Archive of Our Own ^beta

Buck’s only ever heard of the line, stuck between a rock and a hard place, but that seems to be exactly the situation he’s found himself in right now as he does his best to keep his jaw from dropping open. Because Eddie, his best friend (and he thought maybe more) has just announced to everyone, their friends and coworkers, that he is leaving. Eddie is leaving the 118, and he had said it so easily.

Eddie is leaving the 118 and Buck knew nothing about it. Not a single clue; not even half of a clue.

Eddie is leaving the 118 and Buck (or so it feels that way), and just hours before, Buck had been staring down at two little red lines on a cheap piece of plastic with a smile on his face.

Eddie is leaving the 118 and everything that had felt right now feels turned upside down.

Standing there out in the open, next to a giant Christmas tree and with all the people from the collapsed apartment complex milling about enjoying their makeshift holiday celebration, Buck feels lost. He wants to scream. He wants to go up to Eddie, take the man by the shoulders, and shake him. He wants to ask why?

Why didn’t he tell Buck beforehand? Why didn’t he talk to Buck about this decision?

Weren’t they finally taking the next step in their relationship? Going from friends to…more? It certainly felt like that when Eddie had pushed him up against his door that night months ago and kissed him. And it certainly felt like that when he had laid Buck down on his bed—Christopher away at a friend’s house for a sleepover—and taken him apart with his lips, his fingered and finally his cock. So why wasn’t Buck told about something as big as Eddie leaving his firefighting job?

Rationally, he knows that he doesn’t have a right to demand anything from Eddie. Despite months of sneaking around and fucking, they’ve yet to sit down to have an actual conversation about it all. But Buck thought it was obvious. Eddie mattered to Buck, and Buck thought that meant the feelings were mutual.

Then he remembers all the talk about how Chris has been feeling off all the weeks leading up to Christmas, and maybe, he reasons to himself, Eddie has been busy with his son. So that’s fine. Buck loves Chris and the boy always comes first.

So, obviously Eddie was going to tell him later. They were going to sit down and Eddie was going to explain it all to Buck, and later they would go to bed together.

Only…that doesn’t happen.

Eddie never comes to explain anything to Buck. The man doesn’t even call him; not even a text. He also barely said two words to Buck after his departure announcement. So Buck goes home alone to stare some more at the positive pregnancy test that now feels like it’s mocking him.

“Shut up.” He tells it, and ignores how stupid it is to be talking to a piece of inanimate plastic. “Maybe you’re wrong. That happens, right?” It doesn’t answer back. But it’s okay, Buck has more of them still unused.

Until he uses all of them; pees on each of the remaining four tests. And then he waits. The next five minutes are excruciating, the clock nearly immobile as Buck paces the short length of his downstairs bathroom, tapping his fingers against his leg, his arm, the walls. He’s nearly driven himself crazy by the time the timer on his phone goes off, and he nearly brains himself on the counter with how fast he sprang towards where the tests lay.

Red lines.

All of them had two little red lines, perfectly clear, staring up at him. They feel accusatory in their silence.

And a tear rolls down Buck’s face before he even realized he was crying.

Still, despite the tears, Buck wasn’t planning to hide his pregnancy. He had thought about it, of course he had; he’d thought about all his options from the second he saw the first positive test, and no matter the scenario everything always came back to one. Buck was going to keep this baby no matter what, even though getting rid of it would have been the simplest choice—not easy, though, because the idea of denying himself the family part of him has always craved was never going to be easy. Instead, Buck chooses the hard way.

And he chooses to tell Eddie.

Just because the other man neglected to inform Buck of his own life changing plans doesn’t mean Buck was going to do the same. This baby that will be growing inside of him isn’t only his, it was created by both of them, and Eddie deserved to know. It doesn’t stop Buck from being afraid of what the other man’s reaction will be. But his mind is made.

However, the execution turned out to be more difficult than he’d predicted.

Eddie was a hard man to get in contact with. Something Buck never thought would be possible—his best friend had always been a phone call away. Until now.

It actually takes more phone calls and text messages than Buck would have liked to get Eddie to agree to meet. While he could have simply driven to the other man’s house—Buck had a key and everything—it no longer feels appropriate to do so. And isn’t that just an awful feeling to have? To know that everything Buck thought was happening was only in his own imaginations; all the late nights spent learning each other’s bodies, all the whispers of endearment, even their years of friendship…now feel like cheap lies. There he was, thinking they were finally moving from friends into something more, something that had been simmering between them for nearly as long as they’ve known each other, only for it all to culminate in nothing.

Buck felt like an idiot. He feels cheated, even though, looking back, there had never been any promises or affirmations from Eddie’s side. It was just Buck once again diving into something without really thinking about things. Blinded by his own desires.

But he sees now. And Buck learns from his own mistakes. He had with Abby, with Ali, with the 118 at large, and now with Eddie.

He feels stupid.

Sitting here in the corner of some cafe that neither he nor Eddie frequent, Buck feels like a complete fool. More so now that he’s said those two little words and the only response he’s received was silence and a lot of staring. Cow brown eyes look from his face down to his stomach—still flat—and then back to his face again, widening with every passing second. And Buck wants to yell, to reach across the small circular table to shake Eddie. He doesn’t. Instead he just remains in his chair, hands clenched together so tightly his knuckles have turned white and he can feel his own bones grind against each other.

The only sound around them is the dimmed tin of the cafe around them, thankfully not that busy on a random Wednesday afternoon, and Buck’s own blood rushing in his ears. But he waits, not willing to be the one to break the silence.

“You’re—” Eddie’s voice is loud in the settled silence, almost like a gunshot.

Buck forces himself to not flinch, simply staring ahead at the Latino man.

“Pregnant, Eddie.” It’s easier to say the word a second time, his voice stronger and steadier than he actually felt. “I’m pregnant.”

“And it’s…mine?” The question sends a tendril of shock running through Buck’s system. Of all the things he thought Eddie would say, that had never even made the list. Maybe it should’ve, but he also through his friend—his best friend—would know him better than that, would trust him more than that. Boy, was he wrong. Worst yet, Eddie wasn’t done. “Are you sure?”

Was he sure?

Buck wanted to scoff. He wanted to reach across the table and slap Eddie for having the audacity to even think something like that.

“What are you implying Eddie?”

“It’s just that…well…” The other man breaks eye contact with him, looking guilty (as he should be). Yet, his mouth seems to have a mind of its own. “You know how you can be.”

