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If someone would have ever said that probie Buck would be a menace and a stickler for the rules with a clipboard in his hands, his friends and family and coworkers would laugh at you. But as it’s been said before, if Evan Buckley came with an instruction manual, the number one rule printed in bold, underlined, and possibly laminated, would be:
If Evan is sad, give him a child. Doesn’t even have to be his. Any small human will do. Hand him a baby, a toddler, or a grumpy teenager in need of a snack, and like magic, Evan will bounce back with renewed purpose and the kind of joy usually reserved for birthday parties and puppies.
Rule number two?
If Evan is holding a clipboard, run. Don’t ask questions. Don’t make eye contact. Just run and pray you’re not about to be volunteered for something that involves glitter, heavy lifting, or interpretive dance.
Today, we tell that story.
Number one: Moving Day
The moment that Buck found out that his sister would be moving into her own apartment, he ‘borrowed’ a clipboard from work. He’d spent enough time moving from place to place to know that if you didn’t have a list, things were bound to go missing and everything would be chaotic. He’d developed a pretty fool proof system.
Every box was labeled with a number, which coincided with a number on his check list. Then, when it came time to unpack, the boxes would be neatly stacked against one wall in the living room, in numerical order, so that they knew what to unpack first and what to unpack last.
For example, box number one would have the most important stuff, the day to day things like bathroom stuff and medication. The last box would have the little here and there things that wouldn’t matter if they took a few days to be unpacked.
“Okay, clothes should stay on the hangers and then we’ll wrap them in a trash bag, that way when we get to your new place, they’re ready to go straight into the closet,” Buck explains, a giant grin on his face and clipboard tucked safely against his chest.
Maddie? She hasn’t been able to pick her jaw up off the floor since Buck walked in to help her start packing. She barely understood his system, but if it saved her work in the long run, she was going to let him do whatever he wanted. He clearly knew what he was doing.
“So, we need to get to your new place right when the leasing office opens. It shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes for you to get in, sign what you need to, and get your keys, which should put us starting to unpack at 8:30am. Eddie, from work, is going to be here at 10 to help us with the furniture. I figure if we feed him, he’ll stay around and help with unpacking as well. I think if we work hard, we can get you completely moved in and unpacked by 8, that’s including 30 minutes for lunch and 30 minutes for dinner.” Buck doesn’t take one pause when he’s reading off the procedures for the next day. Even his stutter doesn’t seem to make an appearance, like it usually does when he goes off on tangents.
“And breakfast?” Maddie asks. “What time do you have us scheduled for that?”
Buck looks down at his clipboard and grins. “7am.”
“Right,” Maddie deadpans, already regretting letting Buck help her with this, and already plotting a way to get that clipboard away from him.
The morning of the move dawned bright and way too early. Maddie stumbled into the kitchen, still in her pajamas and barely conscious, only to find Buck already halfway through his checklist—clipboard in one hand, protein bar in the other.
“Morning!” he chirped. “You’ve got ten minutes to eat. Then we load the car.”
Maddie blinked. “You mean cars,” she said, noting the sheer number of boxes Buck had managed to stack like a Tetris prodigy in her hallway.
“Nope,” Buck said proudly. “Strategic packing. The Jeep can hold more than you think if you believe hard enough and ignore most safety recommendations.”
Maddie seriously considered faking a sudden illness.
By 7:55am, they were parked in front of her new building. By 8:05am, Maddie was beginning to question her entire existence as Buck buzzed around the leasing office like an overcaffeinated intern, correcting the desk clerk on their own check-in procedures. Maddie signed everything while Buck stood beside her, nodding along like he’d written the lease himself.
“Keys! Let’s move!” Buck cheered once the paperwork was done, lifting both arms in a victory pose that made the receptionist jump.
When Eddie arrived at 10 sharp, lured by the promise of new friendship and free pizza, he barely stepped out of his truck before Buck was on him.
“Hey, good, you’re here! Grab box seventeen first, it’s Maddie’s kitchen stuff, and don’t tilt it, the blender’s already on thin ice.”
“Wait,” Eddie said, eyes narrowing. “Is that a clipboard?”
“Run,” Maddie muttered behind him.
Eddie turned slowly to face her. “What do you mean, ‘run’?”
Buck, in the background, was now directing the placement of furniture like a stage manager in a Broadway production. “No, no, the couch needs to go on the west wall. It’s a feng shui thing. Trust me, I read half an article about it.”
“I mean exactly what I said,” Maddie sighed, dragging a lamp inside. “If Buck’s got a clipboard, he’s no longer my chaotic little brother. He’s a war general with an agenda and zero chill.”
“Got it,” Eddie said, lifting a box with the reverence of someone carrying a live bomb. “So what happens if I mess up the order?”
“Don’t.”
The problem was, Buck’s system worked. Maddie had to admit it. The boxes stacked neatly in the corner like soldiers in formation, each one labeled and cross-referenced on The Clipboard of Doom. She even managed to find her toothbrush and meds without opening more than one box. But still. He was too efficient. Too prepared.
And somewhere between chasing her ridiculous little brother and laughing until she couldn’t breathe along with Eddie and Chimney, Maddie realized… maybe, just maybe, she was actually going to like this new chapter. Clipboard and all.
