Chapter Text
Buck and Eddie didn’t really get a chance to talk until five days later, when Eddie was finally discharged from the hospital. The days leading up to that felt like being stuck in some strange holding pattern, where everything moved forward around Buck but nothing moved inside him.
It seemed, however, that Eddie must have spoken to his parents behind closed doors. Because the tense discussions about Buck leaving, about putting him back on a plane to Los Angeles, quietly disappeared. Ramon and Helena didn’t bring it up again. They didn’t warm to him either—Buck could feel their eyes on him, assessing, still uncertain—but at least the threat of exile was gone.
Ann, though… Ann’s eyes lingered. Sometimes sharp, sometimes guarded, sometimes like she was trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t want to know the answer to. She never said anything aloud, but Buck felt the weight of her stares like stones pressed into his skin.
And Chris—God, Chris. The boy Buck had once known as well as his own heartbeat seemed suddenly out of reach. Every time Buck tried to sit with him, to ask him how he was doing, Chris had an excuse ready: homework he couldn’t ignore, plans with friends, Art classes, even helping his grandparents with chores. Always something. Always somewhere else to be.
The distance hurt more than Buck wanted to admit. But he couldn’t force it. He wouldn’t.
The only one who stayed, who drifted toward him instead of away, was Sophia.
Sophia, with her sharp eyes that reminded him so much of Eddie’s, and her laugh—light and unexpected, like the first warm day after a brutal winter. She seemed to sense when Buck was floundering and would cut in, filling the silence with stories about Eddie’s childhood. She painted pictures of a boy who had once been mischievous, stubborn, who had climbed too high in trees just to get a moment’s peace.
One evening, they sat together in the Díaz living room. Ramon was in the kitchen, Helena folding laundry nearby, and Chris was—predictably—out with friends. Ann had vanished to make phone calls. It left Buck and Sophia with the rare gift of quiet.
Sophia leaned back in the armchair, her phone abandoned on the table beside her. “Did Eddie ever tell you about Adriana? Our sister?”
Buck shifted, surprised. “Only in passing.”
“Yeah,” Sophia said softly, tugging a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “We don’t talk much anymore. Not since she joined the Amish. She writes letters sometimes, but… it’s not the same. Eddie used to be closest to her, though. Real close. They were like twins. She was always the one who understood him best.”
Buck listened carefully, his heart tightening. “That must’ve been hard.”
Sophia shrugged, but the sadness in her eyes betrayed her. “It was. But we’ve all had to get used to Eddie pulling away after that, one way or another.” She looked at Buck then, her gaze lingering, steady in a way that made him uncomfortable.
He hesitated before asking the question that had been gnawing at him since he’d opened that old notebook. He kept his voice casual, though the words were anything but. “Sophia… did Eddie have any close friends in high school? Someone whose name started with an L?”
Her face shifted instantly, the warmth draining from her features. Her back went rigid, eyes sharpening in a way that reminded him so much of Eddie when he was on edge.
“Why?” she asked, her tone flat.
Buck swallowed. “Just… curious.”
Sophia leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Listen to me, Buck.” Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with urgency. “I don’t know what you’ve seen, or what you think you know, but you need to drop it. Please. I’m begging you. Don’t dig into that. Don’t bring it up with him. Some things…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Some things are better left alone.”
Buck stared at her, thrown off by the desperation in her plea. “Sophia—”
“No,” she cut him off quickly, her eyes glistening. “I mean it. If you care about him, me, us, at all, you’ll let it go.”
Her words silenced him. He nodded slowly, though his mind buzzed with a new question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.
What did she have to do with it?
They didn’t speak of it again. Not that night, not the next. Buck filed it away, buried it with everything else he couldn’t bear to touch, and focused only on the countdown until Eddie finally came home.
___
It happened sooner than Buck would have ever expected—Eddie and him, alone together in one room. No distractions, no interruptions.
Ann was at work. Ramon and Helena were out running errands. Chris was still at school, probably laughing with friends, probably not even thinking about him. Sophia had vanished somewhere into the house again.
Buck didn’t know if she was in her room, out in the garden, or hiding away in one of those quiet corners that old houses seemed to collect. What he did know was that every time she and Eddie were in the same room, something in the air changed—tightened, like a wire pulled too taut.
