Archive of Our Own

Day 7

The calendar stuck to the refrigerator was more than just a piece of paper that month —it was a countdown of hope, marked with a bright red circle that looked as though it had been drawn by someone who couldn’t contain their excitement. The thick line, uneven and a little messy, was Buck’s doing. But the stickers—small dinosaurs marching proudly around the number— were all Chris.

Seven days. Only seven.

The house smelled like morning comfort: the golden warmth of toast, the faint baby-sweet scent that still clung to Christopher’s skin, and the familiar notes of Shannon’s strawberry-and-floral perfume —a fragrance that had followed her through the years like a ghost of better days.

Shannon sat beside Chris at the kitchen table, one arm curled around him protectively as she helped him steady the blunt butter knife in his tiny hand. His grip was clumsy, his focus intense, his tongue peeking out in concentration as he tried to cut the toast into uneven squares. She guided his hand gently, not taking over, just helping him find the rhythm.

“D… D-Dad? T-Today?” His voice was soft, hopeful, trembling in that way that always made Buck’s chest ache. 

The question hung in the air like sunlight through glass —fragile, golden, and familiar.

Buck, leaning on the counter with one elbow, felt his lips curve into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was too much tenderness in it, too much waiting. He looked at Chris the way a man looks at something he’d protect with his life —and maybe, in his heart, already did.

“Not yet, champ,” Buck said softly, nodding toward the calendar. “But almost. Look.”

He walked over, tapping the red circle with a broad finger. 

“Seven days left, see? That’s one week. Seven sunrises, six nights. And then…” He crouched down so his eyes met Chris’s. “Then Dad will be home.”

Chris nodded with great seriousness, his curls bouncing slightly. His small hand dropped the knife, and he glanced down at his breakfast as though it held answers, then up again —first to Shannon, then to Buck. His eyes, full of effort and devotion, shifted slowly toward his sticker pad. He pointed at one —his favorite. A little firetruck, red and shiny.

“T-Tomorrow,” he said, the word stretching, shaky but proud. His lips pulled into a grin that showed his tiny teeth. “D-Dad... s-strong.”

Buck felt something twist in his chest —something sharp and soft at the same time. He smiled back, his throat tightening. “Yeah, buddy. He is.”

Shannon’s laugh broke the heavy silence that followed. It was light and musical, like she’d been holding her breath and finally exhaled it. She brushed a hand through Chris’s messy curls, trying to tame them with no success. The gesture was instinctive —motherly and familiar.

“Then save me one with stars,” she said warmly. “For the day after. Because Dad is very brave and brilliant.”

Chris nodded again, satisfied, his attention drifting between them, eyes drooping with morning calm. He reached for another piece of toast, his little fingers struggling with the edges before managing to bring it to his mouth. Shannon watched him, a small smile tugging at her lips, and then —inevitably— her gaze drifted up to Buck.

He was still watching them, the kind of expression on his face that was too gentle for words. His smile was small but full of meaning. There was a quiet understanding between them, something that had grown naturally over time —a recognition that they were both, in very different ways, waiting for the same man.

They had both known Eddie since before life got complicated, before deployments and paperwork and sleepless nights with crying babies. 

They had loved him differently —Shannon loved him because he’d been her friend since childhood, the boy who shared pencil marks in school notebooks, and later became the boy she accidentally had a baby with.

Buck’s love was different —deeper, older in a way he never fully understood. 

Eddie had been his first real love, the one that hit like lightning —unexpected, terrifying, impossible to shake. Before they ever kissed, before Eddie ever looked at him like that, Buck had already chosen him in all the quiet ways: loyalty, devotion, showing up. Eddie was both his best friend and the big love of his life, the one thing that had always made sense even when nothing else did.

In one way or another, Eddie had always been the cornerstone of the three of them, the steady ground they all stood on. Strong, brave, brilliant —yes. But also gentle, patient, with that soft-spoken kindness that made even the darkest days feel bearable.

Buck glanced again at the calendar, at the dinosaurs and the red circle, and thought —not for the first time— that the house somehow felt like Eddie even when he wasn’t there. His presence lived in the way Shannon smiled at their son, in the sound of Chris’s laughter, in the steady rhythm of their small, imperfect mornings.

Seven days. Only seven.

But sometimes, a week could feel like forever.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

June 2000. El Paso, Texas

The Texas summer didn’t just burn —it shimmered, bending the air in waves over cracked sidewalks and rusted fence posts. The kind of heat that stuck to the skin like syrup and smelled of dust, dry grass, and sun-warmed asphalt. But to them —two kids who didn’t yet know what real pain or goodbyes felt like— the heat was just another dare from the world, another reason to race harder, laugh louder.

Buck was almost eight, all elbows and bandaged knees, riding a bike too big for him —a hand-me-down from his sister that still had purple tassels on the handlebars. His sneakers were scuffed, his cheeks red from the sun, but his grin was unstoppable. 

His family had moved here from Pennsylvania when he was just a toddler, after their world broke apart with the loss of his older brother, Daniel. Buck didn’t remember everything —only his mother crying in rooms she thought were empty, and his father saying less and less. But he remembered arriving in this neighborhood and meeting the boy who would become his entire universe before he even knew what that meant.

Eddie.

Eddie Díaz, only two months younger but quiet in that steady, solid way that made adults say he was “mature for his age.” He had dark curls and serious brown eyes —the kind that seemed like they’d already seen more than they should. But when he rode his bike down the dirt road beside Buck, hair whipping in the wind, his laughter was loud and reckless and bright. And Buck thought —this is what home feels like.

That same summer, everything changed again —but in a good way.

They met her.

Shannon Kelley arrived on the last sticky days of school before summer break, wearing a faded yellow dress with flowers on it and two uneven braids. She spoke with a soft accent that curled around her tongue in a way neither of them had heard before. The moment she smiled —wide, with the gap where her front tooth used to be— Buck decided she was cool. Eddie just stared for a second too long before saying “hi.” Three days later, she was chasing them with water guns, daring them to climb fences, and outrunning them both in the playground.

By July, the three of them were inseparable. The kind of trio that annoyed every adult within a ten-mile radius. If Eddie was there, Buck was there. If Buck was there, Shannon was probably already climbing something dangerous nearby.

They raced their bikes to the lake until their legs hurt. They threw rocks, caught minnows in plastic cups, and lay in the prickly grass watching clouds melt into dragons, wolves, monsters. Dusty knees, sticky fingers from melted popsicles, and sunburns that stung under the sheets at night.

On the very last evening of summer, the sky was painted orange and pink, and they were stretched out on their backs in their secret spot by the lake —a patch of grass hidden between mesquite trees and tall reeds. The cicadas sang in endless waves. The water lapped quietly against the shore.

“One day we’re gonna leave here,” Eddie said suddenly, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the huge Texas sky like he could see something no one else could. His voice was soft, thoughtful —like he’d been carrying that thought for a while.

Buck turned his head to look at him. His blue eyes were wide, reflecting the sky. The idea of Eddie leaving felt like someone gently pressing a hand against his chest —not painful, but close. Too close. 

“Where to?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing. His voice shook just a little.

“Far away.” Eddie shrugged. He lifted his hand toward the clouds, fingers outstretched like he was trying to catch the sky. “Someplace where the air smells different.”

Buck swallowed. He didn’t know how to say all the words in his head: Don’t go without me. You’re my best friend. You’re my favorite part of every day. So instead he whispered, “Can… Can I come with you?”

Eddie turned to face him. His dark eyes softened in a way that made Buck feel warm and seen —like the world couldn’t break them, not if they held onto each other. Eddie smiled —that small, shy smile he only used with Buck. 

“You always go with me, Buck,” he said, voice certain in a way only eight-year-olds can be.

Then —without thinking too hard about it— Eddie reached out and grabbed Buck’s hand. His palm was warm, a little sweaty. Buck held on like it was a secret, like if he let go, something in his heart would fall apart.

Shannon, lying on her stomach with her chin in her hands, blinked at them, watching quietly. She tilted her head, a little smile growing on her face. 

“Then I’ll bring a camera,” she announced, with the dramatic flair only a seven-year-old could manage. “So when you’re both old and living in some ugly house far away, you don’t forget me.”

Buck snorted. Eddie rolled his eyes at her. But the moment wasn’t broken —it just softened.

Eddie pushed himself up on his elbows and gently bumped his shoulder against hers.

“Duh. We’re all gonna live together when we’re old,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

For the first time, all three of them laughed —quietly, like they were afraid to wake the sky.

Buck looked at Eddie, at Shannon, and didn’t know it yet —couldn’t know it— but that promise, simple and childish, rooted itself deep in his chest.

You always go with me.

And he would. Through everything.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

Chris lifted both hands slowly —palms facing outward, a little shaky but certain. It was his sign for I’m full. Then he tapped his fingers clumsily against his teeth, mimicking the motion they’d practiced for brushing time. His coordination wasn’t perfect, but the message was clear.

Buck didn’t hesitate. He pushed his chair back and moved to help him, gently sliding one arm under Chris’s as he helped him down from the dining chair. Chris’s feet touched the floor with care, his legs quivering ever so slightly. Buck placed him beside his little blue walker, the one decorated with dinosaur stickers and a faded firetruck badge.

“There you go, buddy,” Buck said softly.

Chris wrapped his small fingers around the walker’s handles, his tongue peeking from between his lips in deep concentration. He took a hesitant step —heel first, then toe— slow and cautious, but determined. Every movement was a small victory.

Shannon started to get up to help him out of habit —coffee mug still warm in her hand— but the way Chris’s body straightened with pride stopped her. Instead, she placed the mug on the table and, as she turned, her gaze caught the calendar on the fridge.

Seven days.

Shannon’s voice was soft when she finally spoke. “Are you nervous?”

Buck was still watching Chris inch carefully toward the hallway, his little legs wobbling but moving on their own. His chest swelled with pride. It took him a heartbeat longer to reply.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “A little. Actually —quite a bit.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. His eyes shifted to Shannon. Her cheeks were turning the faintest shade of pink, the morning light catching the freckles on her skin.

“But it’s the good kind of nerves,” he added. “The kind you get when something big’s coming. Something… good.”

Shannon let out a breath that sounded like a laugh wrapped in relief. She stepped closer, following Buck’s gaze to where Chris was now halfway down the hall —one determined step at a time, lips parted in concentration, breath puffing quietly.

“Eddie’s going to see you and melt,” she said, her voice holding that mixture of teasing and truth only she could manage. Her hand settled on Buck’s forearm —warm, steady. “He loves you with every bit of him, Buck. Months don’t change that kind of love.”

A quiet moment unfurled between them. Comfortable. Real.

Then Shannon smirked. 

“Besides… with that firefighter body you’ve been working on, I’m pretty sure it’ll be impossible to get him off you.” She clicked her tongue. “I’ll probably have to take Chris out of the house just to give you two some air.”

Buck barked a laugh, face flushing red as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, out toward the backyard where sunlight spilled through the window.

“I’ve only been in the academy and at the station a year,” he mumbled. “Not like I’m some superhero. The difference shouldn’t be that big.”

But even as he said it, a shiver crept up his spine. Because in seven days —Eddie would be home. And things might be the same, or new, or better, or harder. And Buck wasn’t sure if he was ready.

“Still,” he whispered, “I don’t know. What if things changed? What if I’m not doing it right?”

Shannon’s expression softened completely. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Gentle. Familiar. The kind of affection that came from sharing years, nightmares, hospital rooms, and baby laughter.

“You’re doing more than right, Buck,” she said. “You always have.”

Shannon left for work not long after, kissing Chris on the forehead, ruffling his hair, grabbing her keys. The click of the front door closing left the house wrapped in a familiar quiet —soft, like a blanket. It was the silence right before the sounds of Christopher getting ready for the day.

Buck leaned against the doorway of Chris’s bedroom. He didn’t speak. Just watched.

Chris sat on the floor, legs splayed out like a starfish, his socks in his lap. His brow was furrowed, eyes focused on the fuzzy blue fabric as if it were a puzzle only he could solve.

He pinched the sock between his fingers —lifted it— brought it toward his foot. His hands trembled slightly. His brain knew the motion. His body… didn’t always follow.

He tried again. And again. The sock slipped from his grasp and flopped onto the carpet.

Chris huffed, small shoulders slumping. His lips trembled in frustration. Then he looked up, his blue eyes searching for Buck.

“Da—Daddy…” he murmured, the word soft, broken around the edges. He held up the sock with one hand. With the other, he pressed small circles over his chest in the sign for please. “H-Help.”

Buck’s heart clenched.

“Of course I’ll help you, Superman,” he said, kneeling down, voice gentle as he took the sock and Chris’s foot in his hands. His touch was careful. Loving.