Number Two: Firehouse fundraiser
Bobby knew what he needed to do, he just didn’t want to. It was brought to his attention that the next LAFD fundraiser was in the hands of the 118, which meant planning. And despite how ridiculous he may get with a clipboard, there was only person fit for the job. Only one person who could get the job done efficiently.
Buck.
“Alright, everybody,” Bobby says, walking into the engine bay during lineup. “It’s our turn to host the annual fundraiser.”
A collective groan echos off the walls.
“Alright, who’s the poor sucker stuck with planning that?” Chimney asks, popping his gum and crossing his arms over his chest.
Bobby sighs and glances down the line towards Buck, who turns around to look to see if anyone is standing behind him, before turning back around and pointing to himself. “Me?”
“Oh.” Chimney nods. “So we’re all the poor suckers who are going to have to deal with Buck’s rampage with a clipboard. Thanks Bobby.”
Bobby didn’t respond, he just gave Chimney the kind of long-suffering look that said you know exactly why this is happening. Because truthfully, no one else was willing to endure the agony of organizing permits, scheduling vendors, setting up booths, arranging for fire safety demonstrations and wrangling Captain Herrera from the 103 into baking cupcakes again. Buck, on the other hand? Buck lived for this kind of chaos.
By the time shift ended that day, Buck already had a rough sketch of a site map drawn on a whiteboard in the break room.
“We’ll set up the food trucks here,” he explained, tapping the side of the board with his marker, “and the dunk tank here. Hen, you’re still cool to volunteer, right?”
“No,” Hen said flatly. “Absolutely not.”
“Too late, you’re already on the signup sheet,” Buck grinned.
Eddie leaned in. “Is this the same signup sheet that also says I’m doing a pie-eating contest and Chimney is leading a Zumba warm-up?”
“That’s the one!” Buck chirped, flipping the page on his clipboard like a game show host. “And before anyone complains, remember, last year’s fundraiser from Station 136 raised over ten thousand dollars for burn treatment centers. If we beat that, Bobby has agreed to wear a chicken costume for the entire final hour of the event.”
“I didn’t agree to that,” Bobby said from the couch, not looking up from his coffee.
Buck pointed at him with the marker. “You didn’t disagree either.”
The next two weeks passed in a whirlwind of fabric samples, permit forms, vendor calls, and most terrifyingly, Buck in Event Planner Mode™. He started wearing a lanyard. He built a shared calendar. He color-coded it.
“You’re not a wedding coordinator, Buck,” Chimney complained, watching Buck argue with a balloon arch vendor over the phone.
“Tell that to the guy who triple-booked the bouncy house,” Buck snapped, then turned back to the phone. “No, Jerry, I need the firetruck-shaped one. That’s the theme. It’s literally the point.”
Hen tried to intervene. “Maybe you’re… overcomplicating it?”
Buck just blinked at her. “There is no such thing as too much when it comes to community engagement. I’ve got a spreadsheet that tracks projected smiles per hour, Hen.”
Hen walked away.
***
The day of the fundraiser arrived, and to everyone’s mild horror (and Buck’s smug delight), it was actually working. People were everywhere, kids running between the game booths, families watching fire safety demos, seniors winning pies in the raffle. The dunk tank was a hit, and yes, Hen had somehow ended up on the seat.
“Payback,” Buck whispered gleefully as Eddie handed him a third softball.
“You’re going to miss again,” Eddie said.
Buck didn’t miss.
And when the local news showed up for a quick interview, Bobby tried to hide, but Buck shoved him into the spotlight, grinning. “This is our fearless leader, who will be wearing a chicken suit later if we meet our donation goal!”
The anchor blinked. “...A chicken suit?”
Bobby, defeated, nodded. “For the kids.”
By the end of the night, Buck was covered in glitter from the arts and crafts table, holding a clipboard so battered it looked like it had survived a natural disaster, and wearing a headband that said Fire Safety is HOT! in neon foam letters.
“Total count,” he said triumphantly, reading from his clipboard. “Twelve thousand, four hundred and eighteen dollars.”
Everyone groaned. Bobby sighed.
“Where’s the suit?” he asked wearily.
Buck handed it over with the ceremony of someone bestowing a royal cape.
“Okay,” Chimney muttered as they watched their captain zip himself into bright yellow feathers. “So next time it’s our turn, we all pretend Buck’s on vacation when fundraiser season rolls around, right?”
“Deal,” said Hen, shaking his hand solemnly.
Buck didn’t care. His clipboard was bent. His voice was hoarse. But his grin?
Unstoppable.
And yes, he absolutely laminated the fundraising totals to hang in the common room.
Number Three: Chris’s twelfth Birthday
Age twelve was pivotal for any kid. For Buck, he grew his first chest hair and kissed his first girl when he was twelve. For Eddie, it was starting ballroom dancing. For Christopher? It meant that his dad’s best friend/ recently new boyfriend was planning him a birthday party. Christopher really only wanted an Iphone, but given the fact that Buck’s own birthday this year had been spent with him fighting with his parents over a dead brother he didn’t know he had, Chris was willing to indulge him.
“Oh no,” Eddie says, walking into the kitchen shirtless and bleary eyes. “Already?”
Buck looks down at his clipboard and spreadsheet in front of him and then back up at Eddie. “What?”
