Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn't just friendship. He knew that now. Friends bought pizza; friends offered a ride. Friends didn’t cancel a promising second date with a stunning art curator just because Eddie had a slight cold and Christopher the nephew needed to be taken to his mandatory swimming lesson.

Friends didn't memorize Eddie’s entire schedule, from the time he woke up to his obscure preference for those terrible sci-fi thrillers that only stream after midnight.

He’d called it 'being supportive.' He’d called it 'being part of the family.' But the memory of last Friday, when Eddie had just gotten off a brutal triple shift and Buck found himself meticulously cleaning Eddie’s kitchen—not just loading the dishwasher, but scrubbing the grout—came rushing back. Eddie walked in, utterly exhausted, and leaned against the doorframe, offering that crooked, tired smile that always made Buck’s stomach flip.

"Man, you really didn't have to do that," Eddie had murmured, rubbing his neck.
"I know," Buck had replied, his throat tight, and realized he wanted to do it. He wanted to ease every single burden for Eddie.

The realization didn't come with a flash of light; it came with a quiet, devastating clarity as he folded one of Eddie's sweaters, feeling the familiar softness of the worn-out fabric in his hands. This wasn't protection, or responsibility, or brotherly love.

This was want. A terrifying, absolute want for Eddie to look at him and see the person who was already home. It settled in his chest, heavy and unmoving, and he wondered how long he could pretend the sun in his orbit wasn't Eddie Diaz.

The next day

Buck dropped the folded, soft cotton onto the precise center of Eddie’s bed, the way he knew Eddie liked it. The sheer domesticity of the action—folding his friend's laundry in his friend's house—suddenly felt like a violation. It wasn’t a comfortable routine anymore; it was an act of quiet, careful possession, and the thought made him physically recoil.

He needed to breathe air that didn't smell like Eddie's detergent and old spice. He needed to get out before Eddie or, worse, Christopher, walked in and asked him to stay for dinner, locking him back into the gilded cage of 'supportive best friend.'
He strode quickly toward the kitchen, grabbing his keys and jacket off the counter. He saw the sponge resting beside the sink, still damp, and a single coffee mug, Eddie’s favorite chipped ceramic one, waiting to be rinsed.

Leave it.

The silent command was jarring. He would always rinse the mug. He would always load the last stray item. He would always leave the kitchen looking like a magazine photo because that was his currency: usefulness. But if he did it now, he would be doing it with this new, terrible knowledge, building a structure of lies with every scrub of the grout.
He didn't rinse the mug. He didn't even push the chair back under the table. He simply turned and walked to the front door, the silence of the house pressing down on him.

His hand was already on the doorknob, twisting it, when he heard the heavy thud of Eddie’s backpack hitting the entryway floor.
“Buck? Hey, man, you heading out already?” Eddie’s voice, rough and tired from his shift, sounded too close, too real.
Buck froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He turned slowly, managing a smile that felt brittle, like thin glass. Eddie was leaning against the wall, shedding his uniform jacket, his eyes already softening the moment they landed on Buck. He looked relieved to see him.

"Yeah, just finished up," Buck managed, his throat burning. He glanced pointedly at the laundry basket in the hall, trying to imply he’d completed his allotted task and was moving on.
Eddie’s tired smile widened into that crooked, perfect curve. "Oh, you didn't have to do my laundry. But thanks. Seriously. Listen, Christopher’s with Abuela tonight. You wanna just... order that awful sci-fi thing and crash on the couch? You look like you could use a reset."
The offer—pizza, comfort, shared exhaustion, a terrible movie, and the proximity of the man who now defined his entire emotional universe—was a siren song. It was everything he craved, wrapped in the protective guise of friendship.
No more lies.

Buck felt the absolute conviction settle, heavier than the want itself. He couldn't hide in the comfort. He had to draw a line, even if it was shaky and temporary.
He took a slow, painful breath. "I—I can’t tonight, Eds. I promised Ravi I’d help him with something. Some plumbing thing at his place. Super dull."

The lie tasted like ash.
Eddie blinked, the relief dimming slightly, replaced by confusion. "Oh. Right. Ravi. Okay. Well, maybe tomorrow?"
Buck just nodded, clutching his keys tight. He didn't meet Eddie’s eye. He couldn't. Not if he wanted to walk away. "Yeah. Tomorrow. Or maybe... maybe let me check my schedule."

He kept his head down and, before Eddie could say anything else, he slipped out the door, leaving the chipped mug unrinsed and the unspoken truth hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. He didn't pull away because he wanted to be gone. He pulled away because he was afraid that if he stayed, the gravity of his feelings would finally drag Eddie down with him.

Chapter Text

Buck sat back in the plastic chair, the low hum of the dispatch room electronics seeming deafening after his final breath-held confession.

He waited for the judgment the surprise or the inevitable, “we told you so.” Maddie was the first to move reaching across the cheap laminated table to cover he’s hand with hers.
Her expression was one of profound, gentle understanding.

“Oh Evan” she murmured her voice soft but firm. “ I so proud of you for seeing it and for saying it out loud.”

Josh, who had been leaning against the counter idly scrolling through his tablet, pushed himself off the wall.

He picked up his half empty soda bottle and took a long sip.

“Okay”. Josh said, his tone utterly devoid of surprise.

“So the most obvious realization In the history of the 118 firehouse has finally been realized.

Congratulations, you have completed level one of the Buck and Eddie video game.”

He sat the bottle down with a definitive thunk. “The question now is what are you going to do about it.”?

Buck recoiled slightly, pulling his hand back . “Nothing. I’m going to do absolutely nothing. I can’t What if I am wrong.?

What if I ruined the friendship or everything. Our whole life is built around this ecosystem. If I break that Christopher loses his second anchor.

“I lose my Best Friend and we lose our family”.

The fear was a cold, sharp thing Eclipsing the warmth of the realization.” It’s easier to be the one cleaning the grout . Plus he is seeing someone .

Maddie squeezed his arm.” Cleaning the grout is not enough, sweetie you are the man who cancels a date with an art curator because of a running nose and fever plus swimming lessons. “You’ve been acting like partners for the last 6 years. All you’ve done is show Eddie exactly what you feel without using your words .

Don’t you think he noticed.?

“He thinks I am he’s best friend “. Buck insisted, scrubbing a nervous hand over his jaw .

“Maybe” Josh interjected crossing his arms. “ or maybe he’s waiting for you to be the one who’s brave enough to say it.

“Like I said he’s seeing someone “.

It doesn’t change prophecy of your realization Evan Josh said.

And I lied to him. I panicked, Maddie I told him I had to help Ravi with some plumbing thing. A plumbing thing! Ravi owns the apartment complex with shared maintenance!”

Josh let out a quiet, dry chuckle. “Ravi’s ‘plumbing thing.’ That’s a classic deflection, Buck. It screams ‘internal crisis, please give me twenty-four hours to hyperventilate.’”

“I literally told him I have to check my schedule for movie night,” Buck groaned, leaning forward and resting his head on his crossed arms on the table. “I don’t even have a schedule! My schedule is Eddie, Christopher, and the firehouse, in that order. And now he’s going to know something is wrong. He’s going to figure it out.”

Maddie rubbed his back. “He’s going to know something is wrong because you abruptly pulled away for the first time in years. That’s the real issue, honey.”
“I can’t,” Buck mumbled into his sleeve. “I can’t risk it.

Josh slid a napkin toward Buck. “Look, you’re not going to lose it all. You might just change it. The only thing you’ve truly ruined so far is the credibility of Ravi’s being a good landlord.”

Josh leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms and grinning a truly irritating, self-satisfied grin.
“Speaking of the devil, Golden Retriever,” he drawled, his voice just loud enough to cut through the din, “Your hooman is looking for you.”

Maddie, mid-sip of her coffee, gave a small, sharp choke, quickly dabbing at her mouth with a napkin while glaring at Josh.

Buck’s head snapped up. He looked past his sister and saw him—Eddie, standing just inside the breakroom entrance, a flash of navy blue uniform and that perpetually exhausted, handsome face. Eddie’s eyes scanned the room, landing on their corner, and he immediately headed their way.

