Archive of Our Own

1.

Buck had only known Eddie —and Chris— for a few weeks, and yet, somehow, it felt like he’d known them in another life, in some sun-soaked memory he couldn’t quite place. 

There was a quiet certainty blooming in him, an instinct as natural as breathing: they were the best company he’d ever had. They fit into his days with such ease that Buck sometimes wondered if he’d been waiting for them long before he learned their names.

It was a Friday night like any other, but it carried the gentle weight of ritual. 

The three of them were sprawled on the couch, a battlefield of blankets and half-eaten snacks surrounding them, watching the movies Chris had carefully chosen —movies that ranged from animated chaos to heroic epics, each one accompanied by the boy’s running commentary. 

Chris sat snugly in the middle, his laughter bursting out in bright, unfiltered waves that warmed Buck’s chest every single time. That laugh felt like evidence of something good finally going right in the universe —a reminder that this small living room held a kind of peace most people spent their whole lives chasing.

But the credits of the final movie began to roll, the room washed in the soft glow of the TV, and Chris’s head started drooping toward Buck’s shoulder, the fight against sleep already lost.

He didn’t need words, Eddie’s small nod toward Chris was enough. It was time.

Buck smiled as Eddie rose and gently scooped the boy into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times and would gladly do it a thousand more.

Buck got up too, out of instinct, gathering empty cups, plates, and the remains of popcorn that Chris had heroically “not spilled on purpose.” He stacked everything in his hands with the same concentration he used at the station, though here the only danger was dropping a spoon.

"See you tomorrow, Bucky," Chris mumbled, voice thick with sleep, his cheek smooshed against Eddie’s shirt.

And Buck —helpless, utterly helpless— leaned in, kissing the boy’s short hair without a second thought.

“Rest well, Superman,” he whispered, because Chris would always be a hero to him.

Eddie’s gentle smile in response nearly melted the bones in his body. He pointed toward the hallway with a soft flick of his fingers —a “wait for me” that felt too intimate for how simple it was.

Buck carried the dishes to the kitchen, letting the warm water splash over his hands as he worked. 

The rhythm of washing soothed him, gave his mind too much space to wander. It no longer felt blasphemous to admit —even in his own head— that this house was starting to feel more like home than the place he was actually paying rent for. 

Abby’s space was quiet, cold, filled with absences. 

Here, there were mismatched socks on the couch, a superhero mug drying by the sink, and the faint echo of Eddie humming while putting Chris to bed. How could he not get attached?

Lost in thought, Buck didn’t notice Eddie slip into the kitchen until he was standing right beside him, effortlessly joining the routine. 

Eddie picked up the wet dishes and began drying them, both of them falling into that familiar, almost choreographed synchronicity they shared at work —only now, the backdrop wasn’t a burning building but a small kitchen at midnight. And somehow, this felt just as important. Maybe even more.

When the last dish was put away, Buck turned toward him, leaning back against the counter, letting out a sigh that felt heavier than he meant it to.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” he murmured. His body betrayed him instantly, a yawn cracking his jaw wide open.

Eddie huffed out a soft laugh, spreading the towel over the counter before looking at his hands. It was a hesitant moment —one that stretched, quiet and warm— until Eddie finally glanced up through his lashes in a way that made Buck’s stomach tighten.

“Stay,” he said, voice quiet but firm. Not a command. An invitation softened by exhaustion. “It was a long shift. The night’s even longer. Just… Crash on the couch. I’m not letting you fall asleep at the wheel.”

Buck blinked at him for a few seconds too long, caught somewhere between grateful and overwhelmed. Eddie had this way of saying simple things like they meant something bigger, and Buck’s cheeks heated in a way he hoped wasn’t obvious. 

His lips parted before his mind caught up.

“It’s really no trouble at all?” he asked, voice small even though his heart was thundering.

Eddie’s expression didn’t even flicker. 

“You’re no trouble, Buck.” Eddie’s hand landed on his arm —steady, warm, gentle. “Wait for me in the living room. I’ll grab something to make you comfortable.”

Buck nodded, a slow smile spreading despite himself, and headed toward the living room.

Eddie disappeared into his bedroom, and Buck let himself sink into the couch, still trying to believe this was happening —that someone was offering him space without conditions, without strings, without expecting him to earn it.

He could hear Eddie rummaging somewhere in the hallway, the kind of domestic sound that hit Buck harder than it should have.

A few minutes later, Eddie returned with an armful of things —pillows, a sheet, and a neatly folded stack of clothes that he deposited next to Buck like a quiet offering. It all smelled faintly like detergent and something warm he couldn’t name.

“I left an extra toothbrush for you in the bathroom,” Eddie said. “And a towel… Just in case you want to join us for breakfast. Or escape before Chris tries to recruit you for a morning cartoon marathon.”

Buck smiled, touched in a way he didn’t know how to put into words. Somehow a spare toothbrush and a couch with suspicious springs felt like a luxury suite.

He showered quickly, letting the hot water ease the stiffness in his shoulders, then slipped into one of Eddie’s pajama shorts —shorter than what he usually wore, hugging his thighs just a bit too confidently. In the bathroom, the blue toothbrush stood proudly beside Chris’s red one and Eddie’s green one, and Buck felt something strange and warm rush through him. 

Maybe he belonged there.

When he opened the door, Eddie was waiting in the hallway in his own pajamas —grey and soft and unfairly endearing— with a tired smile curving his mouth.

