Archive of Our Own ^beta

Buck steps into the kitchen, dishes in hand, the quiet clink of ceramic steadying him more than it probably should. The smell of garlic and roasted something fills the space, warm and grounding. Comfort food in every sense of the word.

Through the doorway, he sees them. Eddie and Chris, sitting at the coffee table with a deck of cards spread out between them. Chris laughs at something, cheeks flushed with joy, and Eddie is leaning forward, eyes soft, like nothing else in the world matters.

Buck watches them for a moment too long. "It's, uh… it's nice to see those two together again," he says, almost without thinking. His voice catches a little at the end. "Same as they always were."

Pepa is at the sink, towel in hand, drying the last of the dishes she’s washed. She glances over at him, “It’s a testament to our Eddie.”

Buck lets his eyes fall back on the scene in the living room. His chest tightens with something that feels like awe and something that feels dangerously close to longing. "Yeah," he agrees, too quietly. "He's a good dad. Christopher’s a lucky kid."

And maybe I'm lucky, too, he doesn’t say. To be part of this. To be in this house, at this table, watching this family, his family, find its way back to normal. But even that thought spirals too easily. Because he can’t stop thinking about what Tommy said. That weird half-laugh when he’d referred to Eddie as “the competition.” And Maddie, God, Maddie... giving him that wide-eyed look and saying, “It wouldn’t be so crazy.”

Crazy? Buck had scoffed.

He wasn’t in love with Eddie.

He wasn’t.

Except… maybe he is.

And that right there? That’s the part that’s been eating at him since the funeral. Since the fight in the kitchen. Since Eddie left. Since Eddie came back.

“Your captain was a good man.” Pepa’s voice brings him back to the moment. He forces himself to nod. “You must miss him.”

He does. So much it aches. Bobby wasn’t just their captain. He was Buck’s compass, his grounding point, his family. The voice in his head telling him he was doing okay. Or that he could be okay, even when everything else felt wrong.

Buck pulls out a chair and sinks into it, shoulders slouched like the weight of the last few weeks is physically pressing down on him. "Uh, yeah. Bobby was our center. Without him, everything feels off balance. Kinda like the gravity is gone, you know?" And maybe it isn’t just Bobby. Maybe it’s everything. The way the world has shifted, the way Buck doesn’t feel quite tethered anymore. Not at work. Not in his own body. Not even in his own heart, which feels like it’s been quietly rerouting itself without his permission.

"You know," Pepa says, voice gentler now, "after my stroke, I was so afraid. I… I couldn’t even move my hand." He watches her raise that hand, sees how steady it is now, and still, he can’t help but see the ghosts of fear behind her eyes. "I kept thinking, ‘My life will never be the same.’"

He nods, helpless. “W-well, hey, look at you now.”

"Yes, look at me now," she says, with a playful laugh. "Doing all your dishes."

Buck huffs out a soft chuckle, surprised that it even escapes. “Right. In fact, hey, w-why don’t you sit and let me take over.” They switch spots easily, like it’s second nature. Like he’s always been here. Like he’s always belonged here.

“Fair enough.” She eases into the seat, resting her elbows on the counter like she’s about to tell him something important. "You know, recovering from anything is a bitch. But I didn’t get here by pretending that things hadn’t changed. I got here by embracing that they had."

Her words settle in him like stones.

Embrace that they’ve changed.

God, if only it were that simple. If only he didn’t wake up every day expecting Bobby to walk back into the firehouse, cracking a dad joke and giving out assignments. If only he didn’t keep feeling like he was missing something every time Eddie laughed and looked at him a beat too long...

If only Tommy hadn’t said what he said. If only Maddie hadn’t, too.

If only Buck didn’t already know, deep down, that they’re right.

“Uh, okay,” he says softly. “So… h-how did you do that?” How do you accept that the thing you thought was platonic was maybe never just that? How do you admit you’re falling in love with someone who doesn’t even look at you like that... except when he does?

"Well, a lot of prayer. A lot of occupational therapy." Pepa grins like she knows that wasn’t the answer he expected. Buck nods, the towel in his hands forgotten. "You know, life is change, cariño. It’s unavoidable."

He crosses slowly to the island again, towel hanging loose in one hand. "Are you sure there’s not some way that I can avoid it?"

It’s a joke. Mostly. But even he hears the fear behind it. Because if this thing with Eddie is real, if what he’s starting to feel has been there all along, then everything changes.

And that scares the shit out of him.

Pepa just laughs, gently. "No. You have to own it. If a vieja like me can do it, so can you." She pats his arm.

Buck smiles. Soft. A little sad. "Yeah."

Own it.

But he’s not ready to. Not yet.

So instead, he watches Eddie and Chris through the doorway, laughing over some inside joke, and lets himself feel it... just for a second. That maybe this thing he’s afraid of? It might be the truest thing he’s ever known.

The house is quiet. Too quiet.

Buck lies flat on his back, staring at the dark ceiling above him, sheets twisted around his legs, the weight of the day still pressing into his chest. He hasn’t even bothered to close his eyes in the last hour. Every time he does, he just sees it all again. The conversation, the look on Pepa’s face, the echo of her voice.