“Look what the dog dragged in. My favorite fire liaison,” Josh continued, utterly delighted by Buck’s visible panic. “Eddie Diaz. What brings you to the hallowed halls of dispatch today? Missing our dulcet tones?”
Eddie reached the table, giving Maddie a quick, familiar nod before focusing on Buck, who was trying to merge with the padded back of the booth.
“Hey,” Eddie said, his confusion from the night before still lingering faintly behind his eyes. “I’m here for Evan. We’re on grocery duty and dinner duty. Captain Han orders, no excuses.” He dropped his voice slightly, teasing. “Something about team building and avoiding another ‘Buck’s Sad Tuna Casserole Incident.’”

Buck wanted the Earth to swallow him whole. Of course Chimney had paired them up. This was the exact proximity he was trying to avoid.
“Why is your husband so pushy, Maddie?” Buck muttered, directing the question at his sister as a way to avoid looking at Eddie.
Maddie gave a weak laugh. “He’s your boss, he has to be pushy, Evan.” She gave Buck a warning glance that clearly meant: Do not say anything else.
“Look,” Buck said quickly, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “I'll go later. Just give me my part of the grocery list, and I’ll meet you at the house after.” He was trying to buy himself at least an hour of solitary panic time.

Eddie didn't move. He leaned a hand on the table next to Buck's abandoned salad bowl. “It’s faster if we go together, man. The Captain wants us back at the firehouse with ingredients in forty-five minutes, not seventy. Plus,” he nudged Buck lightly with his elbow, a gesture that used to feel easy and now felt like a punch to the gut, “you’re driving.”

“The plumbing problem at Ravi's must have cleared up quick,” Josh murmured, sipping his water innocently.
Buck’s head whipped toward Josh, a feral look in his eye. Maddie kicked Josh under the table. Eddie, however, just furrowed his brow, completely missing the loaded subtext

Oh, yeah that why you were ditching the couch and movie last night? So was the problem fixed Eddie ask

, it was minor. Ravi handled it. Turns out... it was a... simple clog. All fixed now,” Buck stammered, already sliding out of the booth. He tossed the limp protein bar into the nearest trash can. “Let’s go. Groceries. We need... onions. Lots of onions.”

Chapter Text

Buck put the key in the ignition and the familiar rumble of the truck started, but he didn't immediately pull out of the grocery store parking space. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. Eddie, who had been meticulously separating the refrigerated items from the canned goods in the backseat, finally settled back into the passenger seat.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy, and entirely unlike their normal quiet, which was usually a comfortable, shared exhaustion. This was a silence that felt deliberately built by Buck.
Eddie sighed, turning in his seat to face Buck fully.

"Okay," Eddie started, his voice flat but firm, cutting through the tension like a knife. "What is going on?"
Buck flinched, focusing intently on a stray shopping cart across the parking lot. "Nothing. What are you talking about? We got all the stuff. We're running on schedule."

"I'm talking about you acting like I have the plague," Eddie stated, his tone shifting from firm to concerned. "You barely spoke a word in the store. You said you had to check your schedule for a couch movie night with me, and then ten minutes later, you're fine to run errands. And this morning, Josh—who, by the way, has the emotional intelligence of a crowbar sometimes—was making comments about Ravi's supposed plumbing emergency."
Eddie leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. "Evan, you look like you’re ready to bolt. Did I do something? Did I miss something? Because if something’s wrong, you need to use your words, man. You can't just ice me out."

Buck’s chest felt hollowed out. He was completely cornered. The gentle directness of Eddie's tone, the fact that his friend was genuinely worried and thinking he had done something wrong, made the guilt unbearable. The entire disaster, from the impromptu lie to the awkward lunch to this drive, was crashing down on him.

He was silent for another agonizing moment, still unable to meet Eddie's eye.
"It's just—" Buck finally started, his voice a strained, low rasp. "It's just work stress. Really brutal shift before my triple. It threw off my whole rhythm." It was a terrible lie, and they both knew it.
Eddie didn't buy it. He didn't raise his voice or press the issue further with questions; he just stated the truth he saw. "We both know that's not it. You've had worse shifts and still stayed for a nine-hour gaming binge." He paused, letting the statement hang. "You pulled away, Buck. Why?"
Buck knew he had two choices: double down on the fake stress narrative and risk hurting Eddie more, or finally admit something true, even if it wasn't the whole truth.
He finally looked at Eddie, meeting his dark, searching gaze.

I just... needed a night to myself."
"Needed a night to yourself from what?" Eddie asked quietly. "From me?"

The phrase, “From me?” hung in the air, heavy and true. It was the only question that mattered, and the only one Buck couldn’t answer honestly without shattering his own life.
He felt the familiar panic spike—the terror of exposing his heart and watching it get gently handed back, rejected, leaving him with nothing. He couldn't risk the foundation they’d built. Not for a chance.
Buck stared straight ahead through the windshield, avoiding the intensity of Eddie’s gaze. He reached for the easiest, crudest defense mechanism: aggression.
“It’s nothing, Eddie, just drop it already,” Buck snapped, the words tight and sharp, unlike any way he usually spoke to Eddie. He finally slammed the truck into drive and peeled out of the spot, throwing a quick, unnecessary curve around a parked minivan.

Eddie was stunned into silence. He didn’t push, didn’t try to touch Buck’s arm, or offer a quiet argument. He just settled back, crossing his arms, his expression closing off. The look wasn't angry; it was wounded, confirming to Buck that he had chosen protection over honesty, but at the expense of hurting the person he loved most. The rest of the short drive was done in agonizing silence, the groceries shifting softly behind them..

They pulled into the firehouse bay. The minute Buck killed the engine, he was grabbing his door handle, desperate to get into the loud, busy kitchen where he could hide.
As they walked toward the apparatus floor, carrying bags of produce, they saw Chimney waiting for them near the kitchen, scrolling on his phone. Hen was standing nearby, already washing her hands at the sink, likely prepping for a side dish.
“Alright, look who’s back,” Chimney the acting captain said, looking up. “I needs us to stick to the timeline. Did you guys get the organic, fair-trade, ethically sourced sea salt I specifically requested?”

Buck didn’t slow down, dumping his grocery bag onto the main counter with a loud thud that made the cilantro sprigs jump.
“Hen, can you take over cooking tonight? I’m not feeling well,” Buck said, speaking quickly and aiming his words strictly at her, avoiding Eddie entirely. His sudden pallor and nervous energy must have sold the lie, because Hen immediately stepped forward, concern etched on her face.
“Not well? What’s wrong, Buck? Stomach thing?” Hen asked, reaching for his forehead before he could duck away.
“Just… a headache,” Buck mumbled, batting her hand away gently. “One of those sinus migraines. I need to go lie down until the shift starts. Sorry, Captain Han.”

Chimney, who hated dealing with sick crew members, simply waved a hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. Go rest. Don’t get the couch sick. Hen, I think you owe me a favor anyway. Take over the prep.”
Buck didn’t wait for a reply from Eddie. He didn’t wait for another question from Hen. He nodded curtly and practically fled the kitchen, heading for the bunk room.

Eddie stood by the counter, watching Buck’s hasty retreat, a look of profound confusion and disappointment settled over his face. He’d never seen Buck look so desperate to escape a family meal. He slowly unpacked the bag, placing the onions exactly where they belonged, his mind spinning over Buck’s lie, Buck’s snap, and Buck’s sudden, cold distance.

Buck hurried into the dark bunk room and didn't bother with the light. He yanked his duffel bag from the locker, shoving his uniform shirt inside. He had to be gone. The air felt too thick, and the idea of being in the same building as Eddie, knowing what he knew, was suddenly impossible.

He heard the creak of the door and froze, backpack half-slung over his shoulder.

“Migraine, huh?” Eddie's voice was low, and though he sounded exhausted, it was the wounded disappointment in his tone that cut Buck deep. He simply stood in the doorway.

Buck finally turned, his expression desperate and cornered. “I know, I’m sorry. Look, I just… I need to clear my head. It’s not a great night for me to be here. I’m going to take the rest of the night off. I'll be back for shift tomorrow.”

“Buck, if you’re sick, you should be at home,” Eddie started, stepping slightly into the room.
“I can’t go home,” Buck interrupted, the words tumbling out. You know the deal we have I am only there if your nephew Christopher is home.

I’m going to hit the gym, maybe sleep at Ravi’s and May place for real this time. He’s got the king size couch, remember?”

Eddie was silent for a long moment, simply observing the frantic, desperate energy pouring off his friend. “You’re running,” he finally stated, not as a question, but a confirmation.
“I’m resting,” Buck countered weakly. He shouldered his bag and moved past Eddie, careful not to brush him. “Tell Hen I owe her the chili. See you tomorrow, Eds.”