“See you tomorrow, Buck,” he murmured, stepping forward like he wanted to close the gap between them, then hesitating —as if unsure how much closeness to allow.

Buck closed it for him. 

Their half-hug, the same kind they shared at the station, felt different here —deeper, quieter, threaded with something unspoken. Eddie relaxed in his arms, just barely, enough for Buck to feel it.

“See you tomorrow, Eddie,” he whispered back.

That night, Buck stretched across the couch, wrapped in a blanket Eddie had tucked around him, and felt warmer than he had in weeks. The cushions dipped in strange places, and the springs groaned if he moved too fast, but he’d never felt more at home. 

At some point he drifted to sleep thinking that even the cheap fabric of the pillow smelled safe.

And the next morning —when Chris woke up first and let out a joyful shout at seeing him on the sofa, and Eddie shuffled out moments later with sleep-rumpled hair and a smile that could’ve lit up the whole block— Buck knew exactly what he needed to do. 

Breakfast became a ritual: pancakes taller than they should be, eggs Eddie always tried to flip but never successfully did, and Chris insisting Buck make the bacon because “he does it better.”

From then on, Fridays carried an almost sacred predictability. 

A soft “stay” whispered just for him. 

A half-hug that lingered longer than the last. 

And every Saturday morning, the Diaz kitchen filled with laughter and the warm, golden scent of breakfast courtesy of Evan Buckley —who never really needed to be asked twice.

And somehow… it all felt right. Like gravity. Like home.

2.

They had spent the entire morning doing the things every allegedly functional adult should do —though Buck privately suspected that somewhere, somehow, actual functional adults existed in a separate parallel universe where laundry folded itself and grocery carts didn’t squeak like dying animals. 

Their routine had unfolded in a slow, companionable rhythm: first the market —where Chris insisted on choosing cereal based solely on which mascot could “definitely win in a fight”—, then the laundry —which Buck secretly loved, because Eddie always looked unfairly attractive rolling up his sleeves—, then taking Eddie’s car to the shop for a checkup. 

After that came a homemade lunch —Buck cooked, Eddie stole bites while pretending not to, and Chris complained dramatically about vegetables— and finally ice cream before dropping Chris off at Abuela’s for the afternoon.

And now, late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the windows, Buck knew something Eddie seemed to have conveniently erased from his brain: Chris had a school meeting at 5. 

A meeting Eddie had mentioned casually all morning, which was why Buck was baffled by the sight of Eddie practically melting into the couch, eyes half-closed like a man one exhale away from unconsciousness.

Buck tapped Eddie’s shoulder with a single accusing fingertip. Not hard —just enough to annoy. Annoying Eddie awake was one of life’s purest joys.

“Eddie,” he murmured, leaning in until he knew his breath tickled Eddie’s ear, “Chris’s meeting is in forty minutes.”

Eddie’s eyes flew open in an instant —the kind of instant Buck associated with emergency calls and explosions— and he jolted upright.

“Shit. Chris’s meeting.”

Buck burst out laughing, because Eddie immediately launched into what could only be described as a one-man tornado. 

He sprinted between bedroom and hallway like a headless chicken with a strict dress code: first appearing with his dress shirt half-on, then emerging in only his pants, then showing up with one sock, looking down at his bare foot like it personally betrayed him. 

Finally, Eddie froze, staring at the small table by the door where he usually dropped his keys.

The empty spot stared back at him, judgmental.

Buck, still sitting on the sofa but gathering his things, tilted his head and blinked slowly. Then he snorted.

Right. Eddie’s car was still at the shop. They had walked home. How on earth had both of them forgotten that?

“Come on,” Buck said, standing and tugging on his shoes. “I’ll drive you over. And then I’ll go to the apartment. I kind of want to see this school you two keep talking about, anyway.”

Eddie turned toward him, and Buck instantly caught that spark in his eyes —the one that always appeared when Eddie was trying really hard not to look like he needed help. Buck had learned the silent language of Eddie Diaz: the difference between I’ve got it and I’m barely held together by willpower and caffeine. 

Offering help without making Eddie feel incapable was a skill Buck had worked on with the same dedication he used to learn a new rope-rescue technique.

“Thanks,” Eddie murmured, voice small in the way Buck had learned meant vulnerable, not weak.

Buck felt something warm and fuzzy expand in his chest, like someone had just microwaved his heart.

The drive was short but filled with Eddie’s quiet nervous fidgeting —tapping his thumb on the door, then his knee, then his other knee, then going back to the door. 

Buck didn’t tease him. 

Not about this. 

When they pulled up in front of the school —with five whole minutes to spare, which Buck personally considered a victory worthy of confetti— Eddie scanned the building with the expression of a man about to face a firing squad.

“I’ll be back in two hours to take you home, okay?” Buck said gently, noticing couples walking in at a relaxed pace, clearly not haunted by the ghosts of past school meetings.

Eddie looked at them, then at the entrance, then at his own hands. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“Are you okay?” Buck asked softly.

Eddie shook his head.

That was when it clicked.

This was the first parent-teacher meeting he had to attend alone. At first, Carla had gone with him. Later, Shannon had attended the few she could before… everything ended.

So no —Eddie wasn’t okay.

And Buck’s chest cracked open a little.

“Stay,” Eddie whispered, barely audible. 