Seven days, Buck thought as he pulled the sock over tiny toes, then the next one. Seven days until Eddie is here. Seven days until these mornings aren’t just mine. Until Chris has his dad beside him again. Until we’re us —all of us.

He slid on Chris’s boots, tightening the Velcro straps and pressing a kiss to his curls.

“Ready?” he asked. Chris nodded, smile crooked, bright. 

Seven days.

And Buck held onto that like a prayer.

Day 6

The clock had just started to chime nine when Buck finally turned his key in the front door.

Every muscle in his body ached in protest, the kind of deep, humming exhaustion that clung to the bones after a long shift. His eyelids felt like weights. His shoulders sagged. But despite the fatigue, his mouth curved into a grin that refused to fade —the kind of smile that came from knowing what waited for him on the other side of the door.

Home.

His hair was still damp from the shower he’d taken at the station —drops of water trailing down his neck, soaking the collar of his gray t-shirt. The shirt clung to him uncomfortably, still half-damp, but he hadn’t cared enough to change. His hands smelled faintly of smoke and iron and… chili seasoning. It made him laugh quietly to himself. The strange scent of firefighting and dinners —his life distilled into a single, messy fragrance.

He stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him, and the sounds of the house wrapped around him like a warm blanket —the soft murmur of a children’s cartoon in the background, the gentle hum of the ceiling fan, and, most comforting of all, the faint lilt of Shannon’s voice.

In the middle of the living room, under the glow of a floor lamp, Shannon and Chris sat side by side on the rug, their heads bent low over a jigsaw puzzle with bright, oversized pieces. Half the puzzle was sky blue with cartoon clouds; the rest was a jumble of animal shapes that didn’t quite fit together yet.

Chris noticed him first.

It took effort —his little neck straining slightly as he lifted his head— but when his gaze landed on Buck, his entire face lit up. The change was immediate, radiant. His small hands, stiff and deliberate, reached upward, fingers trembling slightly with excitement.

“D-Daddy!” he exclaimed, the syllables slightly slurred, but his joy rang clear as a bell.

Buck’s chest tightened. God, that voice. Every time he heard it, it was like the world tilted just a little bit back into place.

“Hey, Superman,” he murmured, crouching down and scooping Chris into his arms with practiced care. He was always mindful of his legs —how they still stiffened sometimes, how his body sometimes lagged behind his spirit. 

Buck lifted him high into the air, earning a squeal of laughter that filled the room, before settling him against his chest. Chris immediately pressed his face into Buck’s shoulder, small fingers tangling in his damp hair, his familiar grounding gesture —a quiet way of saying you’re home.

Buck kissed his forehead, breathing in that soft, baby-sweet scent that somehow never went away, even as Chris grew taller, braver, louder.

“How was your shift today?” Shannon asked, her voice warm and teasing as she began to collect the puzzle pieces, knowing the game was over for now. Once Buck was home, Chris’s loyalty was absolute. No toy, no cartoon, no distraction could compete.

Buck sank onto the couch, Chris perched securely on his lap, his small body fitting perfectly into the hollow of Buck’s chest. He let his fingers trace slow circles over the boy’s back —a habit he didn’t even notice anymore.

“Intense,” Buck said finally, exhaling. “We got called to an old apartment building. Fifth floor. No elevator.” He gave a soft laugh, more from disbelief than humor. “I had to climb all the way up with a full tank strapped to my back. Felt like my legs were gonna give out halfway.”

Shannon smiled as she placed the puzzle box back in Chris’s toy bin. 

“That’ll come in handy when Eddie asks you to carry the luggage,” she said lightly, sitting beside him on the couch. She reached over, running her fingers over Chris’s curls, and the boy turned his head slightly toward her touch, smiling.

Buck laughed —a real one this time, loud and unrestrained. 

“Oh, no. He’ll carry them. I’ll make sure of it.”

The laughter faded slowly into a softer quiet. Buck’s arm tightened around Chris, who was now starting to hum a little song against his chest, thumb grazing the edge of Buck’s shirt. His breathing evened out, heavy and calm.

From the corner of his eye, Buck could see Shannon watching him. She had that look again —the one she’d worn since they were kids, half amusement, half something older, wiser.

“You miss him so much,” she said, her tone gentle, not accusing, not even curious — just stating what she already knew.

The words landed softly, but deep.

Every damn day, Buck thought. Every sunrise, every bedtime, every quiet dinner without Eddie’s voice filling the house.

He didn’t say it out loud. Only a breath escaped him —a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a confession.

“Yeah. I do.” He said finally, in a whisper.

He leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, feeling the pull of it all —the exhaustion, the love, the waiting. The ache of missing someone who had become his gravity. Shannon didn’t press, didn’t need to. She just sat beside him in that shared silence, both of them knowing exactly what it meant to love the same man —one as a memory, one as a promise.

Chris shifted slightly, letting out a sleepy little sound, and Buck’s hand instinctively started rubbing his back again. The small boy’s head was heavy against his shoulder, his curls tickling Buck’s chin.

The house smelled faintly of coffee and lavender soap and home.

And for a moment, even with the ache, even with the waiting, Buck thought —this is the good kind of tired.

The kind that means you have something to come home to. Someone to come home for.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

August 2008. El Paso, Texas

The sun was easing its way behind the dry hills, spilling gold across the horizon like a secret it couldn’t hold anymore. The desert wind was warm, brushing past their cheeks with the lingering smell of dust, smoke, and summer grass. Shadows stretched long across the ground, and the small fire they’d built crackled quietly, embers glowing like fallen stars.

Shannon, Eddie, and Buck sat in a lazy triangle around the flames, the kind of comfortable distance born from years of friendship —close enough to touch, far enough to hide the things they weren’t saying. 

They were sixteen now, on the other side of childhood, teetering on the edge of everything unknown. Their day had been full of water fights, stolen sodas, and laughter so loud it scared off birds from nearby trees. The kind of day that made them believe nothing bad could ever touch them.

But now the world was shifting into night, and with it came truths they couldn’t outrun.

For a while, none of them spoke. The world around them did: frogs croaked from the lake’s edge and somewhere across the water, other teenagers shouted and laughed, their silhouettes dancing around their own fire.

Buck broke the quiet.

“You’re joining the Army,” he said, not as a question but like he was naming a storm only he could see coming.

Eddie’s hands paused over the dirt he’d been absently digging through. He pulled out a flat stone, tossing it into the lake. The quiet plunk echoed longer than it should have.

“Yeah,” he answered simply.

“No hesitation?” Buck’s voice sounded light, but there was tension in his jaw.

Eddie kept his eyes on the water. 

“My dad says I need discipline. That I’m wasting time… getting stuck in childish things. Says the Army will straighten me out.”

His tone wasn’t angry. Just tired. Like he’d already stopped arguing.

Shannon was leaning back against her hands, staring at the sky turning violet. 

“Do you want it?” she asked quietly. Not in a challenging way —more like she was afraid of the answer.

Eddie hesitated, then shrugged. 

“I want something different,” he said slowly. “I just don’t know if… this is the kind of different I want.”

Silence again. A different kind now. He was saying more than just I’m leaving. He was saying: I don’t know if I want to stay. I don’t know how to stay.

Buck’s throat felt tight. The firelight made Eddie’s face look softer, younger, but his eyes —God— his eyes looked so old. Buck wanted to reach out, to say You’re not lost, you’re mine, but the words stayed stuck behind his teeth.

Eddie turned to them, shoulders tense beneath his worn hoodie. “What about you two? What do you wanna do?”

Shannon exhaled a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Leave,” she said. “Just… get out of here. Away from this town. Away from my mom drinking herself to sleep. I don’t care where. Just somewhere else.”

Eddie nodded, then looked at Buck.

Buck’s fingers dug into the dry grass beside him. Eddie’s gaze on him felt like a spotlight —heavy, bright, unbearably gentle.

Buck swallowed. His voice came out softer than he meant it to. 

“I want to go with you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows pulled together in a quick, unguarded expression —surprise, hurt, hope— before he covered it with a small sad smile.

“That wouldn’t be fair,” he whispered.

I never cared about fairness, Buck thought. I care about you. But the words stayed inside, burning.

Instead, he lay back on the ground, staring up at a sky slowly filling with stars. He wanted to freeze this moment —the fire, the laughter still echoing in the distance, Eddie sitting close enough that their hands could touch if either of them was brave enough.

After a long pause, Eddie spoke again —softer, like he was afraid the night might take the words away. “Whether I leave or not… I’ll come back to you. Okay?”

He said it to both of them, but only looked at Buck.

The wind shifted, carrying the smell of burning wood and lake water. The stars came out one by one, like promises whispered into the dark.

The three of them made a vow —messy, naïve, and entirely earnest. Nothing would separate them. No matter what.

For a while, they even believed it.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

Buck felt the soft weight of Chris grow heavier against his chest —that familiar sign he had fallen asleep. His little head tucked under Buck’s chin, mouth half-open, warm breath against his collarbone. Their conversation had turned gentle, voices low, like people afraid to disturb the peace they’d stumbled into.

With slow carefulness, Buck stood, one arm under Chris's back, the other supporting his legs —always mindful, always protective. He walked down the hallway, his feet silent against the hardwood. 

In Chris’s bedroom, the nightlight cast stars along the ceiling, soft and blue. Buck lowered him into the crib —no sudden movements, no rush— just a careful shift, tucking the small blanket over his legs, brushing curls from his damp forehead. Chris made a sleepy little sound, but didn’t wake.

Buck leaned down, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and whispered, “Sleep tight, Superman.”

When he stepped out of the room, the house felt too still, like it was holding its breath. Shannon wasn’t in the living room anymore. The coffee cup she’d left on the table was still warm. Through the back door, Buck saw the faint shape of her outside.

He followed.

The backyard was dim, the porch light throwing a soft glow over the concrete step and the small patch of grass. Shannon sat in the rocking chair, her body curled slightly forward, elbows on her knees, eyes fixed on the sky. There were no stars —Los Angeles light pollution drowned them— but Buck recognized the direction she was staring. East. Toward Texas. Toward home, or what used to be.

He breathed in. The night smelled of wet soil and old wood, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before silence swallowed everything again. Too quiet for his liking. Too quiet for someone who slept better with sirens and motion.

Buck took the chair beside her —the one Eddie had fixed when it broke two summers ago— and allowed himself to sink into it. His eyes instinctively moved to the garden patch: a crooked line of sunflowers, some drooping, some stubbornly tall. The three of them had planted it months ago. Chris used to crouch there, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he tapped each blossom and told them secrets no one else could hear.

Shannon pulled her knees close, her fingers playing absently with the hem of her dress.

“Remember the lake?” She said softly, but she didn’t look at him.

Buck smiled before he even knew he was. 

“Yeah,” he said, settling back. His voice held a small laugh. “Where Eddie insisted he knew how to fish and ended up with a hook in his finger. Cried like he was dying.”

Shannon let out a quiet giggle —the kind that came from deep inside, the kind she only ever let happen around them. She shook her head, eyes still fixed on that starless sky. 

“You can’t say anything,” she said. “You pretended you couldn’t swim.”

Buck felt heat rise to his cheeks —embarrassing, how after all these years, that still happened. He dropped his gaze to his hands, fiddling with a rough fingertip, tracing the calluses from ladder rungs and fire hoses.

“That was part of the plan,” he muttered, lips quirking.

Shannon finally turned her head slightly, one eyebrow delicately raised. 

“Plan for what?”

Buck hesitated, then laughed —breathy, honest. 

“So he’d jump in and save me.”

Silence. Then Shannon looked at him fully, eyes soft, mouth lifted in a sad, knowing smile. The kind of smile he’d only seen on her when they were sixteen, when she caught him staring too long at Eddie across the bonfire.

“It was always him, wasn’t it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Buck didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. He just looked back at her, and that was enough.

Her eyes softened. No judgement. No surprise. Just understanding —the kind only someone who’d loved Eddie too could ever truly have.

The porch creaked as the wind shifted. Somewhere inside the house, the baby monitor crackled softly with Chris’s breathing. Buck pressed a thumb under his eye, suddenly tired in a way sleep didn’t fix.

“It still is,” he said quietly at last. A confession, a promise, a truth.

Shannon leaned her head back against the chair, closed her eyes for a moment. 

“I know.”

Neither of them said anything else for a long while.

The night wrapped around them like a blanket, warm and quiet, and even without stars, they both looked up —searching, remembering.

Day 5

Buck took advantage of the quiet morning —rare, golden, and almost unfamiliar. Shannon was at work, the house was peacefully still, and Chris had already finished breakfast and was coloring dinosaurs at the table with his tongue peeking out in concentration.

Laundry hummed in the background. The first load had already come out warm from the dryer, and Buck stood by the dining room table, folding tiny T-shirts and mismatched socks, still smelling faintly of baby detergent and sunscreen.