As Buck drove away from the 118, leaving the familiar glow of the firehouse in his rearview mirror, he felt a cold, heavy sense of isolation settle in his chest. He had successfully escaped Eddie, but he’d done it by hurting him and covering the truth with a string of messy lies.
Back in the kitchen, Eddie walked over to the counter and mechanically began chopping an onion for Hen, the sound of the knife against the board steady and rhythmic.
“He alright?” Hen asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Eddie kept his eyes on the cutting board. “He says he has a headache and is going to crash at Ravi’s and May’s .

Buck’s not sleeping there.” Hen said
Eddie paused his chopping, leaning heavily on the counter. “Yeah. I know.” He set the knife down. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew Buck was lying to him.

Chapter Text

Buck’s not sleeping there.” Hen said
Eddie paused his chopping, leaning heavily on the counter. “Yeah. I know.” He set the knife down. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew Buck was lying to him.

Meanwhile with Buck at he’s apartment.
He’s texting with Josh and in a group text.
Josh: so did you tell him that you’re in love with him.

Evan: No Josh I didn’t I fake a migraine and ran out .
Maddie: oh Evan the more you wait the harder it will be.

Josh: Evan James Buckley I swear to god if you don’t tell Eddie. I will personally drag you to he’s home and tied you to his bed with handcuffs I will throw the keys out the window.

Maddie: 🫣🫣🫣
Evan: not funny Josh is not that simple dude…
Maddie: He’s right, it isn’t simple, but delaying it isn't making it easier on you either. What's the real fear, sweetie? That he’ll say no?

Evan: That he'll hate me. That I'll ruin this. What we have. What Christopher has. It’s too important, M. He deserves stability, and I feel like I'm threatening it just by existing.

Josh: NEWSFLASH, genius. You are his stability. You lying to him right now is the threat. He's going to know you're avoiding him. He's probably already talking to Hen and Chimney about it.

Evan: He is not. I said I had a migraine.
Maddie: Honey, you were fine twenty minutes before you left.
Evan: 😭 I know, I know. I just... panicked.

Josh: Stop panicking. Shower, put on real clothes, and go home.
Evan: This is home.
Josh: Not really.

Buck dropped his phone onto the couch cushion and pressed his hands hard into his face, groaning. Josh was right. Maddie was right. They were always right, and that made him furious because right now, 'right' meant 'do the terrifying thing.'
He hadn't just faked a migraine; he had practically thrown himself into his Jeep and sped across town, leaving Eddie mid-sentence, looking utterly confused and wounded. The lie tasted like ash. Eddie never lied about anything important, and the unspoken agreement they had—that their messy lives would always be conducted with transparency—felt shattered by Buck's cowardice.

He stared at the clock: 8:15 PM. Eddie was probably putting Christopher to bed right now, maybe reading him a book, maybe tucking him in and telling him goodnight. The Buck-shaped hole in their routine felt enormous.
He walked over to the kitchen counter, picking up his keys. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he knew he couldn't spend another second in his empty apartment while Eddie was sitting alone, worried, knowing something was wrong. He had to go back and at least apologize for the lie, even if the real truth—I am desperately in love with you—stayed locked behind his teeth.

Buck was parked half a block down from Eddie's house, the engine running, ready to execute his retreat. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, staring at the dimly lit porch of the Diaz home.
He was texting with Maddie and Josh.

Evan: Guys I can’t I am turning around. He doesn’t feel the same way I do. I saving my self the heart break.

Maddie: why? Are you so negative Evan James Buckley .

Josh: Evan for the love of Christ. Honestly Buck friends don’t look at each other like you do..
You guys eye fuck each other from across the room.

Evan: Stop it. That is not what we do. We're partners. We have intense moments, yes, but—

Maddie: You bought him a whole star. You wrote Christopher’s will based on the two of you raising him together. That’s not a friend zoning a friend, Evan. That's a partnership defining its terms without using the words.

Josh: What are you listening to right now? Turn off the truck and get out.

Evan: The radio. It’s... not helpful. Look, if I go in there, I’ll ruin everything. I’m just going to go home, pretend I was actually sick, and—

Maddie: NO. Stop Get out. Right now. We’ll wait here.

Buck sighed, switching the truck off. He threw his phone onto the passenger seat, defeated by the combined force of his sister and her gay best friend He took the few steps toward the house, dragging his feet. He’d walk up, knock, apologize for the 'migraine' drama, and leave immediately. Easy.

He reached the front porch, and just as he raised his hand to knock, a sound drifted clearly through the front window: the driving, upbeat thump of 80s synth-pop.
Curiosity won out over panic, and Buck lowered his hand, peering through the small glass panel next to the door.

The living room was illuminated only by the light from the kitchen and the small lamp on the end table. And there was Eddie.

Eddie, the man who spent his life carrying the weight of the world—a single father, a firefighter, a soldier, a quiet bastion of strength and worry—was dancing.

He was only wearing a baby blue button-down shirt that barely covered his hips, and boxers. The shirt was open, fluttering slightly as he moved. He was completely lost in the moment, executing a goofy, over-the-top choreography only possible when one is absolutely sure they are alone. His hips were swaying, his arms were flung out with theatrical flair, and he was singing along with gusto, a bright, unburdened smile lighting up his entire face.
It wasn't a cool, seductive dance. It was pure, ridiculous joy.

Buck stood frozen, witnessing a vulnerability far deeper than anything he’d seen Eddie express in words. This wasn't the wounded partner or the stoic dad; this was just Eddie, happy, unburdened, and beautiful.

He completely forgot about his lie, his fear, and his truck. He just watched, mesmerized, until Eddie suddenly spun, catching a glimpse of the movement on the porch. The music stopped abruptly as their eyes met through the glass.

Eddie snatched the door open, his body still humming with the reckless abandon of the dance, but his expression immediately snapping back to guarded confusion. His hair was messy, the light blue button-down shirt was unbuttoned and slightly askew, and he looked impossibly vulnerable in the half-darkness.

"Buck? What are you—I thought you had a migraine," Eddie started, the question edged with hurt and confusion. He didn't even try to hide the fact he was only in his boxers.

Buck didn't answer. He didn't stop to apologize for the lie, or to explain the group chat, or to apologize for watching Eddie dance with such unguarded joy. All the careful, terrified excuses he’d practiced dissolved into the need to close the distance.

He stepped across the threshold, kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, and took Eddie’s face in his hands. He pressed his mouth against Eddie's with a desperate certainty that felt less like a question and more like a fall.

Time didn't so much freeze as shatter.

For one stunned, terrifying second, Eddie was completely still, a statue of shock beneath Buck’s touch. Buck’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm All the tension, all the unspoken longing that had coiled between them for years, finally snapped. against his ribs, convinced he'd just ruined everything—that the look of raw hurt in Eddie's eyes was about to turn to repulsion.

Then, a low, needy sound escaped Eddie’s throat, and he was there.
Eddie's hands flew up, catching Buck’s wrists as he deepened the kiss with a force that sent Buck stumbling backward a step, the worn denim of his jeans pressing against the soft cotton of Eddie’s boxers. Eddie's lips were firm and seeking, tasting faintly of the mint he must have used before putting All the tension, all the unspoken longing that had coiled between them for years, finally snapped.

It was everything Buck had feared and everything he had ever wanted, all wrapped into one messy, overwhelming moment. The scent of Eddie's shower gel, the heat of his skin beneath the thin shirt, the rough stubble against his chin—it was real, it was now, and it was terrifyingly mutual.

When they finally broke apart, gasping, their foreheads pressed together in the dim light of the living room. Eddie’s grip on Buck’s wrists was punishing, and Buck was breathing so hard he felt dizzy.

"You lied to me," Eddie whispered, the words trembling against Buck's skin. But his voice lacked any accusation; it was thick with disbelief and a fragile, burgeoning hope.
"I know," Buck managed, his voice a ragged croak. "Because I thought if I told you that... that I'd never get to do that."
Eddie slowly loosened his grip, his thumb brushing tentatively across Buck’s pulse point. He stepped back just enough to look Buck in the eyes. His face, still flushed from dancing, was now dominated by a confused, searching intensity.

"You just came back from running away," Eddie said, his voice stronger now, but still low. "Tell me what we're doing, Buck."