Leaning back, Buck lets the disappointment sink in alongside the slowly brewing anger, “no…I don’t think I do.” Slowly, he moves one hand down to settle against his lower abdomen, where the baby is held snuggly within him. Even though it’s impossible, Buck likes to think he can feel it behind the wall of muscles and tissue, and the urge to protect his baby rises.

Eddie either doesn’t notice Buck’s flaring emotions, or maybe he doesn’t care, as he continues, “Buck, please. You and I both know you’re not lacking in attention from other people.”

“What? Because a few people have flirted with me on calls? The same thing has happened to you, too!”

Now his hackles were very much raised and he’s seconds from throwing his tea in Eddie’s face, hot water be damned.

Wow.

“Sure. But I don’t ever respond.”

The man sitting across from him has known him for going on four years now. They were best friends. Before today—before the last two weeks—Buck had thought there was no one who knew him better than Eddie, but apparently, Eddie didn’t know him at all.

“You think…I do?”

“You’ve dated more than one person you’ve met on a call.”

Buck swears he’d been physically slapped by those words. His face certainly hurts with how hard he’s clenching his jaw. He has to take a few seconds to mentally talk himself down before he can even think about speaking again. And when he does, it’s in a harsh hiss across the table.

“We’ve been together for months, Eddie. Are you implying I…cheated?”

“It’s just friends stuff.”

Buck wants to cry. In fact, he can feel the sting in the bridge of his nose and the telltale prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes. Friends stuff...that’s all the last few months has been boiled down to, just friends fucking each other. The way the words rolled so easily out of Eddie’s mouth, without a care or a spare thought given, hurts more than the previous accusations of possibly infidelity. Here he had been, thinking they were headed towards something together. But it turns out, Buck was the stupid one, believing that maybe…Eddie had feelings for him outside of just friendship. Clearly, that was not the case.

A bubble of laughter falls out of him and Buck tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling—red, yellow, purple, and green, an amalgamation of different hues where Buck’s life feels as if it’s slowly draining of color—an attempt at keeping the tears at bay. He’s not so sure it’s working.

How does he always get himself into situations like this?

Shaking his head, Buck pushes back his chair and stands up. “Right. Of course. And you don’t need to worry about this friend,” he shrugs, fingers twitching to reach for his still full cup of tea. It’s still lightly steaming, and oh-so-tempting. “I just came to tell you. There’s no obligations on your part, and I’ve no expectations from you, so…yeah. Now you know.” Waving as nonchalantly as he can manage, Buck makes for the exit, not bothering to give Eddie even a second glance. “I’ll see you when I see you, I guess.”

They’re no longer coworkers, not with Eddie now working at dispatch in some liaison capacity; and Buck’s not so sure they’re even friends now.

It’s not until he’s sitting behind the wheel of his car that the tears fall. He cries until there’s no more tears left, and then he starts the drive home. Buck wants nothing more than to curl up in his bed and shut the world out (even if it’s for a little bit).

But barely five minutes on the road and Buck has to pull over to the shoulders, stomach turning so badly with nausea he’s practically falling out of the car as throws up what little he’d managed to consume today. It wasn’t much: some toast and a few sips of tea. The sourness of stomach acid burns; Buck’s eyes fill with tears once more as he quickly pukes up nothing but bile. It hurts. His morning sickness hasn’t been the worst—yet—but still, when it hits all Buck wants is another person to lean on, to help soothe him. Instead, all he gets is empty air and broken wishes.

He gives himself a few more minutes before grabbing the bottle of water he keeps in his car to rinse out his mouth. Then he starts his car, wiping away the wetness blurring his vision, Buck can’t help but wonder just how many times is Eddie Diaz going to make him cry? It seems that’s all he’s been doing every time the other man is on his mind. Is Buck really so weak that he’s crying over a man who clearly did not care about him as much as he once thought?

He desperately wants the answer to be: no.

Announcing his pregnancy will never not be a weird thing for Buck even though this certainly isn’t the first time he’s done this now. Yet, it’s still an awkward conversation to have, and not one Buck thought he’d had to endure alone. When he’d first imagined doing this, it was with Eddie by his side. But there he is, sitting inside the rarely used Captain’s office, directly across from Bobby, who is looking at him like he’s a puzzle that can’t be solved. It’s just the two of them on opposite sides of the desk and Buck wants to squirm under the older man’s gaze.

The air is heavy between them as Bobby’s eyes bulge slightly, not unlike Eddie’s had just two days ago. Only his captain’s expression was also filled with worry and concern, for Buck.

“Come again?”

“I’m pregnant, Bobby.”

“Right. Thank you for informing me, Buck.” Bobby nods, though he still looks surprised even as he tries to recover from the sudden (and unexpected) news. He reaches into his desk for whatever paperwork Buck will need to fill out for his eventual paternity leave, all the while keeping an eye on him. There are no doubt a bunch of questions he wants to ask, but thankfully Bobby refrains from doing so. Instead, he coughs lightly and shuffles the papers in his hands a few times before setting them down before Buck. “Do you know when you’ll need to—”

“I don’t want to stop working.” He cuts Bobby off before he could say more. “Not until I really can’t anymore, or my doctor tells me to stop. Please, send me home or whatever. I’ll be the man behind as much as you want. I won’t go into burning buildings or anything dangerous. I just…want to help.”

In a way, this was almost reminiscent of what happened after the truck bombing from two years ago; Buck’s body betraying him and Bobby blocking him from actively working because the man had been worried—too worried and too overprotective—about Buck’s safety. He had wanted to keep Buck away from more danger whereas Buck just wanted to be with his friends and do the job he loved. Only, this time isn’t the same, and Buck knows that he needs to be extra careful.

It doesn’t stop the fear from festering within him though. What happens if Bobby blocks him again?

He watches as Bobby physically pauses before sighing loudly. His eyes soften as they hold Buck’s pleading gaze and he shakes his head lightly, “of course, Buck. I…wouldn’t do that.” The not again heavily implied.

“T-thank you, Bobby.” Buck smiles, lips wavering just for a second. He is more than a little relieved at hearing that; his captain wasn’t going to stop him from continuing to be part of the team just because he made a big choice for himself. “And um…can you let me tell the team?”

Bobby nods, “it’s your news, Buck.”

Smiling wider now, Buck stands up, one hand unconsciously going to his stomach. It’s become a calming gesture in the last few weeks. His body still looks exactly the same as it always has—though maybe a little more weary in the face due to a variety of stressful reasons—but knowing that the baby is there helps his emotional state immensely.

