaring in his ears, over the sound of his own quiet gasps and choked sobs.

And then Eddie whispered, so quietly Buck almost missed it, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And I— I love you."

Everything inside Buck stilled. He slowly opened his eyes, looking up at Eddie. His best friend. The man he had loved for longer than he could admit.

Eddie's face was open, raw with vulnerability, his expression filled with something Buck couldn’t let himself believe was real. But the words were out there now, and Eddie looked like he was on the verge of breaking too. "I love you, Buck. I love you so much."

Buck inhaled sharply, his body going rigid as his mind struggled to process what was happening. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It had to be a mistake. He forced himself to move, stepping back, pushing himself away from Eddie's hold, shaking his head.

Eddie looked pained at the loss of contact, like he was barely holding himself together. "Buck, please... I—"

But Buck was already moving. He turned sharply, striding out into the hallway, away from Eddie, away from everything that threatened to break the carefully built walls around him. He needed air. He needed distance.

But he came back moments later.

In his hands, a small stack of envelopes. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on them.

Buck didn’t say a word as he handed Eddie one of the envelopes. It was labeled with his name in Buck’s unmistakable scrawl. Eddie took it hesitantly, his hands trembling slightly. Then he looked down at the others still in Buck’s hands, his stomach twisting painfully when he read the names written across them.

Maddie. Bobby. Athena. Hen. Chim. Chris.

Eddie’s blood ran cold. He didn’t need to open his letter to know exactly what these were.

He moved before he could think, tearing open his envelope with shaking hands. His eyes scanned the letter, the words hitting him like a freight train.

Dear Eddie,

I love you.

Evan.

That was all it said. Just those three words, but they told Eddie everything. A strangled sound escaped his throat, his entire body tensing as realization sank in. He looked up at Buck, his heart hammering wildly in his chest.

"No," Eddie whispered, shaking his head. His voice broke as he grabbed Buck’s shoulders. "No, Buck, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to leave us. You don’t get to leave me."

Buck swallowed hard, his face blank, detached. "Eddie..."

"No!" Eddie shouted, his grip tightening. "You don’t get to say goodbye like this! You don’t get to make this decision! You think we don’t need you? You think Chris doesn’t need you? That I don’t—"

His voice caught, his eyes burning. "I need you, Buck. I need you more than I have ever needed anything in my entire life.I need you like the air I breath. I need you. I want you. And if you think, for even a second, that I’m letting you go, then you don’t know me at all."

Buck’s breath hitched. His resolve cracked, his walls crumbling. Eddie’s words were desperate, raw, filled with an urgency that shook Buck to his core.

And then Eddie was pulling him in again, crushing him against his chest in a fierce embrace, like he was afraid Buck would disappear if he let go.

__

At some point, Buck had fallen asleep, his body exhausted from the weight of everything he had been carrying. His head rested on Eddie’s lap, and Eddie sat there in the dim light of his living room, his hand absently running through Buck’s hair. The silence around them was heavy, but Eddie’s mind was anything but quiet. It raced, replaying every moment from the past few months, trying to piece together everything he had missed—everything he should have seen.

How Buck had started pulling away.

How he had stopped showing up to group outings, how he had avoided the firehouse even when he wasn’t on shift, how his apartment had felt hollow the one time Eddie had been inside to pick up Chris. It hadn’t just been tidy—it had been empty, like no one really lived there.

Eddie’s breath shook, his chest tightening with something that felt too much like grief. He had no right to fall apart now. No right at all.

The soft buzz of his phone pulled him out of his thoughts. The screen lit up with Maddie’s name, and for a brief second, Eddie hesitated. He had been talking to her more often these days. They had been worried—so damn worried—but they had told themselves that Buck just needed space. That he would come to them when he was ready.

He had been ready today. But not in the way they had hoped.

Eddie swallowed hard and answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, Mads.”

There was a pause, just long enough for him to know that she could hear something in his voice, something that made her stomach drop. But before she could speak, the words tumbled out of him, raw and broken.

“He was going to do it.”

A sharp inhale on the other end.

“Today. He was going to do it today.” His eyes burned as he looked over at the table, at the neatly stacked envelopes with familiar names written across them. “He had everything planned, Maddie. The letters… they’re all here. He—”

His voice cracked. He closed his eyes, gripping the phone tighter, willing himself to hold it together. But then there was a beep, and the call was cut off.

Maddie had hung up.

Eddie barely had time to process it before he heard the front door open, the sound of hurried footsteps, and then she was there.

She must have used the spare key.

For a moment, she just stood there, looking down at them—at the mess of it all. At Buck, curled up in Eddie’s lap, looking so much smaller than he ever should. At Eddie, whose entire body felt like it might collapse under the weight of what had almost happened tonight.

Then her gaze landed on the letters.

Her breath caught.

She stepped forward, reaching for the one with her name on it. She didn’t open it. Not yet. Her fingers just curled around it, gripping it like it might somehow keep her brother tethered to this world.

Eddie watched as she slowly lowered herself onto the couch beside him. She didn’t say anything, just reached out and gently ran a hand over his back in slow, soothing circles. A comfort he wasn’t sure he deserved.

But still, she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

“We’ve got him, Eddie.”

And God, he wanted to believe her.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

New years came and went by without Buck giving it a second thought. The morning of January 4th arrived with an eerie stillness. Buck made his bed as if it were any other day, smoothing out the sheets with practiced precision. The room smelled faintly of laundry detergent, a testament to his restless cleaning spree over the last few days. Everything in his apartment was in perfect order—his clothes folded neatly in their drawers, dishes washed and stacked in the cabinets, even the books on his shelf aligned with an almost obsessive attention to detail.

On his kitchen table sat an empty glass beside a half-drunk bottle of cheap whiskey. The amber liquid glowed under the dim kitchen light, a stark contrast to the cool metal lying beside it. Wrapped neatly in a cloth was a firearm, one he had owned for years but never used. It had traveled with him through different phases of his life, tucked away in the back of a drawer, forgotten. Until now.

His hands didn’t shake as he reached for the six envelopes he had prepared. Each was addressed with careful penmanship, sealed with the weight of finality. Bobby, Maddie, Athena, Hen, Chimney, Chris. One was missing.

Eddie.

He had nothing written for Eddie. Nothing that could capture what he meant to him, nothing that wouldn’t make it harder. So, the page had remained blank, the only thing he had managed to write being, “Dear Eddie,” before his hand had frozen over the paper. No words came. Not the right ones, at least. And now, there was no time left to find them.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt borrowed. Like it didn’t belong to him anymore.

The plan was simple. Go to Chris school thing. Tell him how much you love him. Smile at Eddie so he wouldn’t suspect a thing. Drop the letters off, one by one. Give them a final gift—the truth, even if it was ugly. Then return home, pour one last drink, and finally let go.

As he shrugged on his jacket, his phone buzzed on the counter. The screen lit up with a name he hadn’t expected to see so early.

Eddie.

For a moment, Buck hesitated. His fingers hovered over the device before finally picking it up. He pressed it to his ear, his voice steady. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Chris wanted me to call you. He wanted to ask if you would make it to school on time. I think he is just nervous.”

