Archive of Our Own

No one expected anything to happen that night.

Or rather, Eddie didn’t.

The firehouse had been quiet for hours, the kind of eerie calm that made them all a little restless. Even Buck had stopped pacing, sprawled on the worn couch with his boots still on, half-asleep with a protein bar in his hand. Eddie had almost said out loud that it was too peaceful —then wisely decided he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

Still, fate had a sense of humor.

Because when the alarm finally blared through the station, it wasn’t a routine call or a kitchen fire. It was chaos —pure and absolute. A building engulfed, thick smoke curling into the night sky like it had been waiting all evening just for them.

By the time they arrived, Buck and Eddie were already in sync. Years of working side by side had turned communication into instinct. A glance. A nod. No words needed. They split off, sweeping through the flames, their stomachs twisting tighter with every lifeless figure they came across. The heat gnawed at them, the air was thick and angry, and their usual banter —the thing that kept them steady— was gone.

Only gasps.

Only silence.

Only the sound of boots crunching on glass and ash.

Then Buck froze.

He grabbed Eddie’s sleeve mid-step, fingers digging into the fabric. 

“Wait.”

Eddie blinked through the haze. 

“Buck, what—”

Buck held up a hand. 

“Shh.”

The two stood still. The world was roaring around them —flames hissing, ceilings cracking— but then, beneath it all, something else broke through.

A scream.

Thin. Small. Not the kind that belonged to an adult.

It came again, softer this time. A whimper. A child’s cry.

Eddie’s pulse spiked. 

“There!” 

He didn’t wait for an answer. He was already moving, boots pounding down the narrow hall, smoke curling around him like angry ghosts. He kicked through a half-burnt door and stumbled into what must’ve once been a home.

Crayon drawings lined the walls —stick figures with too-big smiles, suns with sunglasses. A tiny life once lived here.

Eddie crouched low, scanning the floor. 

“Come on, kiddo, where are you…” His voice was steady, even though his heart was not. 

Then —there. A flicker of movement under the bed.

He ducked down.

A little boy stared back at him, eyes wide and wet, face smudged with soot. He couldn’t have been more than four. He was wearing white pajamas, the kind meant for doodling on —little marker stains still faint on the sleeves. Bare feet. Trembling hands.

Eddie smiled, soft but firm. 

“Hey, champ. I’m Eddie, I’m a firefighter.” He crawled a bit closer, ignoring the sting of the burning floor beneath his palms. “It’s time to get out of here, okay? It’s really hot, and we don’t want you getting sick.”

The boy blinked, then slowly, bravely, crawled out. As soon as he was close enough, his tiny arms reached out —pure trust, no hesitation— and Eddie didn’t waste a second. He scooped the kid up, wrapping him in a blanket pulled from the bed and grabbing a stuffed dinosaur from the floor on the way out. 

“Here, he’ll help us be brave.” he murmured, tucking the toy under the boy’s arm. “I’m gonna cover your face so you don’t breathe the smoke, but you can hold on to me, okay? Hold on tight.”

The boy nodded, pressing his little face against Eddie’s chest. His fingers clung to the firefighter’s jacket like it was the only solid thing in the world.

Buck watched from the doorway, throat thick. He didn’t have to ask; Eddie’s eyes told him everything. The kid’s parents hadn’t made it.

Buck swallowed hard, jaw tight, and nodded once. That was all they needed to say.

With a grim nod, Buck moved ahead, clearing the path. The building groaned above them, the world a storm of orange and black, but Eddie’s voice stayed sure.

“Okay, champ, I’ve got you,” Eddie whispered as they moved, his tone turning softer than Buck had ever heard it —gentle, steady, almost like a lullaby. The boy’s small hand peeked out from the blanket, fingers trembling. Buck brushed them with his gloved hand, just enough to let the kid know he wasn’t alone.

“See? We’re right here, buddy,” Buck said quietly, and the little hand squeezed his finger back. “You’re safe now.”

By the time they stepped out into the open air, the night was loud again —sirens wailing, radios crackling, firefighters shouting orders. Smoke still curled up from the building like it refused to admit defeat. Eddie didn’t slow down until he reached the waiting ambulance, his arms still wrapped protectively around the little boy.

Hen and Chimney were already there, moving fast and efficient, their hands steady even after everything they’d seen tonight.

“Got a live one?” Chimney asked, his tone lighter than the situation, because that was how he worked —humor first, heartbreak later.

“Yeah,” Buck said, his voice rough with smoke and exhaustion. “He’s been a champ through all of it.”

But the moment they tried to transfer the boy onto the stretcher, the little one’s composure cracked. He started crying —a sharp, panicked sound that sliced right through the noise— and clung to Eddie’s jacket with both fists, shaking his head hard enough to make his hair flop in every direction.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie murmured quickly, crouching a little, keeping his tone calm even when his heart twisted. “You’re safe, I promise. These guys are just gonna help make sure you’re okay, alright?”

The boy only tightened his grip, his face pressed into Eddie’s turnout coat, little shoulders trembling.

So Eddie did what Eddie always did —he adapted.

He climbed up and sat right on the stretcher, keeping the boy on his lap, blanket and all. 

“See? We’re just sitting here, nothing scary. Hen and Chim are really nice, you’re gonna like them.”

Hen gave him a grateful smile and started checking the boy’s vitals, speaking softly. 

“Hey there, sweetheart. I’m Hen. Can I take a look at your arm real quick? Won’t hurt, promise.”

Buck moved to the boy’s other side, crouching so they were eye-level. He reached out, gently rubbing the back of the boy’s tiny hand with his thumb. 

“You did so good in there, buddy. Way braver than most adults, huh?”

The boy peeked at him from under the blanket, still hiccupping softly, but his little hand didn’t pull away.

Chimney glanced up from his kit. 

“His breathing’s a little shallow; we need to get him to the hospital.” He carefully pulled the sheet back up over the boy’s shoulders, offering a small, reassuring grin. “You’re okay, kiddo. You’ve got the dream team with you tonight.”

The boy didn’t answer. He just kept staring at Eddie, those wide, exhausted eyes full of silent questions Eddie didn’t have the heart to ignore.

Eddie cleared his throat. 

“Can I go with him?”

Hen looked up at Bobby, who stood nearby, helmet tucked under one arm. Bobby’s eyes met Eddie’s, and the answer came with a quiet nod.

“Stay with him,” Bobby said. “We’ll come get you when we’re done here.”

Eddie nodded, relieved, but his gaze drifted to Buck —who still hadn’t moved far from them. His face was softer now, that restless energy gone. There was something else in his eyes. Something Eddie recognized, because it was sitting heavy in his own chest too.

“Buck,” Eddie said gently. The sound made the little boy turn his head, reaching out from under the blanket until his small hand landed on Buck’s forearm.