But before he could exit the room, Bobby calls him. Stopping midstep, Buck turns to look at the other man.

“Who, uh, who’s the father? Do you know?”

Oh. Buck had hoped to avoid that question just a little longer, but he also should have known it was inevitable. It was best to yank that bandaid off as quickly as possible.

“It’s Eddie.” There. Simple and lacking in any grand emotions.

He turns away from Bobby and walks out before the Fire Captain could muster up a response of any kind. Buck didn’t need to look to know that he’d left the man behind in a state of shock, maybe more so than his initial pregnancy notification had done so. But it was better this way. And plus, he had more people to tell about his not-so-little news with more questions that will need fielding.

Like a bandaid, Buck, remember? He tells himself even as he slows to a stop at the center of the 118’s loft area.

“Um…” Clearing his throat, Buck sucks in two deep breaths before calling out loudly, voice reverberating throughout the stationhouse, “I have an announcement.” Too many eyes turned to look at him and for a second, Buck wanted to retreat, maybe crack a joke and then move on. But a steely conviction falls over him as he catches Bobby’s eyes across the room. “I’m…pregnant.”

The entire room went dead silent. Wind from the air conditioner hissed overhead and someone left something sizzling away on the stove top. Before Buck could say something else—not that he had much to say—the toaster oven pops. But no one is paying attention to anything except Buck.

“Real f—” Whatever Chimney was going to say was stopped by a slap to the chest by Hen. “Shit.”

“Buckaroo, do you want a shoulder to cry on or do you want congratulations?” The words are spoken so softly Buck actually could feel tears threatening to escape. He tamps it down (for now), utterly sick of crying after having basically been doing so nonstop over the last few weeks.

“I…am okay.”

Actually, he’s not so sure if he is.

It’s hard not to feel abandoned and alone, but as he looks out at all the people he’s been working alongside for years, Buck finds himself feeling less lost than he did when he first walked into work this morning. Though he can’t help but notice the one person missing amongst the masses; Eddie was no longer at the 118, and Buck was less upset about it than he would have been…if things had worked out differently. For now, he’s glad the other man isn’t around. Makes it easier for Buck to learn to depend on him less. But at least everyone at the station house seems more or less happy for him, even if some of them still looked a little confused.

“I can’t believe Maddie didn—wait!” Chim exclaims and beelines towards Buck. He has a hand outstretched and one finger pointed accusingly. “Does your sister not know!?”

Fuck. Buck’s eyes widen and he wants to hit himself. He had been so caught up in the Eddie of it all that he’d forgotten to tell his sister about his pregnancy. Looking back at his colleague, Buck presses Chim’s arm back down and steps closer.

“You can’t tell her.”

“Seriously!? More secrets? Again? How am I always caught in the middle of these Buckley secrets?” Even as he complains, Chim nods.

But Buck also knows how much of a blabber mouth the Asian man can be, and he was right. Maddie would be upset to find out about something so important through someone else’s mouth. Buck needed to tell her himself, which he will, after this shift. He’s already texting her, asking to meet after both their shifts, but not really offering Maddie any more information than that.

“I’m going to tell her myself. Just…don’t say anything about it until after this shift.”

“Buck, if you need to—” Bobby pipes up from the side but stops talking when Buck turns to him, eyes pleading.

“Please, Bobby. I’m fine.”

The Captain nods.

“And you’ll let us know the second you’re not, right, Buck?” This time, it’s Hen. She reaches out to squeeze Buck’s shoulder, the pressure reassuring, sending tendrils of warmth to spread throughout Buck’s body. Behind her, he catches sight of Ravi—having been brought up to A-Shift after Eddie’s transfer—nod along.

“Yeah, guys, I will. And…thanks.” He can feel tears start to well up again; damn hormones. Eventually, Buck was going to dehydrate from all the crying.

Anything else he’d wanted to say was interrupted by the alarm going off. They’re running towards their turnouts and the rig in seconds. There had been a second when Bobby had looked back at him that Buck thought he was going to be benched—and he would have listened (for the baby) even if his entire body rejected that idea—but the older man said nothing. So Buck followed the rest of his team into the truck and sat in his usual seat, headset on, as he listened to his captain relay the call.

MVA. A multi-car pile up on the Santa Monica Freeway, and it was all hands on deck.

To say it was a mess when the 118 arrived on the scene would be a gross understatement. There were cars everywhere, at every angle, facing every direction, and smashed together. The 118 wasn’t the first house to arrive on the scene; trucks from the 133 and 217 were already parked on the opposite side of the accident site. Several men and women in similar turnouts are running and shouting alongside all the screams and yells of the victims.

Bobby hops out of the truck and the rest of them follow his lead. He heads straight for the IC, Captain Mehta of the 133.

“Woah.” This certainly wasn’t Buck’s first multi-car pile up, but he doesn’t think it’ll be something he’ll ever get used to seeing. Looking around, there’s blood and broken glass covering nearly the entire width of the Santa Monica Freeway. Smoke rises up from several cars, but so far, no actual fires.

“Buckley, you know the drill.” Bobby calls out.

Buck nods, “got it, Cap.”

He turns around, jogging back to the truck, already counting off all the tools they’ll need for the job at hand. Buck heaves the jaws out of its compartment and moves to also grab the saw, while next to him, Ravi reaches for the halligans. Hands full, Buck passes the tools to the closest members of his house. In the distance, he hears Bobby calling out more orders. Hen, Chimney, and the other paramedics were already climbing over cars and checking on the patients.

Taking one of the halligans from Ravi, Buck also makes his way into the center of the fray.

He’s most of the way there, the cacophony of noises and voices growing in volume as much as the familiar scents that accompany car accidents, when he runs straight into a wall. Or what feels like a wall.

What Buck actually slams right into is a person. A fellow firefighter of similar height to himself, only just a touch broader; handsome, too. And Buck is way too close, but the world has seemingly hit pause in the current moment as he finds himself nearly lost in the other man’s blue eyes. No longer is he hearing the noises of all the people and sirens around them, instead all Buck can hear is the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears.

There are hands on his waist, big and broad and hot. When he breathes and his chest brushes up against the other firefighter’s; he can feel the defined muscles, hard yet not completely unyielding.

“Oops.” The man laughs a little and Buck feels his knees wobble.

