Archive of Our Own

The call was definitely not normal.

Sure, on paper it was a structural fire in a three-story building —the kind they saw every other week, the kind that came with muscle memory and routine. But this one felt wrong the moment they pulled up. The air was thicker, heavier, like the city itself was holding its breath.

Because this time, there was a man with a gun on the third floor. A kidnapper. And somewhere in there —a hostage.

The fire had already eaten through most of the second floor, windows shattered and spitting embers into the night air. The whole structure groaned under its own weight, trembling like a wounded animal. One more strong gust of wind and it would collapse in on itself, taking whoever was still inside.

Bobby, calm as ever, had made the call right away. 

“We stay outside. Defensive attack only. We’re not risking lives for something that’s not ours to fix.” His voice was firm, resolute —that voice that usually kept everyone in check. Usually.

So the team followed orders. They positioned themselves strategically, hoses ready, the bright arcs of water cutting through smoke. They waited for SWAT, for backup, for someone whose job it was to walk into the kind of danger that carried bullets instead of flames.

But Buck… Buck had never been good at waiting.

Somewhere in the chaos, his sharp eyes caught something no one else had noticed —a side entrance, halfway hidden behind a tangle of debris. The metal door hung ajar, untouched by the fire, a clean corridor of opportunity leading straight into the building’s right side.

And that was all the temptation he needed.

He told himself it was logical —that if he could just get in there, maybe he could talk the kidnapper down, convince him to walk out before the whole place came down on their heads. After all, Chimney once talked an arsonist out of burning an entire complex. Words could save lives. Words were his way in.

'So what if he’s got a gun?' Buck thought as he adjusted his turnout coat and cinched the straps tighter on his SCBA. 'I’ve handled worse. We’ve all handled worse.'

He gave one last glance toward the others, all of them focused on the blaze. Then, with the kind of reckless grace only Buck could pull off, he grabbed the nearest hose, pretending to help with the exterior work, and slipped around the corner. A heartbeat later, he was gone —swallowed by smoke and shadow.

Outside, Eddie was sweeping the perimeter, eyes narrowed against the glare of the flames. He caught a flicker of movement —a shadow darting toward that same side entrance.

His stomach dropped.

He scanned the team. One, two, three… Buck. Buck was missing.

“Son of a—” Eddie bit off the curse, jaw tightening. Of course it was him. Of course the one man who couldn’t stand still had to run straight into the fire —into that fire.

He could hear Buck’s voice in his head, too clearly, too vividly. “If someone’s in there, you know I can’t just stand here and do nothing, Eds.”

And damn it, he was right. That was Buck. Always throwing himself between danger and anyone else, like he had something to prove —like his heart refused to accept its own limits.

Eddie’s pulse was hammering now, faster than his thoughts could catch up. He strained to see through the smoke, through the orange blur that had swallowed his best friend. His best everything, if he was being honest. Every second that passed without seeing that stupid blue helmet again felt like another punch to the chest.

He didn’t even realize he was moving until he was already at Bobby’s side.

“Cap,” Eddie said, voice rough, too steady for how hard his heart was beating. “Buck’s inside.”

And in the silence that followed, Eddie swore he could still hear Buck’s voice echoing faintly in his head —reckless, earnest, and full of light.

‘If someone’s in there, you know I can’t just stand here and do nothing, Eds.’

Buck moved through the hallway like a shadow swallowed by smoke. The moment he stepped inside, the air changed —thicker, darker, wrong. Every breath burned like he was inhaling through fire.

The radio on his shoulder crackled with his name almost instantly —Bobby’s voice sharp, commanding, edged with worry. Buck lowered the volume but didn’t turn it off. He left the channel open so they could hear him, if they needed to. If something went wrong.

The heat was unbearable. Sweat clung beneath his turnout gear, trickling down his back in slow, sticky lines. Every creak of the floorboards screamed in protest beneath his boots, the sound echoing like a warning. The smoke was dense, black, swirling and hungry; it blurred the world down to five feet of visibility.