That was it. Buck melted on the spot. His expression softened into something that looked dangerously close to heartbreak.

Eddie almost smiled. 

“Will you be okay?”

Buck opened his mouth —maybe to say I’m fine or yeah, go ahead— but Bobby stepped forward, resting a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Buck will go with you,” Bobby said, voice kind but firm. “We’ve confirmed all survivors are accounted for. The rest of us will handle the fire and… the recovery.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the building, then back to them. “That kid needs someone he can trust right now. And I can’t think of anyone better than the two guys who pulled him out of the flames.”

Eddie and Buck shared a glance —that unspoken understanding they always seemed to fall into. A silent you good? yeah, you? that didn’t need words.

They both nodded.

A few minutes later, the ambulance doors swung closed. The city lights flickered past through the narrow windows as they drove, siren low, the chaos behind them fading to a distant hum.

Eddie sat with the boy cradled in his lap, blanket tucked tight around him, while Buck perched sideways beside the stretcher, legs dangling off the edge. The boy’s tiny feet rested on Buck’s thighs, his stuffed dinosaur squished between his hands. Every now and then, his fingers would twitch, brushing against Buck’s knee —a little gesture of reassurance that he hadn’t lost them.

Buck chuckled softly, shaking his head. 

“You’ve got a strong grip for such a little guy.”

The boy sniffled but didn’t let go.

“Yeah, he’s not letting us go anytime soon,” Eddie said, a hint of fond amusement breaking through the exhaustion.

And for a brief, quiet moment —between the flashing lights, the hum of the engine, and the soft, steady breathing of the boy— it almost felt like peace.

At the hospital, everything slowed down.

The chaos of the fire had melted into fluorescent lights, antiseptic smells, and the steady beep of monitors. It should’ve felt calmer, but the adrenaline still buzzed faintly beneath their skin. Eddie hadn’t let go of the little boy —not once.

The boy stayed curled up on Eddie’s lap the entire time, wrapped in a blanket that still smelled faintly of smoke and melted crayons. Every now and then, Buck sat on the edge of the bed, keeping him entertained with a quiet rhythm of clapping games.

Buck had no idea what he was doing, but he kept going anyway, completely earnest. 

“Okay, you ready, buddy? Patty-cake, patty-cake —ow, no, that’s my thumb —baker’s man!”

Eddie snorted softly, watching as the kid giggled, missing every other clap but beaming like he’d won something. 

“You’re terrible at this,” Eddie murmured.

Buck grinned. 

“Hey, he’s laughing, isn’t he? I’d call that a win.”

Sometimes the kid just held Buck’s hands instead —tiny fingers pressing against the calloused ones that had pulled him out of the flames. Sometimes, when his eyelids fluttered, he’d lean back into Eddie’s chest, the rise and fall of it steadying his breathing. But through it all, he stayed in contact with both of them, like he was afraid one might disappear if he looked away.

When Athena walked in, her uniform immaculate despite the hour, her sharp eyes took in the entire scene in one sweep —the soot-stained firefighters, the sleeping child in Eddie’s lap, the faint soot smudge still on Buck’s cheek. Her expression softened in an instant.

“Is he awake?” she asked quietly.

They both shook their heads. Eddie adjusted the boy closer against his chest, and Buck absently threaded his fingers through the kid’s messy curls.

Athena stepped closer, her voice lowering. 

“We got an ID.” She looked at them, at the kid, at the faint smudge of soot on Buck’s cheek. “His name’s Emiliano. Five years old.”

Eddie blinked. The name hit harder than he expected —Emiliano. It felt too big, too formal, for such a small boy curled up in his lap.

Athena hesitated before continuing. 

“The only family listed besides his parents was his grandmother. She…” She exhaled slowly. “She didn’t make it either.”

Silence fell like a weight.

Buck’s hand stilled in the boy’s hair. His jaw clenched, eyes flicking to Eddie, then down at the child again. Emiliano let out a tiny sigh in his sleep, the kind that sounded too peaceful for a world that had just taken everything from him. Buck wanted to scoop him up, tuck him away somewhere safe forever —but all he could do was smooth his hand down the kid’s back, the gesture careful, tender.

Eddie stared at the boy too, his expression unreadable. But inside, something was twisting hard. That calm little face —it wouldn’t stay calm for long. Eddie knew that kind of quiet aftershock too well. He’d seen it before, in Christopher. He’d lived through it with him.

He’d seen it in himself.

And Emiliano would have to face it alone.

Unless…

Eddie’s eyes lifted, meeting Buck’s. The air between them tightened with something wordless —recognition, maybe. Understanding. Madness. All three, probably. Because they both knew what they were thinking, and they both knew how insane it was.

Still, it didn’t feel wrong. It felt inevitable.

Because if there was one thing they were both sure of, it was that no kid should ever have to go through that kind of loss by himself.

“Uh…” Eddie started, clearing his throat, which decided to betray him by sounding way too nervous. “The doctor said he might be discharged this morning. What —what happens to him then?”

Athena sighed softly, folding her arms. 

“Social Services is already on it. They’ll try to place him with a foster family. If not, he’ll be in one of their safe houses with other kids until they find him a temporary home.”

The words hit heavier than she meant them to. The kind of heaviness that settled in your stomach and stayed there.

Buck’s jaw clenched. He didn’t mean to, but it happened anyway. The words safe house sounded too cold for a child who still smelled faintly of smoke and crayons.

Eddie’s grip on the boy instinctively tightened. Buck didn’t miss it —he felt the same knot in his chest, that same ugly mix of anger and helplessness.

Athena looked between them, her gaze kind but knowing. 

“You could apply for temporary placement,” she added, voice gentler now. “Just until they find him a home. It might make you feel better knowing where he is.”

Eddie’s stomach twisted. “Yeah,” he said softly, “might.” His hand instinctively moved up to cradle Emiliano’s head as the boy shifted in his sleep, nuzzling closer.

The room went quiet again. Eddie and Buck exchanged another look —longer this time, steadier. Buck gave a small nod, like yeah, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?

Buck gave a small nod, lips pressing together. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

Eddie pressed his face into Emiliano’s hair, only to wrinkle his nose a second later. The kid smelled like smoke and ash, a hint of sweat and… maybe Play-Doh? 

“He smells like a barbecue.”

“So do you.” Buck chuckled.

Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“Thanks, Buck. Real supportive.”

Athena’s amused snort cut through the tension. 

“You two are hopeless,” she said, shaking her head as she started toward the door. Then, more softly, “Thanks for staying with him.”

Eddie looked up. “Thanks, Athena.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, offering one last smile before sighing. “I’ll go finish the report and wait for the social worker… Try to get some rest. You all look like you could use it.”

