Chapter Text
There’s a wedding invitation on the whiteboard, pinned in place by Chimney’s lucky Dalmatian magnet, the one missing an ear, with chipped paint and weirdly soulful eyes. It’s a relic of Station 118, a testament to years of shared shifts, near-misses, and the kind of mundane, comforting rituals that glue a family together. Buck stands in front of it like it’s a warning sign, blinking in fancy script that seems to mock his very existence.
Adriana Diaz & Jordan Park June 11th, San Antonio, Texas Please RSVP with your plus one by May 1st.
Adriana. Eddie’s sister.
Buck hadn’t even known she was getting married, let alone soon enough to warrant RSVP panic. He prides himself on being in the loop, on knowing the quiet hum beneath Eddie’s everyday calm, the subtle shifts in his mood, the unspoken burdens he carries. Yet, this particular piece of news had slipped past him entirely. Then again, Eddie wasn’t the type to drop personal updates over lunch at the station, not unless he was directly asked, or the news had reached a critical mass. He held onto important developments like they were a carefully controlled burn, a slow release of information only when he was ready for the fallout, the questions, the inevitable emotional ripple effects.
The ink on the invitation glimmers faintly under the harsh fluorescent lights of the station kitchen, making the elegant script feel even more official, more demanding. Buck reads the names again: Jordan Park. He’s pretty sure that’s the guy Eddie had once mentioned offhandedly as being “nice enough” but “definitely not Adriana’s type.” Guess things changed. People changed. And sometimes, those changes were seismic. The thought makes a strange knot tighten in his chest. Was this one of those changes for Eddie, too? A new chapter, a different path?
He stares a little too long at the formal wording, at the dates and the location that suddenly feel like a looming deadline, a ticking clock he hadn’t known was counting down. He’s so lost in the swirling words that he almost misses the quiet presence beside him.
“Got yours?” Eddie asks, his voice a low, unreadable murmur that cuts through the hum of the fridge.
Buck glances over, startled. Eddie stands there, leaning slightly against the counter, a faint shadow of fatigue under his eyes. He looks tired, like maybe he hasn’t slept much, or perhaps he’s been carrying the weight of this invitation for longer than Buck realized. His jaw is tense, a familiar tell that something is bothering him, something he’s trying to hold in. It’s not unusual for Eddie to carry his burdens silently, but Buck picks up on the shift instantly, the subtle crack in Eddie’s usually composed façade. He's always been attuned to Eddie’s unspoken anxieties, a finely tuned antenna constantly searching for signals.
“Yeah,” Buck says, trying to sound casual, as if the invitation hadn’t just plunged him into a sudden existential crisis. “Came yesterday.”
Eddie nods, his gaze still fixed on the whiteboard as if the answers to his dilemmas were somehow etched into the pristine white surface. “She moved it up,” he offers, his voice flat. “Jordan got offered a transfer to Dallas. They didn’t want to plan it long-distance, I guess.”
Buck nods, trying to process the sudden acceleration of events. “Makes sense.” The words feel hollow. He can’t imagine planning a wedding in a rush, not when it’s supposed to be one of the most important days of your life. But then, he’s never been the one planning a wedding, just the one watching them from the periphery, a permanent fixture at the back of the room.
There’s a long pause, stretching between them, not uncomfortable, exactly, but charged. It’s the kind of silence that happens between two people who know each other too well, who are used to communicating in unspoken glances and shared breaths. It’s the silence of anticipation, of something hanging in the air that neither of them is quite ready to articulate.
“She invited everyone in the 118,” Eddie adds, almost as an afterthought, his voice still low. “Said it wouldn’t feel right without all of you there.”
That hits Buck in a way he doesn’t expect. There’s a flutter of warmth, a surprising rush of belonging that quickly gets swallowed by a sudden surge of nerves. The 118 is family, of course. He knows that. But to have Adriana, Eddie’s sister, extend that invitation, to explicitly include them all… it feels like another layer, another confirmation of a bond that’s deepened far beyond mere co-workers. It solidifies his place, not just as Eddie’s friend, but as part of the broader Diaz family constellation. And that thought is both comforting and terrifying.