Chapter Text

Buck squeezed his eyes shut briefly, leaning into Eddie’s space again, needing the proximity even if it didn't solve his overwhelming fear.
“Honestly Eddie I don’t know what we’re doing? I’m just trying to figure out,” Buck confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “The only thing I have clear right now is that I’m in love with you. I also know that I want to wake up next to you every morning. For the last couple of days all I can think about is you and Christopher.”

He took a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry for acting out. I was afraid to ruin our friendship. If I said the truth to you.”

Buck pulled back slightly, his eyes searching Eddie’s face, tracing the confusion that was slowly giving way to something fierce and definite. “Then I remember something. It was you who restarted my heart after the lightning struck. I heard your voice calling me home. I heard Christopher calling me. Even though I was unconscious I heard everybody yelling.”

Eddie didn't move. He stood, bare-chested under the unbuttoned shirt, taking in every raw, desperate word. The reference to the lightning strike was a punch to the gut, the memory of his frantic, whispered pleas—Don’t you dare leave me, Evan—playing back in his head. That wasn’t the panic of a friend; it was the terror of a man losing his foundation.

“You don’t have to worry about ruining our friendship, Buck,” Eddie finally said, his voice quiet but incredibly firm. He reached up, his hand settling tenderly on the back of Buck's neck, pulling him fractionally closer. “That ship sailed years ago. It broke into a million pieces and reformed as something… bigger.”

He looked down at the light blue shirt clinging to his torso, a stark visual of how exposed he felt, how exposed he was—and how little he cared.
“The truth is, I’m the one who should be sorry. For pretending. For letting you think this was some casual thing, that our life wasn't already tied together so tight that neither of us could breathe without the other.” Eddie’s thumb

brushed the pulse point beneath Buck’s jaw. "You want to wake up next to me? Where do you think you’ve been for the last few years, Buck? You’re the first person Christopher sees in the morning and the last one he asks about at night. You’ve been setting the table for four years in a house you don’t technically own."

His eyes, dark and shining with unshed tears, finally locked onto Buck’s.
“When you were on that gurney, when I was trying to pull you back…” Eddie choked on the words, taking a ragged breath. “I wasn’t just trying to save my partner. I was trying to save my future. You heard me because I was calling the only person who makes this whole crazy life feel safe.”

Eddie dropped his hands from Buck, stepping back just enough to create space for a deliberate, final choice. He looked down at the floor, then back up.

“I don’t know what we’re doing either, Evan. But I know I’m tired of being alone in my own house when you’re right outside. I know that kiss felt like the air finally returned to my lungs.” He reached out, taking Buck’s hand. “Let’s start with this. Let’s sit down and figure out what our life looks like now. Together.”

He led Buck toward the worn leather couch, the 80s synth-pop still silent, the only sound the quiet squeak of the couch cushions as they both finally, simultaneously, sat down.

They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only intrusion into the silence. Buck reached out, his hand instinctively finding Eddie’s knee, a comforting anchor.

“We’re doing this,” Buck murmured, mostly to himself, a blend of terrified and euphoric. He looked over at Eddie, his expression serious. “But we need rules, Eds. I mean it. Promise me something, right now.”

Eddie nodded, his gaze steady, his hand covering Buck's on his knee. “Anything.”

“If we get angry at each other, or if something goes sideways… we won’t fight at work,” Buck insisted, the fear of losing their professional stability palpable in his voice. “We come home. We talk about it here. This stays ours. The 118… that has to stay sacred.”

A slow, profound smile touched Eddie’s lips. He understood immediately. The last thing either of them needed was their relationship drama interfering with their team or, worse, their focus on a call.

“I promise,” Eddie said, his voice husky. “This is the safe place. This is where we solve it.”
He leaned in, the couch becoming their safety net, their silent witness. This kiss was slower than the first, less about shock and urgency, and more about confirmation—a solemn, silent vow. Buck melted into it, his arm winding around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

The kissing deepened, fueled by years of repressed emotion, late-night conversations, shared traumas, and the quiet, domestic life they’d already built. It was a kiss that communicated every fear and every dream, sealing their promise.

When Eddie finally broke away, his eyes were dark with undeniable intent. He didn’t need words now. He stood up, pulling Buck with him. Buck rose effortlessly, his hands finding purchase on the bare skin of Eddie’s back beneath the unbuttoned shirt.

Eddie took Buck’s hand and, without breaking eye contact, led him away from the living room, through the familiar hallway, and into the dark sanctuary of the bedroom.

The insistent, bright light of a Los Angeles morning dragged Eddie back to consciousness. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, before the memories of the previous night—the dancing, the kiss, the honest confession on the couch, and everything that followed—slammed into him. A slow, contented smile spread across his face, and he reached out for the warm, familiar body that should be next to him.

His hand met only cool, wrinkled sheets.
Eddie’s eyes snapped open. The space beside him was empty, the covers thrown back neatly, a sharp contrast to the joyful chaos of their arrival last night.

Panic, cold and visceral, clawed its way up his throat. He left. The thought was immediate and paralyzing. Buck had faked a migraine and run once. Now that everything was exposed, now that they had crossed the line, Eddie’s deepest fear was confirmed: Buck had decided it was too much and had bolted, leaving only a lingering scent and an ache in the empty space beside him.

“Buck?” Eddie called out, his voice rough with sleep and sudden dread.
He scrambled out of bed, grabbing the first thing he saw—the light blue shirt he’d been wearing the night before. He yanked it on, buttoning it haphazardly as he stumbled into the hallway, his heart hammering against his ribs. The kitchen was empty. The living room was quiet. The key rack still held Buck’s spare key, but that didn’t mean anything..

Eddie stopped at the front door, bracing himself, half-expecting to see a terse, apologetic text on his phone. He ran a hand through his messy hair and looked out the small window beside the door, ready to accept the wreckage of his fear.
Instead of an empty driveway, he saw Buck.

Buck was standing on the little patch of grass, fully dressed in his jeans and a gray t-shirt, completely absorbed in a game of fetch. Not alone, but with Lola, the neighbor’s aging golden retriever, who was positively vibrating with happiness, tail thumping furiously against the pavement.

Buck laughed, a genuine, uncomplicated sound, as Lola dropped the slobbery tennis ball at his feet. He bent down, ruffling the dog’s ears, his whole body relaxed and bathed in the morning sun. He looked less like a man who had run away, and more like a man who had simply stepped out to embrace the day, perfectly at home. He had probably been up for hours.

The sight—Buck, already integrated into his neighborhood's rhythm, already making himself part of Eddie's ordinary, domestic morning—washed away the panic in a powerful wave of relief. Eddie leaned his head against the door frame, realizing that the fear of Buck leaving was always going to be there, but the reality was that Buck was right there, playing with the dog he’d befriended years ago, simply waiting for Eddie to catch up.

As if sensing he was being watched, Buck looked up, his bright, sleepy eyes finding Eddie through the glass. The laughter faded, replaced by a soft, tender smile.

Buck dropped the tennis ball and started walking toward the door, leaving Lola with a final, fond pat. He paused on the porch, his smile widening.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Buck whispered, his voice low and warm. “Did you sleep okay? I gave Lola milk bones because she was making sad noises at the door, and then I didn't want to wake you.”

He reached out and gently unbuttoned the two rogue buttons Eddie had missed on his shirt, his fingers brushing Eddie's chest.
“I was about to make coffee. Or pancakes, if you’re feeling ambitious.”

Eddie leaned against the doorframe, his tired eyes full of soft adoration. “I’m not really hungry right now but I won’t say no to coffee and you,” he teased, letting his gaze linger over Buck’s face. “If I would have known that you were going to be this sexy in the morning, I would have told you sooner that I love you,

Buck’s cheeks instantly flushed a deep pink, the compliment hitting him harder than any physics-defying rescue. He laughed, a genuine, delighted sound that filled the small porch space.

“Oh, shut up, Diaz,” Buck murmured, but he was grinning, reaching up to cover Eddie’s hand that was still resting near his collarbone. “You didn't look too bad yourself, you know. Even in… that.” He winked, nodding toward the haphazardly buttoned blue shirt Eddie was wearing.
“That’s my dancing outfit,” Eddie said with mock dignity. “It deserved a better reveal.”

“It did,” Buck agreed, his eyes softening. He pushed himself off the doorframe and took Eddie’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come on. Let’s save the pancakes for when Christopher is here. Right now, I just need a massive dose of caffeine.”