Buck glanced at his clock he still had over half an hour.

“Yeah, I’ll be there on time.” He answered, as he already left his empty apartment behind.

“Good, See ya.” Eddie ended the call quick.

“Yes. See you soon.”

He loved Eddie. He truly and fully had no other feelings for this man than simple love. That was the real reason he had waited for so long to start with his letter. Now it was too late. Maybe? Buck took the blanc piece of Paper from his pocket and wrote three few words, behind the dear Eddie.

Dear Eddie,

I love you.

Evan.

__

Buck slid into the driver’s seat of his truck, his fingers tightening briefly around the steering wheel. He exhaled slowly, trying to steady the unrelenting thrum of anxiety in his chest. His free hand reached into the pocket of his jacket, brushing against the edges of the envelopes—seven in total. Seven letters, each carefully written, each meant to say everything he had never managed to say out loud.

He pulled them out for a moment, glancing at the names written in his familiar, slightly messy handwriting. Eddie. Chris. Maddie. Hen. Chimney. Bobby. Athena.

Seven people who had changed his life. Seven people he had loved, in one way or another. Seven people who deserved an explanation, even if he wasn’t sure they would ever truly understand.

Buck swallowed hard and shoved the letters back into his pocket. There was no turning back now.

Starting the engine, he pulled out onto the road, his hands steady on the wheel despite the storm raging inside him. The streets of Los Angeles blurred past, the glow of streetlights washing over him in golden streaks. Everything felt distant. Unreal. Like he was moving through water.

He had always loved this city. If given the choice, he would do it all over again—moving here, becoming a firefighter, finding his family. Even knowing how everything had turned out, even knowing how impossible it sometimes felt just to be, he wouldn’t change it.

But Buck had never been made for this world.

Yes, he had survived. But living? That was something entirely different.

His fingers flexed on the wheel. Three more miles.

Three more miles until he reached Chris’s school. He had promised he would be there. He had promised.

The thought made him press down a little harder on the gas.

And then—

A sickening, thunderous impact.

The force of it slammed him against his seatbelt, his head snapping forward, then back. For a moment, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears, a high-pitched, all-consuming sound that drowned out the world. Then came the pain—sharp and hot, blooming at his temple.

Buck blinked, dazed, his vision swimming. The windshield in front of him was fractured, spiderweb cracks branching out from the point of impact. His truck had been hit. Hard.

Before he could even process what had happened, movement caught his eye. A woman was running toward him, her face pale, her hands trembling as she reached his window.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I—I wasn’t paying attention—I didn’t see you! Are you okay? Oh my God, I’ll call 911!”

No.

The word formed in his mind, but his mouth refused to say it.

He didn’t need an ambulance. He didn’t need help. He needed to get to Chris.

Buck tried to move, but the dizziness hit him like a wave. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a hand to his temple. His fingers came away wet.

Blood.

He could feel it, warm and sticky, trailing down the side of his face.

Still, he reached for the door handle, his other hand already fumbling for his phone. He needed to tell Eddie he was going to be late. He needed to tell Chris he was still coming.

But it was too late.

The flashing red and blue lights filled his vision before he could even think about running. Police. Paramedics. Voices swarming around him, hands pulling him from the truck, guiding him toward the back of an ambulance.

“Sir, stay still—”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though the world still tilted sideways when he tried to sit up.

“You’ve got a head injury,” one of the paramedics pointed out. “We need to check for a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

“Let us be the judge of that.”

He bit back a frustrated sigh, barely listening as they cleaned the wound and assessed his pupils. It must not have been that bad, because a few minutes later, they were bandaging his head and saying something about how lucky he was.

“Could’ve been a lot worse,” one of them said. “You got lucky.”

Lucky.

Buck let out a hollow laugh.

He had been ready to die, and instead, he walked away with a few stitches and a possible concussion.

Lucky. Right.

He barely noticed when they let him go, too caught up in the weight pressing down on his chest. Everything felt heavier now. The air. The street. The blood drying on his skin.

And then his phone buzzed.

A sharp jolt of panic shot through him as he fumbled for it, his fingers unsteady as he unlocked the screen.

Seven missed calls.

All from Eddie.

His stomach twisted as he scrolled down. The texts came next, each one more frantic than the last.

Eddie: Buck, where are you?

Eddie: Chris is asking for you. What am I supposed to tell him?

Eddie: Are you coming soon?

Eddie: It’s starting!!!

Eddie: BUCK!!

Eddie: Chris is pissed.

Buck stared at the last message, his throat tightening.

Two hours.

He had been gone for two hours.

Chris had been waiting for him.

His stomach churned as he imagined the scene—Chris sitting there, looking around, waiting, hoping. And then disappointment settling in when Buck never showed.

He had promised.

Buck sucked in a shaky breath, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He needed to say something. He needed to fix this.

But what could he say?

That he got into a crash? That he almost died? That part of him had wanted to?

No.

He closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, and typed the only thing he could.

Buck: I’m sorry.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed send.

__

Buck stood on the sidewalk, his truck now just another piece of the wreckage of his life. It would be towed in the morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had other things to do. Things that mattered more.

He raised a hand and hailed a cab, barely paying attention as the car pulled up to the curb. Slipping inside, he murmured his first destination to the driver.

Hen’s house.

As they drove through the dimming streets of Los Angeles, Buck rested his forehead against the cool window. The glass vibrated slightly with the hum of the engine. His hands were still unsteady, his mind thick with exhaustion. He had planned this night carefully, down to every last detail.

The cab rolled to a stop a few houses away from Hen’s. There was a light on inside. He could see it through the curtains. A small part of him wanted to go up to the door, to knock, to let her see him, just one more time.

But that wasn’t the plan.

Instead, he slipped out of the cab, pulled an envelope from his pocket, and walked to her mailbox. His fingers lingered on the paper, tracing the edges of the letter, before he finally pushed it inside.

It was done.

He exhaled shakily, then climbed back into the cab.

"Where to next?" the driver asked.

“The Grant-Nash house.”

The words felt heavy on his tongue.

It was ironic, in a way. That house was where it all had started for him—the 118, the friendships, the family. It had been the place that welcomed him when he was just a reckless kid looking for something more. And it was the place where he decided it was enough, he had it all, he didn’t wanna do it anymore.

By the time they arrived, the sky had darkened. The house stood quietly against the backdrop of the fading sun. Buck didn’t step out of the car this time. He just reached across the seat, opened the door slightly, and tossed the envelopes into the mailbox.

Two more down.

Next was the Buckley-Han house.

Maddie’s home.

His stomach twisted as they approached. He knew this letter would hurt the most.

The house looked peaceful. A warm glow from inside told him that Maddie and Chim were probably getting ready to put Jee and Jonah to bed. He could almost picture it—Maddie brushing back Jee’s curls, kissing her forehead, telling them a bedtime story.

Would she still do that after reading his letter?

Would she be able to?

Buck clenched his jaw and stepped out, his fingers gripping the envelope like a lifeline. He hesitated, just for a second, then forced himself to move.