"Life is change, cariño."

He turns over, restless. Pulls the pillow under his head tighter. Still can’t sleep. It’s like every conversation of the past few weeks is playing on a loop behind his eyes.

Tommy, looking at him like he already knew, that little quirk of his lips when Buck had said, “Besides, Eddie’s straight.” That knowing, frustrating laugh as he’d scoffed at the idea. Buck hadn’t caught it then. Not really. But now…

Now it feels like everyone else saw something he couldn’t.

Maddie, trying to be gentle, trying not to scare him off the edge. “Are you?” she’d prodded, like it could be the simplest truth in the world.

And Buck had been shocked by her question, that she was insinuating it was even a possibility. “In love with Eddie?”  

"It wouldn’t be so crazy."

“Except that I’m not!” Firm, final, and yet...

It wouldn’t be. Would it?

He flips the pillow over and stares at the clock. 1:38 AM. The house creaks. Something shifts in the living room, probably Eddie turning over on the couch, and Buck holds his breath like he’s been caught thinking too loud.

Eddie’s here. In his house. Again. Because that’s where Buck had needed him to be. That’s what family does, he told himself. That’s what friends do. But he’s starting to wonder if he’s been lying to himself.

And then there was the fight.

The way Eddie had stood in this very kitchen, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with pain and disappointment.

"The trials and tribulations of Evan Buckley: A tragedy in 97 acts."

It had cut deep. Not because it wasn’t fair — Buck had earned every one of those words — but because it had come from Eddie. The one person Buck never wanted to hurt. The one person he always thought he had figured out, even when everything else was chaos.

And despite it all —despite El Paso, despite the job offer, despite the grief — Eddie had come back.

He’d come back to him.

Buck presses his palms over his eyes and exhales hard. He should be sleeping. He has to work in the morning. But his mind won’t let him rest. Not when it keeps circling back to the way Chris had looked when he walked into his bedroom.

Not the same, but close.  That’s what he’d said.

Buck had rebuilt it from memory. The stars on the ceiling. The posters on the wall. The books in the same order they’d been in when this was still Eddie’s house. Because he couldn’t look at that room as anything but Christopher’s.

And Eddie had seen it, had really seen it, and hadn’t said a word at first. Just stood in the doorway, staring like he’d walked into a parallel universe. That was when Buck had realized just how deep in it he really was. Because who else would recreate a teenager’s bedroom down to the thread count, just in case they ever came back?

And now Eddie’s on the couch. Not in a hotel. Not in his own home.

Here.

Buck turns onto his side and stares at the bedroom door like it might open. Like Eddie might be standing there, rubbing his eyes, asking him why he isn’t sleeping.

I don’t know how to sleep when you’re here and I still can’t hold you.

That thought terrifies him. Because he wants to. And once he names it, he knows everything will change.

And what if that ruins everything?

What if he says the words out loud, and Eddie panics? What if Chris feels caught in the middle? What if Buck becomes the reason they leave again? They’ve only just started to heal from Bobby. The whole team is barely keeping it together. Buck can’t ask anyone to carry his emotional crisis on top of all that. And yet…

"You have to own it."

Pepa’s words hit him again like a stone skipping across water. Each ripple spreading wider than the last.

She’s right. He knows she is. But he’s never been good at letting himself own the things he wants. Not without expecting to lose them.

He closes his eyes and lets the darkness settle for just a moment.

Out there, Eddie’s probably curled up on the couch with his arm over his eyes, one leg hanging off the edge, blanket barely covering him. Buck should’ve insisted he take the bed. He’d meant to. But he’d choked on the words. Because sleeping on the couch meant Eddie was here.  And Buck doesn’t know what that means yet. Not exactly. But he’s starting to understand that it means everything.

He shifts under the blanket, exhales again.

Tomorrow, things might be clearer. Or they might be harder. But tonight, Buck lies there with the weight of change pressing into his chest, and lets himself feel the truth creeping closer.

He loves Eddie.

And that changes everything. Even if he’s not ready to say it.

The smell of coffee drifts down the hall, warm and grounding. Buck rubs his eyes as he pads into the kitchen, still tugging the hem of his t-shirt straight. Sunlight spills through the window over the sink, casting golden lines across the floor.

He stops in the doorway.

Eddie’s standing at the stove. Barefoot, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes like it’s second nature. Chris is already seated at the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal in front of him, tablet propped up beside it. They look like they’ve been at it for a while. And for a second, Buck forgets which one of them technically lives here.

Because this was Eddie’s house. Buck had taken over the lease when Eddie left for El Paso, a practical arrangement at the time. But now, watching Eddie move around the kitchen with his usual ease, Buck feels like he’s the guest.

Eddie fits here. The same way he always did. And that unsettles something in Buck. Because the longer Eddie stays, the more Buck wants him to stay forever. And that’s… a problem .

"Morning," Eddie says, not turning.

