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Darkness settles early over mild California winter; the last rays of light find their way through streaks of lilac and bruise blueviolet, and velvet night takes over without a fuss. The orange tree, old and familiar, stands guard over its little lemon brother— planted in the summer and still growing stronger and deeper now. Their leaves and branches disappear into the dim shadow by the end of dinner; and then Christmas Eve draws to a slow close.
But inside the Diaz house, it’s still perfectly bright.
In the corner against the window, the Christmas tree sparkles and shines with the reflective glint of the warm lights and the glitter of the ornaments; all the presents lay waiting underneath on the tree skirt that Buck had picked out just this year. Eddie’s old one didn’t close anymore, and this one— dark green and red spiraled stripes with a soft white fur along the edge— was perfect, according to Buck.
Eddie would admit now that it does look nice. Right, like it belongs in the cozy living room. The gifts are half wrapped by Eddie— pristine edges and careful ribbons— and half by Buck, with loving crumples along the corners and sticky colored bows that shine in the light. There are throw pillows and a garland hung slightly off-center over the doorway to the dining room; a poinsettia on the table kept alive exclusively by Christopher; and on the mantlepiece beneath the row of carefully arranged frames, the stockings.
This year, for the first time, there are four.
Buck’s, followed by Eddie’s, followed by Christopher’s— as it has been. And at the end of the line on the right, a brand new green one embroidered with gold thread that reads: Lucas.
Eddie’s heart beats fast every time he looks at it, a ridiculous traitorous thing that he can’t be mad at in the slightest. Four stockings on the mantle; a thing that he had once been too afraid to dream about, come to life.
Come to life in the form of the baby who is currently cuddled up on his chest, in fact. He’s a warm, familiar weight in Eddie’s arms, his soft blonde curls against Eddie’s jaw as he bounces him lightly, turning his head so that he can look down the slope of his own nose into his son’s face.
“Are you sleepy?” he coos, as Lucas just blinks up at him, all soft pale lashes and sweet blue eyes like Buck’s.
“I am,” Christopher announces from somewhere behind Eddie, sounding grumpy and kind of young in a way that pulls on Eddie’s heart a little. He twists on the sofa, catching sight of his older son in the space between the doorway and the hall. In the warm light with one arm braced against the doorway, dressed in sweatpants and a cozy sweatshirt that says Fleece Navidad above a picture of a sheep wearing a Santa hat, Chris looks—
Sweet. Soft. A little bit like the baby he used to be, and a little less like the man he’s growing into now. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the holiday or the baby on his chest or the persistent lingering buzziness of the couple of drinks he’d had earlier tonight at the 118’s Christmas dinner— more likely some combination of all these things— but he looks at his son and thinks that it should all be impossible, that he’s not as little as his brother anymore.
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, his voice dipping low and honeyed, fond in a way he couldn’t conceal if he wanted to.
Chris nods, moving closer and bracing on the back of the couch. “Ate too much at Bobby and Athena’s,” he says, leaning in over Eddie’s shoulder and tilting his head to look at his little brother.
Lucas’ eyes follow Christopher, mesmerized. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the reflection of light in his glasses or just Lucas’ recent infatuation with Chris— either way, the sight of it makes everything blurry and warm for a moment.
“Hi, buddy,” Chris says sweetly, reaching out to touch Lucas on his cheek as the baby coos excitedly.
There had been moments when Eddie and Buck had doubts— when Eddie, in particular, worried that their age gap would prevent his sons from being close. In the six months since Lucas completed their family, it’s all been soundly wiped away. Chris is a focused, attentive big brother and Lucas adores him as whole-heartedly as a baby can. Every time they’re together, it’s like this: magic, mirrored between two sets of blue eyes. Eddie hopes it goes on forever, that they love each other this much for the rest of their lives.
“Say goodnight to big brother!” Eddie coos senselessly at Lucas, who smiles big and reaches out his little hand in Christopher’s direction.
Chris smiles. “Goodnight, Lucas,” he says, and then squeezes Eddie’s shoulder lightly. “Night, Dad.”
“Goodnight, bud,” Eddie answers warmly. “Don’t stay up too late, okay? Early morning.”
Christopher rolls his eyes. “Duh. It’s Christmas.”
Eddie smiles, listening to him step across the hall and into his room, latching the door softly with a click. He looks back at Lucas, who’s still awake but looking drowsier by the moment.
“What about you, sweet boy?” he asks. “Are you ready to go to sleep?”
Lucas, as if in response, drops his head to Eddie’s shoulder and snuggles in. Eddie would swear he feels it down in his lungs as he turns to press a kiss into Lucas’ soft curls, running his hand over his back through his fleece footie pajamas, the ones Buck had picked out just for Christmas with the little red and green trains all over them.
As if summoned by Eddie’s thoughts of him, Buck appears in the dining room. The distant sounds from the kitchen have ceased— Eddie knows just by half-listening that Buck has finished washing the bottles from the day and setting up the coffee maker for the morning. Now, he’s rolling the sleeves of his sweatshirt back down over his wrists and smiling at even the barest glance into the living room— Eddie catches it on his face in profile as he spins around to the record player against the wall, a collection in a crate on the bottom of the shelf.
“What is Daddy doing?” Eddie whispers to Lucas as Buck pulls out a record and eases it out of its sleeve, setting it gently on the turntable.