He picked up a soft, green dinosaur onesie —Chris’ favorite— and smiled, lost for a moment in the simplicity of routine.

Then it happened.

That ringtone.

Not the normal one. The special one —low, warm, familiar. The one assigned to only one contact.

Eddie.

Buck’s heart stumbled into his throat. His fingers froze mid-fold, the onesie slipping from his hands and landing on the table. He didn’t breathe for a second.

From his booster seat, Chris jerked upright, his whole body stiffening with excitement. His arms flapped against his sides —open and close, open and close— the sign he used when he was overwhelmed with joy.

“Dad!” he squealed, voice slightly slurred but full of certainty. “D-Dad!”

Buck swiped to accept the call with hands he hadn’t realized were shaking.

It took two seconds for the image to stabilize.

There he was.

Eddie.

His face filled the screen —dust-streaked, tired eyes, jaw shadowed with a few days of stubble. He was in uniform, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sand and fatigue clinging to every inch like a second skin. 

Behind him, muted voices, metal bunks, desert light leaking through the cracks of the barracks window. And yet, despite all that —his smile appeared. Wide. Real. Like summer before deployments, like Friday night bonfires in El Paso.

“Hey,” Eddie said softly —voice frayed around the edges, but warm. “Hi.”

Buck didn’t speak —his throat was full. Instead, he quickly placed the phone upright in front of Chris, propped up against a cereal box.

Chris leaned forward so fast Buck had to steady him. He pressed his cheek and nose right against the screen, breath fogging the glass.

“Dad… Dad…” he murmured, reaching with stiff fingers as if he could climb through the screen and into Eddie’s arms.

Eddie’s eyes softened in an instant.

“Hey, mijo,” he whispered, and just like that —the world felt whole for a second.

Chris’s breaths came quick and shallow from excitement. He used a flat hand and brushed upwards on his chest a couple of times— 'happy', the sign Buck taught him when words got stuck.

Then, with a determined little huff, he kicked out his legs and mimicked swimming —messy, uncoordinated movements, but full of pride.

“I… s-swim now,” he said carefully, each word shaped with effort. “No… flo-flot.” No floaties.

Buck gently moved the phone backward so Eddie could see the full view — the little pajama-clad body demonstrating his newfound independence in water.

Eddie let out a soft breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh and a sob all at once. 

“You’re kidding,” he said, eyes wet. “Already?”

Chris grinned, showing all his tiny teeth. His tongue pushed out between them from the effort of staying upright. Then he brought his open hand to his chin and pushed outward —'Abuela'— before tapping his chest twice.

“Ab-…Abue… said…” He frowned, stuck. His little hands came to his mouth, miming rolling dough —his sign for tacos. He looked at Buck for help.

“Abuela said she’ll make tacos the day you get back,” Buck said, smiling before he could stop himself.

Chris nodded seriously. Then turned back to the camera.

“T—Ta…cos. W-with me!” he declared, patting his chest proudly.

Eddie’s smile split wider, eyes crinkling at the corners. God, that smile. It looked like sunlight on water.

He leaned in closer to the screen. The sounds of soldiers moving behind him faded.

“I’ve got ten minutes, mijo,” he murmured. His voice dropped into that soft tone he only ever used with family — with them. “So tell me everything.”

And Chris did.

He started rambling —words, signs, pointing frantically at pictures he’d drawn earlier. Stick figures with big circles for heads, tiny legs, a giant fire truck that looked more like a red cloud. He talked about swimming lessons, about Abuela’s garden tomatoes, about Buck fixing his red walker with stickers, and the puppy next door that barked too loud.

Every so often, he’d look at Buck, puzzled, and Buck would gently help.

“Say ‘slide,’ buddy.”

“S-swide,” Chris would repeat proudly.

“Good job.”

Buck stayed mostly silent. Hovering just outside the frame, a faint grin tugging at tired lips. He’d fold another tiny T-shirt, hands now steady, and glance up. Sometimes Eddie’s eyes weren’t on Chris, but on him.

And when they were —Buck looked back. Quietly. Fully.

He didn’t speak, but everything was there.

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

Halfway through, soft footsteps sounded in the hallway. Shannon appeared by the entrance, purse still on her arm, frozen at the sight —Buck leaning forward, Chris babbling excitedly, Eddie smiling from a world away.

Her lips parted in a soft smile. She didn’t walk in. Didn’t interrupt. Just stood there —silent, heart full, watching the three pieces of her life fit together exactly as they should.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

July 2010. El Paso, Texas

The lake was still that night —glassy and dark, reflecting the sky so perfectly it seemed like the stars had fallen into it. A small universe beneath their feet, silent and infinite. The kind of night that felt too big for the thoughts inside their heads.

Eddie sat at the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water, the wood warm beneath his palms. His cheeks were red —part alcohol, part shame— and his chest tight with everything he hadn’t said that afternoon. 

The argument with his father still pulsed in his ears like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. Ramón Díaz’s voice had followed him all evening, “A real man doesn’t hesitate. A real man takes responsibility.” And then his mother’s gentler but sharper question, “When are you going to bring this girl we’ve heard so much about?”

The girl.

Eddie had wanted to answer —She’s not the one. She’s not even close.

But how do you tell your parents the one you want to build a life with isn’t a girl at all?

Now, sitting there under the indigo sky, he pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, trying to erase the voice in his head.

Behind him, Shannon was dancing barefoot on the dock, a bottle in one hand, her laughter floating across the water like windchimes. She was luminous in the way people are when they’re young and free and trying not to care. The cheap speaker beside her crackled with music, the kind that demanded to shout along even if they didn’t know the words.

Buck sat a few feet away, cross-legged, watching her —but mostly watching Eddie. His face soft, curious, concerned. Buck had always been like that. Always watching. Always knowing when Eddie wasn’t okay, even when Eddie swore he was.

Eddie felt that gaze like sunlight on skin —comforting and unbearable at once.

Another bottle opened with a soft hiss, and the three of them laughed about something small —the awful country song playing on the tiny speaker, the mosquitoes treating them like an all-you-can-eat buffet, the way Shannon kept dancing even though she tripped over her own feet every third step.

But Buck wasn’t laughing as freely anymore.

He toyed with the bottle cap between his fingers, his knee bouncing restlessly. Then, out of nowhere, he sat forward, shoulders tensing like a decision had just landed on him.

“I should go,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maddie’s still awake at home. I… I need to talk to her about something.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. But it was enough to make Eddie look up.

Shannon blinked. 

“Now?”

Buck nodded, not quite meeting their eyes. 

“Yeah. I won’t be long. She’s been… waiting.”

Waiting. Eddie didn’t know what that meant, but it lodged in his chest like a stone.

Buck stood. For a second —just a heartbeat— he hesitated, eyes shifting to Eddie. Like he wanted to say something, or maybe wanted Eddie to stop him.

Eddie opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Buck gave a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Don’t let her fall in the lake,” he said, jerking his chin toward Shannon in an attempt to sound light. Then he turned and began walking toward the path that led back to the house.

No phone. No excuses. Just distance. Just breathing space.

His figure disappeared into the darkness between the trees, and with him went the easy laughter, the warmth, the feeling that everything was okay.

The dock suddenly felt bigger. Wider. Emptier.

Shannon finally sat down beside Eddie, still humming absently to the song. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes soft from alcohol and young heartbreaks they hadn’t named yet.

The silence settled. The music kept playing somewhere far off.

Shannon looked up at him with that gentle sadness that says I know you’re hurting, and I don’t know how to fix it.

And before Eddie could even form a thought, she kissed him.

He froze. Then, as if his body moved on its own —he kissed her back.

Not because he wanted to.

Because it was easy. Because it was human. Because it was something to hold onto when everything inside him was breaking apart.

Because sometimes the body is weak when the heart is lost.

Hours later, the world had gone quiet again.

Eddie sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, hair damp with sweat. The room smelled like cheap beer and regret. The pit in his stomach was growing by the minute, heavy and sharp. 

His phone buzzed on the nightstand —a text from Buck. 

You good?

He couldn’t bring himself to answer. Shannon shifted under the sheets beside him. 

“Eddie,” she whispered. Her voice was gentle, not questioning, not angry. Just tired.

He didn’t move. His hands dragged down his face, elbows on his knees. His breath came out shaky.

“I…” he started, but the words tangled in his throat. Then, on a long exhale he said. “Shan, I’m gay.”

The silence stretched between them, thick but not shocking. Shannon just nodded, eyes soft. She had known —of course she had. The way he looked at Buck was something she didn’t need words to understand.

“I know,” she said quietly, her smile small and sad.

Eddie’s shoulders collapsed inward, like her calmness somehow made it worse. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know that too,” she murmured. Her tone was steady —not forgiving exactly, but human. “You’re not a bad person, Eddie. You’re just… scared. We all are.”

He turned toward her, face crumpled with guilt. 

“I messed up everything.”

“You didn’t mess up anything,” she said, settling back into the pillow, pulling the sheet tighter around her. “We’re still us. Just… two idiots who drank too much and made a bad decision. It’s not the end of the world.”

Eddie wanted to believe her. He nodded, staring at the floor as if answers might appear there.

“I love you, Shannon,” he said softly, voice raw. It wasn’t romantic. It was something older, deeper —the kind of love built from shared history, from laughter and scraped knees and years of friendship.

“Me too, silly,” she said, her tired smile finally reaching her eyes. “Now go find Buck before he thinks you drowned in the lake.”

He huffed out a shaky laugh, stood, pulled on his jeans, and left.

The night air hit him —cool and sharp. Crickets hummed somewhere nearby. The dock creaked under his weight as he approached.

Buck was there, exactly where he’d been before. Sitting on the edge, knees pulled to his chest, face half-lit by the moon. His eyes were red —not from the alcohol.

Eddie sat beside him quietly, the boards groaning beneath their combined weight. For a long moment, they said nothing.

“I thought…” Buck started, voice trembling. “I thought you were mad at me or something, b-but I didn’t think…” 

He trailed off, shoulders shaking just enough for Eddie to feel it.

Eddie’s throat burned. Words wouldn’t come. He just opened his arms, pulled Buck against his chest, and pressed his lips to his hair.

Buck didn’t resist. He sank into him like he always did —like this was where he’d been meant to land all along.

Eddie closed his eyes.

I’m sorry, he thought, the words heavy and useless. I had to ruin it to understand that it’s always going to be you.

The water below rippled softly, reflecting two broken boys who didn’t yet know they were standing at the start of something that would change everything.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

Buck felt his heart racing as he tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat. The call's signal lagged for a second, the screen pixelating. Chris kept making soft excited noises, his hands opening and closing like fluttering wings in front of the phone.

Shannon finally stepped into the dining room, her movements quiet, as if she didn’t want to disturb a moment that already lived on fragile strings. She placed a gentle hand on Buck’s arm, her fingers warm and grounding, then leaned down to brush a soft kiss across Chris’s hairline.

“Hi, soldier boy,” she said softly to the screen, her smile small but steady —the kind she only ever wore for the two of them. For her family.

Eddie gave her a tired but genuine smile. The kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He nodded at her in greeting before turning back to Chris, who was now vocalizing softly, his attention drifting between the screen and the small firetruck toy in his lap.

Shannon settled her hand on Chris’s back, tracing small circles, keeping him calm but present. 

“Is everything okay over there?” she asked Eddie, and the question held more weight than it seemed —Are you safe? Are you sleeping? Are you eating? Are you still you?

Eddie exhaled softly, rubbing a thumb beneath his eye as if trying to erase exhaustion. 

“I’m scared,” he admitted. Not ashamed. Just honest. His eyes stayed on Christopher, drinking him in. “Scared to see everything I missed when I come back. Chris is huge —and God, he talks so much now.”

They both looked at the little boy, who was now pressing one wheel of his firetruck against his cheek, humming quietly.

Shannon let out a breathy laugh. 

“Yeah, he’s huge,” she said, ruffling Chris’s curls. Then she jerked her thumb toward Buck. “Have you seen him? He’s huge too.”

Eddie looked at Buck —and there was nothing subtle in that look. Heat, longing, relief. The kind of look that made Buck’s ears burn and his fingertips tremble.

Eddie smirked. 

“I’ve seen the pictures,” he murmured, voice low. Shannon turned her face away to hide a grin. “Are you training to carry me when I get there?”

Buck flushed but didn’t look away this time. He lifted his head and gave Eddie a crooked grin.

“I’m gonna pick you up like a feather.” he whispered. 

And I’m not putting you down, he thought but didn’t say. Because that was the kind of truth that felt too sacred for a glitchy military video call.

Then —the alarm.

A shrill, metallic tone from somewhere behind Eddie. The sound that meant time was up.

Eddie’s eyes sharpened. Christopher’s smile faltered.

“I love you,” Eddie said quickly —like he was afraid the sound might cut out before the words did.