He placed the letters for Maddie and Chimney in the mailbox.

Turned around.

Didn’t look back.

The Diaz house was last.

That was different.

It wasn’t just words on paper. It wasn’t just an explanation. It wasn’t even actually a goodbye. The letter for Chris was fine, he was fine with dying, knowing that would be the last thing Chris would ever hear from him.

By the time he reached Eddie’s street, Buck’s hands were shaking again.

The house was dark. No lights.

Maybe they had gone out for dinner after Chris’s presentation.

A part of him was grateful for that. He didn’t think he could handle seeing them—not now.

Buck pulled Eddie’s letter from his pocket, staring at his own handwriting on the front.

This one felt different. Heavier.

He traced Eddie’s name with his thumb, then finally—finally—slipped it into the mailbox.

His chest ached as he turned away.

There was only one thing left to do.

“Last stop,” he murmured as he climbed back into the cab. “Downtown. I need to drop something at a law office.”

The driver didn’t ask questions.

The law office was dark when they arrived, but that didn’t matter. Buck already had an agreement with his lawyer.

A simple will. Nothing complicated.

He had scribbled it down earlier that day, and now, all he had to do was drop it off.

He stepped out of the cab and made his way to the drop box by the door.

One last time, he hesitated.

Then, with a deep breath, he let the papers slide inside.

It was done.

His money would be divided into three parts—one for Jee, one for Chris, one for Jonah.

Everything else? They could split it however they wanted.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Buck climbed back into the cab, rubbing a hand over his face. His fingers brushed against the bandage on his temple, a dull reminder of how close he had come earlier.

“Home now?” the driver asked.

Home.

That word felt meaningless.

But he nodded anyway.

The city blurred past as they drove, the buildings melting into streaks of light and shadow.

By the time they reached his apartment, the evening sky had deepened into a rich navy blue.

Buck pulled a few bills from his wallet and handed them to the driver. More than necessary. He didn’t need the money anymore.

“Take care, man,” the driver said, watching him for a second too long.

Buck didn’t reply.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment slowly, each step heavier than the last.

His keys jingled as he unlocked the door.

The space inside was dark and quiet, exactly how he had left it.

Buck exhaled, long and slow, forcing himself not to think about the fact that this was the last time he would ever stand in this room.

That was the point, after all.

No more thinking.

No more second-guessing.

Just one last, quiet night.

And then—

Nothing.

__

Buck had heard people say that, in the final moment, fear always came. That there would be some kind of primal instinct, some desperate, clawing need to survive.

That wasn’t true.

Not for him.

His hands were steady. His breath was even. His heart, though it pounded in his chest, wasn’t filled with panic. It was just another muscle, working until it didn’t have to anymore.

There was a kind of peace in that.

His ears buzzed—not with fear, but with a strange, almost eerie sense of clarity. He had done everything he needed to do. The letters had been delivered. His affairs were in order.

Nothing was keeping him here anymore.

The weight of the gun in his hand was solid, grounding. It was loaded, the safety already switched off. He had checked it a dozen times, making sure there would be no mistakes. No last-minute complications.

He poured himself one last drink.

The cheap whiskey burned as it slid down his throat, but Buck barely noticed. He wasn’t drinking for the taste. He just wanted the warmth, the slight numbness it brought, even though it wasn’t enough to dull what was about to happen.

Nothing could dull that.

He exhaled slowly, savoring the feeling of air filling his lungs, knowing it would be one of the last times.

Then, finally, he sat down.

The gun felt heavier now, as if it understood the weight of what he was about to do.

For a moment, he just stared at it.

It was strange, really.

His whole life, he had fought to matter. He had spent years trying to prove he was worth something—to his parents, to his sister, to the 118. To Eddie.

But in the end, none of it had been enough.

He had tried.

God, he had tried.

He had gotten back up every time life knocked him down. He had rebuilt himself from the ashes of every failure, every heartbreak, every moment that told him he wasn’t good enough.

And yet, here he was.

Because surviving wasn’t the same as living.

And Buck had stopped truly living a long time ago.

The letters were proof of that.

A quiet laugh escaped him, though there was no humor in it. If things had been different—if he had been different—maybe he would have been at Eddie’s house right now, listening to Chris excitedly talk about his presentation.

Maybe he would have been sitting next to Eddie on the couch, teasing him about how proud he looked, how much he was such a dad.

Maybe—

No.

There were no more maybes.

Not anymore.

His fingers curled around the grip of the gun.

He lifted it slowly, pressing the cold barrel against his temple.

The metal was icy against his skin, but it didn’t make him flinch.

This was the last step.

The last breath.

The last moment.

He inhaled deeply, letting it settle inside him, stretching the silence as far as it would go.

It’s okay.

It’s almost over.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

And then—

A sound.

Loud. Sudden. Deafening.

The gun went off.

For a split second, Buck’s mind flashed with images, memories slamming into him like a tidal wave.

Eddie’s voice, calling his name across a fire scene.

Chris, grinning up at him, eyes full of trust.

The Diaz house at Christmas, laughter filling the air.

The sun setting over the station, the smell of smoke and sweat after a long shift.

He thought about Eddie.

Thought about Chris.

Thought about how much he should have gone to that damn presentation.

Regret hit him like a freight train, a split-second realization that maybe—just maybe—he had made the wrong choice.

He thought of Eddie again.

That was his last thought.

And then—

Nothing.

__

Eddie was pissed.

No, scratch that—Eddie was furious.

Chris had been working on this project for weeks. Weeks. And all he had wanted—all he had wanted—was for Buck to be there. To see it. To be proud of him.

And Buck hadn’t shown up.

He hadn’t texted, hadn’t called. Nothing.

Chris had barely said a word after they left the school. His excitement had dimmed, his shoulders slumped, and Eddie had known—really known—that his son was trying his hardest to act like he didn’t care.

But Eddie could see through it.

He knew Chris had been holding back tears, swallowing down his disappointment like it didn’t matter. Like he didn’t matter.

And that?

That made Eddie’s blood boil.

They had gone to Chris’ favorite Mexican restaurant afterward, hoping to cheer him up. It hadn’t worked—not really—but at least they’d eaten well.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the sky had darkened, and the streetlights had flickered on.

“I’m just gonna grab the mail,” Eddie said, stepping out of the truck. Chris trailed a few steps behind before stopping in the middle of the walkway.

Eddie opened the mailbox.

Two envelopes.

His brows furrowed.

They had no stamps. No addresses.

Just names.

Chris.

Eddie.

Eddie felt his stomach drop.

The handwriting was unmistakable—Buck’s.

No.

His hands started to shake as he flipped his envelope over, ripping it open with unsteady fingers.

He pulled out a single piece of paper.

Dear Eddie,

I love you.

Evan.

His heart stopped.

His lungs stopped.

The world stopped.

“Chris,” Eddie’s voice came out hoarse, broken. “Go to the Jacksons’ house. Now.”

Chris frowned, shifting on his feet. “What? Why?”

“Now, Chris!”

Chris flinched at the urgency in Eddie’s voice, at the way his face had drained of color. But he didn’t argue. He turned on his heel and ran down the street.