But it was just enough to break the little bubble around them and suddenly all the noise is back. Buck blinks, a little stunned. It also occurs to him what position they are in: Buck, practically swooning in the embrace of another man while a whole ass emergency was happening around them.

“Sorry!” Jolting, Buck attempts to extract himself from the other man.

He doesn’t get far, big hands still holding him, one on his waist and the other somehow drifting down to hold his hip.

“Not a big deal.” The man steps back. Buck forces himself to not chase after the other’s warmth, but he can’t help the tiny wave of disappointment that travels through him at the loss of that touch. “You good?” Blue eyes travel up and down his body, as if checking for injuries (or maybe trying to help Buck find his lost dignity).

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well then, better be careful, Firefighter…” Buck finds himself being moved bodily as the man sidesteps him. A grin stretches above a very distracting cleft chin as the man glances down at the back of Buck’s turnout. “Buckley.”

Before Buck could say anything in response, the man—Kinard, the back of his jacket reads—is running off. Shaking himself mentally, Buck refocuses on everything else. The world is still screaming and there is a job to do right now. What felt like a lengthy meeting was most likely only seconds, yet it lingers in Buck’s mind even as he helps his teammates in pulling people from various wrecked vehicles. Even with three houses on the scene, it takes them hours to clear most (but not all) of the scene. Half of the highway is not reopened and cars zoom past everyone as firefighters and paramedics alike work to save the last of the victims.

As the morning sun slowly shifts its way towards a hot LA afternoon, sweat is threatening to drip into his eyes. Buck wipes an arm over his forehead, the semi-rough fabric of his turnout scratchy against the thin skin. Every muscle in his body aches and Buck’s other hand subconsciously sneaks its way inside his thick jacket to palm gently at his stomach. He’d put on a mask over the lower part of his face minutes into pulling people out of cars, courtesy of Hen, who insisted, saying something about possible air pollution and its effects.

Buck had wanted to argue, but refrained. The old him—pre-baby—would have fought her, but the new him—pregnant and determined to do better—accepted his fate. And he’s grateful for it now, when the last victim he’d pulled out of one of the cars puked all over him; concussions sucked. But now the vomit has practically baked into his turnout. It’s gonna need to be burned.

All around them the tow trucks worked their speedy magic and the ambulances were well on their way to various hospitals.

Chimney pops up from behind to drag him back to the truck, now that the MVA was basically cleared, Buck is already halfway through shedding his jacket. What Buck wants right now is a sip of water, which he gets the second he reaches the 118 engine. He’s halfway done with chugging a bottle when Chimney practically vibrates out of his uniform. The Asian man is grinning widely and waving his arms around like a maniac.

“Tommy!” Chim calls, and a familiar figure runs towards where they’re standing along the sides of the 118 engine truck. Once he was close enough, Chimney reaches out and claps the man—Tommy, apparently—on the back as they meet in a generous hug. “Not as rusty as I thought you’d be on the ground, what with how you’re now the big man in the sky.”

“Bet I can still out run you, Howie.”

The two men share a laugh, but all Buck could pay attention to was the fact that this Tommy guy, the same one he’d ran into earlier, not only knows Chimney but is also a—

“Y-you’re…air ops?” The words burst out of him and Buck flushed red when two sets of eyes turned towards him; one set was bright blue and framed by faint wrinkles and the other was suspiciously curious. He ignores the second set and focuses on the other.

Tommy nods, “217. Harbor.”

Buck mirrors the move and nods as well. “Oh. That’s cool. I’ve always wanted to learn to fly.” It’s an off-handed comment, though not really a lie. He’d been curious about flying since he nearly got the opportunity to learn while training to be a SEAL, but they had fallen through obviously, and he hadn’t really thought about it much. Until now.

“Yeah? I give lessons…uh, Buckley, was it?” The smile stretched across Tommy’s face is kind and Buck relaxes in the face of it, finding it soothing despite the fact that the man before him is basically a stranger—whether or not he was friends with Chimney, who was practically family.

“Uh, yeah. Buckley. Evan.” He stumbles over his words before swallowing and standing up straighter. Sticking out his hands, he introduces himself more fully, “Evan Buckley.”

“Tommy Kinard.” The other man’s hand is warm—much like it had been earlier when they’d been holding Buck by the waist—and broad, and there’s a strength in them that’s not just from being a firefighter who uses tools nearly on the daily. Buck almost doesn’t want to let go when Tommy pulls his hand back. He expects the man to turn back to Chimney, but instead he holds out that big hand, expectantly. “Let me give you my number, you can call me if you want a flying lesson.”

Buck stares for a second before realizing Tommy wanted his phone. He quickly hands it over, thanking the universe that he doesn’t accidentally fumble it; that would be even more embarrassing. And he’s already made a fool of himself in front of this man enough today.

“Thanks,” he says once he gets his phone back, absolutely feeling no spark of electricity when their pinkies brush up against each other. The snake he gives Tommy is genuine though, the thought of potential flying lessons filling him with excitement.

It’s not until he’s already back at the stationhouse that he remembers that he is no longer just thinking (and living) for himself. And he pulls up his phone to research whether or not it’s safe to fly while pregnant. But before he could even click on the Google app, he catches sight of the new contacts entry: Tommy Kinard (217)

The phone was ringing before he even registered what he’d done. When the other end picks up, Buck barely waits for an exchange of greetings.

“I wanted to ask you more about…flying.”

Of all places Buck thought he’d end up meeting with Tommy, a cafe only a few blocks down from the 118 was not at the top of his list.

It was a nice place; Buck thinks he remembers grabbing coffee orders for the station once before at this location, but this is the first time he’s ever sat down at one of the tables. He had chosen an outside table, one over from the side of the street, not wanting to be that close to pedestrian traffic. The warm LA sun beams down on him despite the umbrella overhead blocking out most of its rays; but the slight breeze in the air offsets it all perfectly.

“This isn’t, um, flying lessons.” Buck looks around the coffee shop, then down at his own hands gripping his warm paper cup in his hands. He opted for some ginger tea, having woken up this morning slightly on the nauseous side, and it hadn’t gone away by the time he was set to leave to meet Tommy.

Maybe he was glad they ended up at a cafe and not in a helicopter or something equally likely to make Buck hurl.

“Evan. Gotta vet you first, of course.” Tommy’s grin is infectious.

“Right,” he laughs lightly, nodding his head, an equally wide smile splitting open his own face. “Of course.”