His fingers curled slightly, like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure he was allowed. He looked up at Buck then, eyes shining in a way that twisted something deep inside Buck.

“Please.”

Buck pressed his lips together, feeling Bobby’s voice echo in the back of his mind —Don’t pull someone out of their storm. Walk with them through it.

So he nodded, gently patting Eddie’s knee before switching off the Jeep. No hesitation. No second thought.

“Let’s go then,” he said softly. “We need to see how Chris is doing with his classes.”

Eddie’s answering smile was delicate —so delicate that Buck didn’t dare look straight at it, afraid it might shatter if he breathed too hard.

Inside, Buck somehow —somehow— ended up in the PTA’s WhatsApp group within twenty minutes, because apparently signing up to “support events” was code for “you’re trapped now; enjoy the bake sales.” 

He sat beside Eddie the entire meeting, answering questions, nodding seriously about school safety protocols, and pretending he didn’t feel Eddie’s eyes on him most of the time. It wasn’t subtle. 

At all. 

Eddie looked at him the way people looked at fire escapes —like he was safety. Like he was the way out.

Buck didn’t call attention to it. 

Not when Eddie hugged him outside the school with a fierceness that surprised both of them. 

Not when Eddie asked him to stay the night again, voice soft and hopeful.

And certainly not when —at the next meeting, without hesitation, without even pretending otherwise— Eddie turned to him and said the same word again, the same soft plea that hit Buck right in the ribs.

“Stay.”

3.

Buck knew the day would be brutal long before he stepped out of bed. 

The date on the calendar hit him like a punch to the chest —a quiet reminder of a wound that wasn’t his but that he carried anyway, simply because it sat inside the hearts of the two people he loved most.

So he didn’t wait for a call. He didn’t wait for a text. He just showed up.

The Diaz house was wrapped in a kind of silence that felt too heavy for morning. Not the peaceful kind —no, this one clung to the air like humidity before a storm. 

Inside, he found Christopher curled up on the sofa, small body tucked tight, flushed cheeks showing he’d cried himself into sleep. A blanket had slipped halfway off him, and Buck tenderly pulled it back up before his eyes drifted toward the kitchen.

Eddie stood barefoot by the counter, still in yesterday’s clothes, clutching a mug of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

He looked… wrecked. 

Dark circles carved half-moons under his eyes, his hair rumpled, his entire posture sagging under the weight of a date he’d been dreading since the year began.

Buck didn’t have to ask if the night had been bad, Eddie’s face spoke fluently in heartbreak.

He crossed the room slowly, giving Eddie time to shrink away if he wanted to. 

Eddie didn’t. He just stared numbly at the counter. 

Buck placed a hand on his forearm —gentle contact, warm and grounding. Eddie’s grip loosened around the mug, and he set it down with trembling fingers before Buck pulled him into his arms.

Eddie collapsed into the embrace like a building losing its foundation. 

No hesitation, no pride —just raw, exhausted grief. 

He buried his face in Buck’s neck, breath shuddering, and then a choked sob ripped out of him, muffled but so full of ache it nearly took Buck’s breath away.

“I’m here,” Buck murmured, because it was the only thing that felt true enough for the moment. “I’m here, Ed.”

And then Eddie broke. Completely.

Not the quiet tearful kind —no. His entire body shook. His breath came in sharp, painful gasps, and his tears soaked into Buck’s neck and shirt until the fabric clung, cold and uncomfortable. 

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

The moment wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t cinematic or delicate. It was messy —wet cheeks, red eyes, trembling limbs, sobs he tried and failed to hold back. 

But it was real, and Buck held him through all of it, tightening his arms when Eddie’s legs faltered.

Eventually Eddie’s knees buckled, and Buck sank with him, kneeling on the floor, holding Eddie like he’d patch him back together with his hands alone if he had to. 

Buck whispered whatever came to mind —soft, soothing nonsense and small promises. “I’ve got you… let it out… just breathe… I’m right here…”

He rocked them gently, the same way he had soothed Chris after nightmares, murmuring low sounds in Eddie’s ear until the sobs steadied into sniffles and then into something like slow, exhausted breathing.

Eddie clung harder as his body finally surrendered to fatigue, fingers bunched in Buck’s shirt like he was afraid Buck would vanish if he let go.

And then, right there in Buck’s arms, Eddie fell asleep.

Just dropped into it, as if grief had finally wrung him dry.

Buck stayed still for a minute, listening to Eddie’s breathing, memorizing the weight of him. 

When he finally stood, every joint protested and fire shot down his leg, but he ignored it. He pressed a lingering kiss to Eddie’s forehead —a touch far too soft for something so heavy— and carried him to the bedroom.

As he laid him down, Eddie blinked up with red, swollen eyes, half-asleep and heartbreakingly small in the dark.

“Stay,” he whispered, voice soft as a dying ember.

Buck didn’t make him repeat it.

He simply slipped under the covers, curled up behind him, and let Eddie fall asleep pressed to his chest. Only when Eddie finally loosened his grip, when the hiccups faded and his hand slid limply onto the mattress, did Buck gently ease away.

He left the bedroom with a heart too full and too cracked at the same time.

Christopher was awake now, sitting on the sofa with Shannon’s photo in front of him, his little face twisted with sadness far too big for his age.

“Hey, Superman,” Buck whispered as he sat down. 