He found the staircase by touch more than sight, his gloved hand gliding along a wall slick with soot. The steps groaned under his weight, but he climbed carefully, one at a time, whispering under his breath —not a prayer, but something close to it.

By the time he reached the third floor, the smoke thinned just enough for light to seep through the cracks —orange, trembling light that flickered like a dying heartbeat. He could hear something ahead. Not the fire. Voices.

A man’s voice —furious, desperate.
And a girl’s —soft, trembling, a whisper of fear.

Buck’s stomach twisted. He moved closer, quiet and deliberate, until he could see them at the end of the corridor.

The man was standing near the far wall, wild-eyed and shaking. The gun in his hand gleamed in the half-light, aimed at a teenage girl —fifteen, maybe sixteen. She was on the floor, her face streaked with dirt and tears, clutching something wrapped in a grimy jacket. Buck’s chest tightened when he realized what it was. A baby.

The girl had the infant pressed tight to her chest, shielding its face from the smoke. The child’s tiny hand peeked from the fabric, trembling.

“Stop right there!” the man shouted. His voice cracked, too loud, too raw. He raised the gun higher, and Buck froze, hands instinctively half-raised.

“Hey,” Buck said, gently, his tone steady despite the pounding of his pulse. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He extended both hands, palms open. “My name’s Evan. I’m a firefighter, see? Nobody has to get hurt.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t reach for his radio. He knew one wrong sound could set everything off.

The man’s grip on the gun was unsteady —his hands trembling, his face a mess of soot, sweat, and tears.

“Don’t come any closer!” he barked, voice hoarse from smoke and fear. “Don’t you dare!”

Buck nodded slowly, swallowing hard. His mouth tasted like ash and iron —blood from biting his cheek too hard. 

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’m not moving.”

He glanced at the girl, who looked up for the first time. Her eyes were red and swollen, her breathing shallow. The baby whimpered, a weak, pitiful sound. Buck’s heart twisted. 

“She needs air,” he murmured, voice still calm. “And the baby—”

“Shut up!” the man shouted, his spit glinting in the firelight. “You don’t know anything!”

Buck didn’t flinch. He’d seen fear wear many masks —anger, guilt, grief. He knew which one this was.

“I know you’re scared,” Buck said quietly. “That things got out of control.” He gestured slightly toward the growing flames licking up the wallpaper. “But this—” his voice cracked softly, “this doesn’t have to be how it ends.”

The man’s expression shifted —from rage to something almost fragile. His chest hitched as he blinked rapidly, tears carving pale trails down his soot-streaked face.

“S-She was gonna leave,” he said, voice breaking. “W-With my son. My baby. She was gonna take him away from me.”

Buck exhaled shakily. He understood too well the ache of losing someone you thought you couldn’t live without. He hated what this man had done — the fear he’d caused —but he could see it now: underneath all that anger was just… loss.

“This is about losing someone,” Buck whispered. His voice was soft, but it carried — something about it reminded him of Eddie, that low, grounding tone Eddie used when Buck’s mind spun too fast. “Believe me, I know how that feels.”

The man stared at him, confusion flickering through the haze.

“The emptiness,” Buck continued, taking the smallest step forward, “the rage, the fear that nothing makes sense anymore —I’ve been there. It eats at you. But if you stay here, if you let them die with you…” His voice broke. “It won’t bring anything back. It’ll only take more from you.”

The man’s breathing hitched again. His arm wavered —then slowly, finally, the gun dipped lower.

And that’s when Buck heard it —the soft, weak cry of the baby. That tiny, beautiful sound of life in the middle of all this chaos. It was all the reminder he needed.

He took a slow step forward. 

“The baby needs to come out,” he said, his voice firmer now. “I’m not asking you to trust me. Just… trust that I want to help. You. Her. Him.”

The fire popped somewhere nearby, sending sparks cascading from the ceiling. The sound made the girl flinch, clutching the baby tighter. Buck reached a hand toward her, careful not to break eye contact with the man.