They start to chat about anything and everything. Something about talking to Tommy is so easy that Buck feels as if they’ve known each other for years instead of this only being the second time they’ve ever met. He learns that Tommy used to be at the 118—that he’s the real OG 118er, been there longer than Chimney, Han, and Bobby—before he left a few weeks before Buck had been assigned there. It was almost serendipitous, had Tommy’s transfer to Harbor been delayed even just a little bit.

“But who knows, maybe I wouldn’t have even had a spot at the 118 if you hadn’t transferred away.” For which Buck was grateful for, though he would have liked to have known Tommy before now. The older man would have made for a great mentor, he can’t help but think.

“Or maybe you’d have given me premature grey hairs, from what I’ve heard,” Tommy teases, and Buck groans.

Yeah, okay. It’s been a few years and quite a bit more growing up since then, but Buck will always be the first to admit that he’s been a less than model employee back during his first year on the job. Even barring the snake lady and his fire engine hookup. But Tommy just laughs it all off with a wave of his hand; zero judgement.

“Trust me, I was a bit of an asshole myself back in my earlier days.”

Buck didn’t ask for more details, but he vaguely remembered hearing about Captain Gerrard and the absolute nightmare of a firehouse he had run. If Tommy had been at the 118 for so many years, he must have been under that man’s captaincy for some time.

Gradually, they switch topics again and Buck is laughing up a storm at a story Tommy was telling him about Chimney and a mop when he picks up his tea and takes a sip. It’s gone almost cold now, but what really catches him off guard is the spicy tingle it leaves over every surface of his mouth, and he can’t quite keep the grimace off his face at the taste of it. And of course, the man sitting directly across from him catches him doing so.

“They get your order wrong?”

He shakes his head, “no, no, just not used to tea.”

The raised eyebrow staring across the table at him is asking a very obvious silent question. Why are you drinking tea if you don’t like it? And Buck nearly blurts out the reason—the one that is tucked all snuggly inside of him, that’s only just starting to look like an actual baby—but he manages to swallow it back last second.

Still, he fumbles words as he tries to explain, “oh, um, that’s—I’m trying to cut back on caffeine?”

If his little questioning lilt at the end caused any suspicion, Tommy was nice enough to not call him out on it. Instead, the man just laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made him look even more handsome.

“I guess we do practically mainline that shit at work.”

Buck casts the thought of Tommy’s handsomeness to the back of his head. He’s really not in a position at this point in his life to think about that. The thought lingers; he ignores it.

“Yeah…” he nods.

They finally get to talking about flying, the entire reason Buck had called the other man in the first place—or so he’s convinced himself—and he learns that Tommy was a pilot for the Army before joking LAFD. That he’d always missed the skies even after leaving the military behind.

(Buck decidedly does not think about the other ex-Army person he knows.)

“—which I was happy to do.” He tells Buck, eyes unconsciously looking upwards at the blue skies overhead. There’s a wistfulness in the man’s gaze that has Buck smiling softly at the sight. It’s obvious that Tommy really loved being in the sky; it’s how Buck feels about being a firefighter. “So I got my civilian’s license and would fly out any free chance I got.”

“That’s always sounded so cool to me,” Buck responds, “being able to fly. Must feel so free.”

Tommy nods.

The day has practically passed them by without either of them noticing; the sun was climbing higher in the sky and Buck cannot believe they’ve been talking for hours. And still, he’s reluctant to leave. Hanging out with Tommy was nice. Refreshing and reenergizing in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. It used to be how hanging out with Eddie and Chris felt, but he’s seen Chris less now that the was fucking—being fucked (past tense)—by Eddie than before. Almost like Eddie was trying to hide Buck like some dirty little secret. He feels stupidly blind to have not seen that before now.

Subconsciously, his hand gravitates towards his stomach, resting on the nonexistent curve, as a self soothing method. When he feels eyes on him, Buck looks up to see Tommy smiling at him from behind his (likely very) cold cup of coffee.

“Oh, um, god.” He jolts, sitting up straighter. “I can’t believe we’ve been here for hours already.”

“Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself,” Tommy says it like it’s just that easy. That spending hours doing nothing but talking to Buck is enjoyment in itself.

“I don’t wanna keep—” Buck starts, but is cut off by the other man.

“You’re not.” Still, Tommy stands up. Then he puts out a hand, “wanna go for a walk? We have been sitting for a while.”

A walk sounds nice; there’s a small park nearby that would be perfect. Buck puts his hand in Tommy’s and lets himself be pulled up almost too easily. He leaves the rest of his cold tea on the table, no longer as nauseous as he was at the start of the day—somehow talking to Tommy also helped with that. Together they leave. He follows Tommy out of the cafe’s outdoor seating area, eyes more focused on their still connected hands.

Buck feels hotter than the weather would suggest, the palm of his captured hand starting to get clammy. Yet he finds himself holding on tighter, enjoying the weight of the other man’s hand in his.

He quickens his step a little and catches up to walk side by side with Tommy. With a little laugh, he knocks his shoulder into the other’s, jostling the both of them.

“Am I ever gonna make it into the skies, Tommy? Did I pass your evaluation?” It’s so easy to joke with this guy who was a virtual stranger even just hours ago.

“That’s Firefighter-Pilot Tommy to you.” Tommy nudges him right back before turning around so that he’s walking backwards while still looking at Buck. The move means their hands disconnect, and Buck swallows down the disappointment at having lost that bit of connection. “And, maybe,” the other man shrugs, followed by a very dramatic wink.

Scoffing in mock-offense, Buck gapes at the man before him, “maybe?”

Tommy shrugs again, laughing, “you play basketball, Evan?”

“Ugh, I hate it.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d had a chance to think on it for more than half a second. Oh shit, that had been rude. No doubt Tommy had only asked because he did like basketball himself. Wide eyed and a little embarrassed, Buck quickly stutters out an explanation, “I mean—”

“Mmm…that’ll be a strike in the con column, Buckley.” Tommy’s tone is light, and there’s more laughter behind his tone.

Instantly, Buck feels more relaxed. He hadn’t messed anything up or accidentally insulted his new friend—or he hopes that’s what they’re becoming. Adding his own laughter, Buck bumps shoulders with the older man again as they continue their way around the small park. By the time they circle back to the cafe and they’re going their separate ways, Buck has realized he hasn’t once stopped smiling the entire time he’d been with Tommy.

Everything feels much lighter than it has for weeks now. And he barely thought about Eddie at all—and when he did, it didn’t feel nearly as weighty and heavy as before.