Chris immediately curled onto his side, burrowing close. Buck wrapped his arms around him, gathering the boy in tightly, resting his chin atop his head.

“I miss her,” Chris murmured, voice tiny and trembling.

Buck pressed a kiss to his forehead —soft, tender, the same way he’d kissed Eddie.

“I know,” he whispered.

“Daddy misses her too,” Chris added, squeezing Buck’s shirt with small fingers. “And… and when I think of her, it hurts.”

Buck sighed, tightening his hold even more.

“You’ll always miss her,” he told him honestly. “And yeah, it’ll hurt for a long time. Because she mattered. Because you loved her. But one day… the hurt becomes something gentler. Something you understand. It becomes love you carry instead of pain you fear.”

Chris let out a sound so broken that it cracked Buck’s chest right open. He held him through it, rubbing his back until the trembling eased. 

Then, with gentle coaxing, Buck got him into the kitchen.

He made pancakes —extra fluffy, extra syrupy— the kind Chris adored. 

They talked about Shannon: her laughter, her hugs, the way she chased away bad dreams with whispered promises and warm arms. Chris giggled softly at times, and Buck felt something unclench in his chest. 

Helping Chris through today felt like a gift he didn’t deserve but would treasure anyway.

Eddie emerged hours later —eyes swollen, nose red, cheeks blotchy— but more present. More himself. 

He kissed Chris’s head, whispered something Buck didn’t catch, then walked toward Buck.

Buck braced himself for a clap on the shoulder or a quiet “thanks.”

He did not expect Eddie to all but attach himself to him, burying his face in Buck’s neck again like Buck was the only solid thing in the room.

“You didn’t stay,” Eddie whispered, sounding hurt and small and exhausted.

Buck let out a quiet groan, pulling him in tight, burying his face in Eddie’s hair.

“Chris needed me too,” he murmured. Eddie’s breath hitched —a half-sob he swallowed back.

“I know,” he whispered. Then softer: “Thank you.”

Buck didn’t say anything. He just held him, because sometimes silence spoke louder.

By nightfall, Buck was ready to leave. He’d gotten both Diaz boys fed, talked to, comforted, and gently nudged away from the cliff of grief. Christopher was asleep, curled in his blankets, and Eddie had gone to change.

There were no excuses left for staying. No obvious reason to linger.

Until Eddie came back.

Fresh pajamas. Damp hair. Red eyes but softer now. 

He walked right up to Buck and took his arm, lips pressed together like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for anything else after everything he’d already taken today. 

He wouldn’t meet Buck’s gaze —too vulnerable, too raw.

“Stay,” Eddie whispered.

Buck blinked, breath catching. 

He reached up, brushing Eddie’s cheek with the back of his fingers and Eddie leaned into the touch instantly, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

“Do you need any more help?” Buck asked softly, trying to stay grounded, to be the friend Eddie needed.

“I just need you,” Eddie said, voice barely a breath. 

Buck didn’t need to hear anything more. He wrapped Eddie in his arms, holding him with all the care and certainty of a promise.

He’d stay. For tonight. For tomorrow. For as long as Eddie needed.

He’d stay for the rest of his life if Eddie asked.

4.

It’s one of those Fridays drenched in déjà vu, the kind that feels like stepping into a memory —soft, familiar, warm around the edges. 

The Diaz living room glows with the static comfort of movie night, that ritual carved into the bones of their little family long before Buck ever dared to name it as such.

Buck is on the sofa next to Eddie, close enough that their shoulders brush with every breath. One of his hands rests on the back of the couch, fingers lightly grazing the upholstery in lazy circles, while the other sits in his lap, trying very hard to behave and not wander.

Christopher is sprawled on the floor like a heroic soldier who didn’t quite survive the battle against gravity, his head pillowed across both of their knees. 

He’s utterly absorbed in the screen, even though they’ve seen these movies so many times Buck suspects the DVD menu music plays in his dreams.

Their bodies are touching everywhere —knees, arms, thighs, warmth pressing into warmth— the kind of contact that’s so habitual it should have lost all meaning by now. 

And yet, tonight, something is humming beneath it. Something almost painfully gentle.

Eddie's hand moves.

Slowly. Casually. Like he’s reaching for popcorn.

But instead, he finds Buck’s hand in his lap and takes it. Just holds it.

Right there in the middle of the scene where Donkey starts flirting with the dragon like he’s never known fear a day in his life.

And Buck freezes.

Which is, frankly, ridiculous, because he’s spent years imagining this exact moment —usually at inconvenient times, like in the shower or while pretending to focus on dispatch updates— and yet here he is, struck stupid by the simple weight of Eddie’s fingers over his own.

Eddie gives his hand a gentle squeeze, as if to say hey, you still breathing?, and Buck manages to exhale. He squeezes back, smiling at nothing and everything, and for now that’s enough.

The movie keeps playing, some heroic nonsense unfolding onscreen, but Buck’s thoughts drift entirely to that touch. 

To the way Eddie’s thumb brushes the back of his hand, slow and rhythmic. 

To how Eddie occasionally lifts their joined hands just to let his fingers trail softly up Buck’s forearm before returning, repeating the motion absentmindedly —as if Buck’s skin were something familiar he’d missed touching.

Each stroke sends a quiet shiver down Buck’s spine, something tender and electric, blooming into a warm ache in his chest. 