"Hey," Buck answers, voice still rough with sleep. He crosses to the counter to pour himself some coffee.

Chris doesn’t look up from his tablet. "You look like you fought your blanket and lost."

Buck snorts. "I won, actually. But thanks for the concern." Chris shrugs like that’s the least interesting part of his day.

Buck leans on the counter, watching Eddie work. There’s something about this morning, the ease of it, the rhythm, that makes everything inside Buck ache with how right it feels. And how temporary it still feels, too.

He’s leaving.

The thought creeps in uninvited, sour in his chest. He’s still got that job offer. It’s the same thing that led to their fight in the kitchen. The same thing Buck hasn’t had the nerve to ask about since. But the words are out before he can stop them. "So… uh, you still thinking about that El Paso job?"

Eddie doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t even pause with the pancakes. "Yeah, I guess."

Just that. No explanation. No follow-up. And maybe that should be enough.

But it isn’t.

Not for Buck, who’s had people leave without warning. Who’s always been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He doesn’t push. Just grabs plates and silverware, and they fall into their usual routine. They eat breakfast together like it’s something they’ve always done, like this isn’t Buck’s kitchen now. Or was supposed to be. But Eddie moves through the space like it’s still his. Like maybe it never stopped being his. And Buck doesn’t mind. Not really. It just makes everything feel more precarious. Like it wouldn’t take much for Eddie to decide this wasn’t his place anymore, and take Chris with him.

Buck forces the thought away and focuses on the time. He’s due at the station soon.

He’s pulling on his hoodie at the door when Eddie appears behind him. “Wait,” Eddie says suddenly, and his hand closes around Buck’s shoulder. Firm. Grounding. His thumb slides into the dip of Buck’s collarbone, right where it always seems to land.

Buck turns, breath catching in his throat. Eddie’s eyes lock with his. They’re burning. Not with anger, not even with intensity, really. Just fear. Raw and unspoken. "Be safe today," Eddie says, low and serious. "Especially since I can't be there to have your back."

And Buck gets it then. This warning. It’s not about following protocol. It’s not about the job itself.

It’s about Bobby.

About what it’s like to lose someone you love and not be able to do a damn thing about it.

Eddie’s hand doesn’t tremble, but it tightens ever so slightly. Like he’s afraid Buck will vanish the second he lets go. Buck covers it with his own. “I will,” he promises. “I swear.” Eddie nods, jaw clenched. But he doesn’t say anything else. Buck opens the door, letting the morning air hit his face like a slap. "Bye, Chris!" he calls toward the kitchen, trying to inject some normalcy back into his voice.

“Bye, Buck!” Chris calls back, not even glancing up from whatever he’s watching. But as Buck steps out onto the porch, he catches sight of a reflection in the hallway mirror.

Chris is watching.

Watching them.

Buck doesn’t know what the look on Chris’s face means —he’s thirteen, and already too good at seeing things adults miss — but it’s knowing. It’s certain. Not surprised. Like he sees the thread stretching between Buck and Eddie. Like Chris sees something neither of them are brave enough to name. 

Buck blinks. The door clicks shut behind him. And the hollow ache in his chest follows him all the way to the Jeep.

The call isn’t flashy. No flames, no collapse, no high-rise rescues. But it still sets Buck’s pulse quickening in that familiar way.

They’re dispatched to a construction site downtown. A partially built parking garage with a scaffolding issue on the fourth floor. A heavy section had come loose in the wind, swinging just far enough to clip a worker as he passed beneath it.

The guy’s okay. Sprained ankle, maybe a cracked rib, nothing life-threatening. But the real problem is a mess of twisted scaffolding left dangling halfway over the ledge. The structural engineer on site is already buzzing with panic. If it falls, it could bring half the outer framework with it.

“Someone needs to get up there and secure that rig before we get a full collapse,” Captain Gerard says, voice sharp and clipped. Efficient. He’s not Bobby, but he’s good at the job. Buck doesn’t like him, but he trusts him, even if trusting anyone these days still comes with a dull ache in his chest.

Buck’s heart kicks up. This is his kind of scene. He’s halfway to volunteering — already turning toward the truck, already calculating the harness placement, the anchor points — when something stops him.

Not the height. Not the danger.

Eddie’s hand on his shoulder that morning. The way he’d gripped Buck like he was afraid to let him go. The unspoken weight in his eyes. "Especially since I can't be there to have your back." And then Chris’s reflection. Watching. Knowing. His boots slow. Just for a second.

Ravi steps forward instead. “I’ve got it,” he says, already gearing up.

Buck doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even try to argue. And that, apparently, is enough to catch everyone’s attention.

After the call — once the scaffolding is secured, the worker is loaded into the ambulance, and the site is cleared — they regroup at the truck.

Chim eyes him. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Buck says quickly.

“You let Ravi climb four stories up a half-dismantled skeleton of a building. Voluntarily.”

Hen adds, “You never pass up a mid-air hero moment. Should we check you for fever?”

Buck rolls his eyes, managing a weak smile. “What, I’m not allowed to take a step back sometimes?”

