Work Text:
After the call —one of those calls where Eddie definitely must have been showing off, rappelling down the side of the chasm like some kind of Texas-born action hero— Buck returned to the station smelling like… Well, like he’d lost a fight with a wet dust devil.
He didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t gross.
He made a beeline for the showers, peeling off his uniform like it was personally responsible for every questionable scent clinging to him. The hot water hit him with the force of divine intervention. By the time he stepped out, steam clinging to his skin, his brain felt scrubbed clean.
He pulled on a hoodie because the morning had decided to get chilly —the kind of chill that crept in under your nails and made you want something soft and warm. And Buck was soft, and wanted warm things, and therefore: hoodie.
He stepped out of the locker room moving slowly, like any sudden movement might cancel out the shower’s magic.
He still smelled faintly of the generic shower gel Bobby kept stocked for them —the one that tried very hard to smell like pine but mostly smelled like “forest-flavored optimism.”
And also… Eddie.
Why the hell did he smell like Eddie?
He paused in the hallway, sniffed the sleeve of his hoodie, frowned at it like it’d betrayed him in a past life.
Okay, Buck, don’t panic. Hoodies acquire smells. Hoodies absorb vibes. Hoodies are like sponges but emotionally. It’s fine. Perfectly normal. Completely normal. Obviously Eddie just… wore it once? Accidentally? Maybe? Maybe he grabbed it thinking it was his. Except… this is my hoodie. Right?
He looked down at himself like the fabric was going to speak up and confirm its identity.
Nothing. Traitor.
The hoodie was warm, and soft, and familiar, and smelled comforting —which was suspiciously Eddie-coded, but Buck decided that he was not going to investigate that with even a single functional brain cell. Not right now.
With the blissful innocence of a petty thief who fully accepted his doomed fate, he just shoved the hood over his damp hair and trudged toward the loft.
The station was busy —voices bouncing, someone laughing too loud, someone else clattering pans in a way that suggested they were fighting them.
Buck ignored it all and collapsed dramatically onto the sofa, sinking into it like it was swallowing him whole. His leg muscles screamed their gratitude, and he let out a groan that was probably inappropriate for public spaces.
The loft went strangely quiet for half a beat. He felt it before he heard it —that sudden shift of attention, like the whole room turned to look at him at once.
He cracked an eye open.
Hen stood near the kitchen counter, eyebrows raised.
Chim froze halfway into a bite of something that might have been a sandwich once, now unrecognizable.
Even Ravi looked vaguely concerned, though that might have been his default expression when Buck made noises.
“Rough call?” Hen asked, already knowing the answer.
“You look like you lost a bet,” Chim added helpfully.
Buck waved them off weakly, eyes already drifting shut again.
“I’m fine. Shhh. Let me die in peace.”
“Not on my sofa,” Bobby called from the kitchen without looking up. “If you’re going to die, do it on a towel.”
Buck lifted a hand, thumb up.
“Love you too, Cap.”
The moment passed. The loft eased back into its usual rhythm, the kitchen noises returning like someone had hit unpause on the universe.
Buck let himself melt, breathing in the too-warm scent of a hoodie that may or may not belong to him, and definitely smelled like Eddie.
It’s fine, he told himself.
It was absolutely not fine.
But the sofa was soft, and life was short, and he was too tired to untangle the mystery of the Eddie-scented hoodie.
So he just let himself drift.
The alarm went off barely five minutes later —one of those chirpy, low-priority alerts that meant move, but not full superhero mode. Buck groaned like someone had personally offended him. His body protested every step as they headed for the truck, the hoodie clinging to him like it didn’t want to be separated.
Perfect, he thought. Saved by the bell. Or dragged by it. Same energy.
The call took them to a quiet neighborhood, the kind with tidy lawns, chalk drawings on the sidewalk, and the faint smell of someone trying too hard to grill chicken.
A Labrador was wedged between two metal bars of a fence, and beside him —as if this were a team sport— a little boy had mimicked the exact same mistake. A dad paced beside them, looking like he couldn’t decide whether to apologize, laugh, or simply evaporate from embarrassment.