When she left, the door closed with a quiet click that somehow made the silence louder.

Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to.

Athena had only said out loud what they’d both already decided without needing words.

After the social worker’s visit and review of the entire situation, she sighed, adjusting her glasses as she looked at the two men —one with soot still clinging to his neck, the other trying (and failing) to keep his knee from bouncing. The small child was still nestled deep against Eddie’s chest, fast asleep, one hand tangled in the fabric of his jacket like it was a lifeline.

“I’ll submit the request,” she said, shuffling through the papers on her clipboard. Her tone was professional but not unkind. “The hospital can’t discharge him until he has a permanent place to go, so you can wait here while it’s processed.”

She hesitated, glancing up. 

“It’s… very sweet, what you want to do. But most likely, he’ll stay in a foster home, if one has space.”

Both men nodded. They didn’t argue, didn’t protest —they just looked down at the sleeping boy and, at the exact same time, crossed their fingers under the blanket. Hoping, silently and stupidly, that no foster home in all of Los Angeles had space tonight.

Buck broke the silence first, whispering, “How long d’you think that takes? The, uh, processing?”

Eddie shrugged, voice low. 

“Could be hours. Maybe till morning.”

Buck made a face like he’d just bitten into something sour. 

“Hours? We could’ve run another rescue by then.”

Eddie smirked. “Or you could just try sitting still for once in your life.”

“I am sitting still,” Buck protested, immediately bouncing his knee again.

Eddie tilted his head. 

“You sure about that?”

Buck opened his mouth, closed it, then crossed his legs like maybe that’d fix it. It didn’t. The metal chair creaked under him.

Across the room, a nurse shot him a look that clearly said don’t test me, and Buck sank deeper into the chair, mouthing a sheepish sorry.

Eddie chuckled quietly, and the sound made Emiliano stir, just a tiny movement —a shift of his head, a sleepy sigh against Eddie’s chest. The laughter died immediately, replaced by something softer.

“Hey,” Buck whispered, leaning forward, “he’s totally out, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, brushing a hand through the boy’s messy curls. “Guess saving his own life was exhausting.”

Buck gave a small, fond smile. “He’s tougher than he looks.”

“So are you,” Eddie said before he could think better of it.

Buck’s eyes flicked up, surprise flashing there before he laughed under his breath. “You sayin’ I don’t look tough?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re sitting in a children’s chair, Buck.”

Buck looked down. He was, in fact, sitting on a low plastic chair shaped like a cartoon turtle. 

“Okay, first of all, this was the only one left. Second, it’s ergonomically questionable.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said, lips twitching. “Real tough.”

The banter drew another faint sigh from the boy, who turned his face further into Eddie’s chest, curling up like a cat seeking warmth. The sight silenced them both.

Buck leaned back, letting out a slow breath. “You think he’s gonna be okay?”

Eddie didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the rise and fall of Emiliano’s back, the little hand still gripping his jacket like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.

“I think…” Eddie said quietly, “he will be. Eventually. But not if he has to do it alone.”

Something tightened between them —something unspoken, but alive and pulsing all the same.

Buck nodded once, slow and certain. “Then he won’t.”

It wasn’t a promise. Not officially. But it felt like one.

Minutes passed —or maybe an hour; hospitals had a way of bending time. A nurse came in with fresh coffee, which Buck accepted like it was holy water. Eddie passed on his cup, one hand still cradling Emiliano’s head as the boy murmured in his sleep.

“He keeps doing that,” Buck said softly. “Like he’s making sure you don’t go anywhere.”

“Smart kid,” Eddie murmured. “Knows better than to let go of a Diaz.”

Buck grinned into his cup. 

“What about a Buckley?”

Eddie snorted. 

“Those are harder to lose. They make too much noise.”

“Hey!”

“Am I wrong?”

Buck tried to look offended but failed miserably, because Emiliano stirred again —just barely— and Buck froze like a deer in headlights. 

“Oh my god, he almost woke up. Shh. You’re supposed to be the quiet one.”

“I am quiet,” Eddie said, lowering his voice automatically.

“Liar.”

They bickered in whispers for a good minute before realizing they were arguing over decibel levels in a hospital room, which made them both laugh —soft and tired, but real.

And when the laughter faded, all that was left was warmth.

Buck leaned his elbows on his knees, watching the boy sleep. Eddie shifted, just enough to keep the weight balanced against him, his thumb tracing idle circles against the blanket.

In that small, sterile hospital room, surrounded by the hum of machines and the faint smell of disinfectant, something quietly rewired itself —between the three of them.

Because somewhere between the sirens and the silence, they’d stopped being just rescuers.

Now, they were something else. Something closer.

The guys from the station showed up not long after their shift ended, as if drawn by the same invisible thread that always pulled them back to one another when something hurt.

Bobby came first, balancing two large bags that smelled like heaven itself. 

“You’ve probably forgotten to eat,” he said simply, setting them down on the little hospital table. The moment he opened the lids, the room filled with the comforting scent of home-cooked food —rice, chicken, something that smelled like rosemary and safety.

Hen followed with a couple of small board games tucked under one arm. 

“For when he wakes up,” she said softly. “Might help, you know… give him something that’s just his.”

Ravi arrived right behind her, clutching two cups of coffee and one of hot chocolate. 

“The barista thought I had a caffeine problem,” he said, a little breathless, handing Buck his coffee before carefully placing the hot chocolate on the table. “For the kid. Extra marshmallows. That’s a thing, right?”

“It’s the thing,” Buck confirmed solemnly.

Then came Chimney, last but certainly loudest, with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes and a small duffel bag in his hand. 

“Two changes of clothes,” he announced. “Figured the little guy deserved something clean that doesn’t smell like fire.”

Eddie looked up, his throat too tight for words. 

“Thank you,” he managed, and his voice came out as more of a whisper than he meant it to. Emiliano shifted in his arms, making a soft sound in his sleep and curling closer, like he understood and was saying thank you too —in his own quiet way.

For a while, the room felt almost… normal.

The others settled in like they belonged there: Bobby doled out food, Ravi adjusted the tray table so nobody spilled anything, Hen teased Buck about the dark circles under his eyes, and Chim tried (unsuccessfully) to teach Eddie how to eat with one arm free while the other cradled a sleeping child.

At one point, Buck stepped out to call Carla, explaining the whole situation and asking her to take Christopher to school. His voice carried a strange mix of weariness and tenderness —the kind that only appeared when he was thinking of both Diaz boys at once.

When he came back, he had another small bag in his hands —kids’ clothes, fresh from the gift shop downstairs. The moment Emiliano saw him, still half-asleep, he blinked blearily and reached out both arms, little fingers opening and closing in silent demand.

Buck didn’t even hesitate. He set the bag aside and scooped the boy up, settling him against his chest. 