“You’re allowed,” Hen says, “we just didn’t know you would. ”

He shrugs, but it sits awkwardly on his shoulders. Because they’re right. A few weeks ago, he would’ve jumped at that call. Would’ve chased the high of it without thinking twice. But he’d thought twice this time.

He’d thought about Eddie. And Chris. And the way both of them looked at him like he was the only piece of the world they couldn’t afford to lose next.

"Life is change, cariño."  Pepa’s voice returns, quiet but steady.

And maybe this is what change looks like. Not a grand realization, not a sudden shift, but a small pause. The kind that echoes deeper than he expects. He glances down at his gloves, flexes his fingers once.

He needs to talk to Maddie.

Buck doesn’t stop at the station the locker room to shower at the end of shift. He doesn’t even think about it. He tosses a quick text to Eddie, “Gotta run an errand. Be home soon.”  and pulls straight out of the lot, hair still slightly damp with sweat from the earlier call, still smelling faintly of smoke and construction dust.

He’s knocking on Maddie’s door twenty minutes later. She opens it in leggings and a loose sweatshirt, hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot. She’s cradling a mug of tea in one hand and looks immediately suspicious.

“You okay?” she asks, stepping back to let him in.

“I—yeah. I mean. I think so. I don’t know.”

Buck brushes past her before she can ask anything else, pacing into her living room and plopping down on the edge of her couch like someone who might immediately leap back up again.

Maddie shuts the door, sighs, and follows. “You didn’t even shower. Did you come straight from shift?”

“Yes.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I know it’s your day off, and you’re probably exhausted, and you definitely didn’t plan to be on the receiving end of a breakdown before noon, but I just—had to—”

“Buck.” She’s standing in front of him now. Calm, composed, tea still steaming in her hand. “Take a breath.”

He does. Sort of. Then launches into it. “There was this call today—not even a huge call, just a construction site and some messed-up scaffolding and Ravi went up instead of me, and Chim said I was acting weird and he wasn’t wrong because normally I’d be the first one climbing that death trap but I didn’t, and I think I figured out why, but maybe I didn’t, or maybe I’m making too much of it because I’ve been stuck in my own head all week—okay longer than that—and then I remembered what you said and what Tommy said and what Pepa said and—”

“Buck.”

“I think you were right.”

Maddie blinks at him. “I usually am… but about what?”

He groans, running both hands down his face. “Don’t make me say it.”

“You brought it up.”

“I know, but it sounds insane when I say it out loud.”

“Evan.”

He slumps back on the couch. “I think I'm in love with Eddie.”

The silence is deafening. He peeks through his fingers. Maddie hasn’t moved. She’s just staring at him with that maddeningly gentle expression she always wears when she knows something and is just waiting for him to catch up. “No reaction? Not even a little gasp?” Buck asks, half-defensive.

“Oh, I already knew,” she says, settling slowly into the armchair across from him with the softest kind of smile. “Just waiting for you to know.”

He groans again, dropping his hands into his lap. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did. You just weren’t ready to hear it.”

“I still don’t know if I’m ready,” Buck admits. “I mean… what if I’m just getting in my own head again? What if it’s not real? What if I’m just—grieving, or—lonely, or scared of being left behind?”

Maddie leans forward, resting her mug against her belly. “Or… what if you’re in love with the person who’s been your partner, your best friend, and your home for the last seven years?”

Buck swallows hard. “That sounds scarier than falling off a building.”

“I know,” Maddie says gently. “But I think you already jumped. You’re just realizing it now.”

He looks down at his hands. They’re still a little dirty. “He has that job offer in El Paso. He could still take it. What if I say something and it makes him leave?”

“And what if you say nothing, and he leaves anyway?”

He winces.

“Buck,” she says softly, “you’ve always been the one trying to hold on to the people you love. You hold on so tight because you’re so scared they’ll slip through your fingers. And I get it. You’ve lost so much. ”

Bobby’s name isn’t spoken, but it drapes itself over the conversation anyway. Heavy and quiet.

“I just…” Buck sighs. “I don’t want to lose him too.”

“You’re not going to lose him by being honest,” Maddie says. “But you might lose him if you keep pretending you’re not already in this.”

Buck leans forward, elbows on knees. His voice is quieter now. “Pepa said something the other night. ‘Life is change,’ And I think… I think that’s what’s scaring me the most.”

Maddie’s eyes soften. “Maybe. Or maybe what’s scaring you is that this change feels good. And you’re not used to good lasting.” He looks up at her then. Really looks. Maddie smiles. “Let it last, Buck. Let yourself have something good. And don’t wait too long to tell him.”

He nods, breath catching in his throat. “Thanks,” he says hoarsely. “I, uh… probably should go shower before I stink up your couch.”

“Probably,” she teases. “But I’ve missed your panic spirals. So it’s fine.”

He grins, stands, and crosses to kiss her temple gently. “You’re the best.”

“You’re not so bad yourself. Now go home.”

As he walks back to his Jeep, Buck feels a little lighter. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say to Eddie. But he knows he’s going to say something.  And that’s a start.