“His birthday isn’t for a month, bubs.” Eddie says, walking around and wrapping his arms around Buck’s shoulders from behind the chair, looking down at what he was working on.
“I know,” Buck shrugs, turning his head to kiss Eddie, but missing and getting his chin. “I just want it to be perfect, you know.”
“Anything involving cake and soda is going to be perfect for him.” Eddie kisses the top of Buck’s head. “The fact that it’s coming from his favorite Buck is just the cherry on top.”
Buck leaned back in the chair, resting his head against Eddie’s stomach with a dramatic sigh. “You say that now, but wait until you see the options I found for the party magician. One of them has a live dove.”
Eddie chuckled, rubbing his thumb along Buck’s shoulder. “Buck. He’s twelve. He’s more into Fortnite and Marvel movies than card tricks.”
“I know, but okay, hear me out. What if it was, like, a Marvel-themed magician? Doctor Strange vibes. Smoke bombs, portal illusions, the works.”
“That sounds like a fire hazard.”
Buck grinned. “That’s why we’ll be there. It’s kinda our job to put out fires.”
Eddie shook his head fondly and stepped around the chair to pour himself a cup of coffee. “You know Chris is just gonna want to hang out with his friends and eat pizza, right?”
“I do know that,” Buck said, already scribbling a note in the margin of his clipboard. “But I want it to be special. He deserves something amazing.”
Eddie leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee as he watched Buck plan like his life depended on it. “He already thinks it’s amazing. You’re amazing to him.”
Buck stilled at that, the pen hovering above the paper. “Yeah?”
Eddie nodded. “You’ve been his constant for years. And mine.”
There was a beat of quiet, soft morning light through the window, the sound of birds outside, the faint scribble of pen on paper as Buck added portal smoke FX? check if flammable to the list.
“Okay,” Buck said finally, looking up at Eddie with that same earnest sparkle in his eyes. “What about a bounce house?”
“For twelve-year-olds?” Eddie raised an eyebrow.
“They make adult-sized ones,” Buck argued.
Eddie laughed. “You just want to jump in it yourself.”
Buck shrugged, unapologetic. “So what if I do?”
Eddie crossed the kitchen and leaned down, finally landing a proper kiss on Buck’s lips this time. “Then I guess we’re getting the bounce house.”
***
“Dad,” Chris said as he walked into the kitchen, voice a little hesitant. “I’m worried about Buck.”
Eddie looked up from his Kindle, lowering it slightly as he took in his son’s expression. He sighed, already guessing where this was going. “Yeah?”
Chris slid into a seat at the kitchen table. “Like, I know he has that weird thing about his own birthday, which is why it’s always just the three of us doing something chill. But—” he glanced toward the hallway, making sure Buck wasn’t in earshot “—I think he might be overthinking mine a little too hard.”
Eddie set the Kindle down and ran a hand through his hair. “You remember a few months ago, when Buck was really sad?”
Chris nodded slowly.
“He found out he used to have a brother,” Eddie said gently, careful but open.
“Had a brother?” Chris asked.
“Yeah. Daniel. He died when Buck was just a baby. On his first birthday.”
Chris’s face softened in realization. “And he never even knew?”
“No,” Eddie shook his head. “Not until his parents came to town when Maddie was pregnant. They kept it from him his whole life. Buck found a picture of a little boy on a bike, but the date on the back didn’t match anything. That’s how he started to put it together.”
Chris leaned back in his chair, processing. “That’s… really messed up.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said quietly.
There was a pause as Chris fiddled with the edge of a placemat. Then he looked up, eyes thoughtful but clear. “Maybe it’s okay if he goes a little overboard with my birthday party. Just this once.”
Eddie gave a small smile, pride shining through his tired features. “That’s very generous of you.”
Chris shrugged, a little grin playing at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t tell him I said that. He’ll start thinking he can get away with bounce houses every year.”
Eddie laughed. “Deal.”
***
The morning of the party began with Buck bolting upright in bed at 5:47 a.m., whispering a panicked, “Oh no,” before flinging himself out from under the covers like he was escaping a burning building.
Eddie groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “Why are you like this.”
“I forgot to confirm the pizza delivery window!” Buck yelled from somewhere in the kitchen, already halfway through a sentence Eddie hadn’t even heard begin. “And the balloon arch guy texted me yesterday saying he might be late because his kid has a soccer game and…Eddie, do we have enough napkins?!”
Eddie trudged out of the bedroom in his pajama pants and nothing else, squinting against the kitchen lights. “I swear, if you ask me about napkins one more time—”
“People need napkins, Eddie. We have pizza, cake, juice boxes. It’s a napkin-heavy day!”
“Buck, breathe,” Eddie said, grabbing him gently by the shoulders. “You’re spiraling.”
Buck blinked at him, clipboard clutched tightly to his chest, his hair already wild from stress. “I just want everything to go right.”
“It will,” Eddie said firmly. “You’ve planned this thing down to the molecular level. Chris is going to have an amazing time. You don’t need to panic.”
“But what if the magician forgets the dove trick?” Buck asked. “Or the projector doesn’t work for the movie marathon? Or-or what if the bounce house has a weight limit and I ruin it by accident and crush a child?!”