“Hey, buddy,” he murmured. “You awake?”

The child didn’t answer, just pressed his face into Buck’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Guess that’s a no,” Buck said, but his grin was hopelessly soft.

Eddie watched them —the easy way Buck swayed slightly as if instinctively rocking him— and something warm and achy stirred in his chest.

They only stepped out of the room when a nurse arrived to help bathe the boy. She smiled at the two of them, clearly amused by how tightly Emiliano clung to Buck’s hands. 

“You can wait outside if you want,” she said gently. “Though I’ve seen toddlers with less commitment than this one.”

Buck chuckled, glancing down. “Yeah, letting go isn’t really his strong suit.”

Eddie sat nearby, surrounded by a tub full of toy ducks and plastic fish, none of which got any attention because Emiliano refused to stop clutching Buck’s fingers. The nurse laughed quietly. 

“Well, I guess we’ll make it work.”

When they came back, the boy smelled faintly of baby shampoo and clean cotton, wrapped in an oversized hospital gown. He yawned, blinked up at them, and reached again —first for Buck, then Eddie, like he couldn’t choose which one he wanted more. So Buck lifted him and Eddie adjusted the blanket, and somehow it ended up with the kid sitting on Buck’s lap, leaning against Eddie’s shoulder. Neither man complained.

By the time Hen had to leave, she squeezed Eddie’s shoulder and smiled at Buck. 

“Try to get some sleep, both of you,” she said, though her tone made it clear she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Almost an hour later, Chim, Bobby, and Ravi were packing up their things to go when a couple of knocks sounded on the door —two soft raps that immediately shifted the air in the room.

The social worker stood there, a manila folder pressed against her chest, her expression a blend of sympathy and apology. 

“We have information that one of the shelters has an opening,” she said quietly, voice careful. “But the paperwork you submitted is already under review. It’s possible you’ll be able to take him later.”

Buck’s stomach dropped. Eddie didn’t move.

“For now,” she continued, “I have to take him.”

No one said anything for a moment. Even the hum of the machines seemed to fade.

Eddie nodded first, because he knew they couldn’t fight it —knew that if he didn’t hand the boy over, Buck would, and that neither of them wanted to make this harder for Emiliano than it already was.

But logic didn’t make it hurt any less.

When the social worker reached for the child, Emiliano immediately woke, startled, and clung harder to Eddie, his small voice breaking the room apart. 

“No!” he cried, arms flailing, face buried against Eddie’s chest.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie whispered, though his voice cracked. He tried to smile, to calm him, but his own eyes burned. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy.”

Buck swallowed hard, stepping closer, hands trembling slightly as he helped untangle the boy’s fingers. 

“We’ll see you soon, okay? We promise.”

The social worker looked like she wanted to give them a minute but couldn’t. She held out her arms again, gently but firmly, and Eddie had to force himself to let go. Emiliano cried harder, reaching out for both of them as the door closed behind him —his sobs echoing down the hall until they were swallowed by the sterile hum of the hospital.

When silence finally settled, it was thick and cruel.

Eddie sat on the cot, elbows on his knees, running both hands over his face as if he could scrub away the sound still ringing in his ears. His chest hurt —physically hurt— like he’d been hit. He focused on breathing, in and out, slow, controlled, like he’d told a thousand patients to do.

It didn’t help.

Then Buck’s arms wrapped around him —strong, grounding, shaking just a little— and Eddie didn’t even think before leaning into it.

For a long moment, neither said a word. They just sat there in the small, empty hospital room, holding on to each other because they didn’t know what else to do.

Buck’s voice broke the silence first, rough and quiet. 

“He’ll come back to us, Eds. He has to.”

Eddie nodded against his shoulder, his voice barely audible. 

“Yeah. He does.”

And maybe —just maybe— saying it out loud made it true.

That afternoon, they’d just picked Christopher up from school when Buck’s phone buzzed. He didn’t even need to check the screen —Hen’s name flashing there was already enough to make both of them exchange a look.

“Hey, Hen,” Buck answered, putting her on speaker so Eddie could hear. “What’s up?”

“Nothing bad,” she promised quickly, though her tone had that Hen quality —the one that usually meant something big was coming. “Can you two swing by the house? Bring Chris too.”

Buck frowned, glancing at Eddie. 

“Yeah, sure. Everything okay?”

“Just get over here,” she said, and hung up. Which, from Hen, meant don’t ask questions, just move.

By the time they arrived, the late afternoon light was turning golden, slanting through the trees and painting everything soft and warm. Hen opened the door before they could even knock.

“Hey, Chris!” she greeted first, pulling him into a quick hug that he accepted with a grin. “Denny and Mara are in the living room. Go on in.”

Chris nodded and headed down the hall, calling out a “Hey!” before Hen turned back to Buck and Eddie. Her expression softened —a mix of excitement and tenderness she seemed to be holding in by sheer will.

“We didn’t want to say anything before,” she began, lowering her voice, “but Athena called.”

Buck and Eddie both froze.

Hen gestured for them to follow her, and they barely made it past the hallway when they saw him.

Emiliano.

Curled up on the couch, blanket half-draped over his head, shoes off, tiny fingers tangled in the fabric. His hair was still messy from sleep, but his chest was rising steadily. His little shoes were still untied, one sock missing, but he was safe, warm, and very much there.

Eddie exhaled like he hadn’t breathed since that morning. 

“Emiliano.”

The little boy’s head popped up. His big brown eyes blinked once, twice —and then he launched off the sofa with a tiny gasp that sounded like a laugh breaking through tears.

He ran straight into Buck’s legs, arms wrapping tight. Buck crouched instantly, caught off guard by the sheer force of it. 

“Whoa —Hey, buddy.” Buck whispered, his voice cracking just a little. 

Emiliano didn’t stop there. He shifted, reaching up, and Eddie was already there —scooping him up, pressing him close as the boy’s little shoulders shook with sobs that sounded equal parts relief and exhaustion.

No words came, but the way Emiliano’s hands fisted in Eddie’s shirt said everything. You came back. You didn’t forget me.

Eddie held him tight, one hand on his back, the other cupping his head. 

“It’s okay, mijo. We got you. You’re okay now,” he murmured, rocking him slightly. Emiliano’s small hand reached sideways, finding Buck’s sleeve and tugging until Buck gave him his hand. He held on tight, as if to make sure neither of them would vanish again.

Hen cleared her throat quietly, pretending not to sniffle. Karen stood behind her, smiling gently with a hand over her heart.

“Thank you,” Eddie whispered hoarsely, and Buck nodded without trusting himself to speak. His eyes were already wet, glancing between Hen and Karen with a look that said you have no idea what this means.

From the living room came a familiar teenage voice.