Charming’s antics barely register. The iconic “I Need a Hero” escape sequence might as well be white noise. All Buck feels is the soft flutter in his stomach —not frantic butterflies anymore, but something steadier, calmer, a heartbeat finding a new rhythm.

Buck relaxes into it, letting his other hand drift toward Eddie’s neck, his fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape. 

Eddie leans into his touch instantly, tilting his head just enough that their temples brush. Buck mirrors the movement without thinking, and suddenly they’re watching the movie like that —like some ridiculous domestic portrait neither of them is brave enough to name.

By the time the third movie ends, Christopher is nodding off against their knees, and with a single glance —that wordless language they’ve perfected— Buck and Eddie agree it’s time to call it a night.

They separate slowly, reluctant, fingers slipping apart as though gravity itself were conspiring to keep them together. The ghost of Eddie’s touch lingers on Buck's skin, warm and impossible to ignore.

Eddie rises first, helping Christopher stand. This earns several grunts from the kid, as if walking were a cruel punishment invented specifically for him. But eventually he shuffles along.

“See you tomorrow, Buck,” Christopher mumbles, already half-asleep as Eddie steers him down the hall.

“Night, Superman,” Buck whispers back, smiling as the two Diaz boys disappear into the shadows.

Silence settles over the room —thick, soft, expectant.

Buck shakes himself out of the trance Eddie’s touch left him in and begins his routine: pulling out the couch sheets, fluffing the pillows he knows are already too flat, trying not to think about how his hand still tingles.

He’s just tucking in a corner when Eddie reappears in the hallway.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, head bowed a little, like he’s gathering courage the way other people gather their keys and wallet before leaving the house.

“Stay with me,” Eddie whispers.

Buck blinks. His brain promptly blue-screens.

“I— I’m not going anywhere,” Buck says slowly, pointing to the sofa. “I already got the pillows and everything.”

Eddie lets out a soft laugh, the kind that curls around Buck’s ribs and pulls. Then he takes a step forward. Then another. And another. Until he’s standing right in front of Buck, close enough that Buck can see the trembling in Eddie’s lashes.

“No,” Eddie murmurs, reaching for Buck’s hand again, fingers intertwining with a certainty that steals Buck's breath. “Stay with me. In my bed.”

Buck opens and closes his mouth like a confused fish, heat flooding into his cheeks as he glances down at their joined hands.

“A-Are you sure?” he manages, though every cell in his body is praying Eddie says yes. Or kisses him. Either is fine. Both would be excellent.

What Buck does not expect is Eddie cupping his cheek with his free hand, eyes soft and steady, and then —just like that— leaning in and kissing him.

The world stops.

Buck’s heart trips over itself, his breath tangles somewhere between his lungs and his throat, and he kisses back with a stunned, aching tenderness he’s held in for far too long.

When they finally break apart, Eddie wipes Buck’s lower lip with his thumb, like he already has the right to touch him that way.

“Absolutely sure,” Eddie whispers.

And that’s all it takes.

Buck grabs his pillows with his free hand, letting Eddie tug him gently down the hallway, his heartbeat thundering with something terrifyingly close to joy.

That night, Buck falls asleep with his back pressed to Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s arms wrapped around him like the world finally makes sense. Eddie breathes against the back of his neck, soft and warm, and Buck swears he can feel every unspoken word between them settling into place.

He lies there, held tightly in the safest embrace he’s ever known, and thinks.

If this is home… I never want to leave.

5.

After that night —the night that changed the rhythm of their breaths, the cadence of their touches, the definition of every quiet moment between them— kisses, hand-holding, and romantic movie nights slipped into their routine as naturally as sunrise.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision. 

One day Eddie’s fingers brushed Buck’s knuckles on the couch, then he was kissing him at the door, and between every sip of coffee and the next day they were leaning against each other during Disney movies, mocking plot holes and secretly memorizing the way the other smiled. 

At work, the casual affection became a constant: a shoulder bump here, a hand brushing lower back there, a soft kiss hidden behind a locker door, their hands intertwined while sitting on the firetruck tailboard between calls. Chim stopped teasing after the fiftieth “We know you’re dating already!” and now his full-time job was rolling his eyes whenever they so much as brushed shoulders near the lockers.

But that day… that day was different.

Something heavier hovered around them, a nervous electricity, a fluttering in Buck’s chest that felt both hopeful and terrifying.

Eddie and Chris had been invited to one of their nieces’ confirmation celebrations —a big family gathering, the kind where every relative showed up with questions, casseroles, gossip, and opinions they never hesitated to share. And Buck —by extension, by choice, by love— had been invited too.

Buck was about two seconds away from turning the Jeep around and pretending he’d gotten a sudden case of firehouse flu.

He was driving, but the nerves were eating him alive. His hands squeezed the steering wheel too tightly, and every red light made him reconsider his life choices. 

The three of them were dressed in crisp white shirts and dark jeans, looking like the world’s most coordinated family photo, but beneath the clothes Buck was one giant heartbeat of anxiety.

He wasn’t worried about whether Eddie would stand by him. Eddie Diaz could stare down a hurricane and not blink.

No —his nerves were spiraling because this wasn’t just any family gathering. This was Diaz family official territory. The real deal. The introduction of introductions.

Abuela and Tía Pepa already knew, of course. They’d been the first to notice the way Eddie and Buck hovered around each other like two planets stuck in the same orbit. And Eddie, brave as always when it came to truth, had called his parents and sisters months ago to tell them he was dating Buck.