He tries to lighten the mood, to break the quiet intensity that’s building between them. “Texas in June. Can’t wait to sweat through my dress shirt.” He offers a weak smile, picturing himself already damp and rumpled before the ceremony even begins.
Eddie huffs a laugh, a small, choked sound through his nose. “She’s doing it outdoors. Lanterns, a band, the whole thing.”
Buck tries to imagine it: the oppressive heat, the sticky humidity, the manicured grass of some Texan estate, the flickering glow of lanterns against the twilight. Folding chairs and the cloying scent of cologne and perfume mingling in the air, and the awkward, inevitable small talk with strangers. But the mental image always drifts back to Eddie, in dress clothes, standing somewhere near him, the faint scent of his cologne cutting through the humid air. And it’s not an unpleasant image at all. It’s a strangely appealing one, actually.
Then Eddie says, almost too casually, his voice barely a whisper, “Everyone gets a plus one.”
Buck’s stomach sinks, a cold, leaden weight. Of course they do. Weddings were basically built around the assumption that everyone came paired, a neat little duo, a testament to their own committed relationships. He’d just assumed he’d go alone, if he went at all. It was his usual state of being at these things.
“You bringing someone?” he asks, pretending he’s just making casual conversation, like he hasn’t already guessed the answer, like his heart isn’t doing a nervous little jig against his ribs.
Eddie exhales slowly, a deep, weary sigh that seems to carry all the unspoken weight of his recent past. “No. I don’t think I can.”
The answer doesn’t surprise Buck, but the confirmation still stings a little, a phantom ache for a wound that isn’t his. “Because of Chris?”
Eddie nods, a sharp, almost imperceptible movement. His gaze drops, fixating on a scuff mark on the linoleum floor. “He’s… still not okay. After Ana, and then—” He stops, the words catching in his throat, a clear sign of the raw vulnerability beneath his carefully constructed composure. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “The women that looked like Shannon. One rapid inconsiderate mistake, but it was enough. Messed with him. And me.”
Buck doesn’t speak. There’s nothing to say, really, that wouldn’t sound trite or empty. He remembers that day, the haunted look in Eddie’s eyes, the way he’d been unreachable, the call he didn’t answer. The silence that followed had said everything. The ghost of Shannon still lingered in their lives, a bittersweet echo that could suddenly, unexpectedly, appear and disrupt everything. For Chris, it was an open wound, a constant reminder of loss and change.
“He told me he doesn’t want to go if I bring someone,” Eddie finishes, his voice barely audible now. “Said it’s too much. Too many changes. Too many new faces trying to fit into old spaces.”
Buck shifts on his feet, suddenly restless, a nervous energy thrumming under his skin. “You told him you wouldn’t, right? That you’d respect his feelings?”
“I haven’t told him about the wedding at all,” Eddie admits, his voice laced with a subtle hint of defeat. “Just mentioned that Adriana was planning something. I didn’t want to get his hopes up if I couldn’t make it work, if I couldn’t find a way to navigate it without hurting him more.”
“You could still go alone,” Buck suggests, the words feeling inadequate even as he says them.
Eddie glances at him, a flicker of something resembling a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, quickly gone. “You ever try explaining going alone to a Diaz family wedding?” There’s a wry amusement in his eyes now, a flash of the Eddie who could find humor in the absurdity of his own life. “It’s practically an interrogation. A full-blown investigation into why you’re not partnered up, if you’re secretly heartbroken, if you’ve developed a sudden, inexplicable aversion to human companionship.”
Buck snorts, a genuine laugh this time. “Fair. I can picture your abuela already.”
Eddie’s smile fades, replaced by something heavier, the previous weariness returning to settle on his features. “Yeah. Exactly.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Can you come by tonight? Chris wants to talk to you.”