“Uh… what’s this about me having a little brother?” Christopher stood in the doorway, leaning slightly on his crutch, expression caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “Who’s that?”

Eddie froze, halfway between laughing and panicking, still holding Emiliano close. His mouth opened, then closed again, but words didn’t quite make it out. 

“This is—uh—”

“This is Emiliano,” Buck jumped in quickly, flashing a small, nervous smile. “We found him in a fire last night. He doesn’t have anyone else right now, and… he’s kinda attached to your dad.”

“Oh.” Christopher’s frown melted into something soft, his gaze gentle as he moved closer. “Hey, Emmy, I’m Christopher.”

At the sound of his voice, Emiliano peeked up, blinking through the last of his tears. His head tilted slightly, as if studying the taller boy in front of him, before he lifted a tiny hand and gave a shy little wave.

Buck’s chest tightened. Eddie smiled, brushing his thumb over the back of Emiliano’s head.

“Chris is Eddie’s son,” Buck added, voice low and kind.

There was a pause. Then Christopher grinned. 

“You wanna come play with us? Denny’s got all the good games, and Mara’s the best player. She’ll make sure you win.”

Emiliano glanced up at Eddie, then at Buck, like he was asking for permission without saying a word. Eddie gave a small nod, adjusting his grip to help him down, and Emiliano hesitated only for a second before toddling over to the kids.

Christopher immediately offered his free hand, the one not holding his crutch, and Emiliano took it —his little fingers curling around it with surprising trust.

Buck couldn’t help smiling. 

“He’s a brave kid,” he said quietly.

As they disappeared down the hallway, laughter already bubbling up from the other kids, Eddie and Buck both exhaled.

Eddie let out a shaky laugh, still watching the doorway where the boys disappeared.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Braver than most adults I know.”

When the room finally felt still again, Eddie turned back toward Hen and Karen and pulled them both into a hug that was tight and wordless and grateful in every sense.

“You have no idea how terrified I was thinking he’d end up in some random house,” he said softly, voice muffled against Hen’s shoulder. “The idea of letting him go just…”

“Hey,” Hen said, squeezing his arm, “you don’t have to explain. Believe me, we get it.”

Karen nodded gently. 

“Sometimes your heart knows before your head does.”

Eddie smiled at that, really smiled, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. He sat down on the couch, and Buck joined him a moment later, shoulders brushing. 

From Denny’s room came the unmistakable sound of Christopher’s laugh —that easy, full one that always made Buck grin— followed by Emiliano’s softer giggle.

The sound filled the house. Warm. Alive. Home.

Buck tilted his head toward Eddie, his lips quirking. 

“So… you think we just accidentally adopted a kid?”

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. 

“At this point, Buck, I think we’ve stopped doing anything accidentally.”

And for once, neither of them minded.

The drive home felt heavier than usual —the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but full, humming with all the things neither of them wanted to say out loud.

Buck kept his eyes on the road, knuckles loose on the steering wheel, though every so often he glanced at the rearview mirror. Christopher was in the back seat, watching the city lights streak past the window, earbuds dangling around his neck. He wasn’t listening to anything; Buck knew that much. Chris was thinking, the same way Eddie was —quietly, deeply, maybe too much.

Eddie sat in the passenger seat, shoulders slumped, watching the blur of headlights. The night felt endless. Every time he blinked, he saw Emiliano —small hands, big eyes, the quiet weight of him asleep against his chest. The memory hit like a punch each time.

‘You can’t get attached this fast,’ he told himself, though it was already too late.

Chris’s voice broke through the quiet. 

“So… we’re all thinking about him, right?”

Buck huffed out a small laugh. 

“You caught us.”

Chris leaned forward a little, elbows on his knees. 

“He looked… I dunno, lost. Like he didn’t know where he was supposed to be.”

Eddie nodded. 

“Yeah. He’s been through a lot. It’s gonna take time before he feels safe anywhere.”

“He didn’t talk the whole time,” Chris said softly. “Not even when Denny tried making faces at him. And Denny’s good at that.”

“Sometimes words take a backseat for a while.” Buck smiled faintly. “When everything’s too big, too scary —silence’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Chris tilted his head, thinking. 

“You think he’ll talk again?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said after a moment. “He just needs time. And someone patient.”

Chris leaned back, crossing his arms. 

“He kinda reminds me of me. After… y’know.”

Eddie’s chest tightened. “Yeah, I know.”

Chris met his eyes in the mirror. 

“I didn’t talk much either. But you didn’t give up. And Buck wouldn’t shut up, so…”

“Hey!” Buck protested, even as a grin spread across his face.

Chris smirked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Eddie chuckled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. 

“You’re not wrong.”

Chris shrugged. 

“So maybe that’s what Emiliano needs. Someone who doesn’t stop showing up. Even if he doesn’t say anything back.”

Buck’s smile softened —that quiet, warm one Eddie had learned to recognize too well. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly that.”

The rest of the ride passed in soft conversation —little jokes, Buck and Chris trading playful jabs while Eddie stared out the window, half listening, half lost in thought.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, Chris had nodded off against the window. Eddie reached back, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. 

“Come on, kid. Bedtime.”

Chris blinked, groggy. “It’s not even late.”

“It’s late enough,” Eddie said, smiling.

“Fine,” he mumbled, dragging himself out of the car and into the house.

Inside, the air felt too still. Emiliano’s absence was a shape that didn’t fit right —a small, echoing gap in the quiet. Eddie hung up his jacket and watched Chris disappear down the hall, then stopped when his son turned back.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“If you and Buck… if you guys decide to bring him here, I’m good with it. I think he’d like it here.”

Eddie’s throat tightened. 

“Thanks, bud.”

Chris gave a small smile, then vanished into his room.

Eddie stood there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing.

“He’s a good kid,” Buck said quietly behind him, and Eddie jumped slightly —he hadn’t heard him come in.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmured. “He is.”

Buck shifted on his feet, hands stuffed in his pockets, that nervous energy of his bubbling just beneath the surface. 

“Hen texted, by the way. Karen got Emiliano to sleep, finally. She said he kept looking at the door for a while, though.”

Eddie’s shoulders dropped. 

“He was probably waiting for us.”

“Yeah,” Buck said softly. “Probably.”

They both stood there for a while, the silence not uncomfortable but charged —fragile, like if either of them said the wrong thing, the air would split open.

Eventually, Eddie exhaled and nodded toward the kitchen. 

“Coffee?”

“Always,” Buck said, following him.

They ended up at the kitchen table with two half-drunk mugs of coffee and the laptop open between them. The soft blue light made their faces look tired — but determined.

The page on the screen read Los Angeles County Foster-to-Adopt Process.

Buck leaned closer, squinting. 

“Wow. That’s a lot of forms.”