Eddie stared at him. “Buck. You tested the bounce house yourself last night.”
“That was science, not play!”
“Okay,” Eddie said, dragging his hands down his face. “We’re invoking an emergency intervention. Go take a shower. Eat something. Then come back and let me help.”
Buck frowned. “But the playlist-”
“I already checked it. It’s synced. Even has clean versions of all the songs.” He smirked. “No swearing in front of the impressionable tweens.”
Buck deflated a little, finally setting the clipboard down. “I just want him to remember this day. In the good way, not the ‘Buck lost his mind’ way.”
Eddie stepped in and kissed him quickly. “He’s going to remember how much you love him. That’s what matters.”
Just then, Chris peeked into the kitchen, fully dressed and wearing his party crown like it was no big deal. “Do I need to separate you two again?”
Buck spun around. “How’s the birthday boy feeling?”
Chris gave a very Chris shrug. “Like I might have to stage an intervention.”
Eddie raised a hand. “Already beat you to it.”
Chris grinned and opened the fridge. “Cool. Then can I have a soda before noon, or are we still pretending that’s illegal?”
Buck blinked. “I—yeah. You can have a soda. But only because it’s your birthday.”
Chris grabbed a can, popped it open, and raised it in salute. “To Buck. The chaos demon, party planner, and best Buck a kid could ask for.”
Buck’s ears went a little pink. “Okay, rude. But I’ll take it.”
***
By early afternoon, Buck was standing in the backyard, completely still, hands on his hips and eyes wide as he took it all in.
The bounce house was inflated and somehow still intact, despite a dozen twelve-year-olds doing their best to break the laws of physics inside it. The balloon arch had arrived, late, but with bonus Spider-Man balloons, which bought Buck’s forgiveness instantly. The pizza had been delivered right on time, the magician had in fact brought the dove (who was currently chilling in a tiny travel crate in the corner), and the movie projector was up and running for the late-night Marvel marathon Chris had planned with his friends.
It was working. All of it.
The yard was full of noise and kids and chaos, but the good kind. Laughter rang out every few seconds. Someone screamed victoriously from inside the bounce house. Chris was surrounded by his friends, a soda in one hand and a plastic lightsaber in the other, grinning so wide it nearly split his face in half.
Buck stood there, frozen, clipboard forgotten somewhere inside the house.
“You okay?” Eddie’s voice was soft as he stepped up beside him, bumping their shoulders together.
Buck nodded slowly, eyes still on the scene in front of him. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t expect it to work this well.”
Eddie smirked. “You planned it within an inch of its life. Of course it worked.”
“I don’t mean the logistics. I mean-” Buck swallowed, watching as Chris tossed his head back and laughed at something one of the other kids said. “He’s happy. Like really happy.”
Eddie followed his gaze, his own face softening. “Of course he is. You made this day about him. And you didn’t just plan a party. You gave him a memory.”
Buck finally let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I just kept thinking, if I couldn’t have that, if I didn’t get to have a birthday with people who actually cared, then maybe I could make sure he does.”
“You did,” Eddie said simply. “You gave him something better.”
Buck blinked hard and rubbed at one eye, trying to act casual about it. “I’m not crying, you’re crying.”
“Sure,” Eddie said, handing him a tissue anyway.
Then Chris came walking over, red-cheeked and out of breath. “Buck! You have to watch this magic trick. I can’t figure out how he’s doing it.”
Buck and Eddie exchange a look before Buck grins. “What happened to ‘I don’t believe that stuff for one second?”
“I still don’t, which is why you have to help me figure it out.” Chris says, taking Buck’s hand and tugging.
Buck let himself be dragged, laughing the whole way, clipboard long forgotten and heart finally full.
Number Four: Retirement Party
Buck knew it was coming. Bobby had survived one too many catastrophes and he wasn’t getting any younger. So the day he sat everyone done at dinner and told them he was retiring, everyone was sad but no one was shocked.
Buck, having found a father/son relationship with Bobby over the years, takes it upon himself to plan Bobby the best damn retirement party anyone has ever had.
“Buck,” Athena said as she opened the front door, her tone bordering between suspicion and amusement. “Bobby’s not here.”
“I know,” Buck said, practically vibrating, a clipboard clutched to his chest like a sacred text. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against the metal clip, his engagement ring catching the light with every beat. “I was kind of banking on that.”
Athena crossed her arms, raising a brow. “Oh?”
“Bobby’s retirement party!” Buck flipped the clipboard around proudly. It was covered in color-coded sections and a rough sketch of a banquet layout that may or may not have been modeled after a firehouse floor plan. “If-if that’s okay with you?”
Athena looked at him for a long beat, and then her expression softened. “Boy,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing him in, “if you don’t get in here so we can talk napkin colors.”
Buck grinned, heart doing something weird in his chest. He stepped inside, kicking his shoes off instinctively so he wouldn’t scuff up the new floors Bobby had spent a whole weekend refinishing.
“I was thinking a black and red color scheme,” Buck started, flipping to tab three of his clipboard. “Classy, but with a firehouse edge. You know, like… nostalgic, but elegant? No-no inflatable axes or anything, I promise.”
Athena chuckled as she led him into the dining room. “Let’s make one thing clear, Buck. If there’s a themed cake, it better not be shaped like a burning building.”