“Give me the baby,” he said softly. “That’s all. I’ll come back for you both. But he needs clean air. He’s too small —the smoke will hurt him faster than us.”

The girl hesitated, torn between fear and hope. Her lips trembled. 

“You’ll come back?” she whispered, voice barely audible.

“I swear it,” Buck said, with the kind of conviction that made people believe him. “I won’t leave you.”

The man blinked, his expression unraveling completely. For a moment, he seemed to see Buck —not the firefighter, not the stranger— but the truth in him.

Then came the sound —a low groan, deep and awful, from somewhere above. Buck’s instincts screamed.

The man nodded faintly. 

“Okay… take him.”

Buck moved quickly but gently. The baby was lighter than he expected, small enough to fit against his chest with one arm. He barely had time to breathe before the ceiling screamed —metal and wood tearing apart.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

Buck lunged forward, wrapping one arm around the girl and the other around the baby, pulling them both out of the way as a ceiling beam came crashing down. The impact shook the floor, sending a wave of heat and dust that stole the breath from his lungs.

The blast sent him to his knees. The world went white with noise. His ears rang, his throat burned, but the weight of the baby against his chest told him what mattered: they were alive.

“Hey, hey—” he coughed, voice rough. “Are you okay?”

The girl blinked at him, dazed, then nodded, clutching his arm. “The baby?”

Buck loosened his hold just enough for her to see the tiny face pressed against his jacket. The infant whimpered but was breathing. Alive.

He turned to look for the man —but the place where he’d been standing was now a roaring inferno, flames devouring the space.

Buck clenched his jaw, forcing himself up, keeping the girl close and the baby tighter. The building groaned again, another warning.

They ran —or stumbled, at least— through the smoke. Buck’s lungs screamed for air, his vision fading around the edges. When a burst of fire exploded across the doorway, he felt the heat slam into him like a wall.

It was too much. Too late.

The baby cried again, loud and scared, and that sound snapped something inside him. Buck grabbed his radio, thumb slamming the intercom.

“Mayday, mayday,” he rasped. “I have two victims. Repeat, two alive. I need a safe way out. Now!”

The line hissed with static —then Bobby’s voice came through, sharp and terrified.

“Buck? Buck, hold on. We’re coming for you.”

And as Buck held that child close, with the girl trembling at his side and fire closing in around them, he whispered under his breath, like a promise:

“You’re gonna make it out. I swear it.”

Outside the burning house, chaos had shape —smoke curling into the sky, sirens howling, the ground vibrating under the pounding of boots. But to Eddie, it all faded into a single, terrifying silence.

Because Buck was inside.

The second he told Bobby, everything erupted into motion. Orders flew, hoses shifted, SWAT vehicles screeched to a halt. Blue and red lights flickered against the ash-streaked walls, painting the night like a bruise.

And still, Eddie stood there, staring at the flames devouring the windows, his hand tight around the radio like he could will Buck to answer.

Bobby’s eyes had gone hard —not angry, not surprised, just that quiet kind of fear that only came when one of their own was on the line. 

“All right. Everyone hold position. SWAT’s almost here.”

They arrived seconds later —black uniforms, heavy gear, clipped voices barking into headsets. They moved like precision, scanning, assessing, waiting for the perfect tactical moment.

But none of them went in.

Because through the static and the smoke, they could hear.

From the open channel, Buck’s voice came through —soft, calm, deliberate. A man trying to talk someone off a ledge. Eddie froze, every nerve straining toward the sound. He could make out pieces of the conversation, enough to know Buck was inside with the armed suspect… and then, faintly, the sound of a baby crying.

It was like the world stopped breathing. Even the SWAT commander hesitated, eyes flicking toward Bobby, then the thermal monitor —where two bright shapes stood face-to-face, the smaller ones huddled between them.

Then, suddenly, the larger shape lowered its arm. The gun.

Bobby exhaled shakily. “He’s doing it. He’s got him talking.”