Eddie huffed a laugh. 

“You wanted to talk too much, remember?”

“Touché.”

They started scrolling —background checks, home visits, classes. Each requirement looked like a mountain, but Eddie didn’t care. The idea had been growing all day, pulsing in the back of his mind, and now it felt inevitable.

“You’re really doing this, huh?” Buck asked softly, though there was no judgment in his voice.

Eddie looked up, meeting his eyes. “We’re doing this.”

Buck blinked, then smiled —that crooked, heart-melting smile that always gave Eddie too many feelings at once. 

“Guess I walked into that one.”

“You did,” Eddie said. “And you’re not getting out of it.”

Buck leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. 

“So… you think Bobby’s reference will make us sound responsible or just… less chaotic than usual?”

Eddie smirked. 

“If he leaves out all the times you’ve been electrocuted, I’ll consider it a win.”

“That was one time.”

“Two.”

Buck pointed a finger. 

“You’re counting the one with the toaster again, aren’t you?”

Eddie raised a brow. “You set the counter on fire, Buck.”

“Minor detail.”

“Pretty major when I had to call the fire department to my own kitchen.”

They both laughed —quiet, tired, but genuine.

Then Eddie looked at the screen again. “You think we can actually do this?”

Buck hesitated —not because he doubted, but because he wasn’t sure how to say what he felt without giving too much away. 

“If anyone can make a kid feel safe again,” he said finally, “it’s you.”

Eddie’s heart did that thing again —the small, traitorous lurch he pretended not to notice. 

“We,” he corrected softly. “You’ve been there too.”

Buck’s eyes flicked up, meeting his. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice lower now. “We.”

Something lingered between them after that —quiet, electric, too easy to fall into. Neither of them moved for a long moment.

Then Buck cleared his throat and leaned back, breaking the tension with an awkward grin. 

“So, uh, how long do you think before Bobby starts calling us ‘domestic partners’ in the paperwork?”

Eddie snorted. 

“Please. He already does that.”

Buck laughed. 

“Fair point.”

They stayed like that for a while —shoulders almost touching, scrolling through pages, talking softly about furniture, routines, what it might mean to have another kid in the house.

Later, after Buck left to change his clothes, Eddie wandered into the spare room —the one with the half-painted walls and stacked boxes. He stood in the doorway, trying to imagine it filled with warmth, with laughter, with the small sounds of life.

And for the first time in years, the picture didn’t feel far away.

It felt like the start of something real.

A couple of weeks after they’d submitted every document, every background check, and survived more bureaucratic hoops than either of them thought possible, the process officially began.

Meetings, calls, follow-ups, home inspections —it was like preparing for a pop quiz you didn’t know the subject of. Eddie had a neat folder for every possible question. Buck had sticky notes everywhere, most of which said things like “don’t say firefighter trauma jokes” or “smile more, not like that.”

That morning, they sat side by side on the couch, the social worker —Ms. Ramirez, according to her badge— smiling politely as she flipped through her notes. The living room looked suspiciously spotless, which meant Eddie had cleaned it. The coffee table had a plate of cookies that Buck had baked.

The interview started smoothly enough. Ms. Ramirez asked about their jobs, their families, their hobbies, their emergency contacts —basically their entire lives.

“So,” she asked at one point, “how do you manage your schedules, given your demanding jobs?”

Eddie, calm as ever, replied, “We plan ahead, take turns with Christopher’s activities, and try to make sure at least one of us is home every night.”

Buck nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, it’s like a very complicated dance schedule, except no one gets to wear sequins.”

Ms. Ramirez blinked. 

“A dance schedule?”

“Buck means teamwork,” Eddie interjected quickly, shooting him a look that said stop talking.

Buck grinned sheepishly. 

“Yeah. Teamwork. Definitely not sequins.”

An hour passed like that —half earnest answers, half chaos management. By the time Ms. Ramirez set down her clipboard, Eddie felt like he’d just run a marathon while Buck somehow looked like he’d enjoyed it.

“Well,” she said finally, flipping to the last page of her forms, “I really see a good fit here.”

Eddie and Buck shared a look, a quick flash of relief and pride.

Then Ms. Ramirez smiled even wider. 

“Also, since you’re a stable couple, the fostering process will be much simpler.”

For two long seconds, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge.

Buck’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Eddie raised one eyebrow —the kind of slow, deliberate movement that meant don’t you dare.

Buck, unfortunately, dared.

“Yeah,” he said, with a laugh that was too high to be casual. “It’s good that we’re a couple.”

Eddie blinked.

Oh no.

Buck’s hand, apparently acting on its own, crept across the couch cushion and landed awkwardly on top of Eddie’s. His smile was the picture of strained domestic bliss.

Ms. Ramirez’s eyes flicked down to their hands, then back up. Her smile didn’t fade, but there was a new sparkle in her gaze that said she was either completely buying it or enjoying the show way too much.

Eddie’s brain short-circuited for a solid five seconds before instinct kicked in. He’d followed Buck into burning buildings, dangling staircases, and collapsing roofs. Surely he could survive this.

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice low but steady, forcing a smile that came out a little too genuine. “It’s… good to have him in my life.”

And somehow, that part wasn’t a lie.

Ms. Ramirez’s smile softened. 

“That’s lovely to hear. Over the next few weeks, we’ll be doing surprise visits —just to observe how things are going. That’s why we asked for your schedules, so we can see how you interact with your other son, Christopher, correct?”

Both men nodded so fast it was almost synchronized. Buck hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Eddie gave his hand a small, grounding squeeze under the table.

“Yes,” Buck said quickly. “Our son. Christopher. The teenager. Lives here. Definitely ours.”

Eddie tried not to groan.

Ms. Ramirez stood, tucking her clipboard under her arm. 

“Well then. I wish you both the best of luck. You’ll hear from me soon.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, the silence collapsed around them.

Eddie turned to Buck, eyes wide, eyebrows raised halfway to his hairline. 

“What just happened?”

Buck dragged a hand down his face. “I panicked!”

“You panicked your way into pretending we’re married!” Eddie said, standing up, incredulous.

“I didn’t say married!” Buck protested. “She said couple! I just… agreed enthusiastically.”

Eddie stared at him. 

“You held my hand, Buck.”

“You looked like you were gonna say something!” Buck shot back. “And not in a ‘yeah, this’ll help us get the kid’ kind of way but in a ‘please stop talking, you’re making this worse’ kind of way.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, half exasperated, half trying not to laugh.

“Because you were making it worse.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna let her think we’re —what, two random guys just co-parenting on vibes?”

Eddie gave him a long, blank look. 

“…Buck, that’s exactly what we are.”

Buck’s mouth opened, then shut again. 