Buck gets home around noon.

The sun is pouring through the windows, casting warm rectangles of light across the hardwood floor. There’s a soft hum of life from the kitchen. The gentle clatter of dishes, voices bouncing easily off the walls.

He drops his keys in the bowl by the door and rounds the corner, already halfway into a “Hey—” when he sees them.

Chris is sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop open and a half-eaten sandwich in front of him. His brow is furrowed in deep concentration, one hand propped against his cheek. Eddie’s sitting beside him, his own lunch forgotten, walking him through something on the screen.

Buck doesn’t even have to ask to know it’s math homework. He can hear Eddie saying something about graphing functions, and Chris is sighing in that way that only a teenage boy forced to do algebra on his day off can.

Eddie nudges Chris’s crutch with his foot under the table. “Hey. You got this. You just overthink it.”

Chris mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “wonder where I get that from,” and Eddie snorts.

Buck freezes just inside the doorway. It’s such a normal, everyday moment. And it hits him like a freight train.

The light from the kitchen window catches in Chris’s curls. Eddie’s mouth is tugged into that soft little smile he only wears when he’s with his son — that steady, easy love written all over his face. There’s a plate of crumbs on the counter, and a sports bottle half-full of orange soda, and Buck can feel the life in this house vibrating around him.

This isn’t just a home. It’s his home.

Eddie looks up and spots him, and just like that, his entire body seems to relax. “Hey,” he says, standing. The word is small, but something in it loosens Buck’s chest.

Before Buck can answer, Eddie is already crossing the kitchen, pulling him into a hug that feels like a weighted blanket after a storm. It’s warm and grounding, firm and familiar. “You’re home late,” Eddie murmurs near his ear.

“Yeah. I had to run to Maddie’s after I got off,” Buck says, squeezing tighter. “I wanted to come straight here, though.”

Eddie nods against him, fingers pressing lightly into his back. It’s the kind of hug you give someone when you need to remind yourself they’re real.

When they pull apart, Eddie holds onto his arm for a second longer before letting go.

“You’re being weird,” Chris calls from the table without looking up.

“Teenagers are rude,” Buck deadpans, and walks over to ruffle Chris’s hair.

“Facts,” Chris mutters, swatting his hand away. “But I saved you a sandwich.”

It’s a good day. A perfect day.

They eat lunch together. Chris bails on his homework eventually, retreating to his room with a mumbled, “Wake me up when the world’s ending or dinner’s ready.” Buck watches him go with a fond smile, then helps Eddie clean up. They wash the dishes together like it’s something they’ve done a thousand times—because they have.

Later, they fall into quiet again, reading and scrolling and sitting side by side on the couch like there’s nowhere else they’d rather be. And there isn’t. At some point, Eddie’s leg drapes lazily against Buck’s. Buck doesn’t move.

The whole day unfolds like a secret just for them. And through it all, Buck can’t stop thinking: This is it. This is what people mean when they say they’ve found their person.

It’s so good , it scares him. Because nothing this good ever stays.

When Chris eventually calls it a night, he throws Eddie a look. Buck doesn’t know what it means, but it seems clear from the sheepish look on Eddie’s face that he knows what the look means.

Buck helps Chris gather up his things, gives him a hug that’s definitely longer than necessary, and watches him shuffle down the hallway.

The quiet settles in again. Just the two of them now. Eddie’s sitting close, their arms brushing, the air around them warm and thick with something unspoken.

Buck swallows. His heart thuds. “Hey… Eds?”

Eddie looks over, gaze soft. “Yeah?”

Buck shifts, tries to steady his voice. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

As soon as the words are out, Buck feels like he’s standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying. He’s perched on the brink of a cliff, toes curled over the edge, the wind of change tugging at his shirt.

And Eddie? Eddie is looking at him, patient and quiet, waiting. Buck’s heart kicks against his ribs.

Say it, he tells himself.

Tell him that this—this life they’ve built between the cracks, this slow domestic sprawl of mismatched mugs and inside jokes and shared parenting duties—it means everything.

Tell him that without Bobby, he’s been lost, adrift, untethered… and that the only thing anchoring him to the ground these past few weeks has been Eddie and Chris.

Tell him how it felt this morning, standing at the scene of that call, looking up at that scaffold and realizing for the first time in his life that he didn’t want to take the leap. Not because he was scared, but because Eddie had asked him to be careful. Because someone was waiting for him to come home.

Tell him about the ache in his chest when he saw Eddie and Chris at the kitchen table, the way it wasn’t just fondness or nostalgia or even hope. It was love. The kind that settles in your bones without asking permission. The kind you don’t notice until one day you’re staring it in the face and realizing you’ve been living inside it all along.

Tell him that Pepa was right—life is change, cariño—and maybe this change, this shift, is the best thing that could ever happen.

Tell him that he’s scared out of his mind.

Tell him anyway.

Just say it.

But he can’t.