But calls were one thing. Belief was another.

And Eddie’s parents had polite enough, but polite in that tight, stiff way that suggested they weren’t entirely convinced.

They arrived holding hands. 

Eddie kept brushing his thumb soothingly over Buck’s skin, a slow, steady rhythm that grounded him. Meanwhile Buck looked like he might burst into joyful fireworks at any second —because he was finally, officially, publicly being introduced to Eddie’s family as Eddie’s partner.

The introductions at first were warm, familiar, even funny. Eddie’s cousins joked “About time! We’ve only heard, like, four years' worth of stories about you,” while Eddie blushed the way he only did around family, and Buck laughed and shook his head because yes —they had definitely been idiots.

Everything felt good.

And then came the moment Buck had been dreading: greeting Ramón and Helena.

Buck could practically feel his palms start sweating as they approached, and Eddie gave him a puzzled look.

“Aren’t you one of those who meet the parents?” Eddie whispered with a smirk.

Buck let out a laugh far louder than necessary.

“No! Absolutely not!”

Eddie laughed quietly, squeezing his hand.

“Well, too late now.”

“Shut up and let’s go say hi,” Buck muttered, though there was a smile tugging at his lips.

Ramón and Helena were formal, polite, distant in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t welcoming either. Their smiles were thin, the kind people used for strangers. But they weren’t rude —not at first.

And then… Chris happened.

Mid-conversation, Chris came running. Breathless, laughing from chasing cousins, he barreled straight into Buck, leaning against him and tucking his face into Buck’s stomach like he always did when he got worn out.

Everything froze.

Helena stiffened. Ramón’s expression shifted into something colder, something Buck recognized instantly —disapproval sharpened into a warning.

“Christopher, that’s not appropriate,” Helena murmured, her voice deceptively gentle. Then she crouched down, speaking to him in a tone far too sweet, as if Chris were a toddler instead of nearly ten. “Baby, that’s no way to treat an acquaintance. If you’re tired, you come to me, or your grandfather… or yes, your dad.”

Buck felt a rush of heat in his chest —anger, protective and instinctive. He forced himself to stay still. Forced himself not to say something.

Because holy hell, he wanted to.

Eddie’s voice cut in, sharp. “Mom…” 

That one tone made them both look up, but it didn’t erase what she’d implied.

Buck swallowed his response and instead gently ran a hand through Chris’s curls, brushing the hair off his forehead, because someone in this group needed to provide actual comfort.

“Buck isn’t an acquaintance,” Chris mumbled. He lifted his face, resting his chin on Buck’s stomach and looking up at him. “Right? You’re like my other dad.”

Buck’s nearly melted where he stood. His heart cracked open, his throat tightened, and he wanted to scoop Chris into his arms immediately and kiss the top of his head a hundred times. Eddie’s expression morphed into the softest smile Buck had ever seen —one that said he felt exactly the same.

Ramón and Helena… did not.

But Helena’s eyes went cold. Ramón’s jaw flexed.

“Eddie, I think it’s important we talk privately about… certain freedoms,” Ramón said, pointedly ignoring Buck.

Helena leaned down again, her voice like artificial honey.

Helena leaned toward Chris again. 

“Sweetheart, let’s get you seated so the adults can—”

Chris shook his head fast, staying pressed to Buck’s side. Something in him sensed the tension —and the threat beneath it.

“No,” Eddie interrupted, voice calm but firm enough to snap every word in half. “There’s nothing to talk about. Buck has raised Chris with me since I met him. And now we’re together. Eventually he’ll be Chris’s father on paper too, right?”

Buck blinked, startled.

He’d dared think it. Privately. Quietly. In the dark.

But hearing Eddie say it —out loud, in front of his parents— hit him like a punch straight to the chest. He looked at Eddie —who looked right back at him, steady and soft— and Buck felt something warm and terrified and overwhelmingly good rise in his chest.

Chris smiled like the sun breaking through clouds.

Buck managed a shaky nod, brushing Chris’s curls again, feeling the warmth of the boy pressed against him.

But Ramón wasn’t done

“Eddie, this is a family matter. I think we should discuss it as such.”

The look he gave Buck was unmistakable.

You’re not family.

Buck opened his mouth to say he could step back —give them space, avoid making things worse— but Eddie spoke first, turning to him with a quiet command.

“Stay,” Eddie murmured to him without looking away. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. “You’re part of this.”

Then he turned back to his parents.

“There’s nothing to discuss. Chris is happy. I’m happy. And we both found someone who makes our lives better. Isn’t that what matters?”

Chris nodded so fast his curls bounced.

“Buck is family. He always has been.”

And that… was that.

The conversation died right there.

Hours passed. Music and laughter filled the house. Tía’s food could’ve powered the entire firehouse for a week. Chris ran himself exhausted.

By two in the morning, the party finally began to wind down. Kids dragged their feet or clung to their parents, some hyper, others falling asleep mid-sentence. Chris was one of the sleepy ones, blinking slowly against Buck’s hip.

He looked up at Buck with heavy eyes, his voice tiny, almost baby-like, he whispered, “Upa?”

Buck hadn’t heard that word from him in years. So he melted instantly.

He scooped Chris into his arms, settling him on his shoulder. Chris sighed, soft and relieved, going limp with exhaustion, his breaths warm against Buck’s neck. Asleep within seconds.