It wasn’t loud, not the kind of tension you could point at and say, there it is. No, it was quieter than that. Subtle. The way Eddie’s jaw clenched just slightly when Sophia spoke too directly. The way Sophia’s eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than necessary, as if daring him to snap back. The way they sometimes slipped into silence mid-conversation, as if both suddenly remembered they were standing on unstable ground.
Buck felt it, every single time, like static crawling under his skin. And what made it worse was that he couldn’t make sense of it.
Because whenever Eddie spoke about his youngest sister, it was always with admiration, pride, even a little softness. Sophia’s so smart. She grew up fast. She’s got a good heart. Those were the kinds of things Eddie said about her, always in glowing terms. There was no hint of resentment, no suggestion that anything was amiss.
And yet—the tension was there, the same sharp current Buck remembered noticing almost a decade ago when he’d first met Sophia as a teenager. Back then, he’d written it off as typical sibling friction, the kind that only exists between teenagers and adults. But now? After so much time? It didn’t fit.
It gnawed at him, the not-knowing. Because Buck had always been the kind of man who needed to understand the why behind things, and this—this strange, silent divide between Eddie and Sophia—was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
Now it was just Buck and Eddie.
Buck sat on the Díazs’ couch, feeling stiff and out of place, his palms pressed against his knees as though bracing himself. Eddie was near him, not on the couch, but in the chair—that chair. The wheelchair he was still confined to for a few more weeks while his body healed. It seemed to loom between them, an unspoken reminder of everything that had happened.
Eddie was the one who broke the silence first. His voice was low, rough at the edges.
“You didn’t have to take time off.”
The words struck Buck harder than they should have. His jaw clenched, irritation bubbling in his chest before he could stop it. “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of vacation days left. And honestly?” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “I don’t think anyone back in L.A. even notices I’m gone.”
Eddie blinked, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “I thought you and Ravi were… you know, close. That you got along.”
There was something in his tone—something bitter, almost sharp—that Buck couldn’t quite name. He pushed himself to his feet, needing to stand, needing to meet Eddie’s eyes head-on.
“Ravi’s busy,” Buck said shortly. “Too busy planning his wedding.”
That made Eddie pause. His brows furrowed. “Wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“…To who?” Eddie asked, and Buck could hear the disbelief in his voice.
“May,” Buck replied, his throat tight.
Eddie’s lips parted like he’d been sucker-punched. “May’s getting married?”
Buck gave a humorless nod. “She and Ravi are getting married, yeah.”
Eddie’s voice softened, confused. “But—I thought you and Ravi…”
“What?” Buck’s tone was sharper than he intended. “What exactly did you think?”
“Nothing,” Eddie muttered quickly, then hesitated. “It’s just… May mentioned once she thought you and Ravi might’ve been… you know.” He gestured vaguely with his hand, searching for the right word but unwilling to say it.
Buck’s chest tightened. “And when exactly did you talk to May?”
“Does that matter?” Eddie asked, his voice just a little too defensive.
“Yes, Eddie,” Buck snapped, stepping closer. “It does matter. And for the record—not that it’s any of your damn business—we hooked up a few times. That’s all. We realized we’re better as friends, and that’s where it ended.”
He hadn’t planned to reveal it, but the words came out sharp, like a blade thrown across the room. And for one fleeting second, Buck saw it—saw a flash of something on Eddie’s face. A crack. A glimmer of hurt.
And Buck hated himself for the satisfaction it brought.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie said quietly, his voice rough. His eyes dropped to his lap, to the wheels of the chair he hated.
Buck’s fists curled. He wanted to fight, wanted to scream, wanted to throw everything Eddie had put him through back in his face. But he couldn’t. Not like this. Not when Eddie was in that damn chair, still weak, still healing. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—fight him now.
So instead, Buck sank back down onto the couch, elbows on his knees, head heavy in his hands. The silence stretched, suffocating.
And then, softly—so softly Buck almost missed it—Eddie spoke.
“I missed you.”