But Eddie couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. His heart was pounding too hard, the kind of rhythm that hurts, like it’s trying to escape his chest. Every breath burned. Every second without hearing Buck’s voice felt like a lifetime.

He pressed the radio again. 

“Buck, get out of there. That’s an order.”

Static.

“Buck, status.”

Nothing.

All he could hear were distant murmurs —Buck’s voice, low and gentle, the other man’s ragged breathing, and the faintest, fragile whimper of a child.

Eddie’s knuckles were white around the radio. He trusted Buck. God, he trusted him more than anyone. Buck was incredible at this — at reading people, at finding the one thread of humanity left and holding onto it. But that didn’t stop the storm in his chest, the dread crawling up his throat, the way his lungs refused to work right when he imagined what could happen in there.

Then came the sound —the kind that slices through every other noise.

A crash. Loud. Violent. The building shuddered, the roof collapsing in on itself with a shriek of tortured metal.

Thermal images on the screen blinked out. Gone.

“Roof just went down!” someone shouted. “We’ve lost visual!”

The SWAT commander was already barking orders into his headset, but Eddie’s focus narrowed to the hole in the roof, where flames spat into the night. His heartbeat roared in his ears. His body moved before his mind caught up.

“Eddie,” Bobby’s voice snapped through the chaos, “don’t even think about it.”

Eddie had already reached for his mask. He adjusted the straps with trembling hands, his expression carved in stone.

“SWAT will handle it,” Bobby tried again, firmer this time.

Eddie turned, eyes burning with something deeper than fear. 

“It’s Buck, Bobby.”

There wasn’t room for anything else. No logic. No protocol. Just that single truth.

He grabbed a fire extinguisher and started running. Someone yelled his name —maybe Bobby, maybe Hen— but he didn’t hear. The sound of his boots against pavement drowned everything out.

Chimney watched, wide-eyed, as Eddie sprinted past a group of SWAT officers. 

“And there goes the boyfriend,” he muttered, shaking his head with something that sounded like admiration more than disbelief.

Eddie didn’t stop. He didn’t care that the house was a coffin of flames, that the structure was seconds from collapse. He only knew that Buck was in there, and that if he didn’t go, he might never get another chance.

The moment he stepped inside, heat slammed into him like a living thing. He moved on instinct —checking corners, extinguishing fire where he could, forcing a path open up the charred stairs.

The radio hissed suddenly to life. Eddie froze, hope bursting through the haze.

“Buck?” he called, voice breaking through the mask.

Static. Then —a cough.

“Breathing,” Buck rasped, weak but alive. “Barely. But I’ve got them.”

Eddie’s knees nearly gave out. A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob caught in his throat, swallowed by the rebreather’s hiss.

He exhaled hard, pressing forward, clearing debris, fighting through heat and smoke that stung his eyes. 

“Hold on, babe,” he said, half to the radio, half to himself. “I’m coming.”

And then he heard it —faint, distorted by the flames, but unmistakable. Buck’s voice.

Somewhere up on the third floor.

Eddie pushed through the wreckage, his heart pounding against his ribs, his whole body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline and something that felt dangerously like love.

“Hang on, Buck,” he whispered, his voice raw and desperate. “Just hang on.”

As if the universe had heard him —or maybe just Eddie had— Buck barely finished speaking into the radio before a sharp sound split through the crackle of fire.

A thud. Then another.

And suddenly, the door in front of him burst open with a violent clang. The hiss of a fire extinguisher followed, its high-pitched whine cutting through the roar of the flames as white foam swept across the floor, smothering the fire that had been his last obstacle. Smoke curled away like startled ghosts, and for the first time in what felt like hours, Buck saw light.

And then he saw him.

Eddie.

Helmet on, soot streaked across his face, eyes burning —wild with fear, relief, and something deeper that Buck didn’t have time to name. He was moving before Buck could even blink, charging through the dying flames until they collided halfway across the ruined room.