Eddie was already moving before the front door even shut.

His keys slipped from his fingers as he fumbled to get in the truck. He cursed, grabbing them off the ground, his heart hammering so loudly in his chest it drowned out every other sound.

He threw himself into the driver’s seat and peeled out of the driveway so fast his tires screeched.

His pulse was roaring in his ears, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Please.

Please let me be wrong.

His foot pressed harder on the gas.

The streets blurred past him, headlights streaking across his vision, but Eddie barely registered any of it.

All he could see was that envelope.

That single fucking sentence.

I love you.

Not a goodbye.

Not an explanation.

Just that.

Because Buck knew Eddie would understand.

And he did.

Oh, God, he did.

Eddie’s stomach twisted, nausea rising in his throat.

His grip on the wheel tightened.

He ran a red light.

A horn blared somewhere in the distance, but Eddie didn’t care.

He just had to get there.

Had to get to Buck.

Had to—

The truck skidded to a stop in front of Buck’s apartment.

Eddie barely put it in park before he was out of the car, sprinting up the stairs, two at a time.

He didn’t knock.

Didn’t hesitate.

He kicked the door open, his boot slamming against the wood so hard it cracked.

The living room was dark.

Silent.

And then—

The smell.

Gunpowder.

Metallic.

Blood.

Eddie’s chest seized.

His vision tunneled.

“Buck?”

No answer.

Oh, God.

Eddie stumbled forward, his feet unsteady, his body moving before his brain could catch up.

And then he saw him.

Buck was slumped on the floor, his back against the kitchentable, his head tilted slightly to the side.

His eyes were closed.

His lips slightly parted.

The gun lay next to his hand, dark and heavy.

Blood—so much blood—was pooling beneath him, soaking into the hardwood.

Eddie collapsed to his knees.

“No. No, no, no, no—”

He grabbed Buck’s face, his hands everywhere, pressing against his cheeks, his chest, his shoulders, trying to ground himself.

Trying to wake him up.

His fingers trembled as they reached for Buck’s pulse.

Nothing.

His breath hitched.

His throat closed.

“No!”

Eddie’s whole body shook.

His fingers curled into Buck’s shirt, his forehead pressing against Buck’s.

“This isn’t happening,” Eddie whispered, rocking back and forth. “This isn’t fucking happening.”

His chest ached, his ribs crushing under the weight of it all.

He pressed his lips to Buck’s hair.

“You idiot,” he whispered. His voice was wet, broken. “You stupid, stubborn, selfish—”

His voice cracked.

His arms tightened around Buck, pulling him closer, as if that could bring him back.

“Why?” Eddie’s voice shattered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears slipped down his face, falling into Buck’s hair, his skin, mixing with the blood on the floor.

Eddie sobbed.

Big, gasping, painful sobs.

“You said you loved me,” he choked out. “You said you loved me.”

His fingers curled into Buck’s hair, his whole body trembling.

“Then why did you leave me?”

“I love you Evan. I need you. Please.”

Please.

The silence swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

Eddie had been here before.

The parking lot of the psychiatric facility was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of damp pavement and something sterile, something too clean. The building loomed in front of him, a stark reminder of everything that had led them here. It had been exactly three weeks since that night in his living room, three weeks since Maddie had shown up and taken one look at the letters on the table before making the hardest decision of her life.

Buck hadn’t fought her.

He had barely reacted at all.

That was what scared Eddie the most.

He remembered the way Buck had sat on his couch, his expression blank as the weight of his plan unraveled before him. He had been caught before he could follow through, and instead of relief, there had just been... nothing. No anger, no protests, no fight. When Maddie told him he needed help, he had just nodded. When she made the call, he had sat there in silence. And when the paramedics arrived, he had stood up, walked to the door, and let them take him away.

Eddie had never felt so helpless.

Now, three weeks later, he was here to bring him home.

He forced himself to move, stepping out of his truck and heading toward the entrance. The woman at the front desk recognized him instantly.

“Mr. Diaz,” she greeted, offering him a kind but professional smile. “Right on time. Evan is ready for discharge. He’s just gathering his things.”

Eddie nodded. “Thanks.”

She gestured toward the waiting area. “You can have a seat if you’d like. Someone will bring him out shortly.”

Eddie hesitated, then shook his head. “I’ll wait here.”

She didn’t argue, just gave him a knowing look before disappearing down the hall.

A few minutes later, Buck appeared.

Eddie felt his breath catch.

Buck looked... different.

Not bad. Not worse. Just different.

He was thinner, his face still holding the exhaustion of someone who hadn’t been sleeping well. His hair was a little longer, curling slightly at the ends, and he was dressed in the same clothes he had arrived in—jeans, a hoodie, sneakers. But it was his eyes that got to Eddie the most. They weren’t as empty as they had been that night, but they were cautious, hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure what to expect.

Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to be picked up at all.

Eddie swallowed around the lump in his throat and forced himself to smile. “Hey, Buck.”

Buck huffed out something that might have been a laugh. “Hey.”

For a second, they just stood there, neither one quite sure how to bridge the gap between them.

Then Buck adjusted the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder. “So... you’re my ride?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. Thought I’d kidnap you for a bit.”

Buck smirked, a ghost of his usual self flickering through. “I mean, technically, that’d be a crime.”

Eddie shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure you don’t turn me in.”

That earned him an actual chuckle, small but real, and Eddie felt something in his chest ease. He reached out, taking Buck’s bag from him without argument, and nodded toward the door.

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

__

The drive was quiet.

Not uncomfortable, but not exactly easy either.

Eddie kept glancing at Buck, watching the way he stared out the window, his fingers fidgeting against the fabric of his hoodie. He looked like he was waiting for something. Maybe a lecture. Maybe a question Eddie wasn’t ready to ask.

Maybe he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

After a while, Eddie exhaled. “Maddie’s been calling. A lot.”

Buck nodded but didn’t look away from the window. “Yeah.”

“She wanted to come pick you up.”

Buck let out a small breath. “Figured.”

Eddie gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “I told her I’d take care of it.”

That got Buck’s attention. He turned his head, his brows drawing together. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did.” Eddie glanced at him. “You’re staying with me and Chris for a while.”

Buck blinked. “I—what?”

Eddie gave a one-shouldered shrug. “You need a place, and my couch is free. Thought I’d offer.”

Buck was quiet for a moment, his hands tightening in his lap. “Eddie…”

“No arguments.” Eddie shot him a look. “Seriously, man. You know Chris would love to have you around. And—” He hesitated, then softened. “So would I.”

Buck exhaled, his fingers running through his hair before he slumped back against the seat. “Okay.”

That was it.

Not a fight. Not an insistence that he could handle things on his own. Just... okay.

Eddie nodded, letting the conversation settle as he turned onto his street.

When they pulled into the driveway, Chris was already standing at the door, his face lighting up when he saw Buck step out of the truck.

“Buck!”

Buck barely had time to react before Chris barreled into him, throwing his arms around his waist and hugging him like he might disappear if he let go.