They walked hand-in-hand toward the kitchen, the sunlight streaming in through the window casting long shadows on the floor. Buck opened the worn ceramic canister and scooped out the beans, the simple, ordinary action feeling like the most profound thing in the world.
Eddie leaned against the counter, watching Buck start the familiar ritual. The silence wasn’t awkward anymore; it was heavy with possibility and peace.

“Hey,” Eddie said softly, making Buck turn around. “Thank you for coming back last night. And thank you for not giving up on us.”
“I couldn’t,” Buck admitted, looking down at their joined hands on the counter. “I can’t. This is my home, Eddie.”

...“Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere else, Eds.” They finally untangled themselves, the morning feeling less like a fresh start and more like a continuation of a story that was always meant to be told.

To Be Continued ❤️

Chapter Text

They made it as far as the kitchen island, pulling on clothes—Buck into his jeans and Eddie into sweatpants—before the lure of caffeine became too strong to ignore. Eddie was pouring the first cup when Buck finally reached for his phone, which was still exiled on the far side of the counter.
As soon as Buck picked it up, the screen lit up with enough notifications to look like a Christmas tree. He winced.
...
He picked up the phone again, his thumb hovering over the group chat.
"Okay. What are we saying?" Buck looked at Eddie, a question in his eyes—not just about the text, but about how they were framing this new reality.
Eddie simply reached over Buck's shoulder, took the phone, and typed quickly.

Eddie (via Buck’s phone): Josh, it’s Eddie. Status update: Successful. He’s not leaving. Also, tell Hen and Karen to stop worrying, Buck Is Alive and very busy Now, leave us alone. We have a lifetime of catching up to do.
He sent it before Buck could stop him. Buck stared at the message, then at Eddie, his eyes wide.

"You just... you just told them," Buck whispered, a mixture of shock and utter relief washing over him.

"Yeah," Eddie said, setting the phone down. "I just told them. And they are going to deal with it. Now, about that lifetime of catching up..."
They didn't get far. Before they could move, the phone vibrated so violently on the counter it nearly slid off.

Maddie: (A series of 15 clapping emojis and three heart emojis) OH MY GOD. I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT. I am crying. Eddie, you tell him that after eight years of talking about this, he better be happy.

Josh: YES! VICTORY! I AM A GENIUS. THIS IS ALL MY DOING. The 'successful' status update is the greatest text message ever sent. Also, tell him to send a picture of the two of you holding hands so I can use it as a motivational screensaver.

Maddie: Josh! Be nice. Eddie, thank you for making my brother the happiest I've seen him in years. We'll give you space, but know that I am already planning the celebratory brunch.
Josh: Wait, hold up. The text says "Buck didn't steal the dog." Does that mean Hen and Karen know??

Eddie: yes they know Hen saw Buck this morning playing with the neighbors dog. Now leave us alone.

Josh: Too late. I'm calling Hen. This is officially a five-way group chat celebration. Congratulations, guys. Now lock the doors.

Buck leaned back against the counter, shaking his head, but his smile was so wide it almost hurt. "You know, for two people who have been desperate for this to happen, they really don't know how to handle the follow-through."

Eddie chuckled, pulling Buck back into a hug from behind. "They just care. And honestly? They've been waiting for this longer than we let ourselves admit we wanted it." He pressed a kiss to the side of Buck's head. "Now, I'm hiding this phone under a pillow. No more interruptions."
They settled onto the living room couch—the same couch where everything had been confessed the night before—this time side-by-side, their knees touching, the quiet familiarity of their connection a new kind of heat.

Buck reached for Eddie’s hand, lacing their fingers together, marveling at how easily it fit. “Okay,” he murmured, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Now that we’ve successfully dodged the inquisition, there’s something serious we need to talk about before he gets back.”

Eddie nodded, rubbing a thumb over the back of Buck’s hand. “Christopher. Yeah. He’s the most important part of this whole equation.”

He paused, a flicker of anxiety in his eyes before he managed a wry smile. “We need to figure out what we’re going to tell him. Though, if I’m being honest, I think he’s going to be the least surprised person on the planet. I know one thing for sure, he won’t call his grandparents again. I think he learned that lesson.”

Buck’s smile vanished. The casual joke about Christopher panicked call to El Paso after the lightning strike, the call that had briefly driven a wedge between them and nearly sent Eddie away, hit a nerve. Buck squeezed his hand tighter, his eyes suddenly heavy.

“Don’t go there,” Buck whispered, his voice catching slightly. “That was the worst time of my life. I felt empty without you and Christopher. It felt like my center of gravity was just… gone. If you had gone back to El Paso, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

Eddie immediately turned on the couch, setting his mug down to take both of Buck’s hands. “Hey. I know. I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny. It was dumb.

I was running, and running always brings me right back here. It brings me back to you.” Buck said.

He kissed Buck’s knuckles, holding his gaze steady. “That’s exactly why we need to talk to Chris. We need to tell him that this—us—isn’t going to change anything except make our home even stronger. He already knows he’s the most loved kid in the world, and he already knows we’re family. This is just… confirming what we’ve been all along.”

“The logistics aren’t what worries me,” Buck admitted, looking relieved by Eddie’s sincerity. “He’s a smart kid. He sees things clearly. It’s the words. What do we even say? ‘Hey, Chris, your two favorite people finally stopped being idiots and are now officially boyfriends, but don’t worry, Dad and Buck are still going to complain about each other’s cooking’?”

Eddie laughed, pulling Buck toward him so Buck could rest his head on his shoulder. “Something like that. We keep it simple. We tell him that Dad and Buck love each other very much, and now we’re officially a couple. We tell him that Buck is moving back in—properly, this time—and we’re not going anywhere.”
Buck sighed, a sound of profound relief. “I like that. ‘Properly.’ I like the sound of that a lot, Ed’s.”
“Me too,” Eddie murmured, kissing the top of Buck’s head. “Me too. We’ll talk to him as soon as he’s home. Together. No big deal, just the truth.”

Chapter Text

Buck and Eddie walked into the firehouse lobby side-by-side, their morning rhythm perfectly in sync. They both carried a sense of lightness, a quiet confidence that was visible in the way they didn't just walk toward the locker room, but leaned toward each other. The lingering fear of exposure or judgment was completely absent; the relief of being honest with each other outweighed everything.
They found most of the A-Shift gathered in the kitchen, already running the morning checklists. Hen and Chimney were prepping breakfast—a chaotic but well-loved tradition—while Lucy and Ravi were sorting gear tags near the bulletin board.

The moment Hen looked up, she froze, a spatula full of pancake batter mid-air. A slow, massive smile spread across her face, followed by an immediate, low chuckle. She dropped the spatula onto the counter and marched straight toward them.
"Finally," Hen stated, pulling them both into a tight, fierce hug. She squeezed Buck first, then Eddie. "Took you long enough, you two stubborn fools. Welcome home, properly."

Lucy, catching on immediately, clapped her hands together and bounced over, radiating enthusiasm. "Yes! I knew it! You guys are radiating some serious vibes this morning. Congratulations, both of you." She gave Buck a quick, celebratory high-five.
Ravi, however, just leaned against the counter, scrubbing a pan with a towel, a deep sigh of relief escaping him. "Oh, thank God," he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I swear, I was going to lose it if I had to listen to one more two-hour monologue about 'The Eddie Situation.' I’m glad you’ve moved on to the 'Being Happy' phase, Buck."
Buck flushed, though he couldn't stop grinning. "Ravi, come on, my monologues are insightful!"

"They were a loop, Buck," Ravi countered dryly, but his eyes were warm. "Just a long, sad, self-pitying loop. Now go be disgustingly domestic."
Chimney approached, wiping his hands on a towel. He didn’t say a word, just looked from Buck’s beaming, slightly messy face to Eddie’s settled, calm expression. He stopped in front of them and simply gave a slow, deliberate nod of approval, the slight quirk of his mouth confirming his unsurprised, yet completely supportive, status.
“Don’t let that get to your head, Diaz,” Chimney said, addressing Eddie. “You still can’t outcook me. But I’ll let you know when the paperwork for the shared insurance is ready.”

The acceptance was immediate, easy, and utterly characteristic of the 118—a family that had already known this truth for years and was just waiting for the two main players to catch up.
As Buck and Eddie moved toward their lockers, the easy banter of the firehouse returned to normal, only now, their proximity didn't feel tense or awkward—it felt like it was finally where it belonged.