Buck raises an eyebrow, surprised. He spends a lot of time with Chris, of course, but a direct request for a conversation, especially one that doesn’t involve video games or homework, is rare. “He does?”
Eddie nods, his gaze softening at the mention of his son. “Said he has a favor to ask. Something serious, judging by his tone.”
Buck doesn’t ask what it is. He doesn’t need to. A gut feeling, a deep-seated intuition, tells him exactly what kind of favor Chris might be asking, especially after the conversation they’ve just had. And the idea sends a strange jolt through him, a mix of apprehension and something else, something warm and undeniably hopeful.
“Yeah,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, even as his pulse quickens. “Of course. What time?”
“Around seven?”
“Seven it is.”
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The familiar scent of Eddie’s house hits Buck the moment he steps onto the porch—a comforting mix of old spice, clean laundry, and the faintest hint of something savory simmering in the kitchen. The door opens before Buck can even knock, as if Chris had been waiting on the other side, listening for his footsteps. Chris stands there in his NASA hoodie, a testament to his enduring fascination with space, his face breaking into a wide, uninhibited grin that never fails to melt something cold and hard inside Buck’s chest.
“Hey, Buck!” Chris’s voice is bright, full of an uncomplicated joy that Buck rarely encounters anywhere else.
“Hey, buddy.” Buck holds up a paper bag, crinkling slightly at the top. “I brought donuts. A peace offering, or a bribe, depending on how this ‘favor’ goes.”
Chris’s eyes light up, a familiar sparkle. He takes the bag with both hands, reverently, and peeks inside. “Sprinkles?”
“Obviously,” Buck says, a smile spreading across his face. It’s an unspoken rule, a tiny ritual between them. Chris always wants sprinkles.
They head inside, the house feeling more like home than any place Buck has ever lived. The air is thick with the comforting aroma of garlic, butter, and a rich, slow-cooked tomato sauce. It’s the smell of a family meal, of a safe haven. It’s familiar, comforting in a way Buck doesn’t question anymore, a constant in the swirling chaos of his life. He just accepts it, like he accepts the warmth of the sun or the pull of gravity.
Eddie appears in the doorway to the kitchen, a towel slung over his shoulder, a faint blush on his cheeks from the heat of the stove. His hair is slightly disheveled, a few strands falling over his forehead, making him look softer, more relaxed than he had at the station. “Thanks for coming,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Buck says, and he means it with every fiber of his being. He would never miss it, not for Chris, and certainly not for Eddie.
Chris glances between them, his gaze intelligent and perceptive, picking up on the subtle undercurrents that adult conversations often carry. He then turns to Buck, his expression serious now. “Can we talk in my room?”
Eddie hesitates, a flicker of concern crossing his face. He’s used to being privy to Chris’s conversations, to being the primary confidant. “You sure you don’t want me there?”
Chris shakes his head, determined. “Just Buck.”
That gets Buck’s heart doing a weird thing, a hopeful little flutter, a nervous leap. It’s an affirmation of their bond, of the unique trust Chris places in him. But he nods, playing it cool, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “Alright, lead the way, Captain.”
Chris’s room is exactly how Buck remembers—neat, lived-in, a carefully curated collection of posters, books, and small science projects scattered across his desk. The dinosaur nightlight, a comfort from years past, still glows faintly on the dresser, casting soft, prehistoric shadows across the room. It’s a space that feels entirely Chris, and entirely safe.
They sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under their combined weight. Chris’s feet swing slightly, his boundless energy barely contained even in stillness.
“I don’t want Dad to bring someone to the wedding,” Chris says without preamble, his voice clear and earnest, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
Buck blinks, caught off guard by the bluntness, by the raw honesty. He had expected some preamble, some gentle easing into the topic. But Chris, in his innocence, doesn’t deal in pretenses.
Chris fidgets with the hem of his NASA hoodie, his gaze dropping to his hands. “It’s not that I don’t want him to be happy. I do. But I’m just… I’m not ready. Not yet. After Ana, and then—after that other lady who looked like Mom. It felt like losing Mom again. Twice.” His voice drops, a quiet tremor running through it. “And it hurt.”