Buck froze for half a second before he melted, his arms wrapping tightly around the kid. His eyes shut as he buried his face in Chris’s hair, breathing him in like he was something solid, something real.

Eddie swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Chris pulled back just enough to grin up at him. “Are you staying?”

Buck looked over at Eddie, something unreadable in his expression. Then he turned back to Chris, his smile soft.

“Yeah, buddy.” His voice was quieter now, steadier. “I’m staying.”

Chris cheered, grabbing Buck’s hand and dragging him inside, already talking a mile a minute about what they had planned for the weekend.

Eddie followed, lingering for just a second on the doorstep, watching them.

It wasn’t perfect.

Hell, they had a long way to go.

But Buck was here.

And for now, that was enough.

__

6 months later…

The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of a car passing by outside. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the bed.

Eddie stirred first, his body naturally attuned to waking early. For a moment, he just lay there, his face half-buried in the pillow, listening to the slow, steady breathing beside him. Then, shifting slightly, he turned his head.

Buck was still asleep.

It was a rare sight.

For months after coming home, Buck’s sleep had been restless. Even with therapy, even with medication helping to even things out, there had been nights when he woke up gasping for air, his body tangled in sheets damp with sweat. Eddie had held him through every single one of them, whispering that he was okay, that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It had taken time. But now, six months later, Buck was sleeping soundly. Peacefully.

Eddie smiled.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Buck’s forehead, his fingers ghosting over his skin. Buck stirred at the touch, letting out a sleepy hum before cracking one eye open.

“Mmm,” he grumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

Buck groaned and turned onto his side, burying his face against Eddie’s chest. “Too early.”

Eddie chuckled, wrapping an arm around him. “You have work at nine, remember?”

“Unfortunately.” Buck’s words were muffled against his skin. “Remind me why I wanted to go back?”

“Because you love your job.”

Buck huffed. “Right. That.”

Eddie smirked, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “And because you’re a stubborn pain in the ass who refuses to sit still for more than five minutes.”

“Also true,” Buck admitted.

Eddie’s grip tightened slightly. He would never take this for granted—not the warmth of Buck beside him, not the easy way Buck touched him now, like it was second nature. It hadn’t always been like this.

The first few weeks had been careful. Tentative.

Buck had been hesitant about staying, even after agreeing to it. He had kept his bags packed, never fully settling in, always acting like he might need to leave at any second. Eddie had let him take things at his own pace, never pushing, never demanding more than Buck was willing to give.

Slowly, that had changed.

Buck started leaving his things in the bathroom. Then in the closet. Then, one night, instead of retreating to the guest room like he usually did, he had just... crawled into Eddie’s bed.

And that was that.

No big declaration. No nervous confession. Just Buck climbing in beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They had talked about it later—what it meant, what they wanted, where they were going. And for the first time, Buck had admitted it out loud: he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay. Not just with Eddie. With them. With Chris.

Now, six months later, the idea of Buck living anywhere else was almost laughable.

Chris had practically adopted him.

Buck had been there for every school event, every soccer practice, every lazy Saturday morning where they made pancakes in the kitchen, and Eddie pretended not to see when Buck let Chris put way too much syrup on his plate.

He was part of them.

Officially.

“You’re staring,” Buck mumbled, his breath warm against Eddie’s chest.

Eddie smirked. “Maybe.”

Buck tilted his head up, eyes still heavy with sleep. “What’s on your mind?”

Eddie hesitated for a second, then shrugged. “Just thinking about how much I like waking up to you.”

Buck’s lips quirked up. “You’re getting soft, Diaz.”

Eddie leaned down, kissing him slow and sweet. “Only for you.”

Buck made a pleased little sound before stretching, finally sitting up.

Eddie watched him go, propping himself up on one elbow as Buck ran a hand through his hair and yawned. His gaze softened.

“You good?” he asked.

Buck looked at him, then smiled. “Yeah. I think I am.”

And for once, Eddie knew he meant it.

__

Another morning, the house was buzzing with life.

Chris had woken up and was now sitting at the kitchen table, munching on cereal while scrolling through something on his tablet. Buck was at the stove, flipping eggs, while Eddie poured coffee into two mugs. (No one in their right mind would let Eddie near the stove.)

It was easy. Routine.

“Hey, Dad?” Chris piped up, glancing toward him. “Can we go to the park after school today?”

Eddie shot him a look. “You have homework, remember?”

Chris groaned. “But it’s Friday.”

Buck grinned, leaning against the counter. “I can take him.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You have that shift tonight.”

Buck shrugged. “It’s not ‘til late. We’ll go for a bit, then I’ll drop him off before heading in.”

Chris grinned. “Yes!”

Eddie shook his head, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Buck handed him a mug of coffee before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You worry too much.”

“Gee, wonder why,” Eddie deadpanned.

Buck just smirked and took a sip of his coffee.

Chris watched them, his expression warm and knowing. “You guys are gross.”

Buck laughed. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Chris wrinkled his nose. “I hope not.”

Eddie ruffled his hair. “Eat your cereal.”

Chris huffed but did as he was told, and for a moment, Eddie just stood there, soaking it all in.

Six months ago, he had been terrified of losing Buck.

Now, Buck was here.

He was getting better.

He was theirs.

And for the first time in a long time, Eddie wasn’t scared of the future.

He was looking forward to it.

And maybe, just maybe, Buck did too.

_

You will be free once

you realize the cage

is made of thoughts

_

Chris knew something was wrong when his dad never came back.

He had waited. First five minutes. Then ten. Then twenty.

Nothing.

The night air felt colder than before, pressing in on him, making his stomach twist in a way he didn’t like.

So he turned back.

He walked toward the house, his heart pounding in his chest, and that’s when he saw it—an envelope with his name scrawled across the front in Buck’s handwriting.

His hands shook as he picked it up.

Something was wrong.

Chris fumbled for his phone, his breath coming too fast as he dialed the only person he could think of.

“Maddie?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Something’s wrong.”

Maddie’s voice turned sharp in an instant. “Chris? What’s going on?”

“It’s Buck,” he choked out. “He left me a letter. Dad left too, I don’t know where he—”

“Stay put,” Maddie said immediately. “I’m coming. Don’t move, okay? Just stay right there.”

Chris nodded even though she couldn’t see him.

Maddie hung up, and within seconds, she was dialing Athena.

Athena called Bobby.

Bobby called Hen.

And just like that, everything was set in motion.

None of them understood what was happening yet, but they all felt it.

The cold dread seeping into their bones.

So they didn’t wait.

They just moved.

Straight to Buck’s apartment.

Straight into a nightmare.

__

Eddie wouldn’t hear about any of this until much later.

At that moment, he was still sitting in the middle of Buck’s apartment, his knees pressed into the cold floor, his jeans soaked in blood.

Buck’s blood.

His arms were wrapped around Buck’s lifeless body, his fingers digging into the fabric of Buck’s shirt as if that could somehow keep him here.

His forehead was pressed against Buck’s temple. His lips against Buck’s hair. His hands cupping Buck’s face.

He was rocking slightly, whispering the same words over and over again, his voice breaking each time.

“Please, Evan. Come back to me.”

Over and over.