“I only turned around for two seconds to call 911,” the man babbled as they stepped out. His voice cracked on the word two, like it, too, had betrayed him. He rubbed his palms anxiously on his pants before pointing at the disaster duo. “And Noah thought it would be a great idea to test why Roku couldn’t get out and —God, my wife is going to kill me.”
The team chuckled —that warm, familiar laugh they all shared when a call was harmless and a tiny bit ridiculous.
The boy —Noah— waved at them with the enthusiasm of someone who wasn’t, technically, free to move his body.
“Firefighters! Hello!” he called out, missing front tooth proudly displayed like a badge of honor. “Roku’s stuck!”
Buck crouched in front of the fence, giving it a solid once-over. The bars were narrow, the latch old, and Roku’s body language screaming, I made a mistake but I am handsome so please forgive me. Buck obliged by scratching the Roku’s head, earning a gratitude sigh.
Then he looked up at Noah, who was smiling as if this were the best amusement park ride of his life.
“I think you’re stuck too, buddy,” Buck said, laughing.
Noah wrinkled his nose —deeply offended that someone had spotted this tragic detail— and turned to Bobby for backup. Buck stood, brushing dirt from his knees.
“I think with the Jaws of Life we can widen this enough to get both of them out. Probably—”
“You’re the firefighter from the video!” Noah shouted suddenly, kicking his legs like he’d just discovered treasure. “The one who fell off the roof! That’s him, Dad, that’s his last name!”
The team stopped breathing.
Then breathing resumed —mixed with muffled snorts and poorly suppressed laughter.
Buck blinked. Slowly.
He glanced at Hen, who looked like she was chewing the inside of her cheek to keep from cackling. Chim had turned completely around, hands on his hips, shoulders shaking. Ravi failed spectacularly at pretending he wasn’t smiling.
Buck sighed internally.
Of course. Of course, the universe woke up today and said “Let’s add identity confusion to Buck’s bingo card.”
“I don’t think it’s him, Noah,” the father said with a gentle chuckle, giving Buck an apologetic grimace. “That firefighter is probably at home, covered in bruises and resting.”
Buck froze.
Because the firefighter who fell off the roof —the viral sensation of the week— was Eddie. Eddie, currently injured, grumpy, at home. Eddie, whose last name was apparently memorable enough that a eight-year-old was ready to fight God about it.
And… did Buck really look that much like Eddie?
No, Buck told himself immediately. Eddie looks like Eddie. And I look like… Like me. And sometimes like an undercooked bread roll. But not Eddie. Right?
“What your dad says is true, Noah,” Buck said, forcing a smile back onto his face. “That was another very good-looking guy. Not me.”
Hen lost the battle with her laughter. Chim nearly dropped the tool he was holding. Bobby gave them all the look —the behave or I’ll make you run laps look— and the team snapped back to work.
Ten minutes later, the fence was opened, Noah was free and hugging his father like he’d survived a major life ordeal, and Roku was sprinting in enthusiastic circles, stopping only to shove his head into every firefighter’s hands for pets.
Buck climbed into the truck, muscles aching again now that the adrenaline faded. He was halfway into adjusting his seatbelt when he heard Noah behind him:
“But Dad, I swear the last name was Diaz!”
Buck let his forehead drop against the seat.
Fantastic, he thought dryly. At this rate, Eddie and I are going to accidentally swap lives like it’s a body-swap rom-com. Next thing I know, people will ask me for war stories and silver stars.
He sighed, closed the door, and sank into the warmth of the hoodie —Eddie-scented traitor that it was. The smell wrapped around him, soothing and annoyingly comforting.
He drifted off, letting himself slide into sleep for the next ten minutes as the truck rumbled back toward the station.
Lunch at the station was usually loud —forks clinking, Hen lecturing Chim about something he pretended not to understand, Bobby humming while checking the seasoning of whatever he’d made— but today it felt like someone had turned the volume down to a suspiciously conspiratorial level.
Buck twirled spaghetti absentmindedly around his fork, chewing slowly, thinking mostly about how he could steal —no, borrow— a portion to take for Eddie and Chris later. Chris loved spaghetti. Eddie pretended he didn’t love station food but ate three servings every time, so Buck felt morally obligated to smuggle some out.
Maybe I'll distract Bobby, he thought. Or Hen. She’s weak to puppy eyes. Chim is too, but for different, dangerous reasons.