He turns back to look at Tommy and finds blue eyes peeking over a set of broad shoulders, looking at him as well. The older man gives him a silly little wave and Buck can’t help but reciprocate before finally heading to where he’d parked his jeep.

It’s right as he buckled in his seatbelt that his phone dings with notification of an incoming text. A quick glance tells him it’s from Tommy. Surprised—seeing as they had just parted ways not even five minutes ago, Buck quickly swipes his phone open and clicks into the text app.

Saturday? The next one you have free.

Then an incoming call pops up on the phone before Buck could think of a reply. Also Tommy.

“Airfield.” The older man explains in lieu of a greeting. “Let me know when I can take you for a ride, Evan.”

Buck nods even though no one is there to see him.

“Y-yeah.”

It’s a date, his inner voice whispers even as Buck shoves it away. It’s just more vetting to make sure Buck is even teachable as a student. That’s all.

They don’t end up meeting at the airfields until three weeks later, firefighter schedules making it hard for days off—especially on weekends—to match up. But Buck can say he definitely does not regret making his way to the address Tommy gave him even if he woke up that morning feeling a little more sluggish than usual. Even though work has been mostly being the man-behind unless it’s a more innocuous call, Buck’s been feeling more drained lately than he has after a busy 24 hr shift.

However, sitting over 4000 feet in the air, all Buck feels is awe.

This isn’t his first time in a plane, he’s seen Los Angeles from an aerial view—he’s also been on some of the tallest buildings in the city and looked out over the roof at the city below—but seeing everything from Tommy’s chopper is so different. Everything looks brighter, fresher, like Buck is seeing it all for the first time.

“Oh my god…” those seem to be the only words his brain is capable of forming right now.

“Gorgeous, right?”

Buck looks over at Tommy and finds the older man looking at him, blue eyes shining under the rays of the sun. All he can do is nod and smile, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he turns back to the vast landscape laid out before him.

“Okay, I think I definitely understand why you love flying so much.”

“It just opens up a whole new world that you never get to see otherwise.”

Buck nods, “This beats being in a regular plane.”

Beside him, Tommy laughs, the sound reverberates through the head set he’s wearing, making it sound as if the other man was speaking right next to his ear.

“Evan, if you had said it was comparable, I’d have to reconsider the offer for lessons.”

Twisting around to glare at Tommy, whose eyes crinkled with mirth, Buck jams a finger into the other’s chest, “no take-backs!”

That only sets the man off more, he’s practically shaking with laughter, but the chopper stays level the entire time. Steady hands, indeed, Buck thinks. And he’s staring at Tommy’s hands that he nearly misses the next words the other man says.

“Thank god you’re not just pretty, but smart also.”

Buck blinks. Did Tommy just call him pretty? He turns back to look out at LA sprawled out below them, then blinks again and chances a glance at the older man. Tommy is looking out the windshield, likely not even realizing what he’d said nor the fact that he nearly short circuited Buck’s brain. Honestly, it’s probably just one of those sayings and Buck shouldn’t think too hard on it.

Hand resting on his stomach, he pushes the thought away.

When he does speak, it takes a little extra effort to keep his voice (mostly) steady, “I-I mean the view is unbeatable. I’d be, uh, blind to not see that.”

“See. Smart.”

The rest of the flight is spent oooh-ing and ahh-ing at all the famous LA landmarks, all so different when seen from up high rather than right there within the crowds of people. Even the Hollywood sign feels more special than it normally does, simultaneously bigger but smaller, and more majestic than the last time Buck was near it—but he’d been thoroughly distracted by trying to rescue those kids from what was essentially a quicksand pit.

He tells Tommy that particular story, detailing out all the things the three victims had said, the whole love triangle of it all. And by the time they’re touching back down on the ground, Tommy was sharing the man-eating palm tree call back when Bobby had first joined the 118.

They’re stories Buck has never heard, and opens up new insight into people he thinks of as basically part of his family.

Like that, they trade a few more stories, just sitting in the helicopter until Buck coughs, suddenly feeling a little bout of nausea settle in. He quickly puts a hand on Tommy’s chest, stopping the older man mid-sentence.

“Um, bathroom?” It feels rude, but it might be ruder if Buck ends up vomiting on Tommy.

A little bewildered—though probably less than he should be in hindsight—Tommy points to the hanger and tells him which corner the facilities are. Buck rushes off with barely a thanks and doesn’t come back out until he’s puked up a little more than just his gut. He feels wobbly for a second, legs a bit numb, as he walks back out to find a waiting Tommy, leaning against the side of the chopper.

“Sorry about that.”

“You good, Evan?”

He nods, embarrassed and doing his best to avoid Tommy’s searching eyes. The older man doesn’t let him, but he also doesn’t ask anymore questions.

Instead, he steers the conversation into a direction Buck hadn’t been expecting.

“So…I know you don’t do basketball, but what about hockey?”

Hockey? The game with the ice and the puck and the sticks? He knows Bobby mentioned playing before, alongside ice skating, and he remembers his dad watching some games on TV back in Hershey. Buck thinks they’d even had a local team, not that he knows much about them at all. The sports he preferred to play in high school was football and the occasional soccer or basketball game. Not hockey.

“Hockey?” So he was definitely not expecting that to be where Tommy was going to end up asking him about.

The older man shrugs, but looks oddly hopeful.

“I know a guy and he has tickets; on the glass by the Kings’ bench.”

Buck nods, he knows what all those words mean separately. Then shakes his head, because when you put them together the way Tommy just did, he’s a little lost. Though he vaguely gets the meaning that they must be really good seats.

“I don’t know half of what those words mean,” he admits, but gives Tommy a smile and another nod. “But, um, sure?”

“Okay, then.” The older man beams, like Buck has just made his day. “It’s for next month, but I’m holding you to it. It’s a date.”

Another one of those sayings, Buck tells himself, even as his heart skipped a beat. But that’s probably just the heartburn he’s read that pregnant people will often experience. He ends up asking more questions about hockey when they stop to grab a casual bit of food after he promised he was feeling much better, vowing to look it up on his own once he gets home.

His good mood from spending a great day with Tommy lasts until he walks back into the loft and finds Eddie standing in his kitchen, a beer (from Buck’s fridge) in his hand.

What the…

“Did you let yourself in?” He asks even though the answer is an obvious and resounding yes.