“Noted,” Buck said, writing no disaster cakes in the margin.
Athena watched him for a moment, her smile growing softer. “He’s going to love this, you know.”
Buck’s pen paused. “You think so?”
“I know so.” She reached over and tapped the clipboard. “You’ve been part of this family a long time now. Bobby might be retiring, but that love? That doesn’t go anywhere.”
Buck looked down, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I just… I want him to know what he means to all of us. What he means to me.”
Athena nodded, her voice quiet but firm. “Then let’s throw him the kind of party no one ever forgets.”
Buck smiled, already flipping to the next page. “Okay. So, food: I was thinking barbecue, but like, fancy barbecue.”
“God help me,” Athena said, already reaching for a pen.
***
“Okay, team!” Buck clapped his hands in the middle of the firehouse kitchen, eyes gleaming with unearned confidence. “Retirement Party Planning Session: Phase Two.”
“Phase two?” Chim asked, mid-chew on a protein bar. “When was Phase One?”
“Yesterday,” Hen said, not looking up from her phone. “When he ambushed Athena with six pages of linen samples and a color wheel.”
“I scaled it back,” Buck insisted. “We’re only choosing between three napkin colors now, and two of them are basically the same red.”
“Same red?” Chim leaned over to peer at the clipboard Buck had already thrust under his nose. “Dude, these are maroon and crimson. Bobby would not care.”
Buck frowned. “Of course he cares. He’s just subtle about it.”
“He literally told me last week he thought Pinterest is a type of fencing for chicken-coops,” Eddie deadpanned from the couch.
Buck whirled around. “Okay, yes, but that’s why he needs us. He deserves something thoughtful and beautiful and... like, emotionally resonant! This isn’t just a party, it’s a sendoff. It’s a thank you for saving our asses and loving us and making those terrible jokes that somehow grew on all of us.”
Hen sighed. “Okay. Fine. We’re in. But if this turns into a ‘roast the captain’ slideshow, I’m out.”
Buck flipped a tab. “No roasting. This is a celebration of life and legacy and barbecued brisket.”
Athena, who had arrived with coffee and caught the last part, set the tray down with a raised brow. “Did you order the brisket yet?”
Buck froze. “I had to switch caterers. The first one ghosted me after I asked if their chafing dishes matched a matte black palette.”
Everyone stared at him.
“What?” Buck asked. “Details matter!”
“You know what else matters?” Eddie said, standing and grabbing one of the coffees. “Sleep. Sanity. Not having a breakdown over centerpieces.”
Buck flipped the page on his clipboard. “Speaking of centerpieces-”
“No,” Hen said flatly.
“They’re shaped like fire helmets.”
“Still no.”
Buck huffed. “Okay, fine. But just imagine this: Bobby walks in, the lights dim, a slideshow starts with his baby photo-Athena sent me sixteen, by the way-and ‘Eye of the Tiger’ plays softly in the background-”
“Softly?” Chim asked.
“Ish,” Buck said. “I mean, I could do a live performance.”
Eddie dropped his head to the table.
Athena just smiled. “You’re lucky we all love you, Buck.”
Buck looked around the room, clipboard hugged to his chest like armor, eyes earnest. “I just want it to be perfect.”
There was a pause.
“Then let’s do it,” Hen said, relenting.
“And maybe keep the slideshow to under ten minutes?” Chim added.
“And no singing,” Eddie muttered.
Buck beamed. “Deal! Now… gift bags!”
Groans echoed around the kitchen, but no one left. Not really. Not when it came to Bobby.
***
Two days before the party, Eddie woke up to find the other half of the bed cold and empty.
Again.
He followed the faint glow of the kitchen light and found Buck sitting at the table, eyes bloodshot, hair in eight directions, and surrounded by six different notebooks, three color swatches, a glue gun, and what looked like thirty tiny plastic fire trucks.
“Baby,” Eddie said gently. “Please tell me you didn’t stay up all night.”
Buck didn’t look up. “Did you know Bobby’s favorite dessert is bread pudding? Bread pudding, Eddie. I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s... wet cake, I think,” Eddie muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Wait, what’s that smell?”
Buck looked up, wide-eyed. “Glue. I might’ve… accidentally melted a spatula. But look, gift bags!”
Eddie blinked. Each bag had a tiny fire truck keychain, a packet of chili seasoning, a handwritten note from Buck (in calligraphy, no less), and, for some reason, a laminated “Top 10 Bobby Wisdom Quotes” card.
“You laminated,” Eddie said slowly.
“I borrowed the machine from Athena.”
“Buck.”
“She offered, Eddie! Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you like anything. I’m just…” Eddie sighed, walking over and crouching beside him. “You’re spiraling. And I get it. But baby, this isn’t our wedding. You don’t have to burn yourself out.”
Buck leaned into the hand Eddie pressed to the back of his neck. “I just want it to be right. He’s done so much. For all of us. For me. He’s the only father I’ve ever really had, and I…I just need to make sure everything goes perfectly.”
“It will be right,” Eddie promised. “Because it’s coming from you. And he’s going to know that, clipboard or not.”
Buck’s lip wobbled. “I lost the RSVP spreadsheet. I think the cat walked on the keyboard and deleted it.”