He took another bite, but he could feel it —eyes. So many eyes. Watching him like he was a raccoon that had wandered into a restaurant wearing a trench coat.
At first he thought it was because of the hoodie.
Then he realized it was because of him in the hoodie.
Hen, attempting subtlety and failing spectacularly, winked at him over her pasta. The wink was so exaggerated it looked like she had something lodged in her eye. Buck blinked back, confused.
Chim smiled at him like someone watching a telenovela reveal a forbidden romance. His thumbs flew across his phone screen under the table —texting someone, glancing at Buck, typing again.
Buck’s stomach dropped.
No. No. He is NOT texting Maddie. Chim, don’t you dare. Chimney Han, put the phone DOWN. Don’t ruin my life, it’s already on thin ice.
Bobby didn’t say a word, but one eyebrow was permanently raised. Not temporarily raised —no— permanently, like it had moved in and paid rent. He stared at Buck like he’d discovered a plot twist and was waiting for the next clue to confirm it.
Even Ravi —sweet, innocent, empathetic Ravi— kept looking his way like Buck was a puzzle left on a coffee table. After several minutes of enduring the bizarre silence and sideways glances, Ravi let out a soft sigh, defeated.
Before Hen could pounce with a teasing comment, Ravi gently beat her to it.
“Nice hoodie, Buck,” he said. Calm. Gentle. And yet… curious. The kind of curious that meant everyone has already discussed this and wants to know your explanation.
Buck looked up, spaghetti halfway to his mouth. He tilted his head like a confused golden retriever.
“Thanks,” he said brightly, shrugging. “It’s warm. And soft. Perfect for this weather, right?”
Hen choked on air.
Chim made a squeaky noise.
Ravi opened his mouth to clarify —to follow up, to say something like ‘I meant… that’s not your hoodie, isn’t it?’— but Bobby cleared his throat loudly and gave him the look that said don’t start a fire unless you’re ready to put it out.
Ravi shut his mouth. Slowly. Respectfully. Like a man shelving his questions for a future date.
Buck, blissfully unaware of the social earthquake he was causing, continued to eat. He hummed contentedly, spaghetti sauce on the corner of his lip, thinking about pasta theft logistics.
Meanwhile, giggles bubbled around the table —soft, repeated, impossible to ignore for anyone except Buck, who remained inside his own hoodie-scented universe.
Weird, he thought as he twirled more pasta. Everyone’s acting strange today. Must be low blood sugar. Or maybe the moon is doing something. People get weird when the moon does stuff.
He swallowed another bite, oblivious, and smiled.
Yeah. Definitely the moon.
That afternoon, during yet another one of those weirdly thematic calls —the kind where the universe seemed determined to keep nudging Buck toward some cosmic joke he wasn’t in on— they rescued a woman stuck in an elevator. Not hurt, just mildly traumatized and extremely chatty. Her name was Anne, and she clung to Chim’s arm like he was her emotional support firefighter.
Once she was safely out and standing on solid ground again, she turned to Buck.
And stared.
Really stared.
Her eyes dragged up and down his face like she was scanning him for product recall information. Then she tilted her head, squinting slightly, as if he was a crossword clue she couldn’t quite place.
“You don’t look Latino,” Anne announced with the confidence of someone reporting the weather.
Buck opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Because— what?
Anne leaned in, peering curiously at his features.
“Do you have a husband or something?”
Buck blinked so hard he probably reset part of his brain.
Behind him, Hen let out a strangled noise. Chim choked on pure air. Then both of them burst into laughter, collapsing into each other like dominoes made of chaos.
Ravi, sweet baby angel Ravi, just chuckled warmly as he carried equipment back to the truck. Bobby turned away, shaking his head, clearly fighting a smile. His shoulder betrayed him by shaking once.
Buck looked from face to face, completely lost.
Why? Why is this happening? Why is everyone like this today? Is Mercury in retrograde? Did I anger a witch? Did Eddie accidentally sign me up for something? Why am I the target of the universe’s improv comedy hour?
Buck pressed his palms to his thighs and crouched slightly so he could talk to Anne eye-level.
“Mrs. Anne,” he said carefully, enunciating every syllable like he was clarifying something for Chris. “Are you okay? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”
Anne blinked at him with the unimpressed patience of an elderly cat.