Before, but wouldn’t have been all that bothered by Eddie using his spare key, he’d even come to enjoy the surprise as it usually ended up with Buck fucked out and satisfied. Now though, it only stands to rankle him. He wants nothing more than to throw the other man out. The pleasantness of earlier, of his time spent with Tommy, had all but dissipated instantly at the sight of Eddie—so nonchalant and unbothered, so unaware of the turmoil inside of Buck right now—and with it the return of his nausea.

He runs to the bathroom, not even caring if Eddie had an answer for his question.

The stomach acids (and his earlier sandwich) stings on his way up and Buck feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. His chest heaves as he remains bent over the toilet bowl, emptying out whatever was left in his stomach. Outside the bathroom, he hears the sounds of Eddie moving around, doing god knows what, but not once does the man ever enter the bathroom to check on Buck.

After too long curled up on the cold tile floor, Buck finally makes his way out of the bathroom, wiping the back of his sleeve over his mouth.

“Why are you here, Eddie?” It hurts to talk, his throat feels too raw, and his nerves too frayed.

“I thought we could talk, finally.”

The way Eddie says it makes it sound like Buck was the avoidant one, that somehow it was Buck’s fault that they haven’t been talking. Anger rises inside of him, but Buck swallows it back like the bit of bile that rises inside of him. Without another word, he moves to sit down at the kitchen table, suddenly too tired to even stand.

It’s not an invitation for the other man to join him, but Eddie does so anyway.

He’s already talking, mouth moving as Buck tries to focus on the (frankly ridiculous) words that are spilling out of it. Eyes narrowing, he feels himself falling more and more into disbelief with every passing second. Words like irresponsible and impulsive and more push their way into his ears, and Buck wants to pull at his hair, to kick out at Eddie, hurt him like he’s so easily able to hurt Buck.

“Just consider it, Buck.” Eddie reaches out and touches Buck’s hand. And Buck immediately wants to snatch it away, to shake off the icky feeling Eddie’s touch leaves behind, like a greasy film that’s sticky and suffocating. Even just looking at the other man is hard right now, and he feels his nausea peak once more. But he stands his ground—or sits, rather—unable to keep his eyes away from Eddie, because what the hell did he just hear? He can hardly believe those words are coming out of Eddie’s mouth, though that seems to be quite common recently when it comes to the Latino man. But then Eddie tells him, “you know I’m right.”

He sounds righteous, all knowing, in a way that reminded Buck of Eddie’s first day on the job, where he had made Buck feel so stupid. Eddie had a Silver Star and was a real-life hero with the awards to show for it. And he’d come right in and told Buck—who had been doing the work for over a year—how to do his job.

Sucking in a deep breath, Buck forces himself to not hurl, and asks with a not-so-steady voice, “w-what are you trying to say, Eddie?”

“A baby is a lot of responsibility.”

Buck shakes his head once. Then again, because he can’t believe Eddie still sees him like that.

“Yeah, Eddie. It’s a baby!” The palms of his hand hit the surface of the table. Stinging pain radiates up his arms but he ignores it. Buck grits his teeth and is ready to say more, only for Eddie to run right over him.

“So maybe…I’m just saying, you’re not ready for that, right?” Cow brown eyes shine with sympathy, but all Buck sees is condescension and patronization. As if he was just a child and not a thirty-something year old man. Buck scoffs, not that Eddie actually pays him enough attention to hear it; he just keeps talking. “What I mean is…if you maybe want to…you know,” Eddie coughs a little awkwardly, not saying the actual word, but Buck understands instantly. He waits for Eddie to finish the sentence, “get rid of it—I’d support you in that—”

He can’t even look at Buck anymore. Fuck him.

“I’m not doing that, Eddie,” he interrupts.

“Evan. Be realistic about this.”

Oh, Buck hates that.

Something about the way Eddie says his name, so different than when Tommy had said it earlier today—or even a few weeks ago—makes Buck shudder uncomfortably. That’s not a name he wants to hear coming out of Eddie’s mouth. Maybe once upon a time (he thinks back to hospital beds and gun shots and a will that’s probably, definitely, forgotten and abandoned) he liked how Eddie said it, but not anymore. Now the name feels tainted now by all of the other man’s suggestions and implications and apparently mistrust.

“Don’t call me that.” The words come out harsher than he had meant to, but Buck doesn’t regret it, it gets him the result he wanted.

Eddie sighs, “fine, Buck.” He sounds put out in a way he doesn’t have any right to. “But you have to know that this baby was a mistake.”

And wow, that hurts. Hearing words like that coming from someone who Buck thought was his friend—his best friend at that—is like getting stabbed in the chest and then having the knife twisted for good measure. Because even though Eddie wasn’t wrong—the baby was never planned—but it wasn’t a mistake.

“It’s not…”

Again, Eddie ignores Buck and bulldozes onwards, “but if you don’t want to get rid of it, then okay, I’ll do it.”

Do…what? Buck narrows his eyes and stares at Eddie, uncomprehending what the other man could possibly mean.

“Do…it?” Buck’s heart rate speeds up and his brain is working at lightning speed, all kinds of scenarios and questions popping up. Is Eddie saying he wants a relationship with Buck? Now!? After all he’d said weeks about and also just now. That seems more than ridiculous. Plus, Buck feels hesitance at the prospect. It had been something he’d wanted for what feels like forever, but now that the opportunity is possibly being laid out before him—all Buck can think about is soft brown hair and kind blue eyes that crinkle at the edges when their owner smiles.

There had been a time, not even that long ago, that Buck did love Eddie, but now he’s not so sure that it was really ever love at all. His mind drifts again to another person, someone whose mere presence in his near vicinity is enough to soothe Buck.

The idea of Eddie now seems…too heavy. Asphyxiating. A weight on his chest that only feels crushing in the worst ways possible.

As Buck starts to get lost in his own head, Eddie continues to talk, not at all bothered that he hasn’t gotten any kind of response the entire time.

“It won’t be easy,” Eddie explains, “but Chris is bigger now, and dispatch’s hours are much better. And I do hope Bobby has done something about your hours, I’ll have to call him about that. But yeah, I’ll raise the kid.”

Buck’s first reaction is to laugh. His second is to cry and his third is to throw something; or maybe to just throw up on Eddie. Because he finally understands what is being presented to him. He hears what is being said, and what is left unsaid.

Though it sounds preposterous. There’s no way Eddie is suggesting—especially phrases as if it’s some huge sacrifice, that he’s doing Buck a favor—no. Buck didn’t ask, won’t ask, for that. As he said when he’d first told Eddie about the baby, he didn’t need to worry about Buck.