“Okay, yeah, when you put it like that, fair point.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. And then, somehow, Eddie started laughing first —soft and low, until Buck joined in, grinning like an idiot.

“Oh my God,” Eddie said between laughs, collapsing back onto the couch. “We just lied to a county worker.”

Buck flopped down next to him. 

“Technically, I lied. You just… confirmed.”

Eddie looked over at him, still smiling, shaking his head. 

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” Buck said lightly, that warm grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But hey, if it means Emiliano gets to come home sooner…”

Eddie went quiet, the laughter fading but the warmth staying. He exhaled, leaning back on the couch. 

“Then it’s worth it.”

Buck nodded. 

“Guess we’re fake boyfriends now.”

“Guess we are,” Eddie said, his voice soft but steady.

And neither of them admitted how right it somehow felt.

From that meeting onward, Buck and Eddie started acting like a couple.
Because the social worker could show up at any time. That was the only reason, of course.
Clearly not because Eddie secretly liked the idea of Buck being his partner, or because Buck was absolutely not dying to hold Eddie’s hand again and pretend it meant nothing.

Obviously not.

Obviously.

The “agreement” they’d made after Texas —where one took the bed one night and the couch the next— didn’t survive the first week.

“Can you imagine if the social worker shows up and sees the couch made up like that?” Eddie said one morning over coffee, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Christopher, halfway through his cereal, looked between them with the kind of expression that screamed you two are ridiculous.

“She’ll think we’re fighting,” Eddie went on. “And a couple that fights isn’t exactly the picture of domestic stability.”

And that was how Buck and Eddie started sharing a bed again.

It didn’t take long for the new “arrangement” to spark an entirely different set of arguments. Now they debated who stole the blanket, who hogged the pillows, and who was responsible for the accidental 2 a.m. cuddling. Every morning, Christopher had to pretend not to laugh into his cereal, muttering something about immature adults while smiling into his bowl.

They also started holding hands. Everywhere.

The first time they walked into the station like that, Bobby just looked up from his coffee, sighed, and went straight into his office muttering something about paperwork. Chimney, Hen, and Ravi, however, stopped what they were doing entirely.

“Social Services can show up anytime,” Buck explained with a casual shrug, like holding Eddie’s hand was purely professional. “We’re just… making sure they see a stable couple.”

Hen didn’t even try to hide her smirk as she typed something on her phone. Chimney cackled so hard he nearly dropped his coffee. Ravi, bless his heart, looked completely lost.

“Wait,” he said. “You mean… you were not—?”

Chimney’s laughter turned into something wheezing and uncontrollable as Hen just handed Ravi a paper towel like she’d seen it all before.

Their act didn’t go unnoticed outside the station, either. 

Their next-door neighbor —a sweet elderly woman with sharp eyes and zero filter— cornered them one afternoon after they’d helped unload her groceries. She patted Eddie’s cheek and squeezed Buck’s arm like they were her grandsons.

“You two look so good together,” she said warmly, before waddling back into her house, leaving two grown men staring at each other as if she’d just detonated a truth bomb between them.

Neither of them dared break the act. Not Buck, who was convinced Eddie only went along because of the fostering process. And not Eddie, who thought Buck was just… being Buck —loyal, supportive, pretending to care more than he really did.

But things got… complicated when the nicknames started.

At first, they were meant to be playful. Just small gestures for when someone might be watching. Except Buck had no chill whatsoever.

“Pookie,” Buck said one afternoon at Hen and Karen’s house, while helping Emiliano with a drawing assignment.

Eddie ignored him.

“Pookie,” Buck repeated, louder.

Christopher and Denny were gone in an instant, howling with laughter. Eddie turned, face already burning.

“Pookie?” he said incredulously.

“Yeah, don’t you like it?” Buck asked, all innocent blue eyes and dimples. “I was thinking of other names too —like Bunny, or Pumpkin, or Papito, to make it sound more Latino.”

Eddie blinked. 

“No.”

Buck just shrugged. 

“Well, I can always call you Eds.”

It would’ve ended there… except Christopher and Denny had perfect memory and wicked senses of humor. For the next week, Eddie couldn’t walk into a room without someone yelling “Hey, Bunny!” and Christopher nearly choking from laughter.

Eddie considered sleeping on the couch again.

But then, one night, everything softened.

They were at Hen’s house, putting Emiliano to bed. The little boy had fallen asleep mid-hug, his small hand curled around Buck’s shirt. When he mumbled for water, Eddie got up to grab it, only to return and find him already fast asleep again.

“Angel,” Eddie whispered, setting the glass on the nightstand. His hand brushed Buck’s back gently. “Come on, he needs to rest. We’ll see him again tomorrow.”

Buck nodded, standing up quietly. His gaze fell to the paper on the nightstand —a crayon drawing covered in crooked hearts and stick figures. Four of them. Their names written in shaky, childish letters: Emiliano, Christopher, Eddie, Buck.

Eddie smiled, something soft blooming in his chest as he watched Buck’s face melt with tenderness.

“Let’s go home, angel,” he said softly.

Buck froze —just a fraction of a second— the word settling in his chest like a secret wish.

And as they walked out into the night, he thought —if pretending means I get to hear that again, maybe I’ll pretend forever.

Almost two months later, everything came to a head.

Because Emiliano had stopped trembling at bedtime.

Because he no longer woke up crying or hid his face when someone reached for him.

Because one afternoon, while sitting between Buck and Eddie with crayons scattered all over the table, he whispered their names for the first time. Then Christopher’s. Then, after a long, shaky breath, he said “I love you.”

And that was the moment both men knew there was no going back.

So when the county called to schedule the final review, the one that would determine whether Emiliano could stay with them —whether he’d really be theirs— it felt like standing at the edge of something vast and terrifying and beautiful all at once.

That morning, they drove to Social Services with Christopher slouched in the back seat, pretending not to care but checking every few minutes that the envelope with their documents hadn’t magically disappeared. Buck and Eddie kept stealing glances at each other the entire drive, as if silently confirming that they were still doing this together, that neither of them was backing out.

When they walked into the office, hand in hand, Christopher trudged ahead with the kind of world-weary sigh only a fourteen-year-old could manage. He didn’t say it aloud, but his face screamed why are grown-ups always so slow?

The social worker —a warm woman with kind eyes and the patience of a saint— ushered them in and gestured toward the couch. The three of them settled in naturally: Christopher in the middle, Buck’s hand resting behind him, gently brushing through his curls, and Eddie’s hand steady on his thigh, grounding them both.

“Well,” she began, flipping through her notes with a small smile, “we’re almost done here. Just this last conversation, and we’ll have your answer this afternoon.”

That sentence alone made Buck’s stomach tighten. Eddie tried to exhale quietly, his thumb drawing a small circle against his knee.

The woman turned toward Christopher. 