Buck approached Eddie, who was talking animatedly —frustratedly— with Abuela and Pepa.

“Eddie, breathe,” Pepa said with a serene calm that contrasted sharply with Eddie’s simmering frustration. “You already said what needed to be said.”

“But Tía—” Abuela smacked Eddie’s shoulder with the force of a small hurricane.

“Stop complaining and go be with your boys,” she said, before turning to Buck with a bright smile. She reached up and patted his cheek. “Gracias por venir, Evanito. We are so happy to have you. Don’t disappear, huh?”

Buck smiled, hugging her with his free arm, then did the same with Pepa before stepping back.

“I’ll take him to the car, wait for you there?” he offered gently.

Eddie pressed his lips together, then looked at the women. Something softened in his expression.

“Let’s both go.” Eddie said, kissing them goodbye on the cheek, then grabbed the leftover food containers with one hand, and intertwined his fingers with Buck’s with the other. “I love you both, we’ll visit soon.”

The women smiled as they walked out together.

Buck kissed the top of Chris’s head as he slept. Eddie held Buck’s hand tightly. The night air was cool, but everything inside Buck felt warm —anchored— right.

Once they reached the Jeep and Buck settled Chris gently in the backseat, Eddie squeezed Buck’s hand and leaned in.

He kissed him softly —a short, tender press of lips. But full. Overflowing.

“Thank you for staying,” Eddie whispered.

Buck shook his head, brushing his thumb along Eddie’s jaw.

“Thank you for letting me.”

Because maybe Ramón and Helena weren’t ready. Maybe it would take time. Maybe a long time.

But knowing that Eddie’s family —the loud ones, the loving ones, the ones who embraced him without hesitation— were excited to have him? That Chris was more than happy to have him there? And that Eddie… Eddie chose him?

That was more than enough.

And Buck knew —deep in his chest, in the quiet place where promises live— that he would have stayed no matter what.

Because he’d already made up his mind.

Because he had already promised himself long before Eddie ever asked.

And because he could never say no to Eddie’s soft, trembling voice when he whispered, “Stay.”

+1

Buck arrived at the station with a scowl that felt carved into his face. Eddie hadn’t answered a single one of his calls that morning —not the one where Buck offered to pick him up, not the one where he suggested grabbing coffee on the way, not even the tiny “???” text he’d sent when Eddie declined without explanation.

And Eddie never declined a ride.

Not from him.

So Buck walked in already off-balance, but the moment he stepped into the station, the world tilted in a way that made his frown deepen into full confusion. 

It was silent. Not q-word —silent. 

No clanging pans, no Bobby humming Sinatra while cooking, no Hen and Chim bickering about who stole whose protein bar.

Just… Nothing.

He hesitated before stepping farther inside, half expecting someone to jump out from behind a door yelling “Surprise!” just to scare a year off his life. But no one appeared. 

The emptiness felt too intentional. Too strange.

Then he saw it.

The ambulance. Parked dead center in the bay, angled outward like a stage waiting for him.

And on the back doors, taped a little crookedly, was a sign with his name. 

Just his name.

Anybody else would have walked away. Maybe called 911 on principle. But Buck —Buck was the kind of man who saw his name on a mysterious sign and opened the doors without a second thought.

So he did.

And the instant the doors swung wide, his heart cracked right down the middle.

Because Eddie was inside.

Eddie in his uniform, standing under strings of warm fairy lights someone had stuck to the ambulance ceiling. 

Eddie holding a bouquet of flowers so bright and mismatched it looked like Chris had picked them himself. 

Eddie smiling in a way Buck had only ever seen a handful of times before —wide, hopeful, glowing.

“Buck,” Eddie breathed, and Buck felt the floor of the world fall away, leaving nothing standing except Eddie’s voice calling his name.

Buck blinked rapidly, because suddenly his eyes were full of tears he wasn’t emotionally prepared for. 

“W-What is this?” he whispered, his voice embarrassingly thin.

Eddie didn’t answer immediately. 

Instead, he reached out, steady and warm, helping Buck climb inside the ambulance. His hand slid up Buck’s forearm, familiar and gentle, before cupping his cheek. 

That touch alone nearly undid him.

“Our relationship started back there,” Eddie murmured, nodding toward the direction of the locker room. “When you showed up with that ridiculous tough-guy face.”

Buck huffed a breath —half laugh, half sob.

“Then it moved to the gym,” Eddie continued, smiling as if remembering something that still made his chest warm, “where we argued for the first time about my position at the station.”

He gestured loosely at each spot as he spoke, like a man pointing at landmarks of a shared history only they understood.

“But what sealed everything for me,” Eddie said softly, his voice dipping lower, “was in an ambulance just like this one. When we promised to have each other’s backs. And we’ve kept that promise —every damn day.”

Buck’s breath hitched. His brain was operational  —barely—but his body refused to move, afraid that even blinking too fast would shatter the moment.

Eddie inhaled deeply, as if gathering every scrap of courage he’d ever had. 

“I’ve asked you to stay with me so many times,” he whispered. “On that first night on the couch. During Chris’s fevers. After bad shifts. After worse days. When storms hit. When grief hit harder. When I didn’t know what else to say.”

Buck laughed wetly, a choked little sound that said he understood every single memory Eddie was unraveling between them.

“And today,” Eddie continued slowly, “here, in the place where everything began… I’m asking you again.”