Buck swallows hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. “That’s a lot for anyone, buddy. Let alone a kid.” He reaches out, instinctively, and rests a hand gently on Chris’s knee, offering silent comfort.
Chris shrugs, a small, weary gesture. “Dad doesn’t always know how to talk about stuff like that. He tries, I know he does. But… I think he’s scared too. Scared of hurting me, scared of getting it wrong.”
Buck nods, letting the silence stretch, allowing Chris the space to articulate his feelings without interruption. It’s a difficult conversation, even for an adult, let alone a ten-year-old grappling with such complex emotions.
“I just don’t want to go if he brings someone new,” Chris finishes, his voice small but firm. “I don’t want to smile through it. Pretend that everything’s okay. Pretend that it doesn’t sting when he’s with someone else.”
“Okay,” Buck says softly, his voice gentle. “You told him that? That you didn’t want him to bring anyone?”
Chris nods. “But I think he’s still trying to figure out a way to make it work. For her, for Adriana and Jordan. For the family, so they don’t ask questions. And for me.” There’s a surprising depth of understanding in his eyes, a maturity that belies his age.
Buck leans forward, elbows on his knees, his mind racing, connecting the dots. “So where do I come in?” he asks, even though he’s fairly certain he already knows the answer. He needs to hear Chris say it.
Chris meets his eyes, steady and quiet, a profound seriousness in their depths. “I’d go. If you went. As his plus one.”
Buck stills. The air seems to crystallize around them. The words hang in the space between them, weighted with a significance that feels almost overwhelming. His breath catches in his throat. This isn’t just a simple favor. This is… something else entirely.
Chris shrugs, his innocence making the request seem so simple, so logical. “You’re already part of our family. You’re here all the time. You help with homework. You know where we keep the extra pillows. You know what kind of cereal I like.”
Buck lets out a shaky breath, a low, quiet sound. “That’s a lot of faith in me, buddy.” More faith than he often has in himself.
Chris smiles, a genuine, unburdened smile. “It’s not faith. It’s just... true.”
Buck laughs quietly, a rough, choked sound. The earnestness in Chris’s voice, the undeniable truth of his statement, hits him harder than he expects. “You’re good at this.”
Chris tilts his head, genuinely curious. “At what?”
“Telling the truth. Even when it’s big and scary.”
Chris shrugs again, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It’s easier when it’s you. You always listen.”
Buck swallows the lump in his throat, a sudden tightness in his chest. His eyes prickle. “Okay. I’ll go. With him. As his plus one.” The words feel both terrifying and exhilarating on his tongue. It’s a promise, not just to Chris, but to himself, to this strange, beautiful, complicated family he’s found.
From down the hall, Buck hears a soft creak—the unmistakable sound of floorboards giving under pressure. Eddie, moving away from the door, having clearly been listening. A faint blush touches Buck’s cheeks. Eddie heard everything.
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The kitchen is loud, in that early-shift, too-much-coffee way that defines the start of a busy day at the 118. Hen and Chimney are bickering over breakfast, their usual playful banter echoing off the tiled walls. Ravi is hunched over his phone, scrolling through what looks like an endless stream of hotel options for some hypothetical vacation, occasionally letting out a frustrated groan. And Maddy, ever the meticulous one, has her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, scrutinizing the wedding invitation like she’s trying to decode ancient hieroglyphs.
“Okay, but is there a dress code?” she’s asking, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Because ‘Texas in June’ could mean anything from denim to full-blown formal.”
“Probably Texas fancy,” Hen says, spooning a generous helping of scrambled eggs onto her plate. “So cowboy boots and linen. Maybe a bolo tie if you’re feeling adventurous, Chim.”
“I can’t wear boots,” Ravi whines, not looking up from his phone. “My ankles are delicate”
Hen snorts, a loud, disbelieving sound. “So are your excuses, Ravi.”
