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Buck knows the moment Eddie pads out of the bedroom that they’re not starting this day at Eddie Diaz’s usual height.
Eddie’s curls are smashed into sleep-flattened waves, his eyes still puffy, lower lip pushed out in that soft, wordless way that tells Buck everything. He’s dragging his faded blankie behind him, the stitched edge caught beneath his heel every other step. And in his arms is Leo — the stuffed lion that only ever appears when Eddie is very small.
Buck doesn’t even ask.
Just opens his arms.
Eddie goes straight into them, climbing up Buck’s body on instinct, wrapping his legs tight around Buck’s waist. His face tucks into Buck’s neck immediately, warm breath puffing against his skin in tiny uneven little huffs.
“Hey, baby,” Buck murmurs, rubbing the back of Eddie’s hair. “Hard morning?”
Eddie just nods against him, fingers fisting in Buck’s shirt.
Buck holds him while making breakfast one-handed, brushing teeth, getting shoes on — everything slow, quiet, rhythmic. Eddie never asks to be put down. Buck never makes him.
But eventually, they have to leave for the station.
Eddie’s grip tightens as they step out of the Jeep, his little noises quiet but panicked. Buck kisses his temple.
“I got you,” he whispers. “I’m carrying you in, okay?”
Eddie’s answer is to cling harder.
The station is chaos.
The kind only the day before Thanksgiving can bring.
Hen and Chim are mid-argument about sage vs. rosemary.
Bobby is barking orders about thawing times.
Ravi has somehow burned water.
The entire kitchen looks like a cooking show exploded.
And then Buck walks in carrying Eddie on his hip.
Everything stops for a solid three seconds.
Eddie instantly hides in Buck’s neck, overwhelmed by the bright lights and noise.
Maddie, who’s dropping off homemade pie fillings, is the first to move.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos softly, stepping forward and smoothing a hand over Eddie’s back. “Rough morning?”
Eddie peeks at her and makes a tiny whining noise, gripping Buck harder.
“Little today, huh?” Maddie says gently.
Eddie buries his face again.
Buck nods. “Yeah. Since he woke up.”
Athena enters behind her with a stack of aluminum pans and clocks the situation immediately. Her eyes soften.
“Alright,” Athena says quietly. “Let’s make some space for him.”
Without another word, she redirects the chaos — lowering voices, moving busy hands, making sure no one accidentally bumps into Eddie’s little bubble of safety.
Buck tries to help the team cook. Which means—
He has to set Eddie down.
Just for one second.
Just long enough to wash his hands.
“Eds?” Buck murmurs, lowering him toward the soft couch in the corner. “I’m gonna put you down for a minute, okay? I’ll be right in front of you.”
Eddie’s arms tighten suddenly.
Then tighter.
Then trembling.
“Hey—hey—hey,” Buck breathes. “It’s okay.”
But the moment Eddie’s backside touches the couch cushion, his face crumples.
The first sob rips out of him so suddenly Buck freezes.
Then Eddie reaches for him so desperately — hands shaking, face blotchy, tears spilling fast — that Buck immediately scoops him back up.
“Okay, okay, okay, I got you,” Buck whispers, holding him tight against his chest. “You don’t have to sit down. I’m right here.”
Eddie sobs into Buck’s neck, the kind of small, overwhelmed cry that comes from deep inside, from feeling too many things and not knowing how to hold any of them.
Buck sways him gently, rubbing circles on his back, murmuring the softest praises.
“There you go… I’ve got you… you’re safe… you’re doing so good.”
Maddie comes up beside them, voice warm and careful.
“Want me to help him braid his hair back?” she asks softly.
Eddie sniffles into Buck’s shirt, nodding weakly against him.
Buck sits on the couch with Eddie in his lap — not setting him down — and Maddie gathers Eddie’s curls with slow, comforting movements. Eddie goes still, sniffling, watching her fingers work. When she finishes the loose braid, Eddie touches it with one shy hand and gives her the tiniest smile.
“There he is,” she whispers.
Thanksgiving prep continues around them.
Athena brings Eddie a simple job: stacking napkins.
“Nice quiet one,” she says gently, placing the napkins within reach.
Eddie perks up, proud and determined, sitting sideways on Buck’s lap while Buck chops vegetables with one hand. Every so often Eddie taps Buck’s arm and shows him a particularly good stack, and Buck rewards him with forehead kisses and whispered praise.
The team works around them like it’s completely normal:
Hen lowers her voice every time she comes near.
Chim hands Eddie a small spoon to “help stir.”
Ravi keeps giving him soft smiles from across the room.
Bobby makes sure nothing loud or startling happens without warning.
It’s domestic, cozy, chaotic, but gentle — the 118 functioning as one big, protective family without even having to coordinate it.
By late afternoon, the kitchen smells like butter and cinnamon.
Eddie’s small, warm, full — and sleepy.
Buck rocks him quietly on the couch, Eddie’s head on his chest, blankie draped over both of them.
Maddie and Athena finish the pie crusts.
Hen and Chim clean the disaster zone.
Bobby checks the turkeys one last time.
The station is a warm hum of motion and laughter, a holiday home.
Eddie sighs and curls into Buck’s shirt, whispering a tiny, drowsy noise of contentment.
Buck kisses the top of his head.
“That’s my Eddie,” he murmurs. “My little helper. You did so good today.”
Eddie doesn’t answer with words.
Just presses his lion tighter to his chest, melts deeper into Buck’s hold, and breathes easy — safe, loved, and held while the family he chose prepares for tomorrow.