He dropped to one knee.

Buck stopped breathing entirely.

Eddie opened a small red velvet box, revealing a simple silver band with two black lines —clean, bold, unmistakably him.

“Stay with me,” Eddie whispered. “With us. Forever.”

His voice trembled, but his eyes didn’t waver. 

“Be my husband. Be Chris’s father. Stay with us for life.”

Buck’s sob hit before he had time to stop it. 

He reached for Eddie with shaking hands, cupping his face, pulling him into a kiss that tasted like tears —his, Eddie’s, maybe both. Eddie kissed him back softly, then deeper, steadier, as if anchoring Buck to the earth.

When they finally broke apart, Buck whispered against Eddie’s lips, “Yes. Yes—God, Eddie, yes. A thousand times yes.”

Eddie slid the ring onto Buck’s finger with hands that trembled just enough to be noticeable. Then he stood, grabbing the back of Buck’s neck and kissing him again —hungry, relieved, alive.

And that was when the applause exploded like a sudden siren in the dead of night, shattering the intimate bubble Buck and Eddie had wrapped themselves in.

It wasn't just clapping —it was a full-on eruption of cheers, whoops, whistles, and a very loud, “Okay, ew —this is a workplace!” that echoed off the firehouse walls, making the whole place feel alive with joy.

Buck jerked back so hard he nearly toppled right off the bench, his heart pounding.

His wide eyes darted around, half-expecting some kind of emergency, but instead, he was met with the most beautiful chaos: his entire family, crammed into the loft like they'd been hiding in the shadows just waiting for their cue.

“Thanks, Chim,” Buck muttered, his voice cracking with laughter even as fresh tears blurred his vision. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, but it was no use —these were the good kind of tears, the ones that came from a heart so full it had to overflow.

He turned fully then, taking in the scene that hit him like a tidal wave of love. 

There was Bobby, standing tall with that fatherly pride beaming from his face, his eyes misty as he wrapped an arm around Athena's shoulders, who had a soft smile playing on her lips and a telltale shine in her eyes. Hen was grinning ear to ear as she pulled Karen into a sideways hug. 

Chimney was trying so hard to play it cool with his arms crossed and that fake-tough expression, but Buck spotted the suspicious glint in his eyes and the way he kept blinking a little too fast. Maddie was right there in the thick of it, her phone held up steady as she recorded every second, a sleepy Jee-Yun nestled against her chest in a pink onesie. 

Even Ravi was clapping enthusiastically.

But it was Chris who absolutely wrecked Buck —standing there with his crutches propped under his arms, holding up a handmade sign that read “Congrats Dads!” in big, wobbly letters decorated with stickers and what looked like hastily drawn fire trucks. 

The wave of emotion was too big, too full, too everything. Buck hid his face in Eddie’s neck, breathing him in, letting Eddie’s hand settle over his back, grounding him.

In the quiet space between the cheers, with the world still buzzing around them, Buck couldn't help the words that slipped out, whispered right into Eddie's skin before his brain could catch up.

“Will you stay too?” Buck whispered into Eddie’s skin.

It was vulnerable, raw, laced with the echoes of all the times people hadn't —parents who left, partners who drifted, a life built on shifting sands. But here, with Eddie, it felt different, like asking wasn't a risk but a promise.

Eddie heard him anyway. Of course he did.

He pulled back just enough to meet Buck's eyes, that soft, devastating warmth in his smile —the one that had snuck up on him years ago, long before Buck admitted to himself that he'd fallen hard and deep. 

Eddie's brown eyes crinkled at the corners, full of that quiet intensity that made Buck's knees weak.

“For life,” Eddie murmured. “If you’ll have me.”

Buck closed his eyes, letting the world settle inside his chest —Eddie’s heartbeat thumping steadily against his own, Eddie’s breath warm and rhythmic on his cheek, Eddie’s arms curled around him like the safest home Buck had ever known.

He finally understood the word “stay.”

Stay didn’t mean duty, like the weight of expectations pressing down until you couldn’t breathe. 

Stay didn’t mean fear, that gnawing worry of abandonment that had haunted Buck since he was a kid bouncing between his parents' indifference and the world's uncertainties. 

Stay didn’t mean holding on white-knuckled because letting go would shatter everything into irreparable pieces, leaving you alone in the rubble.

No, stay meant choosing —deliberately, joyfully, every single day. 

Stay meant loving with your whole messy self, flaws and all, and knowing the other person loved you right back, tattoos, birthmarks, and bad habits included. 

Stay meant building something solid, something that didn’t disappear when the world shook —like those earthquakes they’d survived together, literal and metaphorical, only to come out stronger on the other side.

He had found a place where “stay” didn’t hurt, where it felt like slipping into your favorite worn-in hoodie on a chilly night.

He had found a family who wanted him —not as a backup plan or a temporary fix, but as an irreplaceable piece of their puzzle, the one that made the picture complete.

He had found a man who asked him to stay —not out of need, like Buck was just filling a void, but out of love, pure and simple, the kind that made everyday moments feel like magic.

And Buck —finally, finally— felt peace.

Because he wasn’t staying out of obligation. He was staying because he wanted to.

Because Eddie wanted him to, with that unwavering gaze that said you're my person, no questions asked. Because Chris loved him, with those big, trusting eyes and hugs that squeezed the doubt right out of Buck's soul.

Because he had a home.

Because he had a forever.