Buck walks in, coffee mug in hand, and immediately regrets not making a detour for a donut, or perhaps a stronger disguise. He feels the weight of everyone’s eyes on him the moment he crosses the threshold.
“Morning,” Hen greets, her gaze sharp, dissecting. “You look like someone who’s pretending they haven’t just made a life-altering decision.” There’s a knowing glint in her eyes, a hint of something unsaid.
Buck blinks, feigning ignorance. “What? No, I’m just… tired. Long night.” He tries to sound convincing, but his voice is a little too strained, his shoulders a little too tense.
“Nothing,” she says, taking a bite of her eggs. “Just a vibe.” She’s clearly enjoying his discomfort.
He grabs his mug, pours coffee, and tries to stay under the radar, to become invisible, a part of the background noise. It never works. Not with this crew. They see too much, know too much.
“Hey, so,” Chimney starts, wiping his mouth with a napkin, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Word is you’re going as Eddie’s plus one to the wedding?”
Buck nearly spills his coffee, the hot liquid sloshing dangerously close to his hand. “Where’d you hear that?” he demands, his voice a little too high, a little too defensive. He glances at Eddie, who is quietly buttering a piece of toast, seemingly oblivious, but Buck catches the faintest hint of a flush on his neck.
Ravi raises his hand, eyes still glued to his phone. “Chris mentioned it this morning when I dropped him off at school. Said he asked you to go. Made it sound like a top-secret mission.”
Buck deflates, the last vestiges of his denial crumbling around him. Of course Chris would tell Ravi. They had their own little alliance, a shared understanding of the adult world that sometimes bypassed the actual adults. “It’s not like that,” he mutters, his voice muffled. “He just didn’t want Eddie bringing someone else. He’s still… raw after everything.”
Hen hums, a thoughtful, knowing sound. “That kid’s got taste.” She catches Buck’s eye, a challenge in hers.
Buck groans, burying his face in his hands. “It’s not a thing, Hen. It’s really not.” He feels the heat rising in his cheeks, a mortifying blush.
“Sure,” Maddy says, her voice surprisingly gentle, stripping away all the teasing. “But if it were… we’d support you, Buck. You know that, right?”
Buck looks up sharply, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone, by the underlying sincerity in her words. “I’m not—” he starts, but then he falters, the denial catching in his throat.
“We know,” Hen says quickly, her expression softening, her earlier teasing replaced by a quiet understanding. “We’re not saying anything. Just... whatever it is, whatever this means for you, you’ve got us. All of us.” She gestures around the kitchen, encompassing Chimney, Ravi, and Maddy, all of whom are nodding in agreement, their faces open and supportive.
It’s quiet for a beat, a comfortable, accepting silence. Buck feels a strange mix of embarrassment and profound gratitude. They always saw through him, always knew more than he thought they did. Then Chimney pipes up again, totally oblivious to the sudden emotional shift, bringing the mood back to its usual chaos.
“So… do we match outfits or are we pretending to be cool and just show up looking coordinated?”
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The sun is slanting low through the narrow window in Bobby’s office when Buck walks in. The dust motes dance in the golden light, making the air feel thick and heavy. He’s holding the clipboard with the new shift schedule, but he isn’t reading it. His fingers fidget against the edges, tapping a slow, restless rhythm, like maybe if he waits long enough, if he taps just right, the answers to his unspoken questions will simply materialize.
Bobby doesn’t look up from his paperwork at first, his head bent over a stack of forms, the pen scratching softly against the paper. But Buck knows better than to think he hasn’t noticed his presence. Bobby always notices. He has an uncanny sixth sense when it comes to his crew, especially Buck.
“You okay?” Bobby asks after a beat, not quite looking up, his voice calm and even.
Buck shrugs, tries for casual. “Yeah. Just double-checking next week’s rotation. Making sure I’m not accidentally scheduled for the moon.”
“You already checked that twice this morning, Buck,” Bobby says, his pen still moving, but there’s a subtle shift in his tone, a knowing inflection.