The atmosphere at the 118 throughout the shift had been strangely peaceful. There were no apocalyptic emergencies, just the mundane stuff of fire service life: two very distressed cats rescued from a palm tree, a minor kitchen fire in a third-floor apartment, and a couple of non-critical injuries handled by Hen and Chimney. It was a day of slow, easy rhythm, giving Buck and Eddie space to breathe and feel the quiet joy of being openly theirs among their found family.

When their shift finally ended, they drove straight to Eddie’s house. After a quick, shared shower that was neither quiet nor mundane, they found themselves in the living room, a pizza box open between them, waiting for the time difference to align for a call to El Paso.
Buck was practically vibrating with nervous energy, pacing from the kitchen to the living room while Eddie lounged on the couch, the phone already set up on speaker on the coffee table.

“Buck, relax,” Eddie said, reaching out to snag his hand as he passed. “Come here. It’s Christopher. He’s excited to talk to us, not cross-examine us.”
“I know, I know,” Buck sighed, sitting heavily beside him. “But this is the big one, Ed’s. We’re changing his world, even if it’s only a small change. I don't want to mess it up.”

“You won’t,” Eddie assured him, pulling him close. “We agreed: simple truth. We’re family, and now we’re official. He already loves us both. This is just an upgrade, not a total software overhaul.”

Just then, the phone rang, displaying 'Tía Pepa' on the screen. Eddie hit answer.
“Hola, mi amor! We’re just finishing dinner here,” Christopher’s voice was bright and happy, a sound that immediately eased the tension in the room.

“Hey, buddy! You having fun with Abuela and Abuelo?” Eddie asked, his voice instantly softer.
“It’s great, Dad! They let me stay up late, and I made a sandcastle that was taller than me! Buck, are you there?”
“I’m here, buddy,” Buck said, leaning close to the phone. “Sounds like you’re living the good life down there.”

“It’s okay, but I miss you guys. We talked about telling you something tonight, bud,” Eddie started, exchanging a look with Buck. “Just something we wanted you to know.”
Christopher's tone immediately shifted to seriousness. “Is everything okay? Is one of you hurt?”

“No! No, everything is perfectly fine,” Buck rushed to assure him. “The best, actually. We just… well, we realized that we love each other a lot, Chris. Not just as best friends and partners, but… we’re boyfriends now.”

There was a moment of silence on the line. Both men held their breath, waiting for the shoe to drop.

Then, Christopher's voice came back, sounding utterly bewildered. “That’s it? That’s what you were worried about?”

Buck blinked, looking at Eddie. “You don’t sound surprised, buddy.”
“Of course, I’m not surprised,” Christopher stated, sounding like they were the two biggest idiots he knew. “You guys are always together. You sleep on our couch.

You make Dad laugh. You're my best friend. Tía Pepa said you were just waiting for you guys to notice each other. She won a whole twenty dollars from Abuela because she said you were slow, but you would get there.”

Eddie dropped his head back against the couch cushion and groaned. “I knew it. Tía Pepa, are you there?”

A woman’s voice, warm and thick with laughter, came onto the line. “I’m here, my sweet mijo. Finally, peace in the family! Tell Evan I was right! It’s about time you two stopped circling each other.”
“I think that’s a yes, Buck,” Eddie muttered, stifling a laugh

Well, since everyone already knows, then I guess that makes this easier,” Buck said, his smile beaming. “It just means that when you come home, I’m moving my stuff out of my apartment and permanently into your house, Chris. We’re going to be living together, officially.”
“Really?” Christopher squealed. “That’s awesome! Can we build a new loft in your room? And can we watch the sci-fi movie with the giant spiders?”

“We can build whatever you want, kiddo,” Buck promised, his eyes shining with tears that were strictly happy this time.
Eddie leaned into the phone again, his heart full. “You know we love you, right, big guy?”
“I know, Dad. I love you both too! Okay, I gotta go, Abuela is calling us for ice cream! Bye, Buck! Bye, Dad!”

To Be continued ❤️

Chapter Text

The morning of Friendsgiving, 6 days after the big confession to Christopher Eddie’s kitchen looked less like a culinary space and more like the site of a controlled chemical spill.
The main point of contention—a twenty-pound turkey—was currently halfway in the sink, halfway on the counter, wrapped in a slippery film of marinade that Buck had confidently declared an “Advanced Brine Solution.”
Buck, wearing a too-small apron that read “Kiss the Cook (I Dare You),” was crouched low, trying to read a thermometer stuck into the turkey’s breast.

“Okay, the internal temperature is reading sixty-two degrees,” Buck announced, his voice tight with concentration. “That’s still below the safe zone. We need to increase the thermal input immediately.”
Eddie, who was desperately trying to wipe brine from his shirt without touching anything else, sighed. “It’s a turkey, Buck, not a structure fire. We just need to put it in the oven. Did you even turn the oven on?”
“I preheated it to three-fifty! But the manual says if the internal temp is too low, the overall cook time will increase by an hour per pound. We’re talking about a multi-hour delay, Eds! This is a critical failure in timeline management!” Buck scrambled back up, grabbing a wad of paper towels.

“Our main objective is a non-toxic dinner, not speed, Buck,” Eddie countered, trying to sound calm, but his own stress levels were rising. Cooking a holiday meal for their highly judgmental friends was somehow more intimidating than cutting a victim out of a car wreck. "The firehouse never had this many variables."
“The firehouse also never had to deal with the threat of undercooked poultry poisoning our loved ones!”

Just then, the front door swung open and Josh walked in, hands loaded with several bottles of expensive-looking wine and a massive container of cheese dip.
“Permission to enter the domestic disaster zone!” Josh called out, surveying the kitchen with an appreciative air. “Oh, it’s worse than I imagined. Is the turkey giving you relationship counseling, or is it just contemplating your life choices?”
“Help us, Josh, you’re an adult,” Eddie pleaded.
Josh expertly sidestepped the sticky counter. “I am bringing the sustenance that will make everyone forget the turkey exists. I do not touch uncooked fowl. This is my role. Consider me the Emotional Support Specialist. Speaking of which, you two are glowing. It took eight years, but the stress lines around your eyes are finally gone.”
Before Buck could thank him, the door opened again, and Maddie bustled in, smelling faintly of cinnamon and sugar. She set down two perfect-looking pies—one apple, one pumpkin—on a clear section of the counter.

“Don’t listen to Josh, Evan, you look amazing,” Maddie said, giving Buck a quick hug. She then turned her critical gaze on the kitchen. “The turkey is still in the sink. You haven’t stuffed it, have you? Because you shouldn’t do that until the last minute.”
“No, no stuffing yet! We were discussing the appropriate time to initiate the primary cooking sequence,” Buck explained, gesturing wildly at the turkey.
Maddie’s professional dispatcher calm took over. “The sequence is called ‘putting the turkey in the oven.’ Look, I’m running out of counter space, so just put the turkey on the rack, put the rack in the oven, and trust the timer. I’m here for emotional support, wine, and pie supervision only.”
As if on cue, a loud, cheerful knocking resonated through the house, followed by the sound of multiple voices.
Hen and Karen walked in, both looking impeccably organized, carrying Hen’s famous four-cheese mashed potatoes and the green bean casserole.
Hen took one look at the kitchen—the frantic energy, the unbuttoned shirts, the scattered paper towels, and the turkey still chilling in the sink—and burst out laughing.

“You two are adorable,” Hen declared, setting her dishes down with clinical precision. “I knew we should have just done the turkey ourselves, but you needed the team-building exercise.”
Karen, ever practical, bypassed the emotional support entirely and walked straight to the oven. She adjusted the temperature, pulled the turkey out of the sink, and efficiently placed it in the roasting pan.

“The oven is now properly preheated, and the bird is prepped for sustained cooking,” Karen informed them, giving Eddie a pointed look. “See, Eddie? Domestic tasks are much easier when you use simple language instead of Buck’s tactical jargon.”
Eddie threw his hands up in surrender, pulling Buck close and pressing a grateful kiss to his forehead. “I’m putting you in charge of every holiday dinner from now on, Hen. And thank you, Karen, for saving us from salmonella.”
Hen smiled, pouring herself a glass of water, and then looked pointedly at Buck and Eddie, who were still clinging to each other in the middle of the mess.
“Seriously though, we are so happy for you guys,” Hen said, her tone softening completely. “It’s about time you brought the domestic chaos to this level.