“You printed four copies and laminated one.”
“Oh. Right.” Buck sniffed. “I might be...losing it a little.”
“Only a little? My love, we don’t even have a cat,” Eddie kissed his temple and stood up. “C’mon. Shower, then nap. I’ll call Chim and Hen and get the rest of the centerpiece candles from your storage locker of doom.”
“You’re enabling me,” Buck muttered.
“I’m marrying you,” Eddie corrected. “That’s way worse.”
Meanwhile, at Athena and Bobby’s:
“Why is Buck texting me about whether you prefer ‘vintage Americana’ or ‘sophisticated rustic’?” Athena asked, holding up her phone.
Bobby didn’t look up from his crossword. “I don’t even know what either of those mean.”
Athena sighed. “That’s what I told him. But he’s emotionally attached to his party spreadsheet, and I’m scared of disappointing him.”
“He’s going to give himself an ulcer.”
“He’s going to give me one.”
“Should we tell him I don’t even like parties?”
Athena smiled. “Not until after.”
***
The backyard of Athena and Bobby’s house had been completely transformed.
There were twinkle lights strung from every post and tree branch, casting a soft golden glow over the tables dressed in red and black linens (Buck's final two color choices, after an agonizing weeklong debate). Firefighter memorabilia was tucked into tasteful centerpieces. Nothing too kitschy, thanks to Eddie's quiet veto power. The food smelled incredible. Real, professionally catered barbecue, not the backup backup plan Buck had been panicking about three days ago.
And the place was packed.
The entire 118 was there. Retired firefighters Bobby had served with decades ago. All the kids running in circles around the dessert table. Even May and Harry had flown in for the weekend, handing Bobby a heartfelt card and making Buck cry from ten feet away.
Buck stood just off to the side of it all, completely frozen.
“You’re short-circuiting,” Eddie said gently, handing him a plate of food he definitely wouldn’t eat.
Buck blinked. “I think I am.”
“Because it’s actually going well?”
“Because it looks exactly like I imagined it,” Buck whispered. “I actually pulled it off! I imagined it and then it... happened.”
Eddie smiled, his arm sliding around Buck’s waist. “That’s called execution, Bugs. You did it.”
Buck stared out at the crowd, watching Bobby laugh with Chim over ribs, a kid from the neighborhood trying to climb the decorative fire pole Buck had absolutely not authorized, and Athena quietly wiping a tear from her eye after hugging one of Bobby’s old academy buddies that flew in from Minnesota.
“I just wanted him to feel loved,” Buck said.
Eddie pressed a kiss to his temple. “He does. And he will. And it’s because of you.”
As if summoned, Bobby made his way through the crowd, a warm smile on his face, eyes a little glassy already.
“Buck,” he said, opening his arms without hesitation.
Buck stepped into the hug before he could even think about it.
“This is...” Bobby pulled back just enough to look at him. “I don’t have the words. But thank you.”
Buck’s throat tightened. “You always showed up for us. I just wanted to show up for you.”
“You did,” Bobby said. “You always do.”
The words landed with more weight than Buck expected. And when Bobby turned to Eddie, clapping him on the shoulder, Buck took one last look around—the lights, the laughter, the family—and let himself finally breathe.
The slideshow started behind them, and yes, it absolutely began with “Eye of the Tiger.” Buck groaned as everyone started laughing, but Bobby just looked over and said, “You picked this, didn’t you?”
Buck grinned. “Yeah. But wait until it transitions into ‘The Wind Beneath My Wings.’”
“You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” Buck said, leaning into Eddie’s side. “But you love me.”
“I do,” Bobby said, just as Eddie echoed softly beside him, “We both do.”
And for once, Buck didn’t need a clipboard to feel like he belonged.
Number Five: Buying house and moving
Finding Hope in that safe haven box had been the first step in speeding up Buck and Eddie’s house hunt.
Their two-bedroom rental had been fine, comfortable, lived-in, full of memories, but it wasn’t built for four people and a very large dog who thought the couch belonged to him. Chris deserved more privacy as he got older, and Hope? Hope deserved a nursery that wasn’t a repurposed dining room crammed with diaper storage and Buck’s old treadmill.
Plus, Buck kept “casually” mentioning that two kids didn’t mean done. Not necessarily.
Eddie would roll his eyes. “You’ve got a Google Doc titled ‘Baby Name Options.’”
“I like to be prepared,” Buck would reply, grinning.
They’d finalized Hope’s adoption just a few weeks after signing a marriage certificate. It was quiet, no big wedding, just a trip to city hall and two rings they’d picked out together at a farmer’s market booth. Buck told Eddie they’d do the big ceremony later. Maybe. “But this? The paper? The promise? This is what matters.”
And now, they were standing in the living room of the seventh house of the week, staring at crown molding and a fireplace that Buck already had holiday decoration plans for.
“This one has potential,” Eddie said carefully.
Buck was already mentally knocking down the non-load-bearing wall between the kitchen and the dining room. “Chris could have that room downstairs, and we could turn the spare into a nursery-slash-chaos containment zone.”
Hope, strapped to Buck’s chest in the carrier, blew a spit bubble like she approved.
“I don’t know,” Eddie said, crossing his arms. “It’s a little dated.”