Buck doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he drags his feet a little further inside, the scuff of his boots against the linoleum echoing in the quiet room. He sets the clipboard down on the corner of the desk, not quite meeting Bobby’s eyes. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over his chest, a self-protective gesture.
“You ever feel like you’re stepping into something before you know what it is?” Buck asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper, laced with a vulnerability he rarely displays.
That makes Bobby look up. His expression doesn’t shift much—still calm, still Bobby, the picture of quiet authority—but there’s something more alert in his gaze now. That quiet steadiness, that unwavering focus Buck’s always admired, is directed entirely at him.
“This about Eddie?” he asks gently, his voice low, devoid of judgment.
Buck hesitates. Then nods, a small, jerky movement. The name hangs in the air between them, charged with unspoken meaning.
“Chris asked me to go with them to Adriana’s wedding,” he says, the words tumbling out in a rush, a dam finally breaking. “As Eddie’s plus one. Because he didn’t want Eddie to bring someone else. Because he’s still hurting, and he thought… he thought I could make it easier.”
Bobby listens, as always, without interrupting, his gaze unwavering, patient. He’s a rock, a steady anchor in Buck’s often turbulent emotional landscape.
“I said yes,” Buck continues, his voice thin. “Because it felt like the right thing to do. For Chris. For Eddie too, I guess. To alleviate some of the pressure on him. But now I’m just…” He exhales, a ragged sound. “I don’t know what this is. What I’m supposed to be. Am I just a stand-in? A convenient solution? Or something more?”
“And now you’re wondering what that makes you,” Bobby finishes for him, his voice soft, understanding.
Buck looks up, startled by the accuracy of the assessment. “Yeah. Exactly that.”
There’s a long pause between them, filled only by the soft buzz of the overhead lights and the far-off, muffled hum of the kitchen, the sounds of the station carrying on its familiar rhythm.
“It feels like more than just a favor,” Buck admits, his voice almost a whisper, raw with uncertainty. “It feels… big.”
“Maybe because it is,” Bobby says, his voice not unkind, but direct. It’s not a question, but a statement of fact.
Buck moves from the doorframe, sinking down onto the chair across from Bobby’s desk, slumping slightly forward, his hands dangling between his knees, fingers restless. He feels small, exposed.
“I keep thinking… what if I’m overstepping? What if this is something they let me into by accident, something temporary, a placeholder? And I go and make it more complicated for them, for Chris, for Eddie—”
“Buck,” Bobby interrupts gently, his voice firm, cutting through Buck’s anxious spiraling. “Has it ever occurred to you that they didn’t let you in by accident?”
Buck blinks, the thought hitting him with the force of a revelation. He’d always seen himself as an outsider, someone who had to work to earn his place, to prove his worth. The idea that his presence was actively chosen, actively desired, was almost alien.
“You didn’t just show up one day and get mistaken for family. You became it,” Bobby continues, his voice imbued with a quiet power. “Not because you pushed, not because of some mistake or some convenient oversight, but because you showed up. Over and over again. You were consistent. You were present. You were there.”
Buck looks down at his hands, watching his fingers. They’re shaking just slightly, a testament to the emotional upheaval he’s experiencing.
“I just don’t want to mess anything up,” he says, his voice barely audible. “Not with Eddie. Not with Chris. They deserve… they deserve happiness. And stability. And I don’t want to be the one to disrupt that.”
“You won’t,” Bobby says, his voice unwavering, a bedrock of certainty.
“How do you know?” Buck asks, looking up, desperation in his eyes.
“Because the Buck who would mess things up doesn’t sit in this office, worried about hurting people. The Buck who would hurt them doesn’t keep showing up at bedtime and pancakes and emergency calls. The Buck who would hurt them doesn’t stay up at night worrying about their well-being. That’s not you, Buck.” Bobby’s gaze is steady, compassionate. “You’re not the Buck who runs away from responsibility. You’re the Buck who embraces it, sometimes even when it scares you.”