“Oh, I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart.”
Then she looked over her shoulder at Chim and Hen, who were wheezing like they’d just run sprints.
Anne narrowed her eyes again, like she was reconsidering the entire situation.
“I asure you…” Buck said slowly, “I do not have a husband.”
“Well,” she said, patting Chim on the arm as he tried desperately to compose himself, “if you say so.”
Chim made a noise suspiciously close to a bark. Hen slapped her own knee. Ravi covered his smile with a gloved hand. Even Bobby let out a tiny snort he pretended didn’t happen.
Anne watched them all with a polite, mildly entertained confusion —but she didn’t press further. Instead, she allowed Chim and Hen to guide her to the ambulance.
They were still laughing when the doors closed.
Buck stood there alone on the pavement, hands on his hips, staring after them.
Okay. Definitely a witch. Or the moon. Or both working together. Also why does everyone think I’m Eddie? And why does everyone think I’m dating someone? And why… Why… do I feel like none of this is the weird part?
He straightened up, sighed, and climbed back into the truck, the hoodie still hugging him warmly —still smelling like the person the universe apparently wanted him to be confused with.
This day just keeps getting better, he thought sarcastically.
But the warmth in his chest said otherwise.
Buck arrived at Eddie’s house the moment his shift ended —no shower, no change of clothes, no pause to consider the state of his hair. His body felt like one giant bruise stitched together with caffeine and stubbornness. By the time he parked on the curb, his forehead dropped against the headrest in a silent, exhausted prayer.
Five seconds, he promised himself.
Ten seconds passed.
Maybe twelve.
Then the cold night air slapped him awake as soon as he stepped out of the truck. He burrowed deeper into the hoodie —the hoodie— letting it swallow him whole. It felt like a hug. A warm one. A familiar one. One he definitely was not overthinking.
He let himself into the house without knocking, keys clattering onto the little table by the door. The smell of home hit him instantly —Eddie’s detergent, Chris’s crayons, and that cinnamon candle Eddie swore he didn’t buy even though Chris had receipts.
Buck moved with that quiet confidence of someone who absolutely had a toothbrush in the bathroom and a favorite mug in the cabinet.
He set the container of stolen pasta on the counter, grabbed a bottle of water, and stretched his back until something popped.
If I collapse right here next to the fridge, he thought, Eddie will just throw a blanket over me. Chris will draw on me. It’ll be fine.
He heard Eddie’s footsteps before he saw him —slow, soft, uneven from soreness. The bedroom door creaked, and there he was, leaning against the frame in sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that read Rescue Squad like an inside joke.
Buck turned, smiling softly, and for a moment —for a heartbeat— the exhaustion melted. Eddie’s half-smile did that, warm and subtle, like the glow of a lamp in a quiet room.
Buck cracked open the fridge, reaching for strawberries he suddenly really wanted, if only to keep his hands moving. Eddie’s gaze slid over him, slow and thoughtful, tracing from curls to shoulders to…
“…Is that my hoodie?”
Eddie’s voice was soft. Too soft. Soft in a way that made Buck’s lungs malfunction.
Buck peeked over the fridge door, tilting his head like a confused golden retriever caught eating socks.
He looked down at himself. The hoodie stared back innocently.
“…No?” he offered, far too tentatively for someone who had worn the damn thing for an entire 24-hour shift.
Eddie’s chuckle was warm, low, and terribly knowing. Like he had been waiting —patiently, painfully— for exactly this moment. His eyes sparkled with a secret finally clicking into place.
Then Eddie pushed off the doorway and walked toward him, limping slightly, bruises tugging at every movement. Buck’s breath hitched, Eddie moving with purpose always made him nervous in a thrilling, stomach-swooping way.
Eddie reached for the hoodie —his hoodie— fingers curling into the soft fabric, tugging Buck gently but unapologetically toward him.
Buck’s knees went weak.
Eddie kissed him.
No hesitation. No warning. No gentle testing of the waters.
Just Eddie, finally claiming the space between them with months of unspoken affection pressed into one decisive heartbeat.
Buck sighed into his mouth, lips parting on instinct, eyes fluttering shut. His hands found Eddie’s hips, steadying him, steadying both of them, really.