Because what if Eddie doesn't feel the same? What if he’s been standing on the edge alone this whole time, building dreams out of glances and shared meals and the warmth of a hand on his shoulder?

What if this is the moment it all falls apart?

He’s lost so many people. Bobby. Abby. Ali. His parents, in every way that matters.

And now, when he finally knows what he wants—not something imagined or hoped for, not something he’s chasing just because it’s what people say he should want—he’s terrified it’s already slipping through his fingers.

He looks at Eddie and thinks, I love you.  The words press against his throat, hot and urgent.

And he wonders if they’ll still be true when spoken. If they’ll ruin everything.

If Eddie will leave again. If Chris will pack up the room Buck built for him and drive off toward El Paso and Buck will be left standing in the doorway with his broken heart in his hands.

Say it, he begs himself. But the fear is louder than the hope.

It always has been.

He opens his mouth—

But it's Eddie that speaks.

“I’ve been thinking,” Eddie says, his voice quiet. Measured. Buck braces for the worst.

Eddie doesn’t look at him. Not yet. His gaze is fixed somewhere across the room, the far wall, maybe. Or maybe nowhere. Maybe it’s just safer not to look.

“The job in El Paso… it makes sense,” Eddie says, hands resting palm-down on his thighs. His fingers are splayed like he’s grounding himself. “It’s stable. Slower pace. A solid department. Chris has friends there now. Familiar faces. All the reasons someone’s supposed to take a job like that.”

Buck’s stomach turns to stone. He tries to speak, to ask why are you telling me this now, but Eddie barrels on.

“But I couldn’t do it.”

Buck blinks. “What?”

“I called this morning,” Eddie says, finally turning toward him. His eyes are serious. Steady. “I turned it down.”

Buck’s heart stutters in his chest. He opens his mouth, but Eddie cuts him off with a quick shake of his head.

“Let me get through this,” he says. “Please.”

Buck closes his mouth. Nods once.

Eddie takes a breath, eyes flickering away again. “I was talking to Hen and Karen a few days ago. We were catching up, and I said something—just offhand—about how nice it was to be back home. They assumed I meant LA.” He laughs softly, a little bitter. “But I didn’t. I meant here. This house. This living room. You.”

Buck’s breath catches.

“I didn’t even realize I said it that way until I was halfway home. But once I did, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About why this place feels like home. Why it’s not El Paso. Why it was never El Paso, even when we were there.” He shifts, posture tighter now. Like something’s pushing its way up from deep inside and he’s still not sure if it’ll come out right. “So I called Chief Simpson. Asked him if the position at the 118 was still open.”

Buck stares at him.

“He said yes.” Eddie looks up again. “I start back in a week.”

Buck’s throat feels like it’s closing. He swallows hard. “Eddie—”

But Eddie talks over him again. “I can’t keep sitting at home while you go out there every day,” he says, voice strained now. “I can’t sit on this couch and watch the clock and wonder if the next time I check my phone, there’s going to be a call or a message or… or just silence.”

Eddie doesn't have to explain it. Buck can feel it, looming over them. The loss of Bobby still haunting all of them.

“I know what the job costs. I know what it takes. I’ve always known,” Eddie says. “And I can’t let you go out there without knowing someone’s got your back.” His voice softens, cracks. “It has to be me, Buck. It’s always been me.”

Buck’s hands are trembling in his lap. He wants to say something, needs to say something, but the words are stuck.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to lose anyone else. I can’t.” He pauses, like the next words are heavier than the rest. Like they’re being dragged up from somewhere deep and hidden. “I can’t keep running away from things,” he says, softer now. “From people. I can’t keep turning away from someone I lo…”

He cuts himself off. Just a breath. Just a heartbeat too long.

Buck’s lungs seize. But Eddie pushes forward, like nothing happened. “I’m tired of choosing fear over—over what I want. What feels right.”

That lands like a thunderclap. Buck doesn’t know if it’s the way Eddie says it—raw and frayed at the edges—or the fact that Eddie is choosing this. Choosing him. Choosing them.

The 118. This house. This life.

Him.

And Buck realizes, in the quiet that follows, that every version of his confession—every single way he imagined laying his heart bare—didn’t account for this.

For Eddie walking into the same fire. Without being asked.

For Eddie already standing beside him, like he’s always done.

Buck doesn’t speak. Not yet. Because what do you say when someone gives you everything you were too afraid to ask for?

Eddie’s words hang in the air like smoke, not quite settled.

I can’t keep turning away from someone I lo…

Buck is frozen, bracing for the next word— love —and even though it never comes, it doesn’t matter. Not really. He heard it, in the pause. In the tremble. In every single word that came before it. And still, he can’t speak. Not yet. Because something in his chest is breaking open. Slow and steady and clean.

Pepa’s voice slips back into his head like a whisper: “Life is change, cariño.”

This is the change, he thinks.

Not just Bobby’s absence. Not just grief. Not just this hollow ache he’s been carrying around like a second skin.

This.

This quiet room, and Eddie choosing to stay. Eddie coming home. Eddie reaching toward something real and terrifying and true.

This is the change.