It wasn’t graceful. Their helmets clanked, their breathing masks bumped, but the moment Eddie’s hands found Buck’s shoulders, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t just a hug —it was a grounding, desperate pull back to life. Buck exhaled shakily into the curve of Eddie’s neck, lungs finally remembering how to work.

For a few seconds, neither spoke. The only sound was the fire around them, the baby’s faint cries muffled against Buck’s chest, the teenager coughing softly beside them.

Then Eddie’s voice broke the spell —sharp, raw, threaded with emotion.

“You’re out of your own fucking head, Buckley!” he yelled, though his voice cracked halfway through, the anger half-drowned by the sheer relief of seeing him breathing, moving, alive.

Buck’s laugh came out hoarse, shaky, the kind that carried more exhaustion than humor. “Yeah,” he said, blinking through smoke and sweat. 

“You could’ve just said you missed me.”

Eddie stepped back only enough to look him over, scanning for injuries with practiced eyes. He noticed the limp instantly —the way Buck’s weight shifted, how his left leg trembled beneath the turnout gear. Without hesitating, Eddie slipped an arm around him, bracing his side.

“Of course you’re hurt,” Eddie muttered, his voice dropping low, equal parts fond and furious. “You can’t ever make it easy, can you?”

Buck chuckled weakly, still cradling the baby with one arm. The girl stood pressed against Eddie’s other side, her face streaked with soot and tears, eyes dazed but alive. Buck reached out a gloved hand, brushing her shoulder gently.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Told you we’d get out.”

She nodded, silent, clutching his sleeve like she didn’t quite believe they were real.

Eddie guided them forward, his steps steady, his body angled protectively around both Buck and the girl as the building moaned in protest above them. Debris fell in bursts, flames licking at the walls, but the worst of it was behind them now.

“I told you I’d get her out,” Buck said after a moment, his tone laced with that teasing arrogance Eddie knew too well —the kind that tried to disguise how close he’d come to not making it.

Eddie shot him a look, eyes narrowing behind his mask. 

“You’re lucky I don’t knock you out and drag you myself.”

Buck grinned, though his face softened when he met Eddie’s gaze —saw the fear that still lingered there, the emotion Eddie didn’t know how to hide anymore. 

“You worried about me?”

Eddie let out a huff, half laugh, half sigh. “You don’t make it easy not to.”

Buck’s grin faltered, his throat tightening as he tried to swallow the lump of emotion threatening to choke him. 

“Guess I’ll try harder next time.”

“Next time,” Eddie repeated, tightening his arm around him. “There’s not gonna be a next time.”

The heat pressed in again as they moved through the hallway, their boots crunching on burnt glass and ash. Every few steps, Eddie murmured small things —updates, reassurances, curses— just to fill the air, just to keep Buck grounded.

Almost there. You’re good. Keep breathing, Buck.

Outside, the world exploded into chaos as they emerged —medics rushing, shouts rising, a wave of cool night air crashing into them. The instant Eddie’s boots hit open ground, his knees nearly buckled under the weight of everything he’d been holding in.

Buck, still clinging to the baby, looked up at him with a crooked, exhausted smile.

“Told you I had them.”

Eddie stared at him for a long beat, something soft and fierce flickering behind his eyes —the kind of look that said everything he couldn’t say out loud.

Then he exhaled, laughter bubbling up, broken but real. “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head as tears mixed with soot on his cheeks. “You did, Buck. You did.”

And for the first time that night, with the fire dying behind them and the stars finally visible above the smoke, Eddie let himself believe they were safe.

The night air hit Buck like a wave —sharp, cool, almost cruel in how alive it felt after the suffocating heat inside. He sucked in a breath, shaky and raw, his lungs protesting the sudden change as the paramedics rushed toward them.

Everything blurred for a moment: lights flashing red and white, voices calling orders, the faint wail of sirens echoing in the distance. The girl was gently lifted onto a stretcher, soot smudged across her forehead, her small hand still gripping the edge of Buck’s turnout jacket until a medic eased her fingers free. The baby was placed beside her, crying now —a healthy, furious little sound that somehow made Buck’s knees weak with relief.