Buck turned to him, wide-eyed. “It has a laundry chute.”
“So does a hotel. Doesn’t mean I want to raise my kids there.”
“It has an attic, Eddie. A real one. Like in movies.”
“You’re emotionally attached to insulation and spiders.”
“Charming potential.”
The realtor cleared her throat from the entryway. “So, should I… take that as a maybe?”
Eddie glanced at Buck, who was now standing in the bay window like he was imagining Sunday mornings with pancakes and too many coffee mugs.
He sighed.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s a maybe.”
***
They found the right one three weeks, four minor arguments, and at least one clipboard-induced panic attack later.
Buck had created a color-coded spreadsheet ranked by neighborhood walkability, school ratings, number of windows, and Eddie’s personal favorite…“vibe.” He carried around a clipboard full of printed listings, floorplans, pros and cons, and emotional reactions from Chris.
“You gave the last house three sad face emojis,” Eddie pointed out one morning as they sat in the car outside an open house in Pasadena.
“It didn’t have a pantry, Eddie,” Buck said, tapping the clipboard. “Hope needs a pantry. You don’t raise future astronauts without organized snacks.”
“She’s eight months old.”
Buck ignored that, flipping the page. “Okay, this next one has a wraparound porch, but I heard the neighbor has a rooster.”
“I can live with that.”
“Well I can’t. I grew up next to a guy with a parrot. It never shut up. I can still hear it in my nightmares.”
Eddie reached over and slowly lowered the clipboard to Buck’s lap. “You need to chill.”
“I can’t chill,” Buck whispered dramatically. “This is our forever house, Eddie.”
“You said that about the one with the hot tub in the living room.”
“That was a concept, not a home.”
Still, through the chaos, through Hope melting down during showings, through Chris doing sarcastic house reviews in a British accent, through Buck spiraling about natural light ratios, they kept going. Kept showing up to new doors, new possibilities, trying to find the place that felt like theirs.
And then they did.
It wasn’t the flashiest house on the list, or the one highest on Buck’s spreadsheet. But the moment they walked in, Eddie holding Hope, Buck holding that same cursed clipboard, Chris tugging off his shoes at the entryway, it just felt right.
A craftsman with character. A wide porch for summer nights. A creaky staircase that Chris declared “mildly haunted, but in a cool way.” A kitchen with real sunlight and enough room for chaos. For family.
Buck walked through it slowly, eyes taking everything in, not just the structure, but the life he could see inside it. Hope learning to walk in the hallway. Chris doing homework at the table. Buck cooking while Eddie tried not to burn the garlic bread. Laughter, birthdays, quiet mornings, loud nights. All of it.
He stopped in the living room and whispered, “This is it.”
Eddie glanced over, brows raised. “No laminated lists? No emergency re-rank?”
Buck grinned, eyes misty. “I forgot to bring the clipboard in.”
“Well then,” Eddie said, smiling softly, “must be fate.”
They put in an offer that night.
***
Moving Day was less a coordinated operation and more a full-scale Buckley production.
The clipboard was back in action, freshly printed checklists in plastic sleeves, laminated pages marked with color-coded tabs, and a pen tethered by a string like Buck was running a traveling DMV.
“Okay!” Buck called out, standing in the driveway at 7:02 a.m., Hope strapped to his chest in a baby carrier, the clipboard in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. “Box truck ETA is 7:15, Chimney’s in charge of kitchen breakables, and Eddie, please make sure Chris follows the labeling system.”
Eddie, still nursing his coffee and wearing mismatched socks, blinked at him. “He’s fifteen. He just wrote ‘My Stuff’ on every box.”
Buck looked personally offended. “I gave him labels, Eddie.”
“Buck, the Wi-Fi isn’t even set up yet.”
“I know! That’s on page three of the Day One Priorities Packet.”
“You made a packet?”
“I emailed it and printed copies. You didn’t see the QR code?”
“I shredded it, babe.”
Buck gasped.
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of cardboard, sweat, and Buck shouting things like “no, that’s the secondary tool box!” and “you’re holding the guest bathroom towels, not the main!” Chimney claimed an old back injury after lifting a houseplant, and Hen gently threatened to set the clipboard on fire if Buck didn’t stop asking people to initial when they’d unloaded a box.
Hope slept through most of it with her cousin Robbie in the playpen set up in the corner of the living room.
Chris took one look at the chaos and wisely retreated to set up his room with Denny and Mara’s help, blasting music and putting up a LED lights on his ceiling like nothing else in the house mattered.
By early evening, the sun was setting, and they were surrounded by stacks of half-unpacked boxes, empty pizza boxes, and a very judgmental dog sprawled across a pile of throw pillows.
Buck was still pacing, muttering about lost dish towels and an “unverified extension cord count,” when Eddie caught him mid-step and gently tugged the clipboard from his hands.
“I need that,” Buck said, wide-eyed.
“No you don’t,” Eddie said, setting it on the kitchen counter. “You need to sit down. Eat something. Maybe drink water that isn’t sparkling and citrus-flavored.”
“But there are tasks, Eddie.”
Eddie slid an arm around his waist. “Tasks can wait. You know what can’t? This moment.”
Buck paused. Looked around the room. Chris was laughing from down the hall, Hope cooing in her bouncer, their lives half-unpacked and completely theirs.