Buck draws in a breath that shakes in his throat.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” he starts. “Hell, I still don’t.” Eddie doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just watches him with wide, unreadable eyes. “I thought maybe I was going crazy,” Buck continues, the words tumbling faster now, like they’ve been trying to get out for years. “That maybe I was reading into things, or holding onto something that wasn’t really mine. But when you left for El Paso, I couldn’t breathe. I—I kept walking around this house, expecting to hear your voice. I’d reach for my phone to text you about something stupid and remember you weren’t around. And even Chris—he left too, and… I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

His voice breaks a little.

“I kept trying to be fine. I kept saying it was fine. But it wasn’t. I wasn’t. Because you’re not just my best friend, Eddie. You’re not even just family.” Eddie’s breath catches. “You’re home, ” Buck says. “You and Chris… this house. This life. I didn’t even realize what I had until I thought I’d lost it. And even now that you’re back, I’ve been so damn scared to believe it’s real. That you’re really here.”

Eddie opens his mouth like he might say something, but Buck barrels forward, a mirror of the way Eddie had spoken minutes earlier.

“I didn’t run headfirst into a collapsing scaffold today. Do you know how weird that is for me? I let Ravi have the rope, and I stayed back because—because you asked me to. And that look in your eyes when I left this morning? It wasn’t just about the job. It was about Bobby. It was about the fear I’ve seen on your face too many times. And I listened to it, Eds. I heard you. I chose to stay safe because I couldn’t bear the thought of you being the one to wait.”

Eddie is looking at him now like he’s seeing him for the very first time.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” Buck says softly, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what to call it, or how to define it, or how to fit it into a box that makes sense to anyone else. But I know it’s real. I know it matters.” His eyes shine. “I know that I love you. And not just as my best friend. Not just as Chris’s dad. Not just as the guy I share groceries and a Netflix account with. I love you in a way that’s scary, because it feels so big I don’t know how to hold it.”

Eddie is still silent, but his eyes are glassy, his jaw tight with feeling.

Then, slowly, like the words are pulled from somewhere deep, somewhere he’s buried them for a long time, he speaks. “I’ve loved you for so long, Buck,” he says, voice rough, low. “I just didn’t know that’s what it was.”

Buck’s breath stutters in his chest.

“I thought it was something else. Thought it was loyalty. Or friendship. Or just…” He shakes his head, blinking hard. “Just relief. That you were still here. That I wasn’t alone. That Chris wasn’t.” He swallows. “But it was always more.”

Buck’s heart aches with the weight of it.

Eddie leans in a little, his voice breaking open. “You didn’t see the way I talked about you in El Paso. How every story I told had your name in it. How every memory I reached for had your laugh. How everything that ever felt like home was wrapped up in you.”

Buck’s eyes are wet now too. He can’t even pretend otherwise.

“I didn’t say it before,” Eddie murmurs, “because I thought maybe it was too late. That everything was too… raw. That I’d missed my opportunity.” He gives a shaky, breathless laugh. “But I never stood a chance, Buck. Because it wasn’t a thing I started feeling. It’s just always been there. Since the day we met.”

Buck blinks fast, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“I love you,” Eddie says again, clearer this time. “In every way there is. You’re not just my partner, or my best friend, or Chris’s other parent. You’re everything.”

They’re so close now. Breath mingling. Hearts pounding. Neither of them moves for a beat.

And then...

A breath.

A pause.

One heartbeat shy of a kiss.

When their lips finally meet, it’s like exhaling after holding his breath for years.

There’s no crash of thunder. No cinematic crescendo. Just peace. A soft, steady warmth blooming beneath his ribs as Eddie’s mouth finds his. Tender. Gentle. Earned.

Buck closes his eyes and lets himself feel it. The way Eddie’s lips move with his, slow and searching. How natural it is to lean in, to press closer, to let his hands find their way to the back of Eddie’s neck. How easy it is to melt into this, as if they’d been heading toward this moment from the very beginning.

It’s not desperate. It’s not hurried. It’s reverent. Like they both know exactly what this is. Love. Not whispered in words, not shouted from rooftops. Just shown, in the way their foreheads brush, the way Eddie sighs into Buck’s mouth, the way their thumbs trace familiar skin.

And Buck thinks, This is what it means to choose someone.  To come back. To come home.

He’s kissed people before. Girlfriends, boyfriend, flings, almosts and could’ve-beens. But never like this. Never like something sacred. Never like something safe.

He stays there, holding Eddie close, letting the kiss stretch and linger. They move slowly, mouths brushing again and again, full of unspoken promises and the kind of emotion that doesn’t need defining anymore.

Buck feels the way his body responds. The slow, growing thrum of arousal beginning to stir, heat curling low in his belly. But he pushes it aside, not because it isn’t wanted, but because that can wait. They have time. And right now?

He just wants to stay in this moment.

The quiet. The warmth. The miracle of being loved back.  Of Eddie choosing him. Of this house, this family, no longer being a maybe.