Hen appeared then, calm in the chaos, her expression tight but her touch steady as she guided Buck to sit down on the tailboard of the ambulance.

“Sit still, Buck,” she said, already pulling off her gloves and reaching for her kit. “Let me take a look before you decide to collapse on me.”

He opened his mouth to argue —reflex, habit— but Eddie was already there, hand on his shoulder, steering him down gently. And Buck didn’t fight it. Not this time.

Hen started her exam —flashlight, questions, pulse check— and Eddie didn’t move an inch. Even when Buck flinched at the press of Hen’s fingers against his bruised leg, Eddie was there, catching his hand in his own, grounding him. When Buck coughed, Eddie tightened his hold a little, thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand like he could calm the storm that still lingered in his chest.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Eddie murmured, though it sounded like he needed to believe it as much as Buck did.

Hen’s gaze flicked between them, softening for just a second before she nodded. 

“Smoke inhalation, mild burns, possible sprain,” she said, standing. “You’ll live, Buckaroo.”

Then she turned, walking away to check on the others, and just like that, the world around them dimmed. The chaos still existed —radios crackling, hoses hissing— but it all faded into a distant hum.

Eddie stayed right where he was. He didn’t let go.

He reached for a clean towel, dipped it into a bucket of cold water, wrung it out with shaking hands, and began wiping the soot from Buck’s face. The movements were careful but unsteady, his jaw tight, his eyes darting across every bruise, every cut, every smudge of ash.

Buck tried for humor, but it came out soft and frayed. 

“You’re getting good at this, you know. You could make a career out of cleaning me up after near-death experiences.”

Eddie didn’t laugh. Not yet. His throat worked as he swallowed, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low —too low, almost breaking.

“You could have died in there,” he whispered, the words trembling with everything he hadn’t let himself feel until now. “Jesus, Buck… you could’ve died.”

Buck looked at him —really looked— and saw the fear still burning behind Eddie’s eyes. It wasn’t anger, not really. It was love twisted up in terror.

“I saved them, Eds,” Buck said quietly. “Don’t you think it’s worth the risk?”

Eddie froze, towel still in his hand, water dripping onto the ground between them. He wanted to be rational, to remind Buck that he didn’t need to play the hero every damn time. But logic didn’t stand a chance against the way Buck was looking at him —bruised, stubborn, alive.

He exhaled shakily, his hand coming up to cup Buck’s cheek, thumb tracing over soot-stained skin. 

“Don’t say that,” he whispered. “For me… it would never be worth losing you.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The world outside could’ve burned down again, and Eddie wouldn’t have noticed.

Buck’s lips curled into a small, tender smile —the kind that lit up the edges of his face even when everything hurt. 

“Guess you’ll just have to keep saving me, then,” he murmured, eyes lifting to meet Eddie’s. “I knew you’d come for me.”

Eddie’s chest ached. God, he wanted to be angry. He wanted to shake him, tell him to stop being so damn reckless —but all that came out was a hoarse laugh.

“Don’t give me a reason to do it again,” he said, dipping the towel back into the water and brushing it over Buck’s temple. “You need to stop running into danger like you’re immortal.”

“Not even to rescue myself from my own heroic impulses?” Buck teased, his tone light but his gaze soft, searching Eddie’s face for something unspoken.

Eddie’s lips twitched despite himself. 

“Not even those,” he said, and this time, the words came with a quiet chuckle. “God, you’re impossible.”

Buck’s grin widened, teeth flashing through the grime, eyes sparkling with a familiar mischief that made Eddie’s heart loosen in his chest. 

“But you love me anyway.”

Eddie paused —just a fraction of a second— as the world seemed to still around them. The fire’s glow reflected in his eyes, warm and tired and utterly certain.

He nodded slowly, the corner of his mouth curving up as he let the truth slip out like a secret he’d been holding for too long.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Of course I do.”

And for the first time since the flames began, Buck finally let himself breathe.