“I’d like to hear from you, Christopher. How do you feel about everything?”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that. “M–Me?”

“Yes,” she said gently.

Christopher looked between his dad and Buck, then back at her. 

“Well… I’m just glad we can give Emmy —uh, Emiliano— a home.”

His voice was soft at first, but it grew steadier the longer he spoke. Eddie’s chest ached with pride, Buck felt something hot sting his eyes.

“Dad and Buck have been dancing around their feelings since forever,” Chris said, matter-of-factly, earning a choked noise from Buck and a deadly side-eye from Eddie. “But Buck showed us what it means to stay. Since I met him, I knew there wasn’t anyone —besides Dad— who’d fight for me like he does. We were in the tsunami together, you know?”

The social worker’s eyes went wide. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Christopher said brightly, leaning forward a little, like this was just another fun story. “He never stopped looking for me, even when he was hurt. Because of him, I got out safe. And when Dad was hurt later, Buck was there too. Even when they were mad at each other, he was there.”

Eddie looked down at his hands, biting back the emotion that threatened to spill. Buck’s throat felt tight, his usual grin trembling at the corners.

“And knowing they’ll both do the same for Emmy…” Christopher paused, his eyes flicking toward them before softening. “That makes me really happy. Emiliano’s lucky to have them. I’m lucky to have them.”

The room went completely still. The social worker smiled softly, but no one moved, like they were all afraid that breathing too loud would break the moment.

Then Chris, because he was Eddie’s kid through and through, broke the silence with perfect comedic timing.

“Also,” he added, “I’m glad they finally agreed to my request for a little brother.”

Buck snorted so hard he nearly dropped his water bottle. Eddie groaned, running a hand over his face while muttering something about traitor teenagers. The tension dissolved instantly into laughter, warm and easy.

An hour later, the three of them were signing the final stack of papers. Their hands trembled —part nerves, part disbelief— as their names filled the last few lines.

When they handed the papers back, the social worker smiled so broadly it made Eddie’s heart squeeze.

“You’re a lovely family,” she said, her voice soft but sure. Then she looked at Christopher. “And like your son said, that little boy is lucky to have you as parents.”

Buck turned toward Eddie, and Eddie turned toward Buck. The look they shared said everything words couldn’t —the fear, the relief, the quiet, aching joy.

And sure, they could still pretend it was all for the process, for the paperwork, for Emiliano. But deep down, they both knew.

They weren’t pretending anymore.

That same afternoon, the social worker showed up at their doorstep —and this time, she wasn’t alone.

The moment Emiliano saw them, he didn’t hesitate. He ran straight into Eddie’s arms, bumping into his chest so hard that Eddie almost lost his balance. Buck was right there, wrapping both of them in a hug so tight it seemed like the kid might vanish if he let go. Emiliano buried his face in Eddie’s shoulder, small hands clutching his shirt, his curls soft under Buck’s trembling fingers.

From the hallway, Christopher leaned casually against the doorframe, pretending not to melt at the sight. But the second Emiliano spotted him, he gasped in delight and called out his name —clear, loud, and his. Then he ran straight to him, hugging Christopher’s legs with surprising strength for someone so small.

“Hey, buddy,” Chris said, smiling despite himself. “Missed me already?”

Emiliano nodded fiercely, still holding on, and the teenager’s fake-cool façade melted faster than ice cream in August.

So, naturally, the four of them went out to celebrate.

They ended up at the same pizza place Christopher had loved as a kid —the one with checkered tablecloths, sticky floors, and an arcade machine that had probably seen better days before Buck was even born. Chris groaned the moment they walked in.

“Really, Dad? This place? There are like… ten screaming toddlers here.”

Eddie grinned. “And one fourteen-year-old who’s about to eat his words if he wants a slice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris muttered, but he was already sliding into the booth, secretly pleased.

The next hour was chaos in the best way possible. Emiliano’s laughter rang through the air like music. Buck helped him build a mountain of pepperoni on his plate, Eddie tried to convince him that pizza should not come with ice cream on top, and Christopher ended up declaring himself the official pizza judge after stealing bites from everyone’s slices.

By the time they got home, all of them were stuffed, sleepy, and glowing from the warmth of something that felt dangerously close to perfect.

Emiliano’s new room was small but bright —walls painted sky blue, a shelf full of books Hen had helped them pick out, a night lamp that threw tiny glowing stars across the ceiling. He stood in the middle of it, barefoot, looking around like he still couldn’t believe it was real.

Eddie knelt beside him, brushing a curl from his forehead. 

“You like it, mijo?”

The boy nodded, eyes shining. 

“Love it. Love you,” he whispered, his voice already heavy with sleep.

Buck smiled and sat on the other side, gently rubbing his back in slow circles. 

“We love you too, kiddo.”

Emiliano’s eyes fluttered shut, and within seconds, his breathing evened out, soft and peaceful.

They both stayed there a while, one stroking his hair, the other tracing little shapes on the blanket, as if making sure he was truly there. When they finally stood, they left the door slightly ajar, the nightlight casting its galaxy across the room.

Passing Christopher’s door, they paused to say goodnight.

“Dad, Buck, I’m fine, seriously,” Chris groaned, rolling his eyes. But the small smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

Buck chuckled. 

“Just checking if the official pizza judge survived the night.”

“Barely,” Chris shot back, but he reached out for a quick fist bump before turning over in bed.

In the kitchen, quiet settled around them like a soft blanket. Emiliano’s things were still spread across the table —a few crayons, a half-empty juice box, a tiny sock Buck had no idea how it ended up there.

Buck exhaled, almost to himself. 

“You know, there was a time I thought… no matter where I went, I’d never feel good enough.” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on nothing. “At least until now.”

Eddie’s heart clenched. He reached over, lacing their fingers together without thinking.

“Then stop pretending you’re not enough,” he murmured.

And before he could second-guess it, before fear had the chance to ruin it, Eddie leaned in and kissed him. Just a brief, trembling brush of lips, but it carried every unsaid thing between them.

When they pulled apart, they just stared at each other —both of them stunned, both realizing they didn’t want to unsee what they saw in the other’s eyes.

Then Buck smiled, a small, disbelieving curve of his mouth. 

“Do you think we still have to pretend?” he whispered, voice rough.

Eddie smiled back, lips ghosting over his jaw. 

“I don’t know, Buck,” he said softly, pressing another kiss to his neck. “But if it’s a lie, I don’t want it to end.”

They left Emiliano’s things scattered across the table, the lamp still glowing faintly in the next room.

And when they finally made it to their bed, it wasn’t about the kiss, or the pretending, or the story they’d told the world.

It was about the way they held each other through the night —quietly, tightly, as if they’d both found the home they’d been searching for all along.

With belonging.

With peace.

With love.