Buck’s chest hurt. But he smiled. 

“We love you too,” he whispered, reaching out toward the screen as if he could hold Eddie’s face in his hands.

But Chris got there first.

The little boy leaned forward, pressing his palm flat against the screen, his breath fogging the glass. He opened and closed his hand —the sign for come. His fingers trembled with effort.

“D-Dad…” he said, brow pulled tight in concentration. A breath. “C-come… q-quick.”

His small hand moved inward, then outward —the blurred motion of me and here, mashed together imperfectly but full of meaning.

Eddie’s face crumpled. Pride. Pain. Love. All of it, silent, in his eyes.

Then he opened his mouth —maybe to say “I will,” or “Soon,” or “I promise.”

But the screen went black.

No sound. No movement. Just their reflections staring back at them.

Buck froze. His heartbeat pounded so loud it hurt in his ears. He kept staring at the phone as if sheer will could bring Eddie back.

Shannon’s hand, still on his arm, tightened gently. Not pulling him away. Just reminding him he wasn’t alone.

Chris leaned into Buck’s chest, softly pressing his forehead into his ribcage before whispering, quiet and broken, “Dad… g-gone?”

Buck swallowed hard. He gathered the little boy into his arms, his hands trembling against his back. 

“He’ll be back, buddy,” he whispered into Christopher’s hair. “Dad’s coming home.”

Day 4

Buck practically flew out of the firehouse the second the clock hit his departure time. He didn’t even wait for his coworkers to finish their teasing.

“Where’s the fire this time, Buckley?” Hen had called out, half-laughing, as she poured herself another cup of coffee.

“Christopher’s waiting for me,” Buck threw over his shoulder, voice light but full of that quiet urgency that everyone at the 118 already recognized. “I’m taking him to his classes.”

That was all it took to make them smile knowingly. There was no fire in this rush, not the kind that burned buildings. Just the one that lived in his chest every time he thought of that kid’s sleepy grin and the way his little hand searched for his.

The drive home was short. 

It was barely 6 a.m., the kind of morning where the sky is just a pale hint of blue, not quite awake yet. His body hummed with leftover adrenaline from the night shift, while his brain floated somewhere between exhaustion and anticipation.

He opened the front door slowly, careful with the hinges that always protested a little.

The house was quiet. Not empty —never empty— but wrapped in a kind of sleepy warmth that only exists in places where love has lived long enough to settle into the walls.

Shannon was asleep on the couch, legs curled up, a blanket thrown halfway over her. One hand tucked beneath her cheek. She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t distant. Just… tired. The kind of tiredness that comes from loving a child who needs more than most, from being present, from choosing —every day— to stay with the people who are her family, even when life didn’t turn out the way they once thought.

Buck felt that familiar affection bloom in his chest. Not romantic love —never that— but something softer, deeper.

He drifted down the hall to Christopher’s room.

The little boy was still asleep, curled right in the middle of his crib, like the world couldn’t touch him there. One small foot had slipped free of the blanket —turned inward, relaxed for once. He was hugging his green stuffed dinosaur, the favorite one, so tightly that its tail disappeared under his arm.

His breathing was slow, a gentle hiss now and then, like the lingering sound of a dream. The pacifier wobbled between his lips, his mouth twitching every few seconds as if unsure whether to let it go or hold on tighter. And every now and then, a tiny giggle escaped him —like something in his dreams was tickling him from the inside.

“Hey, buddy.” He barely whispered, leaning against the crib rail.

He didn’t mean to wake him —not yet. Sometimes love just slipped out before he could stop it.

There were still a couple of hours before Christopher would wake up. So Buck kicked off his boots, abandoned his jacket on a chair, and headed to his room. He didn’t bother with the lights. He set an alarm, collapsed onto the bed, and was asleep before his thoughts could catch him.

When the alarm rang, he got up before the temptation to stay could win.

The world was still quiet when he checked on Chris again.

Still sleeping. Still safe. Still wrapped in that dream-world where nothing hurts.

Buck fixed the blanket back over his small foot, pressed a soft kiss to his curls, and backed out of the room as silently as he could.

Shannon hadn’t moved much —still curled up, breathing deeply, a faint frown between her brows even in sleep. 

In the kitchen, he started the coffee maker. The first drops of dark liquid hit the pot with a quiet tap-tap-tap, and he braced his hands on the counter.

And that’s when the thoughts came.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

August 2010. El Paso, Texas

The lake looked like it had swallowed the sky whole. Every ripple caught the first rays of morning and bent them into gold, turning the surface into something almost sacred. It was too early for anyone else to be awake —too early for shouting kids or fishing lines or the hum of radios. 

Only the two of them existed here, half-drowsy, half-alive, caught somewhere between night and day.

Eddie sat cross-legged on the dock, his jeans rolled up and his skin still smelling faintly of chlorine and summer. His hair was a mess —half-dry, half-damp— and his face was red from sun and laughter and maybe a little too much of whatever cheap beer Buck had smuggled into the cooler.

His hand toyed absently with the seam of Buck’s shorts, tracing the fabric with a kind of nervous familiarity. He didn’t even realize he was doing it —he just couldn’t seem to not touch him.

Buck was beside him, knees bent, trying to skip stones across the still water with his right hand while his left clutched a lemon popsicle that was melting faster than he could eat it. Each time a drop slid down his wrist, he caught it with a lazy swipe of his tongue. His face was flushed, his blond hair sticking up in every direction, his smile too big for the morning’s quiet.

They’d been coming to that dock since they were six years old —since the days of grass-stained knees and stolen sodas, when the world had felt endless and kind. But now, sitting there as almost-adults, everything felt fragile, suspended. Like the air was holding its breath for them.

Eddie’s voice broke through the silence.

“The graduation ceremony’s in a month.” He didn’t look up from the horizon, his voice soft and low, the kind you use when you’re afraid of what might come next. His fingers pressed a little deeper into Buck’s leg. “Feels like after that… everything’s gonna change.”

Buck froze mid-lick, the popsicle halfway to his mouth. 

“Why do you say that?”

Eddie shrugged, though the movement was tight.

“Because you want to leave Texas. And I…” He trailed off, sighing, his shoulders heavy. “I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

He didn’t say I don’t know if I can stay here without you. But Buck heard it anyway.

Buck popped the rest of the popsicle into his mouth in one go, grimacing at the sourness. He leaned back on the dock, stretching one arm behind him so Eddie could join him if he wanted. His other hand —still sticky with lemon and sugar— rested at his side.

“I know I want to leave,” he admitted finally, staring at the open sky. “But I also know I don’t want to go anywhere without you.”

Eddie turned so fast he nearly lost his balance. The words hit him —sharp, bright, unexpected. His chest went tight, the kind of ache that could only come from hope.

The world was quiet again, except for the soft croak of frogs in the reeds and the whisper of the morning wind across the water. The silence between them wasn’t empty —it was full. Dense. A heartbeat that neither of them wanted to break.

And then Eddie did.

“Buck… do you like someone?”

Buck blinked, startled. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. His cheeks colored almost immediately, as if his body had betrayed him before his words could.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a long pause. His voice was barely there, swallowed by the morning air.

Eddie’s throat went dry. 

“Who?”

For a second, it seemed like Buck wouldn’t answer. His lashes trembled, his hands fidgeted. The dock creaked beneath their weight. The whole world seemed to wait.

Then Buck exhaled —one long, trembling breath.

“You.”

The word dropped between them like a stone into still water, and Eddie could almost hear the ripples spreading through his ribs. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched as Buck slowly opened his eyes.

Buck looked terrified. And yet, there was a smile —small and nervous, like the kind you give when you’ve leapt and you’re still falling, but you’re not sure you want to land.

Eddie’s own voice came out rough, unsteady, but filled with something that had been buried for years.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

Buck blinked. 

“What?”

“That’s it.” Eddie swallowed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He dragged a hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there like he could hide behind the motion. 

“I’ve liked you since… hell, forever, I think. And I don’t want to go anywhere without you, either.”

Buck stared at him, his brain catching up too slowly, like he was afraid this was some kind of dream his body had conjured out of longing.

Eddie kept talking, words spilling before he could stop them.

“I know we’re young, and it’s probably stupid, and my parents would kill me if they even guessed —but when I think about the future, it’s just…” He huffed out a breath, dragging his hand through his hair. “It’s just you, Buck. I don’t know how to make it sound pretty or perfect, I just —know.”

Buck didn’t think. He didn’t weigh the moment or second-guess it. He just leaned forward, pressed his sticky hand to Eddie’s cheek, and rested his forehead against his. The scent of lemon and lakewater filled the air between them.

His voice came out soft, shaking slightly.

“We can make it pretty together,” he whispered, noses brushing. “Yes, Eddie. I want to be your boyfriend.”

Eddie laughed —really laughed— free and light and maybe a little teary. He covered Buck’s hand with his own, their fingers brushing, finding, locking.

When their hands intertwined, everything clicked. The dock, the morning, their whole lives —aligned like it had always been meant to be this way.

Then Eddie leaned in, heart pounding, breath trembling. The kiss was hesitant at first —warm, clumsy, sweet. It tasted like sugar and sun and everything they’d been too scared to say.

And then, when Buck tilted his head and kissed him back, the whole world seemed to go quiet again.

Behind them, the water mirrored the sunrise —gold spreading over blue, like fire catching light.

From a few steps away, Shannon stood, a soft smile curving her lips. She’d come to find them —to drag them for breakfast— but stopped when she saw them. The sight didn’t break her; it warmed her. These were her boys. Her family. And they had finally found the truth that had always been waiting.

She turned quietly and left them there, at the edge of the lake —two boys wrapped in morning light, learning for the first time what it felt like to belong to someone completely.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

The coffee was too sweet — even for him.

Buck grimaced as he took another sip, but still drained the cup to the bottom, as if sugar could somehow fill the hollow ache in his chest. The morning light crept slowly into the kitchen, soft gold spilling across the table, painting everything in a quiet, expectant glow.

The hum of the washing machine filled the silence as he poured detergent and carefully added Eddie’s favorite sheets —the soft gray ones with faint blue stripes— the first thing they’d bought together when they’d managed to rent this house. The memory made him smile, even as the ache in his throat thickened.

Eddie had been so proud that day, walking through the store aisles with his arms crossed, pretending to have opinions about thread counts while secretly letting Buck choose everything. 

“You’re the one with taste,” he’d said, smirking. And Buck had rolled his eyes but ended up grinning the entire drive home.

Now, folding those sheets into the washer felt like touching a memory he didn’t want to fade.

As the machine began its slow churn, Buck exhaled, steady and deep. He needed to keep moving —if he stopped, even for a moment, the stillness would swallow him whole. 

So he moved. 

One task to the next. 

Call the car service. Check the grocery list. Add cinnamon cereal —Eddie’s favorite— because he knew the box would be gone before Eddie got home, and still, he wanted there to be one waiting.

Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked, followed by a small, sleepy sound. Then Shannon’s soft, low voice reached him.

“Hey, sunshine. Ready to wake up?”

Buck turned toward the sound, leaning against the counter, his heart already softening.

A few minutes later, Shannon appeared in the kitchen with Christopher in her arms —his curls messy, his shirt twisted, his face buried against her shoulder. He looked impossibly small and impossibly strong all at once.

“Morning, champ,” Buck said gently, moving to take him. Chris blinked blearily at him, a grin forming as soon as he recognized his voice.

“Addy… D-Daddy!” Christopher’s voice was still gravelly with sleep, his mouth working around the consonants.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Buck chuckled, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I got breakfast waiting.”

“‘ncakes?” Chris asked, his eyebrows lifting hopefully as he pointed vaguely toward the stove.

Shannon laughed, settling at the table. 

“We talked about cereal today, remember?”

Chris frowned, considering that, then turned to Buck again, lifting one of his little fingers.

“Just one pancake?” Buck teased. “You drive a hard bargain, kid.”

The morning unfolded with the slow rhythm of routine. 

Shannon helped Chris with breakfast, her movements patient and practiced —guiding his spoon when his hands trembled, murmuring small encouragements each time he managed a mouthful. Buck, meanwhile, moved around the kitchen like a quiet storm —fixing his hair in the hallway mirror, searching for his shoes, then crouching beside Christopher’s walker to secure the straps.

When Chris was finally upright, supported but determined, Buck smiled. 

“Ready to go, buddy?”

Chris nodded, his tongue poking out in concentration.

“Let’s go then,” Buck echoed, voice soft with pride.

At the door, Chris paused and turned toward Shannon, his hand rising hesitantly in her direction —a silent question.

“You want me to come too?” she asked.

Chris nodded again, his face lighting up.