Like a prayer.

Like a plea.

Like he could will Buck’s heart to start beating again.

He didn’t hear how people came to the busted door.

Didn’t hear Athena’s sharp intake of breath, or Bobby’s whispered curse, or the way Maddie screamed the moment she saw them.

Didn’t hear the way she sobbed, staggering backward before collapsing to her knees, her hands shaking so badly she had to brace herself against the floor.

Didn’t hear the way she clamped a hand over her mouth, how she scrambled toward the trash can and vomited because the sight was just too much.

Didn’t hear the way Athena sucked in a breath, her eyes filling with tears even as she forced herself to keep it together.

Didn’t hear the way Bobby closed his eyes, his jaw locking, his fists clenching, the grief too heavy to bear.

Didn’t hear the paramedics arrive.

Didn’t see the way they looked at each other, their expressions shifting from urgent to resigned.

Didn’t see how they stopped rushing.

How their movements slowed.

Because they already knew.

There was nothing they could do.

Eddie only noticed them when they tried to take Buck away.

The moment hands touched Buck’s body, something inside Eddie snapped.

“NO! DON’T TOUCH HIM!”

He pulled Buck closer, his grip tightening.

“Get away from him! He’s not—he’s not—” His voice caught, breaking on a sob.

He shook his head furiously, desperate, his body trembling.

Athena was next to him in an instant, crouching beside him, speaking softly.

“Eddie,” she murmured. “Let them—”

“NO!” He snarled, curling around Buck like he could shield him.

Like he could protect him from reality itself.

A warm hand landed on his cheek.

Gentle.

Soft.

Maddie.

Tears streaked down her face, her own body wracked with quiet sobs, but her voice was steady.

Strong.

She stroked his cheek with her thumb, the way she might with a child, her lips trembling as she whispered:

“He’s gone, Eddie.”

The words hit.

They sank in.

Like a dagger to the chest.

Eddie made a horrible sound.

A choked, wretched sob that came from the depths of his soul.

His whole body caved in.

His head dropped against Buck’s chest, his shoulders shaking violently as reality crashed down on him.

Buck was gone.

Gone.

And Eddie had never told him.

Never told him that he loved him.

Never told him that he was his family.

Never told him that he needed him more than he needed air.

And now—

Now it was too late.

Eddie let out a strangled cry, pressing his lips against Buck’s forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Over and over.

Until his voice was raw.

Until his body gave out.

Until all that was left was silence.

__

Eddie wanted to collapse, wanted to let himself fall apart completely, but even in his grief, his mind flashed to his son. His son, who was hopefully still with the Jacksons. His son, who had hopefully not yet read his letter. Eddie had no idea what Buck had written to Chris, but he knew, deep down, that it would say everything. Explain everything.

He did not go to the hospital, where they would confirm what they already knew. Where they would examine the gunpowder residue on Buck’s hands, the bullet wound at his temple, and write down the words that shattered Eddie’s soul: Evan Buckley. Suicide.

Because his best friend hadn’t been enough. Because he hadn’t been there. Because he had left.

Eddie left his truck in the driveway and knew, in that moment, that he would never drive it again.

Chris was sitting on the porch, his legs pulled up to his chest, his eyes red and puffy. Eddie’s breath caught when he saw the letter beside him, crumpled but still legible.

Chris didn’t look up at first. Then, his voice, barely above a whisper, broke the silence.

"Is he with Mom?"

Eddie’s heart clenched so hard he thought he might physically double over from the pain of it. His gaze flickered to the last few words of Chris’s letter, the ones he could just barely make out:

And take care of yourself. Be kind to yourself. Let yourself be happy. Let yourself love and be loved. You deserve everything good in this world, Chris. Never forget that. I love you, buddy. Always. Buck.

Eddie forced himself to breathe, forced himself to find words that wouldn’t break his son even more.

And then, finally, he said it. The words that tore his own heart in two.

"Buck’s gone."

Chris froze.

Then, after a beat, he let out a short, breathless laugh. A nervous little sound. "That’s not funny, Dad."

Eddie felt like he was drowning.

"It’s not a joke, Chris."

Chris’s entire body tensed. His breath hitched. His small fingers curled into fists.

"No," he said sharply. Panic laced his voice. "No. You’re lying."

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, his throat closing up. "I wish I was."

Chris shook his head, his breathing coming too fast. "NO! That’s not—he wouldn’t just—he’s BUCK!"

Eddie reached for him, but Chris flinched away, his body trembling.

"He PROMISED!" Chris shouted, his voice cracking, his chest heaving with the force of his sobs.

Eddie flinched as though struck.

Chris was breaking apart right in front of him, gasping for breath, pressing his hands to his ears like he could physically block out the truth.

"I don’t want to hear it!" he wailed. "I don’t want—I don’t want it to be true!"

Eddie grabbed him then, pulled him against his chest and held him tight as Chris thrashed, sobbing so hard his whole body shook. His small fists hit weakly against Eddie’s chest, not out of anger but out of despair.

Eddie just held him.

Held him while his world fell apart.

Held him because there was nothing else he could do.

Chris wept into his father’s shirt, breath hitching, gasping, breaking. Eddie’s own tears ran silently down his face, lost in Chris’s curls, in the fabric of his son’s jacket.

Minutes stretched into eternity before Chris’s shaking started to slow. His fingers curled into Eddie’s shirt, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping him from falling.

When Chris finally spoke again, his voice was small.

"Why?"

Eddie froze.

Chris pulled back just enough to look up at him, his face streaked with tears, his brown eyes full of confusion, pain, betrayal.

"Why would he leave us?"

Eddie felt something in his chest break in a way that could never be fixed.

"He didn’t want to, buddy," Eddie whispered, his voice raw. His hands trembled as he wiped away Chris’s tears. "He was hurting. So much. And he didn’t know how to ask for help."

Chris sniffled, blinking up at him. "Why didn’t we help him?"

Eddie’s breath hitched.

"I don’t know," he admitted, his voice shaking. "I don’t—I don’t know."

Chris stared at him, his lip trembling.

Then, in a voice so quiet it nearly broke Eddie completely, he asked, "Didn’t he love us enough to stay?"

Eddie let out a choked sob.

He cupped Chris’s face, wiping away the fresh wave of tears that spilled down his son’s cheeks.

"No, Chris. No, no, no," he said desperately. "Buck loved us. He loved you more than anything in this world."

Chris let out another hiccupped sob. "Then why did he leave?"

Eddie inhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay strong for his son when he felt like crumbling.

"Sometimes," he whispered, "when people are hurting that much, they think the world would be better without them. They don’t realize how much we need them. How much we love them."

Chris stared at him, his small shoulders shaking.

"But I told him all the time," he whispered brokenly. "I told him I loved him. That he was my family."

Eddie closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Chris’s. "He knew, buddy," he murmured. "I promise you, he knew."

Chris let out a shaky breath. "Then why wasn’t it enough?"

Eddie had no answer.

So he just held his son tighter, rocked him gently, whispered reassurances neither of them truly believed.

And together, they mourned the man who had been their family.

The man who had loved them.