Bobby let them go early that night. He didn’t even have to think about it —one look at the pair of them and he knew. Eddie, still pale from the adrenaline crash, standing shoulder to shoulder with Buck, who looked like he could collapse any second but still insisted he was fine. Always fine.

“Go home,” Bobby said, voice gentle but firm. “A couple of guys from C shift’re already on their way. You’ve both done enough for today.”

Buck opened his mouth, ready to argue —of course he did— but Bobby cut him off with a single raised hand. “That’s an order, Buckley.”

And that was that.

Eddie didn’t say a word as they walked to the truck, just placed a steadying hand on Buck’s back, guiding him with the same quiet care he used when Christopher had bad dreams. Buck leaned into the touch a little more than he probably meant to, but Eddie didn’t mind. He was too relieved to care that his best friend —his boyfriend, his everything— was still walking beside him instead of being carried out on a stretcher.

The drive home was quiet in that soft, late-night way that wrapped around them like a blanket. The city lights blurred through the windshield, the hum of the engine steady beneath the low murmur of the radio. Buck sat in the passenger seat, one leg stretched out awkwardly, ankle propped up the way Hen had told him to. She’d given him something for the swelling, and it had started to kick in, leaving him half-drowsy, half-loopy, words tumbling out unfiltered.

“Y’know,” Buck mumbled, head lolling slightly toward the window, “fire’s got nothing on how I feel when you look at me like that.”

Eddie’s hands tightened just a little on the steering wheel.

He didn’t look over, didn’t say a word, just kept driving with the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. But his chest ached in that soft, stupid way that came only from Buck —from the way he said things so effortlessly, so honestly, like the truth didn’t scare him at all.

“Go to sleep, babe,” Eddie said finally, low and fond.

Buck hummed something that sounded suspiciously like, “Love you too,” before his breathing evened out.

By the time they got home, Christopher was already asleep —sprawled out across his bed, a book open on his chest and the night-light painting stars across his face. Eddie brushed a hand through his son’s hair, tucked the blanket around him, and stood there a moment longer than necessary. Because today had been too close. Because he’d almost had to explain to Chris why Buck wasn’t coming home.

But Buck was home. Limping, grinning, leaning on the couch with an exaggerated groan about how“Hen’s medicine must’ve been designed for elephants.

“It’s still too early to go to bed, Eddie,” he complained as Eddie came back from the kitchen, towel slung over his shoulder, two steaming mugs in hand.

Eddie raised a brow, setting one cup down in front of him. 

“You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“M’ not tired,” Buck insisted —right before stifling a yawn.

Eddie couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him. 

“See what happens when you think you’re invincible?” he said, handing over the tea and sitting beside him. His voice was meant to sound scolding, but his tone betrayed him —soft, affectionate, heavy with the kind of love he didn’t even bother hiding anymore.

Buck sipped, grimacing playfully at the heat before meeting Eddie’s gaze. 

“You mean when I end up being rescued by my best friend and boyfriend, who just so happens to make the best tea in the world?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but his cheeks warmed despite himself. 

“Flattery’s not gonna get you another cookie,” he muttered.

Buck leaned his head back against the couch, smiling —that wide, bright grin that could probably power the entire city if someone figured out how to harness it. “Didn’t say it for the cookie,” he said softly. “Just wanted to remind you that I’m lucky as hell.”

And just like that, Eddie melted. Because it didn’t matter how many fires they walked through or how many times Buck ran headfirst into danger —somehow, this was always where they ended up: side by side, laughter lingering in the air, hearts still racing for all the right reasons.

Without a word, Eddie leaned in and kissed him —quick, gentle, but full of everything he didn’t need to say out loud.

When he pulled back, Buck looked dazed for half a second before whispering, “You should do that more often.”

Eddie chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair away from Buck’s forehead. 

“Drink your tea before it gets cold, hero.”

And Buck did, smiling into the rim of the cup.

The fire had gone out hours ago, but Eddie still felt the warmth lingering in his chest every time Buck looked at him like that —like he was the safest place in the world.

Because some fires never really burn out.