So they went —the three of them out into the morning. Shannon walked at Chris’s pace, keeping a steady hand near the walker while Buck carried the backpack and kept up a stream of light chatter about clouds and buses and the new ramp the school had installed. Every now and then, Chris laughed —bright and unrestrained— pointing out birds or waving at passing cars.

By the time they reached the schoolyard, the world was fully awake. Children’s voices filled the air, mingling with the hum of engines and the smell of dust and warm asphalt. Buck crouched beside Chris, adjusting the walker one last time before letting him go.

“Go get ’em, tiger,” he said.

Chris grinned, lifting one hand in a small wave. He took slow, measured steps across the pavement, and the sight of him —determined, unbothered by the uneven ground— made Buck’s chest swell. A few kids ran over to greet him, without hesitation or pity, just grins and shouts of his name.

Leaning against the car, Buck watched, eyes bright and unfocused.

Shannon joined him, resting her hip against the passenger door. Her smile was soft, distant, like she was looking at two timelines at once.

“Do you remember when you said goodbye after school?” she asked suddenly, her tone playfully teasing. “When Eddie followed you all the way to the corner, even though Ramón was already coming for him?”

Buck let out a quiet laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“He was bad at saying goodbye.”

“He always has been,” Shannon said, the affection in her voice unmissable.

Buck hummed, smiling as he watched Christopher talk animatedly to his teacher, gesturing toward the first step of the ramp, his little brow furrowed in effort. He felt the familiar warmth of family —messy, imperfect, rooted. Shannon beside him, Chris ahead of him, and somewhere out there, Eddie— steady as the heartbeat Buck always felt echoing in his chest.

That afternoon, after running errands and folding uniforms for his next shift, Buck found himself on the bedroom floor, surrounded by neat stacks of fabric and the soft buzz of silence.

He reached under the bed almost without thinking and pulled out a small, metal box —worn smooth at the edges, engraved with a name that never stopped feeling like home: Díaz.

Inside were the relics of a life stitched together by love and years —crumpled movie tickets, a couple of fair wristbands, a folded photo from high school. And near the bottom, a letter, old enough that the paper had begun to yellow at the corners. Eddie’s handwriting ran across it in familiar slants

I love you more than I could admit.

Buck’s breath caught. He traced the words with his thumb, smiling softly.

His world, he realized, had always been divided in two —before Eddie, and after him.

And as the afternoon sun slipped through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the bed, Buck let the feeling settle deep inside him —this life he’d built with the people he loved most. 

It was enough to make him feel like he could finally exhale.

Day 3

Buck woke up already tired.

That last day before his requested leave felt like stepping into a fire he couldn’t see yet —but knew was coming. His body ached with the familiar exhaustion from nights on-call, alarms, smoke, and adrenaline. But today, the heaviness wasn’t only in his muscles… it was in his heart.

Three days. Just three more days until Eddie came home.

He stood in front of the mirror, uniform halfway on, staring at his own reflection like he barely recognized the man looking back. Firefighting doesn’t forgive distraction. It doesn’t forgive fatigue. One mistake means someone could die. So today, Buck forced every thought into a single path: Keep them safe. Finish the shift. Make it home.

He buttoned the last button, tied his boots, and breathed in deep —even though his chest felt too tight for air.

When he stepped into the dining room, the weight lifted —just a little.

There, sitting cross-legged on his booster chair, was Christopher. His feet dangled off the edge, toes brushing the air with every small swing. A sketchbook lay open in front of him, crayons scattered across the table and floor.

Christopher's brow was furrowed in deep concentration. His little tongue peeked from the corner of his mouth, the crayon trembling slightly in his right hand as he drew with slow, determined effort. Even when his muscles shook, he didn’t stop.

From the kitchen came the soft sound of Shannon humming —that Spanish song she’d loved since elementary school, the one she always sang without realizing it. The smell of butter and eggs filled the air.

Buck leaned over Chris’s chair and gently ran his hand over his shoulder.

“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, voice soft. “What are you drawing?”

Christopher startled —not in fear, but in excitement. His legs kicked against the chair, the crayon nearly falling from his fingers. Then, slowly, with hands that trembled but didn’t give up, he lifted the paper and held it up for Buck.

“D… da…” His mouth worked around the sounds. “Dad.”

Buck smiled so wide it almost hurt. He carefully took the drawing, studying it like it was holy.

There were three shapes. Two tall ones: one with very long arms and a green body; one with short, messy yellow stripes for hair. The third was smaller, with a red square on its chest.

“Is that us?” Buck asked, tone full of delighted disbelief.

Christopher nodded eagerly, tapping the green figure first. “D-Dad.”

Then he touched the yellow one and gently tapped Buck’s stomach with his other hand. “D-Daddy.”

He tapped the smallest shape and patted his own chest. “Kiss.”

Buck let out a soft laugh that trembled at the end. 

“Your drawing is amazing, kiddo.”

Chris’s eyes glittered —not just with pride, but with something deeper. Hope.

“Dad… h-home?” he asked, voice smaller this time. Fragile. Like the question might break if he said it too loud.

Buck leaned over so he could look into his eyes. 

“Yeah, honey. Dad’s coming home.” He held up his fingers —one by one. “In three days. Look—one… two… three.”

Christopher tried to imitate the motion. His fingers stuck together, tangled, wobbled —and he ended up showing all five.

“I-Is he… coming?” he whispered, hiding his face against Buck’s stomach but keeping a tight grip on the drawing.

“He’s coming,” Buck promised without a heartbeat of doubt. “He’s coming home.”

Chris stayed pressed to his chest, small arms trying their best to wrap around him. He blinked slowly, thinking hard.

“Dad… loves… Kiss?” He asked quietly. His hand signed Dad —then tapped his heart.

Buck’s own heart broke a little. He cupped Christopher’s cheek with gentle fingers.

“Oh baby,” he whispered. “Your dad loves you so much. Every day. Even when he’s far.”

Christopher frowned. Tapped his temple with a shaky finger. Lips trembling.

“Dad… t-thinks… kiss?”

Buck pressed his forehead softly to his son’s. 

“Yeah, champ. Dad thinks about you. All the time.”

There was one more hesitation. Christopher’s finger tapped Buck’s chest this time.

“Dad… thinks… D-Daddy?”

Buck blinked —and smiled. Soft. Full. Honest.

“Yeah,” he said, voice catching. “He thinks about me too.”

From the kitchen, Shannon paused in her humming. She didn’t turn or say anything —but her eyes were glassy, and she exhaled a slow, shaky breath.

Minutes later, Buck pulled on his jacket. Time to leave. Christopher noticed immediately and scrambled —dragging his walker over the floor so fast it hit the table leg with a thud. His yogurt and strawberries were forgotten on the table.

Buck knelt and opened his arms wide. Christopher pressed into him —arms around his neck, cheek pressed to Buck’s shoulder. Holding on like he could stop time.

Buck held even tighter.

Chris pulled back just long enough to press a wet, slightly sticky kiss to Buck’s cheek. Then he rested his forehead against his, breathing slowly. Like this touch, this stillness, was his anchor.

And Buck… Buck felt it too.

From the moment he knew this little boy existed, he’d always felt it.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

October 2010. El Paso, Texas

It wasn’t supposed to feel like summer anymore. The calendar said October, but the air outside Buck’s car window shimmered with heat, clinging to his skin like a second layer. 

The call had come out of nowhere —his mother’s voice, curt and frazzled, muttering something about “that girl” not looking well and she not wanting to deal with it. The moment he’d heard Shannon’s name, Buck’s pulse had quickened, and before his mother could finish her complaint, he was already grabbing his keys.

By the time he reached the house, the world seemed too still, the silence inside pressing against his ears. 

He found them in his room. 

She was perched on the edge of his bed, her knees drawn up, hands trembling around something small and white. Eddie stood across from her, pacing in tight, sharp circles, fingers digging into his hair, muttering to himself as if trying to hold his mind together.

“What’s wrong?” Buck asked, closing the door behind him. His voice came out more fragile than he intended. His gaze darted between them —Shannon, pale and trembling; Eddie, unraveling.

No one answered him. Not in words. Shannon’s shaking hand lifted the object, and the truth stared back at him in two faint pink lines.

Buck froze. The air left his lungs.

“I— I’m pregnant,” Shannon whispered, and her voice cracked on the last word.

The room tilted. Eddie stopped moving. For a second, he just stood there, his chest heaving, before dragging both hands down his face and looking up at the ceiling like it might give him air.

Buck felt something heavy and cold sink into his chest. He knew. He didn’t need to ask, but the question clawed its way out of him anyway.

“Of…?” His throat burned.

“Eddie’s,” Shannon said. The words tumbled out on a breath, broken and ashamed. “It was that night… you know.”

Buck nodded slowly. He did know. The memory flickered like static —the party, the cheap beer, the laughter that had gone too loud, and Eddie’s guilty eyes since that night.

He had told himself then that it didn’t matter. That one night, one mistake, couldn’t erase everything else between them. But now —now it mattered.

Eddie’s face was a map of guilt and panic. 

“I-I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he stammered. “Neither of us did, Buck, you know that. I swear—” 

His voice broke, and he scrubbed at his face again, like he could erase the moment with his hands. 

“I don’t want to fail you. I don’t want to fail any of us.” Eddie whispered.

Shannon’s sobs filled the silence again —deep, aching sounds that came from somewhere far beyond the surface. She folded in on herself, and that small, broken sound snapped Eddie out of his spiral. He sat beside her, wrapping his arms around her as she cried into his chest, and for a second the sight made Buck’s heart twist in a way he didn’t know how to name.

He stood frozen by the door. Then, quietly, like his body moved before his mind did, Buck crossed the room. He knelt beside the bed, placing one hand on Shannon’s knee and the other on Eddie’s thigh. His voice was steady when he finally spoke.

“You won’t,” he said softly, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “You’re not going to fail anyone.”

Shannon’s shoulders shook again, and Eddie tightened his hold on her, his lips pressed against her hair.

“I know it wasn’t supposed to happen,” Buck murmured. “You were both drunk, things got blurry… I know. But now —there’s a baby.”

The word baby seemed to echo in the room, soft but unrelenting.

Eddie lifted his head, eyes glassy, his entire being trembling with the weight of it all. 

“Buck… I love you. You know I do.” His voice was barely a whisper. “But my parents… my family —they’ll expect me to do the right thing. I-I want to do the right thing…”

Buck nodded, though every word felt like a shard cutting deeper into him. He had always known how deeply Eddie carried duty inside him, the way he measured love against obligation.

“I want to be with you,” Eddie said again, voice shaking. “I want you. But now…” He trailed off, helpless.

Shannon straightened a little then, her voice small but firm. 

“I don’t want to do this alone.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “I can’t.”

Buck’s eyes softened. He looked from her to Eddie —the two people who had somehow become the center of his world without him realizing it.

“You won’t,” he said. “We’ll do this together.”

Both of them blinked at him —Eddie in shock, Shannon with disbelief flickering between tears.

“What?” she breathed.

“This,” Buck said, gesturing between them. “The pregnancy. The baby. All of it. It doesn’t matter how it happened. What matters is that we’re going to be here. The three of us. Like always.”

Eddie stared at him, the gears in his mind visibly turning, his heart breaking and rebuilding all at once. 

“You really want that? You don’t have to, Buck. I’d never—”

Buck gave him that small, crooked smile that always disarmed him. 

“You’re the love of my life, Eddie. And Shannon’s my family. What kind of man would I be if I let you go through this alone?”

Shannon covered her mouth, sobbing again —this time with something that sounded like relief. Eddie stood, reaching for Buck as if he needed to make sure he was real. He pulled him into a hug so fierce it hurt, his face buried in Buck’s neck.

“I love you,” Eddie whispered, voice breaking apart with the words.

“I know,” Buck whispered back, his hand tracing the back of Eddie’s head, anchoring him. “We’re going to make it right.”

And somehow, they did.

They went to the first ultrasound together —Eddie’s hand gripping Buck’s, Shannon’s teary laugh breaking through the static of the machine. They packed their things and moved to California, painting a nursery that smelled like fresh hope and cheap paint.

They argued over names, cried over fears, and then one afternoon in January, sitting in their tiny kitchen surrounded by baby books and mismatched mugs, they found it —Christopher.

Buck remembered the way Shannon had smiled, her hands resting on her growing belly, and how Eddie had looked at him from across the table —eyes soft, full of gratitude and a love that still felt impossible.

And in that moment, Buck had thought, maybe some accidents are just life finding another way to make you whole.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

During the late afternoon, the sun still burned against the back of his neck, and sweat trickled down his temples beneath the heavy turnout gear. The scent of smoke clung to everything —his hair, his lungs, the inside of his mouth. Buck pulled at the hose, feeling it dig into his gloves, heavier than it had any right to be. Every breath made his chest ache, not just with exertion but with a quiet, pulsing ache of longing —he just wanted to get home. To Christopher. To hold his boy tight, breathe in the scent of baby shampoo and crayon, and wait for Eddie to walk through the door.