The words cracked something open in Buck’s chest, and with them came a flood of memories: the girlfriends with blonde hair and blue eyes, the ones with open, sunny smiles—mirror images of himself. He thought of Sophia’s words, her fury, her plea: He loved you from the start.
Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Buck was only imagining it, twisting it into something he wanted but could never have.
He looked up, meeting Eddie’s eyes. His throat ached.
“I missed you too, Eddie.”
And the truth of it nearly undid him.
___
That evening, Buck stood in the warm kitchen, sleeves rolled up, trying his best to look like he belonged there. Helena hovered beside him, inspecting the pot he was stirring with the same sharp eye she seemed to cast on everything. For a second, her lips pursed, but then her expression softened.
“Thank you for helping out, Buck,” she said gently.
Buck felt some of the tension in his chest ease. He had been desperate for even the smallest crack in the armor Helena wore around him. The night before, they’d sat together at the dining room table working through the New York Times crossword, and he’d even managed to coax a laugh or two out of her. Tonight, maybe, just maybe, he was making progress.
“No problem, Mrs. Díaz,” he replied with a tentative smile, hoping it looked real and not like the exhausted mask it so often felt like.
She reached out and pressed his shoulder with surprising warmth. “Call me Helena, son.”
The word son hit Buck in the ribs, left him winded in the best way. He swallowed, nodded, and watched as she moved down the hall toward Eddie in the living room.
Alone, Buck drifted to the kitchen window. Outside, the porch light had just flickered on, bathing the yard in soft gold. Chris had just come up the path, a girl trailing a few steps behind him. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, laughter spilling from her like a bell. Chris laughed at something she said, and Buck’s heart tugged at the sound—so familiar, so much older now.
Then the girl leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him, quick and shy, right on the lips. Chris froze, then grinned like a fool, cheeks burning as she waved goodbye and disappeared down the street.
Chris turned toward the door and caught Buck’s silhouette in the kitchen window. His face went crimson in an instant. Buck smothered a laugh, stepping away before the boy could bolt.
⸻
Dinner passed in a blur of chatter and clinking silverware. But afterward, when the house began to quiet, Eddie decreed—like some benevolent tyrant—that Chris was on dish duty, and that Buck was going to help him.
So there they stood, shoulder to shoulder at the sink. Chris washed, Buck dried, their movements awkward at first, like two strangers rehearsing an old dance they’d long since forgotten.
Finally, Buck broke the silence. “She seems nice.”
Chris nearly dropped the plate in his hands. “You saw that?”
“Out the window,” Buck admitted, smirking as he leaned against the counter. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
Chris groaned. “God, you’re worse than Dad. He’d tease me until the end of time.”
“I might anyway,” Buck teased, bumping him lightly with his elbow. “So… who is she?”
Chris hesitated, then shrugged, though the pink in his cheeks betrayed him. “Her name’s Via. She’s in my math class. We’ve been… hanging out for a while.”
“Hanging out, huh?” Buck grinned, stretching the words. “Looked a little more than hanging out to me.”
Chris rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. “She’s great. Funny. She doesn’t treat me like I’m… fragile, you know?”
Buck stilled, his towel frozen on a glass. He turned slowly, meeting Chris’s eyes. “You were never fragile, kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
For a moment, the years melted away. Chris wasn’t the nearly-grown teenager standing at the sink, but the boy who had once perched on Buck’s shoulders during baseball games, who had run into his arms after school, who had whispered his secrets into Buck’s ear because he trusted him more than anyone else.
Chris’s voice softened. “I missed you, Buck.”
Buck blinked hard, throat tightening. “I missed you too, buddy. More than I can say.”
Chris set the plate aside and turned, leaning against the counter. “You should’ve called. You just… disappeared.”
“I know,” Buck admitted, guilt heavy in his voice. “I thought… maybe you didn’t want me anymore. You were growing up, making friends, building your life. And me—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to mess that up.”
Chris’s eyes were bright, sharp in that way that reminded Buck so much of Eddie it hurt. “You never messed anything up. I wanted you here. I always did.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the soft drip of water from the faucet.
Finally, Chris straightened, determination settling into his features. “Promise me something?”
“Anything,” Buck said instantly.
“When you go back to L.A.—’cause I know you will—promise me you’ll keep in touch. Don’t just vanish again. Text me. Call me. Even if it’s just dumb stuff.”