Buck looks up, his eyes raw, bordering on tears. The weight of Bobby’s words, the profound understanding, settles over him.
“You’ve been part of their family for a long time, Buck,” Bobby says, his voice softer now. “This just… puts a name on it. Or at least, it’s a step towards giving it a name. It’s an acknowledgment of what’s already true.”
Buck nods, slow and quiet, letting the words sink in, trying to absorb their meaning. “It’s scary, you know?” he admits, finally. “To want something this much. To feel like you’re on the edge of something huge.”
Bobby’s smile is small, but profoundly comforting. “Most real things are, Buck. Most truly worthwhile things are.”
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The air in the truck bay is cool and still, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Bobby’s office. The scent of rubber and oil hangs faintly in the air. Buck is organizing the med kits, his movements precise, almost ritualistic. Gloves restocked, wipes re-ordered, labels rewritten twice even though they were fine the first time. It’s a mindless task, a way to channel the restless energy buzzing beneath his skin, to quiet the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his mind. He’s meticulous, almost obsessively so, as if perfect organization of these kits might somehow bring order to the burgeoning chaos of his own emotions.
Athena’s heels echo against the concrete floor long before she even speaks, a familiar, rhythmic click-clack that announces her presence.
“Everything alright, Buckaroo?” Her voice is calm, observant, cutting through the quiet hum of the building.
Buck doesn’t look up, his gaze fixed on the perfectly aligned rows of bandages. “Yeah. Just doing inventory. Slow night.”
She stops a few feet from him, her arms crossed over her chest, a silent, formidable presence. She’s not buying it—he knows it, and she knows he knows it. There’s an unspoken language between them, a shared understanding forged over years of working together, of seeing each other at their most vulnerable.
“You’ve been doing inventory for thirty-five minutes,” she says, her voice dry, a hint of amusement in it. “That’s five minutes longer than Chimney did the time he broke up with his ex and pretended he was cleaning the fire pole with a toothbrush.”
That gets a small laugh from Buck, a rough, breathy sound that’s more of a sigh than a chuckle. But it’s something. It’s a crack in the carefully constructed façade.
Athena steps closer, her expression softening, her eyes filled with that deep, maternal warmth he’s come to rely on. “You said yes to something important, didn’t you? Something that’s got your wheels spinning.”
Buck keeps his eyes on the kit in front of him, but his hands still. “How do you always know?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve got detective instincts and mom instincts, Buck,” she replies, a gentle smile in her voice. “You’re not exactly subtle when you’re grappling with something big. Your brow furrows in that specific way, and you start reorganizing everything within a ten-foot radius.”
He finally looks up, and the careful composure he’d been maintaining crumbles. There’s a waver in his expression now—uncertainty, a flicker of fear, and a deep, profound vulnerability that he can’t hide from her.
“Chris asked me to go to the wedding,” he says, the words spilling out, raw and unedited. “As Eddie’s plus one. He said he didn’t want to go if Eddie brought someone else. He wants me there, for him.”
Athena’s expression softens immediately, a wave of empathy washing over her features. She understands the weight of a child’s plea, the undeniable pull of protecting that innocence.
“I said yes,” Buck adds, his voice tight. “Of course I did. It just… it feels like more than it’s supposed to be. Like I’m agreeing to something I don’t fully understand yet. Like I’m walking into a maze without a map.”
“You said yes because it mattered,” she replies, her voice even, steady. “Because it was Chris asking. Because you love them.” It’s a statement of fact, not a question.
He swallows hard. Doesn’t deny it. He can’t. The truth of her words resonates deep within him. He does love them. Both of them. More than he’d ever thought possible.
“I don’t know what they see when they look at me,” Buck whispers, his gaze drifting away from hers, lost in his own insecurities. “Chris sees someone safe, I think. Someone who won’t leave. And Eddie sees… I don’t know. A partner? A friend? Someone to lean on? Someone to fix his problems?” He’s back to questioning his own worth, his own place in their lives.