“Oh,” he whispered. “We live here.”
Eddie smiled and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Yeah, mi esposo. We really do.”
Buck let out a breath, leaning into him.
“…But I am going to update the clipboard later.”
Eddie just laughed. “Of course you are.”
Plus one: Buckzilla
It starts with a simple question, asked over pancakes and morning cartoons:
“So... do you still want the wedding?” Eddie asks, buttering a slice of toast, casual like he isn’t about to kick off a category-five Buckstorm.
Buck freezes mid-chew, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”
Eddie shrugs, grinning. “Figured it’s been a year. We’ve got the house, the kids, the dog… might as well make it official for everyone else.”
Buck drops his fork and bolts from the table. By the time Eddie’s finished his coffee, there’s a clipboard on the counter labeled “Operation: Buckley-Díaz Wedding.”
***
Eddie lets him have full control. Not because he doesn’t care, he does. Deeply. But because Buck lights up like a Christmas tree when he has a project. The man thrives on color-coded chaos, logistical dreams, and Pinterest boards that would frighten most mortals.
And maybe… maybe Eddie likes watching him like this.
Clipboard in hand. Sweater sleeves rolled to his elbows. Wedding binder thicker than a law textbook. He’ll deny it forever, but Eddie has a type, and it’s dorky organizational menace who makes spreadsheets about champagne flavors.
And so, Buckzilla is born.
***
Buck interviews florists like he’s hiring for NASA. He builds a seating chart that includes contingencies for potential drama, dietary restrictions, and the possibility that Chimney and Albert might start an impromptu karaoke battle. He practices their vows in the mirror, and then makes a second copy in case he “gets too emotional and blacks out.”
“Color scheme?” Eddie asks one night, teasing.
Buck looks scandalized. “You picked it, remember? Navy, forest green, and gold accents?”
Eddie blinks. “I did?”
“You said you liked how it looked in the mock-up I sent. At 3 a.m. In a text. With the three emojis.”
“…I thought those were just nice colors, amor. I didn’t know I was confirming the palette of our wedding.”
Buck gasps. “Everything is riding on this, Eddie.”
Eddie leans forward, kisses him slow and sweet. “I’m just riding with you.”
***
The wedding is perfect. Not because everything goes smoothly, Hen forgets the boutonnieres, Hope drops her flower crown in the aisle, and someone accidentally sets off a car alarm during their vows, but because it’s theirs.
Chris reads a speech that makes half the guests cry.
Hope giggles through the whole ceremony, tucked in Maddie’s lap in a miniature dress with gold shoes.
Bobby officiates, Athena beside him with misty eyes and a hand on his back.
And Buck, for all his planning and bullet-pointed bliss, cries the second Eddie takes his hand.
“I had a clipboard and everything,” he chokes out after they say I do, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s.
“I know, babe,” Eddie whispers, eyes glassy. “But this part? This part doesn’t need a plan.”
Later, at the reception under string lights and stars, Buck finally puts the clipboard down.
He slow dances with Eddie in their backyard, their home behind them, their kids asleep upstairs. It’s quiet and small, just the two of them swaying in the summer night.
No to-do lists. No schedules. Just love.
Buck sighs against Eddie’s shoulder.
“Happy?”
Eddie presses a kiss to his jaw. “Always. Especially when you go full Clipboard Buck.”
Buck laughs, soft and warm. “You’re the only person alive who’d say that like it’s a compliment.”
“That’s because it is.”
If someone had said, back in his probie days, that Evan Buckley-Diaz would become a menace with a clipboard, rules memorized, schedule color-coded, highlighters uncapped and ready, very single person at the 118 would’ve laughed you right out of the room. Buck? Organized? Focused? A stickler?
And yet.
If Evan Buckley came with an instruction manual, the number one rule—printed in bold, underlined, laminated, and possibly etched into a plaque mounted above the firehouse couch—would be:
If Evan is sad, give him a child.
Doesn’t even have to be his. Any small human will do. A baby with sleepy eyes. A toddler with too many questions. A teenager who doesn’t know where else to go. Hand Buck a kid, and watch the shift happen—like magic, like clockwork, like muscle memory written into his bones.
It’s why Christopher calls him Buck with a kind of reverence.
Why May still texts him when the world feels too big.
Why Denny always saves him a spot in his drawings.
Why Jee-Yun reaches for him like he’s gravity.
It’s why, when he found that baby in the Safe Haven box, everything shifted.
Because holding that tiny life didn’t just pull Buck out of his sadness, it anchored him. It gave him something real. Quieted the ache of every missed birthday and every unanswered question he stopped asking years ago.
Eddie already knew.
He was always meant to be someone’s safe place.
Maybe even many someones.
Rule Number Two?
If Evan is holding a clipboard, run.
Don’t ask questions. Don’t make eye contact. Just run and pray you’re not about to be recruited for something involving glitter, power tools, or a choreographed routine.
There will always be a party to be planned.
A fundraiser to be run.
Lists to be organized.
Chaos to be had.
Buck is chaos, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
Especially to Eddie, the chaos wrangler, who wouldn't have it any other way.
And Rule Number Three?
Well… that one’s still unfolding.
But we’ll get there.
Eventually.