And then— too soon— Eddie pulled back.
He pressed his forehead to Buck’s, breaths mingling, warm and shaky and too intimate for Buck’s brain to process on limited sleep.
Eddie licked his lips once, slow, like he was tasting the moment.
“I like how my last name looks on you,” he murmured.
Soft. Dangerous. And unfairly smug.
Buck swallowed hard, his heart punching at his ribcage like it wanted to file a complaint. The smile he'd been holding back crumbled completely.
“…Okay, yeah, it’s yours,” he admitted, whispering it like a secret oath instead of the obvious truth everyone else had already figured out.
Eddie smiled —full, warm, victorious— and kissed him again. Calmer this time. Softer. A promise instead of a question.
“I know,” he hummed against Buck’s lips. “But it looks better on you now.”
Buck didn’t stand a chance.
Right then and there, he made a silent decision.
The hoodie? Not going back. Ever.
Ownership had officially changed hands.
Along with its story. Its scent. Its meaning.
And every impossible, beautiful thing that would come after.
A week later, the station breathed that familiar hum of routine —the clatter of gear being checked, the faint smell of coffee strong enough to wake the dead, and Chim humming some off-key tune just to bother Hen. Buck walked in with the same hoodie he stole the week before. The cuffs were a little stretched where Eddie’s fingers had tugged at them absentmindedly the night before.
Eddie was already back on duty, sitting at the table finishing paperwork he very clearly didn’t want to be doing.
The moment Buck entered, Eddie glanced up, his eyes softening in a way Buck still wasn’t used to —like a porch light flicking on just for him.
Chim spotted the hoodie first, because of course he did. He jabbed Hen with his elbow, grinning like a man who had been waiting for this moment.
"Oh look," Chim announced, loud enough for Bobby to sigh without even turning around. "Buck’s wearing the same hoodie again. You know, the one that causes incidents with elevator ladies."
Hen tried —tried— to keep a straight face, but one look at Buck and she lost it, snorting into her coffee.
"Careful, Buck," she teased. "Someone might mistake you for a very confused husband again."
Buck pressed a hand dramatically to his chest.
"Hen, please. I survived that once. I’m basically immune now."
"That’s how it starts.” Chim leaned in, all mock sympathy. “First it’s one mistaken identity, then another. If you keep wearing that thing, someone else is gonna assume you’re—"
"Married?" Buck offered innocently.
Eddie coughed —violently, suspiciously— into his elbow.
Chim waggled his eyebrows.
"Exactly. Wouldn’t want people jumping to wrong conclusions again, right?"
Buck shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the hoodie and let the words fall out with a quiet confidence that made Eddie stare at him like he’d just forgotten how to breathe.
"Well," Buck said, voice warm and unbothered, "I don’t think it’s a mistake anymore."
Hen’s mouth fell open. Chim froze mid-smirk. Bobby looked up from the stove like someone had just announced they’d replaced his spices with glitter.
Eddie blinked once. Twice. And then that smile —small, shy, devastating— curved at the corner of his mouth.
"Guess not," he murmured.
Buck’s heart did something embarrassing in his chest, and Chim finally snapped out of it, pointing at both of them like an outraged soap-opera character.
"Okay, nope, absolutely not! If you two start being cute on purpose, I’m calling for emotional hazard pay!"
Hen wiped a tear from laughing too hard. Bobby muttered something about not wanting to hear details. Ravi walked by, gave a thumbs-up like this was the most normal development in the world.
Buck just grinned, tugged lightly at Eddie’s sleeve, and whispered,
"See? Hoodie’s lucky."
"Only because you’re in it," Eddie whispered back.
And just like that, the station settled back into its rhythm —sirens, laughter, paperwork nobody wanted to do, and the quiet kind of joy that slips into the spaces between shifts.
Life didn’t change in a dramatic, fireworks-over-the-horizon kind of way. It just… clicked.
Softly.
Naturally.
The way doors close when they’re finally aligned.
The way two people find themselves standing side by side and realize —quietly, simply— they don’t want to move.
And if Buck occasionally caught Eddie staring at him like he was the safest place in a chaotic world… Well, Buck didn’t point it out.
He just smiled back, warm and certain.
Because this time, there were no mistakes.
Only beginnings.