The man who had left them.

The man who should still be here.

__

Maddie didn’t go home until she had the file—the file that held every cold, clinical detail of Buck’s death. She didn’t know why she needed it. Maybe she thought if she read the words, saw the facts laid out in black and white, it would feel real. Maybe she thought it would force her to accept that her baby brother was really gone.

But nothing about it felt real.

By the time she unlocked her front door, the sun had already risen, casting a warm golden light over the house that felt painfully normal. Like the world had no idea that something irrevocable had happened. Like the world had no idea that Evan Buckley was dead.

The house was quiet. Jee and Jonah were at kindergarten. The only sound was the quiet rustling of Chimney shifting in his seat at the kitchen table. She stopped when she saw him. He hadn’t moved the envelopes in front of him. Two of them. One for him. One for her.

Neither had been opened.

Chimney looked up at her, and as soon as their eyes met, she felt her legs buckle. He was out of his chair in an instant, catching her before she hit the ground, wrapping his arms around her tightly as she crumbled in his embrace.

“I… I… I can’t breathe,” she choked out, gasping against his shoulder. Chimney pressed a kiss to her temple, murmuring soothing words into her hair, but she could feel the dampness of his own tears against her skin.

She had never known Chimney to be at a loss for words, but he was silent now. What could he even say? There was nothing that could fix this. Nothing that could make it better.

Her trembling fingers reached for the envelope with her name scrawled in Buck’s unmistakable handwriting. She stared at it, afraid to open it, afraid to read the last words her brother would ever say to her. Chimney didn’t stop her. He just held her as she slowly, carefully, peeled back the flap and pulled out the letter inside.

The moment her eyes landed on the words, fresh tears blurred her vision. She read the whole damn letter.

You don’t need me anymore, Maddie.

She let out a broken, gasping sob.

And that’s okay. That’s good.

You were my first home, Maddie. And I will love you until the end of time.

Evan.

Maddie pressed the letter to her chest as if she could somehow hold the words inside of her, as if she could force them back into Buck’s hands and tell him—No. You’re wrong. I do need you. I always have.

She wanted to tear it apart. Wanted to shred it into a million tiny pieces and scatter them to the wind. Because if the letter didn’t exist, then maybe Buck’s death wouldn’t either. Maybe she could pretend that he was still here, just out of reach, still breathing, still fighting.

Her fingers clenched around the edges of the paper, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t destroy the last piece of her brother she had left.

It was dated.

The date made her stomach turn.

That day. The day they had gone shopping for presents together.

She had known something was off. She had felt it in the way he looked at her, the way his voice had softened when he told her he loved her.

And she had brushed it off.

She had been too busy.

Too busy for Evan.

Too caught up in her own life, her own world, to see what was right in front of her.

Because Buck was strong, right? Buck was the one who always smiled, who always bounced back, who always fought through the pain like it was nothing.

But he wasn’t nothing.

He needed her. And she hadn’t seen it.

A sob ripped through her chest, her whole body shaking as she pressed her forehead against Chimney’s shoulder.

“He needed me,” she whispered brokenly. “And I wasn’t there.”

Chimney’s grip on her tightened, his own breath shuddering.

“It’s not your fault, Maddie.”

But wasn’t it? Wasn’t it all of their faults?

They had all been so blind.

Buck had been drowning, and they had let him slip through their fingers.

She thought of all the times she had brushed off his calls because she was exhausted from work, all the times she had been too busy with the kids to check in on him, all the times she had let herself believe that he was okay when he had never been okay.

She had been his first home.

And she hadn’t been there when he needed her most.

Tears dripped down onto the paper in her lap, smudging the ink of his final words.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to go back. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t too busy, that she would always have time for him, that she loved him more than life itself.

But it was too late.

Evan Buckley was gone.

And all she had left was a letter she would have given anything never to have received.

The house was quiet when Athena finally stepped inside.

Too quiet.

She stood for a moment in the entryway, letting the door click shut behind her. The weight of the day pressed down on her, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. The scent of fresh paint still lingered, even after all these months, but it did nothing to ground her.

She had spent the entire day at the precinct, pouring over reports, signing off on paperwork, ensuring that the investigation into Buck’s death was handled with efficiency, with care. The truth was, she hadn’t needed to be there that long. Everything was clear. The evidence was conclusive. The gunshot residue on his hands. The note. The way he had arranged everything so neatly, as if he wanted to leave no loose ends, no unanswered questions.

And yet, all they were left with were questions.

Why hadn’t they seen it?

Why hadn’t they saved him?

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she stepped further inside, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood. The sound of something clattering in the kitchen caught her attention. A slow, uneasy breath left her lips as she made her way toward the source.

Bobby.

He was standing at the stove, his movements sluggish, unsteady. The sharp, acrid smell of something burning filled the air. The kitchen table was littered with bottles—whiskey, vodka, things she couldn’t even identify in the dim light. And next to them, an envelope.

A familiar envelope.

Athena’s chest tightened.

She stepped closer, her breath catching when her eyes landed on the words at the bottom of the letter.

“Take care of them, okay? Hen, Chimney, Eddie, Maddie. Chris. They need you.

And, Bobby? Take care of yourself, too. You deserve that.

Love always,

Buck.”

Her vision blurred.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, blinking rapidly, forcing herself to breathe through the pain searing through her chest.

Slowly, she turned her gaze to Bobby.

He hadn’t noticed her yet. His head was bowed slightly, shoulders slumped, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. His fingers trembled, his knuckles white.

Athena took a step forward, her voice soft.

“Bobby.”

He didn’t react.

She moved closer, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

“Bobby.”

This time, he flinched.

His bloodshot eyes met hers, and for a moment, she barely recognized him. His expression was hollow, his face drawn and pale.

“I’m his father, you know?” Bobby’s voice was hoarse, slurred, and when he spoke, it felt as if something inside of him had broken beyond repair. He gestured weakly to the stove, where a ruined lasagna sat, blackened around the edges, the cheese bubbling in burnt patches. “I made his favorite. He loved lasagna.”

A tear slipped down Athena’s cheek.

“Bobby…”

His breath hitched. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Bobby Jr. and Brook loved it too,” he murmured. “Maybe we could all eat together. My three kids.” His voice cracked, and he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders quivering. “But I lost them all, didn’t I?”

Athena’s heart shattered.

Bobby let out a broken laugh, one that held no humor, only devastation. His gaze dropped to the letter again, his fingers ghosting over Buck’s name.

“I was supposed to save him.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “I was supposed to protect him. I told him he wasn’t alone. That I’d always be there. And now—” His breath faltered. He pressed his hand to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. “I failed him.”

Athena shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, Bobby, you didn’t—”

“Yes, I did!” His voice cracked, and suddenly he wasn’t just grieving Buck. He was grieving everything. “I let him slip through the cracks. Just like them.” His hands were shaking violently now. “Just like my family.”

Athena stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him before he could pull away.

At first, he stiffened. Then, slowly, he crumpled.

His body shook against hers, and for the first time since Buck’s death, Bobby Nash let himself break.