“Move! Watch your step!” the captain yelled from somewhere behind him. Someone slipped, cursing as water splashed across the asphalt. The call felt endless, and each second stretched thin against Buck’s exhaustion.

But he didn’t break. He never did. Not when Christopher was waiting at home. Not when Eddie’s laughter still lingered in his ears from their last call. Not when his life —messy, complicated, beautiful— was worth every bruise and burn.

When the flames finally died and the crew stood catching their breath, they went back to the station

He dropped onto the bench by his locker, ran a hand through sweat-damp curls, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The station buzzed with familiar noise —jokes, clanging gear, the captain shouting for reports— but Buck’s mind was already in a quiet living room, with a sleepy little boy and a picture frame of the three of them.

His pulse still raced when his phone vibrated in his pocket. The moment he saw the name on the screen, his entire face softened —Eddie.

He answered with a breath that sounded a lot like relief.

“Is everything okay over there?” Eddie asked. His voice was warm, gentle, the kind of sound that curled around Buck’s ribs and made the pain in his muscles feel far away.

“Right now? More than perfect,” Buck murmured as he moved away from the noise, climbing to the loft rail where the station was quieter. He lowered his voice. “Chris drew us this morning.”

And before Eddie could even respond, Buck had already typed and sent the picture.

Silence for a heartbeat.

Then Eddie’s laughter filled the line, soft and breathless. Buck could picture him perfectly —eyes crinkling, smile pressed against his knuckles like he wanted to hold it there for safekeeping.

“God,” Eddie whispered, voice drifting. “Look at us. I have octopus arms.”

Buck huffed a laugh, leaning his head back against the metal railing and closing his eyes. 

“He misses you, you know?” His voice dropped to something smaller, more fragile. “We all do.”

There was a pause. Eddie’s breath hitched, barely. 

“I miss him,” he said. And then, softer —almost shy, almost reverent— “And I miss you.”

Buck’s heart squeezed so painfully he had to press a hand to his chest. His lips pulled into a grin he couldn’t fight, even as his eyes stung. He rested his forehead against the cool metal railing.

“Yeah. I know.” He murmured.

Even after the call ended, he stayed there, phone still in his hand, screen gone dark. But the warmth stayed. It settled in his bones like a promise.

A voice broke the silence behind him.

“Sweet call from your military boyfriend?” one of his station mates teased. The room hushed around them, the joke hanging in the air like smoke.

Buck looked over his shoulder, and instead of embarrassment, pride lit up his face —steady, unflinching.

“Yeah,” he said simply, and slid his phone back into his pocket. “So what?”

No one said a word after that. And Buck just walked away, the ghost of Eddie’s voice still echoing softly in his ear, and the weight of love sitting solid and unwavering in his chest.

Day 2

That day, Buck wakes up before dawn.

The world is still a whisper —soft, half-formed, wrapped in the blue-gray hush of early morning. The light creeps gently across the walls, cold and deliberate, like a hand tracing the outline of a memory.

Christopher sleeps face-down on Buck’s chest, a tiny, warm weight pressed against his heartbeat. His curls are a halo of soft gold against Buck’s shirt, and the pacifier moves rhythmically with his breath —in, out, a little sigh between. His fingers curl against Buck’s collar, as though afraid he might drift too far if he lets go.

Buck doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. He knows the clock on the wall is ticking, knows that another day has started, but this —this is the only stillness that matters. The quiet before everything shifts.

Only two more days.

The thought is both a balm and a bruise. It glows warm in his chest, then burns. Every time he catches sight of the calendar taped crookedly on the wall —the one full of fire stickers and crooked hearts— he hears Christopher’s little voice from the day before, soft and hopeful.

“Dad... h-home.”

That alone had been enough to make Buck’s throat tighten.

Carefully, he sits up and gathers Christopher in his arms. The boy stirs, whimpers once —the soft, wordless sound of a dream fading— but doesn’t wake. Buck lowers him into the crib, his hands instinctively steady and sure. He tucks the blanket around him, brushing back a stray curl from his forehead. Christopher curls inward, seeking warmth, and sucks harder on his pacifier, sinking back into the ocean of sleep.

Buck lingers for a few seconds longer, watching him. He’s grown. The thought feels absurd —it’s only been a few months since the last growth spurt— but it’s true. His cheeks are fuller, his legs longer, and yet, in the dim light, he’s still that same baby who once fell asleep against Buck’s chest the first night Eddie was deployed.

Buck presses a soft kiss to his hair. 

When he walks into the kitchen, Shannon’s already there, hair tied up neatly, jacket half open over her work T-shirt. She’s holding two mugs, the steam rising like ghosts between them. Without needing to ask, she pushes one toward him and slides the sugar and cream closer.

“Morning,” she says, her voice rough from sleep but calm. “You’re not working today, are you?”

Buck shakes his head and sinks into the chair, the mug heavy and hot between his palms.

“I’m using my accumulated time off,” he says after a beat, rubbing his eyes. “I wanted to get things ready before he comes back. Just… make sure everything’s in place.”

Shannon leans against the counter, crossing her arms, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. 

“Are you nervous, or excited?”

Buck lets out a short, tired laugh. 

“Yes.”

That earns him a laugh from her too, low and knowing. She’s known him too long —since before the lines around his eyes, before the kind of exhaustion that sits behind the ribs instead of the shoulders.

“I miss him,” Buck admits softly, eyes on the rim of his mug. “And I keep thinking... What if he’s not okay? After everything he’s seen?”

Silence blooms between them —not awkward, just heavy, full of things neither of them can fix. Shannon watches him, and for a second, her expression softens into something almost maternal.

Buck shrugs and tries for a smile, but it trembles a little. 

“Still, I can’t wait to have him in front of me. To kiss him. To tell him he’s home.”

Shannon crosses the room and sets a hand on his arm, a squeeze that says more than words. 

“Then just hold onto that,” she says gently. “Enjoy the fact that soon, he will be home.”

He nods. It’s all he can do.

She glances at the clock on the wall, then back toward the hallway.

 “Alright, hero,” she says, half-smiling. “Time to wake up the earthquake.”

Buck groans softly, rubbing a hand down his face before standing. 

“Yeah,” he mutters with a smirk. “I know.”

The drive to Christopher’s kindergarten is quiet except for the soft rustle of paper in the backseat. Buck glances in the rearview mirror every few seconds, watching the little boy’s determined concentration as he draws on his tablet — loops of color, shaky shapes that might be people or clouds or something between both.

“Whatcha got there, buddy?” Buck asks, smiling when Christopher looks up, his pacifier long abandoned in the cup holder.

“Puh... puhple sky,” he murmurs, showing the tablet with a proud little grin.

“That’s beautiful,” Buck replies, genuine. He means it. Every mark, every color —it’s all a map of how Christopher sees the world, messy and magnificent.

When they reach the school, Buck helps him out of the car, buckles him into his walker, and lets him lead the way. The boy chatters softly about his teacher, about how “Ami shares snacks,” and how “Tee... Tia paints too big,” the words tumbling out slowly but full of life.

Inside, Buck kneels, fixing the strap on Chris’s walker before he can dart toward his classmates. 

“You have fun today, okay?”

Chris nods solemnly, holding up three tiny fingers that don’t quite stay up. 

“T-Two days,” he says, a little breathless.

Buck smiles and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“That 's right. Two more days, and Dad’s home.”

Christopher beams, waves clumsily, and disappears into the small crowd of children. Buck watches until he’s through the door, his heart both aching and full.

When he finally turns toward the office, it’s with a steady breath. The secretary at the desk glances up with polite efficiency.

“How can I help you?” she asks, fingers tapping on her keyboard.

“I wanted to make a request for partial leave for Christopher Diaz,” Buck says calmly, placing a folder on the desk. Inside are Eddie’s deployment papers, the return authorization, the signatures —all neatly organized, all the proof he belongs in this family. “His father’s returning from duty after more than a year. I want to make sure we have those days together.”

The woman studies the papers, her practiced expression softening. 

“Are you the child’s guardian? Or representing the mother?” she asks carefully. “We can only process requests from immediate family.”

Buck nods slowly, then pulls another sheet from the folder —a legal document, its edges slightly worn from how often he’s carried it.

“I am,” he says, voice steady now. “His legal guardian.”

There’s no hesitation, no apology. Just quiet pride —the kind that glows from the center of him, warm and certain.

The secretary’s gaze flicks up, meeting his. For a moment, her professionalism falters, replaced by something like understanding. She takes the paper and nods. 

“Of course,” she says softly. “I’ll process it right away, Mr. Buckley.”

Buck exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. As he leaves the office, the sound of laughter from the classroom spills down the hall, and he catches a glimpse of Christopher’s bright smile through the small window in the door.

He presses his hand briefly to the glass.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

April, 2011. Los Angeles, California

The kitchen smelled faintly of instant coffee and paint —the kind they bought cheap because the house was old, and they were young, broke, and too hopeful to care. The light overhead was a tired shade of yellow, and it barely softened the dark circles beneath Eddie’s eyes. 

He looked worn down to the bone —long hours at the construction site, double shifts, quiet nights assembling furniture they’d found in thrift stores or on sidewalks.

Still, when he walked into the kitchen, there was softness in him. He paused just long enough to meet Buck’s eyes and offer a small smile —the one that always started on one side of his face and made something inside Buck ache in the sweetest way. 

Eddie sat down beside him, their knees brushing under the table. He let one arm rest on Buck’s forearm, his fingers tracing absent circles on the skin, grounding himself before he let out a slow breath.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” Eddie said, voice quiet but steady.

Buck’s spine straightened. His breath caught. That tone —calm but deliberate— never meant something small. Before he could ask, the soft shuffle of footsteps came from the hallway.

Shannon appeared in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. Her belly had grown round and heavy, and her steps were slower now, careful. She looked tired —but also calm, like she’d already made peace with whatever was coming. She gave Buck a reassuring half-smile as she walked in.

“And it’s really important that you listen to everything we say before you answer,” Eddie added, eyes never leaving Buck’s.

Buck’s thoughts went wild. Were they getting married? Were they moving again? Did they not want him here anymore? Did they—

“Hey, Buck,” Shannon interrupted gently, lowering herself into the chair across from him with a soft groan. Her hands rested on her stomach. “It’s not bad. I promise. Don’t panic.”

That didn’t help. His heart still hammered against his ribs. He tried to breathe. He felt Eddie's hand squeezing his arm gently, fingertips stroking softly —a silent stay with me.

Then Buck saw the papers. Held loosely in Eddie’s other hand. White edges, government seals. Eddie pushed them across the table with almost reverent care.

“Evan…” Eddie’s voice was soft, but beneath it lay something unshakeable —a decision already made. “I want… We want you to be Christopher’s legal guardian.”

Silence, deep and sudden. Like all the air had been pulled out of the room.

Buck’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His brain felt wrapped in cotton. Words swam but none made it past his lips. Guardian? Him? They wanted —him?

His hand moved before his mind did, reaching instinctively for Eddie’s fingers. Eddie intertwined them instantly. Buck lifted their joined hands to his lips without thinking, pressing a trembling kiss to Eddie’s knuckles before he managed a whisper.

“Are you sure?” he asked. But what he really meant was, Why me? Why can I have this? Why are you choosing me?

Eddie didn’t look away. His thumb brushed the back of Buck’s hand. He leaned in slightly.

“Yes,” he said simply. “There’s no one else we trust like this.”

Buck looked at Shannon. She wasn’t crying —not quite— but her eyes were full, soft, steady. She rested a hand protectively over her stomach as she spoke.

“We’re a family, Buck,” Shannon said. “Even if people don’t get it. Even if it’s not traditional.” She breathed deeply. “Christopher is just as much yours as he is Eddie’s or mine. And we want you to have that —legally, officially. We want you to have the same right to protect him that we do.”

Buck felt it then — the burn behind his eyes, the lump in his throat. His heart hurt. Too full. Too big. He tried to speak, failed, and swallowed hard.

“I… I don’t know if I deserve this,” he whispered.

Eddie leaned closer, lifting his free hand to Buck’s cheek, thumb brushing the stubble gently.

“It’s not only about deserving,” Eddie murmured. “Because you do. But it’s more than that.” He rested his forehead against Buck’s. Eyes closed, breath shaking just a little. “It’s about being there. And you’ve always been there.”

Buck’s breath hitched. He pulled away for just a moment to wipe the tears from his face. The papers sat between them. Eddie’s hand still held his. Shannon still watched him, smiling softly.

They were offering him the thing he never knew he wanted —a name, a place, a promise.

And Buck —with tears on his cheeks— nodded.

“Yes,” he said. This time, his voice did not shake. “I want to. I will.”