Eddie’s hand slips up under the hem of his shirt, resting lightly against the small of Buck’s back. Not pulling. Not pushing. Just there.  Grounding him.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Buck whispers between kisses.

Eddie hums against his lips, voice low and certain. “It is.”

Buck’s heart soars. He presses their foreheads together, breathing in Eddie’s closeness, his certainty, the promise in all of this.

“I’m so glad you came home,” Buck murmurs.

Eddie nods, brushing a final kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You are home. You and Chris.”

And Buck believes it. With everything he has.

Buck wakes up to the feeling of warmth. Not sunlight, though that’s filtering softly through the slats in the blinds, warm and golden. No, this warmth is human. It’s Eddie, pressed against him from shoulder to ankle, one arm slung heavy over his waist, their legs tangled beneath the covers. Buck breathes in, slow and steady, and Eddie’s scent fills his lungs. Coffee and cedarwood and the faint trace of the detergent Buck always buys on sale but somehow still smells like home.

For a second, he doesn’t move. Just lies there, letting the quiet moment settle in his chest like something sacred.

They’d stayed up late last night. Talking. Kissing. Curling into each other like they were trying to make up for all the time they’d spent pretending not to want this. There hadn’t been more than kisses, but they had held each other like their lives depended on it. Like letting go would undo something that had only just clicked into place.

Buck shifts slightly, enough to glance at the bedside clock. 9:03 a.m. A rare luxury of a late morning.

Eddie stirs behind him, and Buck feels the inhale, then the arm around him tightening gently. “Morning,” Eddie mumbles, voice thick with sleep, already soft with a smile.

Buck turns his head just enough to press a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “Morning.”

Eddie hums in contentment, then tips his head up to kiss him. It’s slow and unhurried. A good morning, a thank you, an I still can’t believe this is real.

When they finally manage to extract themselves from the warm cocoon of blankets, they pull on sweats and T-shirts. Both of them with hair rumpled and eyes still a little bleary. Buck stretches his arms over his head, yawns, and says, “I’ll make breakfast.”

“God, yes. I’m starving.”

They walk out into the hallway side by side, brushing shoulders, and Buck can already picture what the kitchen will look like—Eddie with his morning coffee, Buck flipping omelets, Chris—

Chris, who is already awake.

Chris, who is sitting at the kitchen island with a juice box and his tablet. Glancing between the two of them, to the bedroom they just exited, to the couch that was clearly not slept on. 

Chris, giving them a look so unimpressed it would’ve made Carla proud. 

Buck and Eddie both stop dead.

Chris doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s about fucking time.”

“Christopher! ” Eddie and Buck both blurt out in unison.

Chris rolls his eyes so hard Buck’s surprised he doesn’t fall off the stool. “Oh please,” he says, crossing his arms. “You two have been so painfully oblivious it’s been driving everyone crazy. I earned that one.”

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again. “You’re thirteen, you cannot be using that word just because your dads finally pulled their heads out of their—”

“Language! ” Buck adds, mostly to cover the fact that his ears are turning bright red.

Chris gives them a deeply unimpressed shrug. “Hen owes me twenty bucks.”

Buck blinks. “What?”

“She had a bet going on when you two would finally figure it out,” Chris says, completely nonchalant. “She said after the next near-death experience. I said it’d be after a fight.”

“You bet on us?” Eddie asks, stunned.

“I live with you,” Chris deadpans. “I survived you making me watch that platonic wedding video." The look he levels at Eddie is so patronizing, Buck has to hold back a laugh. "I deserve the financial compensation.”

Buck hides his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

Eddie groans. “You’re never going to let us live this down, are you?”

Chris grins. “Nope.”

There’s a beat of silence, then they all start to laugh. Big, bright, cathartic laughter. Buck can’t remember the last time it felt this good to laugh... this real.

“All right, all right,” Buck says, still chuckling as he moves to the fridge. “How do omelets sound?”

“Delicious,” Chris says, kicking his feet against the stool legs. “And I get extra cheese for putting up with this slow-burn mess for the last seven years.”

Eddie ruffles his son’s hair on the way to pour himself some coffee. “Deal.”

Buck stands at the stove, the smell of browning butter filling the air, the sizzle of eggs in the pan undercut by the soft hum of Chris tapping away on his tablet and Eddie sipping from his mug behind him. The morning is loud and peaceful all at once. Full of teasing and warmth and second chances, and Buck feels it settle into his bones like sunlight.

He turns the omelet carefully, grinning as Chris demands more cheese like he’s royalty, as Eddie scolds him half-heartedly with that fond look he only ever reserves for his son and Buck.

Life is change, cariño.

Pepa’s voice whispers again in his mind. Not heavy, not sad. Just true.

And yeah… this is the change.

Not just Bobby being gone. Not just the grief. Not just the silence that filled their house for weeks.

This.

Eddie at his side.

Chris grinning across the kitchen island.

A quiet kiss good morning. A promise that they’d wake up together again tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day after that.

This is what embracing change gave him.

Buck flips the omelet with a soft smile and thinks, If this is what change looks like, I’m never running from it again.