He sobbed into her shoulder, his fingers gripping her as if she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

Athena held him through it, pressing her lips against his temple, whispering soft reassurances even though she knew they wouldn’t fix anything.

She wished she could take his pain away. She wished she could bring Buck back. She wished—

God, she wished so many things.

But all she could do was hold him.

So she did.

And in the quiet of their grief, with nothing but the sound of their broken sobs filling the room, Athena swore to herself that she would not let Bobby drown in this.

She had lost Buck.

She would not lose Bobby, too.

__

The day of the funeral was gray.

The sky was heavy, thick with clouds, as if the world itself understood the weight of their grief. A sharp, cold wind cut through the cemetery, making people shiver—but Eddie barely felt it.

He stood at the front, next to Maddie, who looked like she had nothing left inside of her. Her face was pale, her body rigid, as if she were barely holding herself together. Chimney kept a steady hand on her back, as if he was afraid she might collapse.

Hen and Bobby stood close together, their faces tight with grief. May and Harry held Athena’s hands, their eyes red from crying.

And Chris—

Chris stood next to Eddie, silent, his fingers gripping Eddie’s tightly.

The priest was speaking, but Eddie barely heard the words. How could words ever be enough?

They lowered Buck into the ground.

And Eddie broke.

He wanted to scream. To rip the world apart. To demand that Buck come back.

Instead, he squeezed Chris’s hand, staring down at the casket that held the man he loved.

The man who was supposed to live.

The man who should have been standing here beside him, not—

Not buried beneath the earth.

Chris’s lip trembled, and Eddie knelt beside him, cupping his face.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he whispered, even though he wasn’t sure it was true.

Chris nodded slowly, leaning into him.

Eddie kissed his forehead.

Then they both stepped forward, dropping roses onto Buck’s casket.

“Goodbye, Buck,” Chris whispered.

Eddie couldn’t say it.

Because it didn’t feel real.

And maybe—

Maybe it never would.

__

Eddie didn’t leave his room anymore.

The walls had become his prison, the silence his only company. He had thought about following Buck. Thought about it so many times he lost count. The idea lingered in his mind like a whisper, a dark temptation that curled around his thoughts and refused to let go.

But Chris.

Chris was his lifeline.

Chris was the reason he was still breathing.

So, he couldn’t die.

Even when every part of him wanted to.

The door creaked open, but Eddie didn’t turn to look. He already knew who it was.

Maddie.

It was no surprise.

They had grown closer in those agonizing days when Buck had first gone missing, clinging to each other out of desperation, out of shared grief, out of the unbearable fear that the worst had already happened. Now, they were closer than ever—both shattered, both lost. Both left behind.

Eddie liked Maddie. He really did.

He saw his sister in her.

But more than that, he saw Buck.

And for a fleeting moment, he wondered if this was God’s way of giving him one Buckley in place of the other.

If so, Eddie wished he could return the exchange.

A soft, hesitant voice broke through his thoughts.

"You need to get up, Eddie."

He didn't respond. He just stared at the wall, his back rigid, his hands clenched into fists where they rested on his lap.

Maddie stepped closer. "Please. You need to eat. You need to—" Her voice cracked, and she sucked in a shaky breath. "You need to start living again."

A bitter laugh clawed its way up Eddie's throat.

"Why?" His voice was rough, hollow. "What the hell is there to live for, Maddie?"

She flinched, but he barely noticed.

Chris was staying with Hen for now. It had been Maddie’s idea—Hen was handling Buck’s death better than any of them, and she had offered to split the responsibility with Carla. Eddie knew it was the right decision. He hadn’t been able to be a father to Chris these past few weeks.

Hell, he could barely be a person.

Maddie took another step forward. "Eddie, please," she whispered. "Buck wouldn't have wanted this. He wouldn't have wanted you to shut down like this."

And just like that, something inside of Eddie snapped.

"Oh yeah?" His voice rose suddenly, raw and angry as he shot up from the bed. "And what would he have wanted, Maddie?"

She stumbled back, her eyes wide with shock, but Eddie was too far gone to stop.

"I told him," he spat, his chest heaving. "I told him I had his back. That he wasn't disposable. That I would always—always—be there for him." His breath was ragged, his hands trembling. "And what did I do instead? Nothing. I let him think he was alone. I let him—" His voice broke. Hot, angry tears blurred his vision. "I let him die, Maddie."

Maddie was crying now too. Silent tears slipping down her pale cheeks.

She took a hesitant step forward.

And then another.

Until she was right in front of him.

And before Eddie could push her away, before he could tell her to leave him the hell alone, she wrapped her arms around him.

Held him tight.

He fought it at first. His body went rigid, his breath hitched, and he clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms.

But then he broke.

With a choked sob, his legs gave out, and he collapsed against her. Maddie caught him, her arms tightening as he clung to her like a drowning man. His whole body shook with grief, and he buried his face in her shoulder, his tears soaking the fabric of her shirt.

"It's not your fault," she whispered against his hair. "Eddie, it was never your fault."

He shook his head violently, but she only held him tighter.

"Go to his grave," she murmured. "Say goodbye."

Eddie let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a sob and a breathless laugh.

“I can’t”

Maddie pulled back just enough to look at him. Her hands came up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing away his tears.

"You have to, you owe that to him," she whispered.

Eddie closed his eyes.

Maybe he did.

He had to do it.

For Buck.

For Chris.

For himself.

__

Six Months Later…

Eddie sat in the grass, knees bent, his hands resting on his thighs.

The cemetery was quiet. Peaceful.

The headstone in front of him was simple.

EVAN "BUCK" BUCKLEY
Beloved Son, Brother, and Friend
Forever in our hearts

Eddie traced the name with his fingers, his throat tight.

Six months.

Six months since Buck had died.

Six months of waking up and expecting him to be there.

Six months of hearing Chris laugh and turning, waiting for Buck’s grin—only to remember.

Six months of aching, bleeding, missing him.

Eddie exhaled shakily.

“Hey, Buck,” he murmured. “I, uh… I brought you a beer.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle, placing it next to the headstone.

“I know, I know, cemetery rules and all that, but come on, you’d be pissed if I didn’t bring one.” He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.

Then he fell silent, staring at the stone.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to be… me. Not without you.”

The wind rustled through the trees, the only response he got.

Eddie swallowed.

“Chris misses you,” he said softly. “Every day. He still sets the table for you sometimes. He still waits for you to walk through the door.” His voice cracked. “And I can’t tell him to stop, because I do the same damn thing.”

He exhaled slowly, pressing a hand over his face.

“I was so mad at you, Buck,” he whispered. “So fucking mad. How could you leave us like that? How could you—”

His voice broke.

Tears slipped down his cheeks.

“I should have seen it. I should have—” He shook his head. “I should have told you how much I needed you. How much I—”

His breath hitched.

“I love you, Buck.”

He let the words settle in the air.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

But it was all he had left.

He pressed his forehead to the stone, closing his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered again. “And I’m so sorry I never told you sooner.”

The wind howled around him.

And for just a second—

He swore he heard Buck’s laugh.

_

I cry,

For the live you lived

And the one you

Didn’t

_