Eddie knows his husband. Knows it’ll be the Christmas Classics well before the needle skips and static gives way to strains of familiar, nostalgic melody. Buck lowers the volume so that it’s down in the background and then makes his way into the room with them.
There’s something, Eddie has always thought, about being in a room with Buck. He fills the space so spectacularly and easily that it’s hard to feel anything but surrounded and comfortable when he’s close by. Sharing a home with him has been, and continues to be, the easiest thing Eddie has ever done.
“Chris go to bed?” Buck asks, sparing a glance to the hallway as he reaches for the little switch on the wall.
“Mhm,” Eddie confirms. “Or to his room, at least. Either way—” he pauses to look at the baby— “it’s just us now, huh?”
Following Buck’s touch to the switch, the electric fireplace beneath the mantle and the stockings comes to life, emitting low heat and bright, warm light that floods the room.
The fireplace had been— how could Eddie put this?
A discussion.
When they had decided to make lengthy renovations to this house in order to keep it instead of moving, one of the many things that came up was the boarded-up fireplace. Initially, Eddie had been staunchly against doing anything to it at all. He liked things the way they were. It had always been like that, with no issue. Why change it?
The contractor had said that it would raise the value of the house to make it functional again. Neither Buck nor Eddie cared about that part in the slightest.
Buck had been for it, though— in the sense that he had a vision, probably of a night very much like the one they’re having right now.
He’d been very persuasive, painting pictures of all the Norman Rockwell fantasies in his head. In the end, Eddie can’t say he was entirely wrong. They have the stockings, the tree, the fire— some of which, of course, are artificial.
They are firefighters, after all. An open flame larger than a birthday candle will never be found in the Diaz household. Electric, as it turns out after extensive research, is a pretty good alternative.
And tonight, Eddie can admit that the effect is everything Buck had thought it would be. The room shimmers with the light of the flames and the tree, and Eddie can already feel the drowsy warmth of the heater settling over himself and Lucas as Buck settles next to them with a contented little noise that makes Eddie feel stupidly endeared.
It’s funny, he thinks— how often he feels like that, now that he knows what it is and accepts it. The feeling had always been there. It just glimmers to the surface now, a welcome and warm presence in his life every time he looks at his husband. Denying it feels so distant now that he can’t entirely remember how it felt.
Buck leans in, propping his head on Eddie’s shoulder so that he can look down at their baby. Lucas, sleepier by the second, raises his head and looks at him like Buck’s gaze is a magnet. His little fingers are fisted around the fabric of Eddie’s shirt, but his baby blue eyes are all for Buck, Christmas lights reflected in the shine. Buck leans in and nudges his nose very lightly against Lucas’.
“Hi, sunshine,” he whispers, all warm and tender.
Eddie wants to freeze-frame absolutely everything about this moment and keep it locked up safe and tight forever. There are lots of moments like that these days, too many to count. Every time Lucas laughs; every room he enters where Chris and Buck already are; every milestone and early mundane morning.
He looks at Buck now— at his pink cheeks and the flush of his birthmark and the soft curls in his hair— and can’t resist the urge to reach up and touch him, gently brushing the backs of his knuckles against the bare hint of warm shadow on his cheek after a full, busy day. Buck looks up in response and Eddie watches his eyes go soft in real time, the second they land on Eddie.
“Hi,” Buck says, as much sugar in his voice for Eddie as had been there for their baby— and isn’t that something?
“Hi,” Eddie breathes back, and Buck leans up to kiss him. It’s just a brush of a thing, soft and quick and tasting like a cookie. To Eddie, it’s kind of everything.
Afterward, Buck settles back where he was. Eddie puts the hand that isn’t holding Lucas on Buck’s back, the inoutin of his lungs rhythmic and strong. Against him, Lucas grows heavier and warmer with sleep. They’ve been trying to overcome a bout of sleep regression recently, strict about the routine of it. But on Christmas Eve, Eddie doesn’t have it in him to care and he doesn’t think Buck does, either. They’ll stay up with him all night if it comes to that, take turns sleeping. It doesn’t sound so bad right now. Eddie could stay here on the couch, pinned by two of his boys, and drift in and out all night. Leave the Christmas tree lights on. Wake up Christmas morning in time to see dawn.
It doesn’t sound bad at all.
“His first Christmas,” Buck wonders, needlessly and tender.
Eddie’s breath catches, but Lucas’ stays steady and even as his lashes flutter. “Can you believe that?”
“No,” Buck admits. He sounds happy about it, though.
He is. Eddie knows this to be true. They both are. What is there not to be happy about, with Chris safe in his room and Lucas falling asleep and their bodies pressed together on an unseasonably chilly winter night?
There have been many Christmases when Eddie had uncertainties. Years that he had to work— when he saw how painful it was for Christopher. Years when he wasn’t sure he was doing enough, or that he ever could no matter how hard he tried. Years when Eddie was all wishes.
Tonight is different.
His husband leans into him, warm and heavy and solid, and Eddie holds their baby as he sleeps, never more safe or secure than when he’s close to them. Buck’s hand settles intimately over Eddie’s stomach, his thumb a mindless brush that Eddie feels the warmth of through his clothes.
“It’s a good Christmas,” Eddie whispers, turning a kiss into Buck’s hair.
Buck relaxes impossibly further beneath him. “A perfect Christmas,” he agrees.
This year, Eddie presses his cheek to the top of Buck’s head, and has nothing to wish for at all.