Shannon exhaled —a soft, relieved laugh. Eddie let out a breath that sounded like it had been held for years. He lifted their joined hands again, pressing a kiss to Buck’s fingers.

The world smelled like disinfectant, lavender lotion, and new life. Shannon slept, exhausted, on the delivery bed. Her hair was damp with sweat, her face pale but peaceful.

And in Buck’s arms —tiny, warm, wriggling gently— was Christopher.

He was swaddled so tightly that only his face showed, his mouth puckered permanently as though already mildly disapproving of the world. But his cheeks were round, soft. His eyelashes impossibly long. His brow already furrowed —like Eddie’s.

Buck held him like he was holding the universe.

Eddie stood behind him, chin resting gently on Buck’s shoulder. One arm wrapped loosely around Buck’s waist, the other reaching over to touch Christopher’s tiny hand. Their son. Theirs.

“Christopher Buckley Díaz Kelley,” Eddie murmured softly. The name hung between them like a prayer, like a promise. “Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Buck let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. “Isn’t that a little long?”

Eddie shrugged, eyes never leaving their son. His fingers brushed the baby’s cheek —so gently Buck barely saw the movement. 

“He’ll always just be Chris.”

Buck looked down at the tiny face. The pout. The soft breaths. The life that had just begun —and the family that had solidified around him.

And in that moment, everything clicked into place.

Everything was right.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

The house had finally fallen quiet.

Only the hum of the refrigerator filled the small kitchen and the rhythmic whisper of the baby monitor on the nightstand. Los Angeles nights had a particular kind of stillness —not silent, but tenderly subdued, as if the city itself had learned to lower its voice out of respect for the tired.

Buck lay in the bed that used to be theirs, on his side of it —though the other half still carried the faint smell of Eddie’s cologne and fabric softener. A dent remained in the pillow where Eddie’s head used to rest. He’d never quite smoothed it out. He didn’t want to.

Christopher was sprawled across the middle of the bed, tiny limbs bent, pacifier still half in his mouth. His curls were damp against his forehead, and one small hand clutched the stuffed dinosaur Buck had repaired so many times it now had stitches like battle scars.

Buck smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Chris’s forehead.

That was when the phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. The screen lit up —Eddie.

The warmth that spread through Buck’s chest was immediate, instinctive. He answered before the second ring.

“Hey,” Buck whispered, voice low, careful not to wake the little boy between them.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice came through —rougher now, always with that background noise: wind, a truck door slamming, someone giving an order in the distance. But underneath it all, there was that softness. Home.

They didn’t speak at first. They didn’t need to.

For a while, they just breathed —the kind of silence that didn’t ask for words. Buck listened to the static of Eddie’s connection and the occasional exhale, syncing his breathing with it until it felt like they were lying side by side again.

Eddie was the first to speak.

“Tomorrow begins my journey,” he murmured, and Buck could hear the exhaustion in it —but also a quiet, nervous excitement. “God, I wish time would move faster.”

Buck smiled, half-asleep already, his body softening into the mattress as he turned slightly toward Christopher. The boy made a soft sound, lips pursing as if dreaming.

“Christopher wrote you a letter today in class,” Buck whispered, remembering the crumpled paper in his jacket pocket. “He told Miss Rivera he wanted to send it with the next batch of mail, but he insisted on keeping it safe himself.”

Eddie chuckled on the other end, low and quiet. 

“Did he?”

“Yeah,” Buck said softly. “Big letters, all crooked. It says, ‘I love you, Dad,’ and then there’s this big circle he says is you.” Buck smiled, his fingers combing gently through Christopher’s curls. “He’s excited to see you, Ed. He’s counting the sleeps until you come home.”

“Definitely,” Eddie said. His voice softened, lower, like he was talking more to himself than to Buck. “And you?”

Buck sighed quietly, eyes drifting shut, his body swaying with exhaustion. The ache of missing Eddie had become a constant thing —not sharp anymore, just a dull, familiar pressure right under his ribs.

“I tell him every day how much we love him,” Buck murmured, his lips curving in a tired smile. “And I spoil him by letting him sleep next to me these days.”

“Bet he loves that,” Eddie teased softly. Buck could almost see his smile through the line —the way the corner of his mouth tilted when he tried to hide how much he missed them.

“He does,” Buck whispered. “He kicks me all night, though.”

Eddie laughed quietly —a breath, more than a sound. 

“That’s my boy.”

Buck’s smile widened.

“Yeah. That’s your boy.”

There was another pause, longer this time. The kind that didn’t feel empty —just full of everything they couldn’t say. The rustle of movement came from Eddie’s side —probably lying down on the narrow cot they’d given him.

“Save me a spot there,” Eddie said after a while, voice quieter now. “By your side.”

Buck swallowed, his throat tight. He looked at the space beside him —the one that always stayed cold no matter how many blankets he used.

“It’s always yours,” he whispered. “Always.”

And for a long while after that, neither of them said anything. They just stayed connected by the quiet hum of the line, by breaths that crossed oceans and deserts and nights that felt endless —until Buck finally drifted off, the phone still pressed to his chest, and Eddie’s soft breathing in his ear like a promise.

Day 1

Buck wakes up around two in the morning, even though the room is dark and still, and no sound other than the soft hum of the heater fills the air. His eyes open as if pulled by a thread. Sleep slips away from him like water through open fingers.

He wants to roll over, bury his face into the pillow, maybe groan into the mattress and force his brain to shut up. But he can’t. Christopher is curled against his side, one small knee pressed into his hip, a warm, heavy arm draped across Buck’s ribs. Moving would wake him. And tonight —right now— Buck can’t bear to steal that comfort away from either of them.

So he lies still.

Staring at the ceiling. Listening.

He hears it all —the slow, content breathing coming from Christopher, the old clock ticking faintly from the living room, and beneath it, a silence so dense it feels like the moment before a storm breaks.

One day.

That’s all that’s left.

One more sunrise. One more night without Eddie.

One more morning before everything he’s been waiting for finally happens.

His chest aches with the weight of it —hope and fear, joy and panic all tangled together. He closes his eyes and, somewhere between breaths, sleep pulls him under again.

When light begins to spill faintly through the curtains, soft and gray-blue, Buck is dreaming.

In it, Eddie lies beside him —arm wrapped protectively around Christopher, who fits perfectly between them like he was always meant to be there. Eddie’s cheek rests against Chris’s hair. Christopher is holding onto Eddie’s dog tags with tiny fingers. They’re both asleep. Both peaceful. And Buck feels… whole.

He reaches out to touch them—

And wakes to tapping.

Insistent. Uneven.

Buck’s eyes blink open. He’s on his back. The dream melts like fog. Christopher is kneeling beside him now —half leaning on Buck for balance. His curls are messy, cheeks flushed with sleep. His little hand pats Buck’s shirt in an unsteady rhythm, then slowly —clumsily— moves up to tap his cheek.

“Up…” Chris murmurs. His voice is thick with sleep. He blinks slowly, fingers trembling a little from effort. His hand moves again to Buck’s stomach, pats twice. “F… f-food.”

Buck exhales a soft laugh, even though his eyes still burn with exhaustion.

“Are you hungry, Buddy?” he whispers, wrapping his hand gently over Christopher’s.

Christopher nods twice —jerky, but determined.

“Food.” This time the word comes out clearer, full of purpose.

Buck shifts, pushes himself upright, and before Chris can wobble or fall, Buck’s arms are already around him. He lifts him easily, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek. Christopher lets out a giggle —bright, crackling joy as he wraps his arms tight around Buck’s neck, feet dangling.

“Okay, okay—" Buck smiles, carrying him toward the kitchen. “Chef Christopher demands breakfast.”

The hallway is quiet. The air smells faintly of coffee.

When they step into the kitchen, Shannon is already there —hair pulled back, uniform already on, arranging groceries on the table.

“Oh! Good morning,” she says, smiling wide as soon as she sees them. She leans in to kiss Christopher’s cheek, and he gives a small squeal of delight, reaching for her necklace with his little hand.

“I was just dropping groceries before heading out. Didn’t think I’d wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Buck says, smiling sleepily as he sets Christopher in his moms arms. “Chris woke me up. He’s on a mission. Breakfast must happen.”

Shannon laughs, brushing her thumb over Christopher’s curly hair before he starts tracing the pendant hanging from her chain.

Buck starts unpacking the grocery bags, making soft noises of approval at the sight of fresh fruit, bread, coffee. His body moves automatically —pan out, eggs, cheese, tomatoes.

“Are you on time for work?” he asks without looking up.

Shannon pulls out a chair and sits with Christopher still on her lap. She’s gentle as she adjusts his posture so his back is supported, one hand rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.

“I’ve got a few minutes,” she says. Her voice is calm —maternal in the softest, quietest way. “Did you get any sleep?”

Buck yawns so hard his shoulders lift.

“Some,” he admits, cracking eggs into a bowl. “Not enough if you ask my brain. Or my spine.”

Shannon smiles knowingly. 

“Big day tomorrow.”

Buck stops whisking the eggs for a second. He leans his hands on the counter, staring down, lips tugged into a soft, helpless smile.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Tomorrow everything changes.”

He pours the eggs into the pan and stirs them slowly, getting the soft, scrambled texture Chris likes. His chest feels like it's holding too much. But this time —it’s the good kind of too much.

Shannon watches him with that understanding only she has. 

“Change is good, Buck. He’s coming home.”

“I know,” Buck whispers, and this time he doesn’t hide his grin. It’s full, bright —one of the biggest Shannon has ever seen on him. “Eddie’s coming home.”

Christopher, still tugging gently at her necklace, looks up at Buck, eyes wide.

“Dad… h-home?” he asks softly.

Buck turns. His reply is gentle.

“Yeah, Buddy. Dad’s coming home.”

Christopher lets out a soft “yay” —barely a word, more a breath of happiness— and claps once before leaning his head on Shannon’s chest.

Shannon smiles, brushing a kiss to the top of his head.

“We’re in this together,” she says.

Christopher makes a soft sound of agreement —a little “mm!” that somehow says yes better than any word ever could.

And Buck… Buck believes it.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

November 2012. Los Angeles, California

Cold dawn light spreads across the gray pavement of the military base, still damp from the early morning fog. The air smells of kerosene and metal —sharp, industrial, unforgiving.

Somewhere, a jet engine starts to whine, and voices start overlapping —deep, rushed calls from soldiers, soft crying from families, the nervous laughter of those pretending this isn’t tearing them apart.

Christopher is not crying like some of the others. 

He sits curled into Eddie’s chest, small and warm beneath his blue blanket with the faded stars. His little fingers —still chubby, still clumsy— are wrapped around Eddie’s medal. He babbles quietly, soft sounds of comfort, more breath than words, lips brushing Eddie’s uniform each time his head moves.

“Ba… ba… daaa…” His voice is soft, unsure, and his eyes —half-closed with sleep— blink slowly, peacefully.

Eddie’s hands are trembling. Not from cold, but from everything he doesn’t know how to name. He tries to steady them —pressing one hand to Christopher’s back, the other against the small of his own spine— but the tremor lives deeper, somewhere between his heart and lungs.

He shouldn’t be shaking. He’s trained for this. He knows how to jump from planes, how to run toward danger when everyone else runs away. But nothing —nothing— trains you for this: handing over your entire world and walking away.

Shannon had been there minutes ago —uniform on, hair in a shaky bun, cursing through tears about having to go to work. She held Eddie for as long as she could, whispered “I love you, don’t be stupid, don’t die,” into his ear, kissed his cheek, then Christopher’s head, and walked away without looking back. Because if she looked back —she wouldn’t go.

Buck had been quiet —too quiet— for Buck. 

Standing beside Eddie, one hand gently rubbing circles on Christopher’s back, the other fidgeting with the strap of the diaper bag. His eyes never left Eddie’s face, like he was trying to memorize every detail: the scar on his brow, the way his jaw clenched, the lines of tiredness beneath his eyes.

He kept saying, “It’s gonna be okay, Eddie. You’ll come back. You’ll come home.” But some words start to taste like lies the more you repeat them, and Eddie could hear the crack in Buck’s voice every time.

Now the loudspeaker crackles, announcing boarding.

Eddie exhales shakily. His hands press Christopher closer —just for one more breath— one more moment of warmth. He dips his head into his son's hair and breathes him in, like that could somehow hold him together.

Buck steps forward gently, extending his arms. Eddie hesitates for half a second before carefully transferring Christopher into Buck’s chest.

The little boy whines softly at the movement, his fingers reaching for Eddie, eyes blinking open.

“Da… da…” It’s not a full word —but it’s enough to break Eddie’s heart clean in half.

Buck immediately soothes him, rocking him gently against his chest. 

“It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s right here.”

