Chapter Text
It had been a day.
Buck had seen a lot in his years on the job — broken bodies, broken hearts, disasters both natural and man-made — but today had drained him in a way that felt bone-deep. A failed rescue. A kid. Too many echoes of Daniel. And instead of going home, instead of calling Eddie or even Maddie, Buck drove. He didn’t know where he was going until he was there — a dive bar on the edge of town where no one knew his name, and the drinks were cheap enough to numb everything.
She was beautiful, in that blurred, tequila-glazed way. A warm smile. A light touch. And for once, Buck let himself stop thinking. No responsibilities. No grief. No tomorrow.
He didn’t ask for her number. Didn’t give her his. Just names for the night. No expectations.
He barely remembered anything past the second round.
Almost ten months later
“Buck!”
The voice behind him was familiar and irritated in a Bobby Nash sort of way — clipped, commanding, full of too much worry to be mad. Buck turned slowly from where he and Eddie were watching Christopher’s soccer practice.
Bobby looked grim. “You need to come to the station. Now.”
Eddie stood up beside Buck, tense. “What’s going on?”
Bobby looked between them. “Just come.”
The moment Buck walked into the station, he felt the shift. It was too quiet. Everyone avoided his eyes — except Hen, who was in the middle of the room cradling something.
Someone.
A baby.
A little girl with a shock of soft light brown curls, red cheeks, and… a very familiar pout. She was fussing softly, pressed against Hen’s shoulder, but as soon as Buck walked in, she stared. Bright blue eyes. A small hand reached toward him.
“What the hell is going on?” Buck asked slowly, not moving.
Hen turned around, adjusting the baby against her chest. “Her name’s Lily.”
Buck blinked.
“She was dropped off at a fire station,” Hen continued. “Not ours. One in Santa Monica. No note. Just a bag of baby clothes, a pacifier, and this.” She handed over a worn photo. It was of him — a candid one, smiling at a community event, probably posted online.
Buck’s brain short-circuited. “I— What?”
“She’s about a month old,” Bobby said quietly.
Eddie moved to Buck’s side, steady, a wall of quiet support. “Buck…”
Buck looked at the baby. The tiny girl who was now staring at him like she knew him.
And there it was — the birthmark. Barely visible, on her left eyelid.
Same as his.
“I don’t…” Buck breathed. “I don’t even remember her mother’s name.”
Hen softened. “We figured.”
“Is she okay?” Buck asked, almost too fast. “Is Lily okay?”
“She’s healthy,” Hen nodded. “Confused. Probably scared. But she calmed down the moment she saw you.”
Bobby stepped forward. “You don’t have to figure this all out today. But she’s yours, Buck. We didn’t want you to find out from some stranger.”
Buck reached out — hands shaking — and Hen gently passed the baby to him. Lily settled into his arms like it was natural, like she’d been waiting for him her whole life. Her fingers curled around the edge of his shirt, her head nestling into his chest.
Eddie was silent beside him, watching them with something unreadable in his eyes. Then, without a word, he stepped forward and reached out to tuck the blanket tighter around Lily’s shoulder.
Buck looked at him, searching.
Eddie met his gaze. “We’ll figure this out. You’re not alone.”
Buck didn’t realize he’d started crying until Lily’s tiny hand reached up and brushed at his cheek.
Later that night, at Eddie’s house
Christopher sat cross-legged on the couch, utterly enchanted by Lily, who was now sound asleep in the bassinet Eddie had pulled out of storage — leftovers from when Chris was a baby.
“She looks like you,” Chris whispered to Buck.
Buck chuckled softly, eyes puffy. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“You’re gonna be a good dad,” Chris said. “You already are.”
That undid Buck all over again.
Eddie was watching him from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. “You okay?”
Buck shook his head, wiping at his eyes. “No. But… I think I’m gonna be.”
Eddie nodded, stepping close. “You’ve got me and Chris. You’ve got the 118. Whatever this means, we’ll figure it out.”
Buck looked over at the baby — his daughter — sleeping safe and sound in a house that already felt like a home.
He took a deep breath. “Her name’s Lily,” he whispered, like he was still trying it out. “Hi, Lily. I’m your dad.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Buck felt something break open inside his chest — not in a painful way. In a hopeful one.
Like maybe the worst night of his life had accidentally led to something beautiful.
Something that looked just like him.