With Karen managing the turkey

While Maddie and Hen taking over the kitchen organization, the pressure instantly lifted from Buck and Eddie. They both grabbed fresh mugs of coffee, finally having a moment to just be as the house slowly filled with the low hum of their extended family.
While the turkey slowly cooked toward safety, the crew migrated to the dining room table for board games. The competition was predictably fierce. Chimney and Josh teamed up against Hen and Karen for a merciless round of trivia, while Buck and Eddie hovered, feeling slightly disoriented but incredibly happy.

Around five o’clock, the front door opened, and a cheer went up. Bobby and Athena arrived, bringing with them a wave of calm and warmth—and the essential centerpiece of the non-poultry portion of the meal.
“Smells like you almost managed not to burn the house down,” Bobby said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he exchanged a meaningful look with Hen. He held up a massive, perfectly browned ham, glazed with his signature honey sauce.

Athena gave Eddie a firm, knowing hug, then turned to Buck, holding him at arm's length. "You look well, Buck. Happy."
"I am," Buck confirmed, the simple truth still feeling revolutionary.

Just as the ham was situated on the counter and the kitchen was reaching critical mass, the back door opened. It was May, carrying a stack of pizza boxes for the kids Who where playing outside. With Buck’s Foster puppy Grim who is very much attached to Christopher hip. If Christopher moves he walks right next to him.

May brings in a karaoke machine “I brought the necessities!” May announced. “No family gathering is complete without the forced singing of old 80s hits. And I need someone to sing duet backup with me on ‘Summer Lovin’.”they all point to Ravi.

The rest of the evening dissolved into easy, joyful chaos. The karaoke machine was set up in the living room, leading to a surprisingly strong rendition of Tina Turner by Hen, and a highly questionable, heavily-improvised duet about fire safety by Chimney and Ravi.

An hour later, as the golden light of the setting sun filled the living room, they finally settled down. The massive dining table was covered in food: Karen’s perfectly rich mashed potatoes, Josh’s decadent cheese dip, Hen’s comforting casserole, Maddie’s flawless pies, Bobby’s ham, and the (miraculously saved) turkey

. Buck glanced around at the noise—Maddie talking to Athena about emergency protocols, Chimney arguing with Josh about wine pairings, Hen laughing with Karen, and Bobby watching them all with the quiet, contented pride of a true patriarch.

It was chaotic, messy, and loud. It was everything a family holiday should be.
Eddie squeezed Buck's hand tightly under the table, his eyes reflecting the warm candlelight.
“This,” Eddie murmured, leaning close so only Buck could hear. “This is our life, Evan. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Buck smiled, a deep, satisfied grin that reached his eyes. For their first Friendsgiving as an official couple, it was perfect.

Buck and Eddie ignored the mess. They were draped across the worn leather couch, the very spot where their relationship had taken its seismic shift two nights prior. Eddie was leaning back against the cushions, and Buck was tucked against his side, his head resting comfortably on Eddie's shoulder.

Next to them, a very tired Grim, the foster dog who had endured endless pats and dropped food scraps, snored softly, a furry, low-volume sentinel of their domestic peace.

Eddie slowly turned his head, his gaze settling on Buck’s face, tracing the lines of exhaustion and happiness there. He gently reached up and brushed his lips against the tiny, unmistakable birthmark above Buck’s eye.
“We survived,” Eddie murmured against Buck’s skin, his voice thick with relief. “We survived one of our first holidays together as an official thing.

Nobody panicked, nobody cried—except maybe Hen when she saw the state of the turkey.”
Buck chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around Eddie’s torso, holding him close. He lifted his head just enough to find Eddie’s mouth, kissing him with a deep, lingering tenderness that conveyed all the unspoken promises of the last 48 hours.
“We did,” Buck agreed, his voice husky. “I think the key was letting Karen handle the poultry.”

He settled back down, sighing happily into Eddie’s neck. The silence returned, filled only by Grim’s soft breathing and the gentle rhythm of their hearts beating together.
Buck tilted his head back up, his eyes meeting Eddie's in the dim light of the living room.
“Okay, Eds,” Buck whispered, his voice taking on a familiar, slightly anxious edge. “Here’s the million-dollar question: Will we survive the upcoming holidays together with our family members?”

Eddie winced theatrically. “You mean, can we survive the combined forces of Abuela, Tía Pepa, and my entire extended clan plus the inevitable, passive-aggressive, high-stakes perfection of the Buckleys at Christmas?”
“Exactly,” Buck confirmed, tightening his arms. “That’s a whole different level of rescue operation, Diaz. Think you’re up for that tactical deployment?”

Eddie smiled, a confident, steady expression that banished all traces of the terrified man from two nights ago.
“We faced the lightning, Evan. We faced the tsunami. We faced the containment lab, and we faced Josh and Maddie,” Eddie said, kissing the top of Buck's head. “We can face my family’s tamale operation and your mother’s holiday scrutiny. Especially now that I know I get to come home to this afterward.”
He shifted slightly, pulling Buck tighter. “We’ll get through it, Buck. Together. Now, shut up and go back to cuddling our very judgmental dog.”

Chapter Text

The Friday after Thanksgiving, Buck and Eddie packed a small duffel bag and headed out of Los Angeles toward El Paso. Christopher was still happily entrenched in sleepover activities, giving them a few days to navigate their new status in the secure, loving embrace of the Díaz family.

The drive was relaxed and easy, punctuated by comfortable silences and hands often reaching across the center console.
"I still can't believe Tía Pepa won twenty dollars off Abuela," Buck said, shaking his head, a huge grin spreading across his face.
Eddie laughed, reaching over to squeeze Buck's shoulder. "I told you. They are the true masterminds. They've been waiting for us to figure it out since you helped me move in."
"I know," Buck admitted, the smile fading slightly, replaced by a deep sense of relief. "It feels surreal, Eds. Like, for years, I was trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, trying to define what we had as 'best friends' when it was clearly more than that. And now... it just fits."

"It fits," Eddie agreed softly. "And we didn't crash and burn the moment we crossed the line. Turns out, our friends and my entire extended family just shrugged and said, 'Yeah, finally.'"

Eddie's face grew serious. "Look, my family is going to be loud, and Tía Pepa will ask too many questions, but there is no judgment, Buck. Only welcome. You are already family to them. This trip is just confirming it."
They arrived late that evening, stepping into a blast of warm air and even warmer affection. Abuela immediately bypassed Eddie for Buck, enveloping him in a fragrant, crushing hug.

"Evan! You look hungry, skinny boy! Where has my son been hiding you?" Abuela chastised, patting Buck’s cheek. "Come, come. Tía Pepa has already made your favorite chile colorado."

This weekend was everything Buck needed: an overwhelming, secure, and loud environment where his presence was celebrated, not tolerated. He spent hours laughing with Tía Pepa, hearing stories about Eddie’s ridiculous childhood, and just existing side-by-side with Eddie in the house where he grew up. The emotional safety was intoxicating.

Meanwhile, back in Los Angeles, Maddie was meticulously decorating the mantel in her own living room. Chimney was at the station, and the house was quiet, save for the occasional soft kick from her very pregnant belly.
She was scrolling through her phone, looking at old photo’s of her and Evan as kids, pictures of Daniel, Buck’s twin brother. It was impossible to separate the joy of the upcoming holidays from the constant, low-level anxiety that always surrounded the Buckley parents.
Maddie knew the score better than anyone. Daniel had always been the golden child, the fragile one, the genius who needed protection.

She remembered the relentless sequence of blame. Daniel, age eight, wrapped their parents' car around a telephone pole. Evan must have distracted him; Evan should have known better. Daniel, fourteen, was caught selling prescription drugs at school. It was Evan's rough influence, Evan's fault for not being a better example. Daniel getting his girlfriend pregnant at seventeen? Evan was supposed to be the responsible one; Evan was supposed to keep Daniel straight.

The blame always landed on Buck. Always.
Maddie sighed, setting her phone down. She knew Buck hadn't spoken to their parents, Philip and Margaret, in over a years, not since they had indirectly blamed him for not being 'stable enough' to keep the family house when Daniel needed a place to crash.
But now, everything was different. Evan was happy. He was finally with Eddie, finally home, finally becoming the version of himself everyone knew he could be.
Maddie took a deep breath, her hands resting on her bump.
Maybe it’s time, she thought. They need to see this. They need to see Buck whole and happy. They need to know that he’s built his own family, his own stability.

With a sudden, nervous burst of conviction, Maddie picked up her phone. She typed out a careful, cheerful invitation to her parents for Christmas morning brunch. She didn't mention Eddie's new official status, nor did she say that Buck would be there. She would just let them walk into the reality of the 118 family.