Eddie looks at them —really looks: Buck standing straight —strong even though his eyes are red, Christopher tucked into his arms —tiny fist still gripping his blanket. Both of them bathed in the pale morning light.

His entire world.

He steps close. His voice comes out rough, barely a whisper.

“See you soon.”

They all know soon doesn’t mean soon. It means someday.

Eddie cups Christopher’s head and presses a trembling kiss to his forehead. Chris goes quiet, only a small breathy sound escaping as if he understands something important is happening.

Then Eddie looks up at Buck.

Their eyes lock.

No uniforms, no military base, no farewell speeches matter at that moment. Just them.

Eddie reaches out —takes Christopher's free hand and wraps his hand around his. Then, with his other hand, he touches Buck’s wrist, sliding up until their fingers tangle together. His voice breaks.

“Take care of them… and take care of yourself.”

Buck’s answer is immediate. Soft, firm.

“Always.”

Eddie leans forward —presses a short, desperate kiss to Buck’s lips. It’s not goodbye. It’s a promise. A reminder. A plea.

Buck’s arm comes around Eddie, pulling him into a fierce hug, Christopher sandwiched between them —small, warm, making a little “uhh” sound of surprise as their bodies press close.

Eddie buries his face in Buck’s shoulder for a heartbeat. Smells soap. Coffee. Home.

Buck whispers into his ear, voice shaking.

“You come back to us. Just —come back.”

That’s the only promise that exists between them. The only one that matters.

Eddie pulls away slowly. His fingers linger on Buck’s for a second. Then he turns.

And walks toward the plane.

He doesn’t look back. Because if he does —he won’t be able to keep walking.

Buck stands there long after the plane doors close. Christopher asleep again on his chest, one tiny fist still clutching his blanket like it’s the last piece of warmth his father left behind.

Buck holds him closer, lips pressed to the boy’s forehead.

I’ll keep us safe. I promise.

Because that’s the only promise he can make now.

⋯ ✧ ⋯

Christopher sits at the table, his small legs hanging off his booster chair, swinging absently in the air as if he were trying to keep himself grounded. The spaghetti is more on him than in him —red sauce clinging to his chin, drying on his cheeks, even streaked across his eyelashes. There’s sauce on his curls, his bib, his fingers —sticky, warm, trembling a little with each movement.

He looks happy, or at least he’s trying to be. His smile is wide, messy, full of baby teeth and breathless joy. But his eyes —his eyes are carrying something else. That quiet storm he gets when he thinks too much. When silence gets too big in his head.

“D… D… D-ad o-okay?” he says suddenly. His little fingers press against his chest, then move outward, forming the shaky gesture he uses for Eddie. He’s asked this same question more than twenty times today. And still, his voice shakes like it’s the first.

Buck exhales softly, not out of annoyance —never that— but because he wishes he could wrap his answer in something strong enough to make it last. To make it stick in Christopher’s heart like a bandage.

He leans in, wipes the smudge of sauce from the tip of Christopher’s nose with a napkin. Chris scrunches up his face, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Yes, buddy,” Buck says, voice low, gentle. “Dad’s okay. He’s on a plane. He’ll be here tomorrow, remember?”

Christopher nods. Slow. Too slow. His hand grips the edge of his bib, white-knuckled and trembling. He blinks hard, as though trying to keep the memory of those words inside his eyelids.

His fingers move again —faltering, a little stiff— tap against his heart and then point toward his own face, his curls, his sauce-stained cheeks.

“W-will he… kn-know who I… a-am?” The words come out rough-edged, like they hurt a little just to say.

And Buck’s heart just… cracks.

He sets his fork down carefully, like the whole kitchen might shatter if he moves too fast. He shifts closer, brushing back a curl sticky with sauce and sweat, cupping the side of Christopher’s cheek with steady, warm fingers.

“Chris,” he answers, voice quiet but fierce, like a promise carved into stone, “your dad would recognize you anywhere. Even if you didn’t say a word. Even if your eyes were closed. He knows you. Every part of you. He loves you.”

Christopher stares, wide-eyed, taking the words one by one, like he’s stuffing them into invisible pockets for later.

Then his voice comes again —softer this time, almost air, almost dream.

“H-does he… love… you too?”

Buck freezes.

Just for a second.

Then he smiles —small, aching, but true— and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, breath catching. “He loves me too.”

Christopher stares at him, sauce all over his mouth, lashes clumped together, eyes wide with something like relief. Like believing this —just this— is enough to make everything else okay. Like he can finally breathe.

Buck hopes he’s right.

Day 0

The alarm rings at four in the morning, shattering the silence like a stone through glass.

Buck’s hand shoots out on instinct, silencing it before the sound can reach Christopher’s room. For a moment, he lies there, staring at the faint glow of the ceiling, heart already pounding as if he’d been running for miles.

Today.

He’s coming home.

The words feel unreal, like they’ve lived so long in dreams that Buck’s afraid they’ll fall apart in daylight.

Shannon had stayed the night, curled up on the pullout bed in Christopher’s room. She’d insisted —said she wanted to help, but Buck knew she also didn’t want to be alone when the sun rose and the waiting ended.

He moves quietly through the house, the floor cool under his bare feet, the smell of last night’s coffee still clinging to the air. The kitchen feels different this morning —sharper, expectant. He makes breakfast almost on autopilot, soft eggs and toast, something easy if they want to eat on the road. By the time the smell fills the air, Shannon’s already up, hair pulled back, wearing that look she gets when she’s holding too much inside.

Christopher’s still asleep when Buck lifts him from his bed, his small head dropping against Buck’s shoulder, pacifier tucked securely between his lips. His little blue blanket —worn soft with time— is wrapped tight around him, the same one from the day Eddie left. Buck tucks it gently over his back before stepping outside into the still-dark morning.

Shannon drives. She insists. Partly because she needs something to do with her hands. Partly because Buck’s hands haven’t stopped shaking since Christopher placed the last sticker on the calendar the night before.

The drive is long and quiet. The city wakes slowly around them: streetlights flicker out, traffic hums to life, and dawn bleeds across the horizon in streaks of pale gold.

From the backseat comes the soft sound of Christopher’s breathing —steady, even, the rhythm Buck’s heart has learned to match. The pacifier moves slightly with each exhale, his fingers resting on the blanket’s edge. Beside him, his handmade sign leans against the seat: a collage of crooked letters and uneven glitter, silver stars, a yellow sun with too many rays, and a big red heart drawn with unsteady but determined lines.

In bold, uneven letters it reads “WELCOME HOME, DAD.”

Buck stares out the window as they near the base, his leg bouncing restlessly, his chest tight. He wants to talk —to Shannon, to anyone— but words feel useless when all the air in his lungs belongs to the moment he’ll see Eddie again.

When they finally pass the security checkpoint, everything changes.

The air buzzes with movement. Families crowd the gates — children clutching glittered posters, spouses holding flowers that tremble in nervous hands, parents pressing worn photographs to their chests. The smell of kerosene, hot metal, and damp earth hangs in the cold morning air. Everywhere, people are laughing, crying, whispering prayers that get swallowed by the wind.

When the announcement echoes over the loudspeakers —the plane has landed— a wave of cheers ripples through the crowd, sharp and loud like a heartbeat cracking open the morning.

Buck opens the back door of the car and gently unbuckles Christopher. He sets him down carefully onto the asphalt. Still groggy from sleep, Christopher blinks up at him before reaching instinctively for his walker. His small fingers curl around the cool handles, his legs wobbly but stubbornly straightening beneath him.

Buck crouches beside him, voice soft but steady.

“You ready, buddy?”

Christopher nods —a serious, determined little movement. His curls bounce, cheeks pink from sleep and cold.

“D-dad… here?” he asks, breath tight with hope.

“Soon,” Buck murmurs, pressing a kiss to his hairline. “Any minute now.”

They make their way through the crowd slowly —Buck close at Christopher’s side, one hand resting lightly on his back in case his legs give out. Shannon walks on the other side of him, shielding him from shoulders, elbows, rushing people.

But even standing on tiptoes, even craning his neck, Christopher can’t see anything beyond the sea of legs and jackets in front of him. His little brows furrow. His fingers tighten around the handles. He hesitates —then tugs on Buck’s sleeve.

“U… Upa?” he asks, voice small but clear. Upa —up.

Buck doesn’t hesitate. He scoops him up carefully, settling Christopher on his hip. The little boy clings to his jacket with one hand.

And then —the plane door opens.

One by one, soldiers begin to descend the steps. Some smile the moment their boots touch the concrete. Some search desperately through the crowd, eyes wide and wet. Every reunion erupts like fireworks —screams, laughter, sobs swallowed by hugs.

Buck’s arms tighten around Christopher without him even realizing it. Christopher’s eyes dart from face to face, scanning, searching —his breathing quick and shallow against Buck’s collarbone.

Then suddenly, his body goes still. His small hand fists into Buck’s jacket.

“D… d-dad?” he whispers, voice trembling. Then louder, urgent. “D-Down… Down. Down.”

Buck turns —follows the direction of Christopher’s gaze— and there.

Eddie.

He looks thinner, older, the months etched into the lines around his eyes. His uniform’s wrinkled, his hair cropped shorter, his face sunburned and tired. But his eyes —those warm, steady eyes— search the crowd with the same desperate hope burning in Buck’s chest.

Buck bends down, lowers Christopher until his feet touch the ground and his hands are holding onto his walker handle.

“Go on,” he whispers. “Go get him.”

“Dad…” Christopher breathes, so softly Buck almost doesn’t hear it. Then, with a sudden burst of light behind his eyes, he shouts, voice cracking but bright and alive. “D-DAD!”

The word hits the air like a spark.

Eddie’s head jerks toward the sound —and when he sees him, sees his boy pushing his walker forward with trembling steps and a determined little frown, something inside him breaks completely. His chest heaves, his eyes fill, and before he even knows it, he’s running.

Christopher’s steps are clumsy, uneven —but strong. He pushes forward with all the force his little legs can give. The walker creaks and slides, but he doesn’t stop. Around them, soldiers part the way, smiling softly, clearing a path for the little boy whose whole world is waiting on the other side.

Eddie drops to his knees the moment they reach each other. His arms open wide.

Christopher lets go of the walker, stumbling the last step before crashing into him. Eddie scoops him up instantly, holding him so tight it’s as if he’s trying to fuse them together.

“Dad…” Christopher murmurs, over and over, voice trembling but sure, his small fists tangled in Eddie’s uniform.

“I missed you, mijo,” Eddie breathes, voice cracking, a tear sliding down his cheek as he presses his face into Christopher’s curls. “God, I missed you so much.”

“M-me… a-al… so,” Christopher stammers, trying to say I missed you too, and Eddie understands. He nods, kisses his forehead again and again.

They stay that way, a small island in the middle of chaos.

Shannon reaches them first. Her steps are slow, her breath shaky. She wraps her arms around both of them without hesitation. Eddie holds her too, one arm around her, the other around his son. No guilt, no awkwardness. Just family.

And Buck —Buck stands a few feet back, the sign forgotten at his feet, his hands buried in his jacket pockets to keep them from shaking. His chest aches with everything he can’t say, every time he’d wanted to reach across an ocean to hold them both.

Eddie finally looks up. His eyes find Buck’s instantly. He still has Christopher in his arms, Shannon beside him. But his gaze —his gaze is only for Buck.

One step. Then another.

Buck doesn’t move. Can’t. Every muscle in his body screams to go to him, but his heart’s already halfway there.

When Eddie stops in front of him, the world falls away —the crowd, the noise, the air itself.

Christopher reaches for Shannon, and she takes him gently, stepping back to give them space she doesn’t have to name.

Eddie scans him —head to toe— then locks onto his eyes, smiling.

“Hi,” he says softly, voice hoarse but alive.

Buck swallows hard, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

“Hi.”

“You look good,” Eddie murmurs, hands twitching at his sides, unsure where to go.

“Bullshit,” Buck breathes, a weak laugh escaping him. “I look like shit.”

Eddie laughs too —shaky, beautiful, breaking something open between them. And then he grabs Buck by the front of his jacket and pulls him in.

The kiss is sudden and desperate, clumsy and perfect. The air smells of jet fuel, the ground hums beneath their feet, and the world spins —but none of it matters. Because Eddie’s mouth is warm and real, and Buck finally feels like he’s breathing for the first time in months.

When they part, their foreheads rest together. Neither speaks. They don’t need to.

Until Christopher calls, softly, “Da-ad… Dad-dy…”

Eddie turns, smiling. He takes Christopher back from Shannon, who wipes at her eyes, and then looks back at Buck.

“Come on,” Eddie says, voice thick with warmth. “Let’s go home.”

Buck nods, the corners of his eyes wet, his lips trembling into a grin. He falls into step beside them, his hand brushing Eddie’s just enough to feel the promise there.

They’re whole again.

Finally, they’re home.