Buck’s chest ached. He wanted to swear he’d never leave, never let go again—but he knew life wasn’t that simple. So he nodded, his voice rough. “I promise, Chris. I won’t disappear on you again.”
Chris smiled then, small but real, and for the first time in years, Buck felt like maybe he hadn’t lost everything after all.
__
Eddie sat outside on the terrace, shoulders slouched, staring up into the wide, endless Texas sky. The night was heavy with cicadas and the faint hum of distant traffic, the kind of silence that pressed down and made you feel both infinite and unbearably small.
The screen door creaked softly, and Buck stepped out, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. He hesitated, watching Eddie’s profile in the pale moonlight, before quietly setting the mug on the armrest of Eddie’s chair.
“I have to head back the day after tomorrow,” Buck murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, like if he said it too loud it would become too real.
Eddie’s gaze shifted from the stars to Buck. He gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, and turned back to the night sky. He didn’t say a word.
Buck lowered himself onto the wooden porch floor beside him, back pressed to the railing. He didn’t push, didn’t prod—not tonight. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he would talk. Tonight, he just wanted to sit here and be Buck and Eddie.
For a long while, they sat in companionable silence, the kind they used to share on long shifts, side by side in the engine bay, saying nothing and yet saying everything.
It was Eddie who finally broke it. His voice was low, thoughtful. “Tell me something.”
Buck tilted his head, lips quirking. “What do you want to hear?”
Eddie shrugged, eyes still locked on the night sky. “Anything.”
Buck followed Eddie’s gaze upward, searching. Then he pointed. “See that cluster up there?”
Eddie nodded.
“That’s Gemini. The twins—Castor and Pollux. They were half-brothers, actually. One the son of Zeus, the other of a mortal king. They were also brothers to Helen of Sparta—you know, the one who started the whole Trojan War mess.”
A faint smile tugged at Eddie’s lips. “Go on.”
“When they died, Zeus placed them in the sky together, bound for eternity. Immortalized as the Dioscuri, forever side by side.”
Eddie’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “And you just… know that?”
Buck let out a small laugh, embarrassed. “I read The Song of Achilles once. Afterward, I went down a rabbit hole—Wikipedia entries, old myths, everything I could get my hands on.”
“What’s the book about?” Eddie asked.
“You know,” Buck replied, throat tight, “Achilles and Patroclus.”
“Their friendship, right? Best friends?”
For a moment, Buck said nothing, his chest constricting. Finally, he whispered, “Yeah. Exactly. Best friends.”
The words hung between them, heavy with everything unspoken. Eddie didn’t push, didn’t ask. He just let it linger in the night air.
And then, as if the universe itself wanted to break the tension, the screen door banged open again. Chris padded out, cradling a blanket around his shoulders. His crutches clicked softly against the wood as he crossed to them.
“What are you two doing out here?” he asked, settling himself onto the porch steps just in front of them.
“Looking at the stars,” Eddie said simply.
Chris tilted his head back, eyes tracing the constellations. “Do you know that one?” He pointed toward the horizon.
Buck leaned forward. “Which one?”
“Orion. The hunter,” Chris explained, his voice brimming with that same excitement Buck remembered from when Chris was a little boy explaining dinosaurs or fire trucks. “See? Those three stars in a line—that’s his belt. And there’s his bow, right there. Sophia showed me once.”
Eddie smiled, pride softening his face. “That sounds about right.”
“And up there,” Chris continued eagerly, “that’s Canis Major. His hunting dog. The brightest star there is—Sirius.”
Buck grinned, warmth flooding his chest. “You’ve gotten really good at this, kid.”
Chris shrugged, trying to play it off, but he was glowing under the praise. “I just… like it. Makes me feel small, but in a good way, you know? Like all the stuff we worry about doesn’t really matter up there.”
For a moment, the three of them sat there together—Eddie in his chair, Buck on the floor, Chris on the steps—trading stories about the stars. And it was almost as if no time had passed at all. As if the years of silence and distance had melted away, leaving only the simple comfort of a family that, against all odds, still fit together.
Buck looked at Eddie, then at Chris, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back.