Athena steps forward, closing the small distance between them. She rests a gentle, firm hand on his shoulder, her touch grounding. “Buck, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Measuring your worth by what you might fail to be, instead of what you already are. You’re always looking for the potential misstep, the eventual disappointment. But that’s not what they see.”
He goes quiet, absorbing her words, letting them resonate.
Athena’s voice is low, firm, imbued with the wisdom of a woman who has seen and understood more than most. “You already love them. And you already show up. Every single time. You’re there for the good, the bad, and the utterly terrifying. That’s what counts, Buck. That’s what matters.”
Buck glances at her, a flicker of something new in his eyes—a hesitant hope, a dawning realization. “What if I can’t carry what they’re giving me? What if I’m not enough for what this could be?”
“You already are,” she says simply, her hand tightening reassuringly on his shoulder. “You’re already doing it.”
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The house is dark except for the soft, inviting glow spilling from beneath Chris’s door. Buck had peeked in earlier, after making sure all the doors were locked and the lights were off downstairs. Chris was sound asleep, limbs tangled up in his dinosaur blanket, mouth parted in soft, even breaths, a picture of peaceful slumber. The sight had warmed Buck from the inside out.
He closes the door gently and pads down the hall, the quiet creak of the floorboards the only sound. He finds Eddie sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, an empty mug on the coffee table. His phone is facedown on the armrest beside him, forgotten. He looks up when Buck enters, his gaze lingering, a silent question in his dark eyes.
“You still up?” Buck asks, his voice soft, not wanting to break the quiet sanctity of the moment.
Eddie nods, a slight dip of his head. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”
Buck sinks down onto the other end of the couch, his body folding easily into the cushions, a familiar comfort, like it’s muscle memory. Their shoulders don’t touch—there’s a deliberate space between them—but they could. And the quiet awareness of that space, the conscious choice not to bridge it, feels like a choice in itself, heavy with unspoken possibilities.
Eddie watches him for a second longer, his expression unreadable in the dim light, then says quietly, his voice a low murmur, “You didn’t have to say yes, Buck. To Chris. To me.”
“I wanted to,” Buck replies, his voice steady, honest.
“Still,” Eddie insists, his gaze searching Buck’s face. “You didn’t have to. I know how much you give, how much you take on.”
Buck turns toward him, something unspoken building behind his ribs, a truth trying to force its way to the surface. “Chris asked. You know I’d do anything for him, Eddie. You know that, right?” It’s a statement of undeniable fact, a core tenet of his existence.
Eddie’s voice is even softer now, almost a whisper, but it cuts through the quiet, reaching deep into Buck’s soul. “What about for me, Buck?”
That breaks something open. The air in the room thickens, becomes charged with an undeniable current. Buck’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes lock on Eddie’s, and suddenly the quiet around them isn’t so still—it’s alive, vibrating with every thought they haven’t said out loud, every longing they’ve suppressed, every unacknowledged emotion simmering beneath the surface. It’s the sound of two hearts beating in sync, of two souls recognizing a profound connection.
“I’d do anything for you too,” Buck says, the words not loud, not dramatic, just honest. Utterly, terrifyingly honest.
Eddie doesn’t smile, but something in his face loosens, a subtle release of tension. He looks at Buck like he’s seeing him—really seeing him—for the first time in weeks, perhaps even for the first time in a lifetime. There’s a depth of understanding in his eyes that Buck rarely encounters, a recognition that goes beyond words.
They don’t speak again that night. There’s nothing more that needs to be said. The declaration, simple and profound, hangs in the air, a silent promise, a new beginning.
Buck leans his head back against the couch, his body relaxing into the cushions. Eddie stays beside him, not moving, not breaking the unspoken connection.
And the quiet between them is full of every truth they’re not ready to name, every hope they’re not ready to articulate, every fear they’re not ready to confront. It’s a fragile, beautiful quiet, growing with possibility. The first fragile thread of something new, something momentous, has been woven.