It’s Christmas, she rationalized, her heart hammering nervously. They have to talk eventually. And if they see him surrounded by people who love him, maybe, just maybe, they’ll finally see him.
She pressed 'send' before she could second-guess the most significant risk she had taken all year.

Buck and Eddie's short visit to El Paso stretched easily into a few weeks. Christopher is with his cousins.

They spent their days helping Ramón with ranch repairs, getting into fierce, competitive cooking battles with Tía Pepa, and simply existing in the comforting, low-stakes routine of the Díaz compound.

For Buck, the time was healing. There were no sirens, no disasters, and no need for the emotional armor he wore in Los Angeles. He was simply Evan, the man who loved Eddie and Christopher, and that was enough. He was integrated so seamlessly that he’d stopped noticing when he’d automatically reached for the key to Eddie’s childhood truck or joined Ramón for the morning feed.

One evening, after a huge dinner that involved four different kinds of chili and a lively argument over the best Tex-Mex restaurant, Ramón leaned back in his chair, watching his son and his son’s partner clear the table with the practiced efficiency of a domestic unit.

“It is good you all stayed longer, Ramón said, his deep voice carrying a natural authority. “Christopher always rides her when Pepa brings over. He is a natural. A lot like his father.”

“He loves it, Dad,” Eddie replied, rinsing a plate. “I’m surprised you let him ride your horses so much. Isn’t that taking time out of your day?”
Ramón chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s not riding my horses, mijo. He’s riding yours. Did you really think we would sell her?”

Eddie froze, the plate slipping slightly in his hand. “Sell… who, Dad?”

“Rosemarie,” Ramón said, as if discussing the weather. “Your mare. She is old now, but still strong. She is the best thing we have here for keeping that boy grounded. She knows you. She knows family.”

Buck glanced at Eddie, whose face had gone completely still, a complex mix of shock and profound gratitude in his eyes.
Rosemarie. Buck knew the name intimately. It was a fragment of Eddie’s past that always surfaced in quiet moments—the story of the stubborn, beautiful mare he’d practically grown up on, the one he thought had been sold years ago to help pay for college or the move to California. The horse, he never talked about without a distinct ache in his voice.

“You kept her?” Eddie asked, his voice barely a whisper. “All these years?”
“Of course, we kept her,” Abuela said, emerging from the pantry with a roll of tortillas. “She is family, Eduardo. And she was waiting for Christopher. And maybe waiting for you to realize where your heart belonged.” She winked dramatically at Buck.

The next afternoon, Eddie drove Buck out to the smaller, older section of the ranch where the family kept their personal horses. The air smelled of dust, hay, and worn leather.
“I had no idea,” Eddie admitted, his hand resting on the fence rail, his eyes scanning the large, dusty paddock. “When I left, I thought… I thought she was gone. I grieved her, Buck. She was my whole world when I was 20th

“She’s right here, Ed’s,” Buck said softly, placing a hand on his back. “Your dad’s right. She was waiting for you.”
A dark black mare with a silvered muzzle and incredibly knowing, intelligent eyes strolled toward them. Rosemarie was muscular, beautiful, and clearly accustomed to human company.

“Rosemarie,” Eddie whispered, his eyes filling with sudden emotion. He climbed the fence effortlessly and walked toward the horse, his stride reverting to the familiar, confident gait of a ranch kid.
Rosemarie greeted him with a soft, inquiring nuzzle. Eddie buried his face in her mane, his shoulders shaking slightly. It was a silent, powerful reunion with a part of himself he thought he’d lost forever.
When Eddie finally pulled back, he smiled through glistening eyes, then turned and waved Buck over.

“Come meet her,” he called out.
Buck climbed over the rail and walked carefully toward the mare. Rosemarie eyed him with interest, sniffing the air.
“She’s magnificent, Eds,” Buck breathed.
“This is Evan,” Eddie told the mare, his hand resting proudly on her neck. “He’s family now. You already know his scent, Rosie; he uses my detergent.”
Rosemarie gave a low snort, then dipped her head and gently nudged Buck’s chest, a silent, equine welcome. Buck instinctively reached out, rubbing her soft muzzle.

After a few minutes of quiet bonding, Eddie brought over a saddle and bridle. “Okay, put this down, Buck. We’re going for a ride.”
Buck’s eyes widened, jumping from the saddle to the mare. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Ed. What if Rosemarie gets hurt? Is she an old horse, Ed?”
Eddie smiled patiently, recognizing the familiar surge of Buck’s protectiveness, this time aimed at his mare. He gently took the saddle from Buck’s hands. “Mi Amor, she will be fine. She’s a strong girl. My dad and Christopher's cousins ride her every day. She’s not fragile, just wise. Besides, she needs to know she can trust you on her back.”

Buck hesitated for a beat longer, his gaze flicking between Eddie’s steady confidence and the mare’s calm demeanor. “Fine, Ed. I am trusting you.”
Eddie helped him saddle up, giving him quick, easy instructions on how to mount. Buck was naturally athletic and quickly found his balance. Eddie mounted another horse, a strong bay gelding, and they set off at a slow, comfortable walk along the perimeter fence, the rhythm of the horses easing them both into a deeper state of relaxation.
Riding through the dusty fields, Buck felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with pure joy. It was a new kind of partnership—one that relied on instinct and trust, just like his work with Eddie, but conducted under the vast, open Texas sky.

They rode for nearly an hour before heading back toward the barn. As they dismounted, Buck patted Rosemarie’s neck gratefully.
“Okay, you were right,” Buck admitted, grinning. “She was amazing. And she definitely moves faster than the ladder truck.”
“Everything moves faster than the ladder truck,” Eddie laughed, his arm wrapping around Buck’s waist as they walked. He felt anchored, solid, and ready for whatever holiday chaos Los Angeles could throw at them—unaware that the most unpredictable chaos of all was already awaiting Buck in the form of his parents.

They led the horses back to the stable, the slow, meditative rhythm of the ride leaving a profound sense of peace. Buck was still buzzing from the unfamiliar joy of riding, but as they worked side-by-side, cooling the horses down, a wave of profound melancholy washed over him.
He looked around the barn, at the sturdy wooden beams, the familiar, comforting dirt floor, the stable scent of hay and horse sweat. This entire place felt like an anchor.
Buck dropped the brush he was using on Rosemarie's coat and turned to face Eddie, his expression suddenly heavy.

“What if I told you I don’t want to go back to L.A.?” Buck asked, the question barely a whisper.
Eddie stopped his work immediately, his focus snapping entirely to Buck. He leaned against the mare’s flank, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes searching Buck’s face. He could see the familiar shadow of anxiety starting to creep back in.
“Why?” Eddie asked gently.

“I have this feeling,” Buck confessed, running a hand through his hair. “That if we go back, something might happen that could break all this joy. This, right here. This moment feels so secure. What if the moment we step off the plane, the universe hits us with a giant reminder that we’re not allowed to be this happy?”
Eddie walked toward him, closing the space between them. He took Buck's face in his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“Listen to me, Evan,” Eddie said, his voice firm and steady, cutting through the fear. “This joy? This us? It didn’t happen because of a time zone or a horse. This happened because we finally stopped running from each other.”
He kissed Buck, a quick, reassuring press of lips.

“My dad kept Rosemarie because she was home, a promise of stability,” Eddie continued, his thumbs brushing circles on Buck’s cheeks. “But our home isn’t this ranch. It’s not even that house in L.A. Our home is wherever you, me, and Christopher are. It’s what we build together, day after day, in the middle of all the chaos.”
Eddie’s gaze was unwavering. “The bad stuff will happen, Buck. It always does. That’s the job, that’s life. But it won’t break this, because this is what we use to glue ourselves back together. You and I, we’re the anchor now.”

He rested his forehead against Buck’s. “We go back because our chosen family misses us, and we go back because that’s where our family is. Plus, we have to get back our very Velcro Dog, who is probably driving Bobby and Athena crazy

And if something tries to break our joy, we’ll fight it together. Okay?”
Buck took a shaky breath, the fear slowly receding, replaced by the warmth of Eddie’s certainty. He nodded, a slow, sure movement.
“Okay,” Buck breathed. “Tactical deployment accepted.”

“Good,” Eddie smiled, pulling him into a tight hug. “Now, let’s go pack. Tía Pepa has already packed enough tamales in the cooler to last us until New Year’s, and we have a very long drive back home.”