Finally having had more than enough of this conversation, Buck stands up, moving towards the door. He holds it open expectantly.

“Not the kid, Eddie. My kid. And I’ll be raising my baby.”

Eddie told his eyes, laughing like Buck made a particularly good joke. But he gets up anyway, pausing only long enough on his way out the door to leave the last word.

“Sure, Buck. Until you get bored.”

Fuck him.

The door slams shut behind Eddie almost before he’s even fully through it, and Buck enjoys the shocked yelp he heard before the deadbolt clicked. Standing in the middle of his own apartment breathing heavily, Buck suddenly feels ravenous. Gone was the nausea along with Eddie, and now all Buck wants is to re-fill his stomach with everything he’d expelled earlier.

And he wants banana bread. With chocolate chips.

Only, Buck’s kitchen is devoid of all bananas. The discovery hits him harder than Eddie’s earlier presence and he breaks down into tears right there by the kitchen sink, far crocodile droplets roll down his cheeks as he sobs.

It’s really not even that sad of a thing, but once the tears hit, they feel uncontrollable.

He just wants his banana bread. Is that too much to ask for?

“It’s so unfair!” Buck cries into the phone in lieu of any proper greeting, and instead of sympathy on the other end, all he hears is laughter. Because apparently that’s what happens when your older sister—who has gone through her own pregnancy before and knows exactly how hormones work—is just a terrible person.

Who is also the best, because Maddie follows up the laughter with the best phrase Buck has heard all day: “I’ll bring the bananas and Jee-Yun; you bring the chocolate chips.”

Buck spends the rest of the day saturating his apartment with the scent of warm, baked, vanilla-banana-y goodness while flip-flopping between cuddling his niece and his sister. He eventually falls asleep to little Jee’s head laying against his chest, warm and powdery-scented and calming.

The next time Buck sees Tommy in person, it’s the day of the hockey game. They arrive separately and Buck is genuinely surprised to see so many people; he hadn’t really even realized that the hockey game is at the same place the Lakers played. He’d only been there once, a call at one of the Lakers games where an overly enthusiastic fan somehow got themselves caught in the bleachers.

Buck barely remembers much of it, but he did remember everyone on the team being super excited to meet some of the players as they were carrying the gurney out.

Turns out, there’s actually a constant layer of ice underneath the set up for the basketball court—he’s learned that in one of his research binges over the course of the last few weeks. Buck had shared all his findings with Tommy over text and phone calls, and the older man had shared some of his favorite highlights. That got Buck more excited about the game.

Or rather he’s excited to see Tommy and enjoy the other’s excitement over the game.

And now he’s standing outside the arena, people milling about him, almost all of them decked out in some form of team gear or jersey; black and white or orange and white. He recognizes the logos of the Kings (Los Angeles’ local NHL team) and the Ducks (reminiscent of that old Disney movie—The Mighty Ducks). Buck’s not wearing anything other than a comfortable hoodie and jeans, and even though he’s not the only one, he still feels a little out of place. But he shrugs it off, looking around to try and spot Tommy.

“Evan!”

There he is. A few dozen feet away, waving at Buck, a giant grin stretched across his face. It’s reflected on Buck’s as he waves back, feet already weaving in and out of the crowds of people to bring him closer to Tommy.

He’s barely given the chance to say hi before something soft and warm lands on his head, covering his eyes for a quick second. Buck squawks and sways, but an arm around his waist and a hand at his hip keeps him steady as he reaches up to pull off whatever Tommy had set on him.

It’s a beanie, black and white with a familiar logo.

“Can’t have you going in there without some home team gear on,” Tommy smiles, snatching the beanie out of Buck’s loose grip and gently helps him put it on. He adjusts it a little and then leans back to look Buck up and down, “perfect.”

His face heats up at that last word and he turns away, hand automatically reaching for Tommy’s, pulling the other towards the arena despite not actually knowing where they were sitting.

“Thank you.” Buck says, genuinely warmed by the fact that Tommy had thought to bring him anything at all. “You didn’t really have to.”

“Can’t fault a guy for trying to add to my team’s fanbase.” The words are accompanied by a laugh and Tommy speeds up to walk side by side with Buck.

“Hey! You never know, maybe I’ll end up a Ducks’ fan.”

The loud, indignation coloring Tommy’s gasp sets Buck into his own bout of laughter. And he reaches for his phone to snap a quick picture—over exaggerated once the other man saw a camera pointed his way.

“Then I’d have to seriously reevaluate our friendship here, Evan.”

Buck almost wants to ask if they really are friends, but the words never leave his mouth; they didn’t need to. He’s felt happier and more comfortable with Tommy, even with their minimal in person meet ups, than he has in a long time. It never really registered until now.

Laughing and bantering, Buck lets himself be steered towards the correct section for their seats. He falls quiet as he takes in where they’re standing. Tommy was telling the truth. Whoever his friend was that got them the tickets, they were amazing. Buck looks around, wide eyed and in awe; his first hockey game ever and he got to sit less than ten feet from where the players are.

“Woah. This is amazing.” He looks behind him at all the people filling in the rest of the stands, before turning to Tommy, who’s looking at Buck with a smile.

“Gotta see the game up close for your first game,” he pats the seat next to him, gesturing for Buck to join him.

The game is everything Buck expected and nothing like he imagined at all. Everything he’d read about and watched on YouTube comes to life right before his very eyes. The game is fast with way less pauses than most other sports Buck has ever come into contact with. And the players go hard, gliding across the ice, sticks in hand as they chase after the puck. They hit each other, slamming together with more speed and power than a human body should be able to take, and hop right back up and keep going.

But what no one ever tells you is how simultaneously loud and quite the whole experience is.

Behind Buck the crowd cheers when the Kings score a goal; they boo when the other team gets the puck in or a puck is turned over; and they wince when players get hit, go down, and more. However, the actual gameplay cannot be heard at all. The plexiglass right in front of their seats absorbs far more sound than Buck thought.

What it doesn’t absorb is the jarring vibrations of a two hundred pound man being thrown into it at about twenty miles an hour by another even larger man. And by thrown, Buck does mean that he just got to witness a man pick up another man and toss him not unlike a ragdoll at the glass that’s less than two feet from Buck’s face.

“Holy—that seems…violent.” But there’s a wide grin on his face as he’s gripping Tommy’s hand in his, shaking with excitement. Okay, hockey was definitely way cooler in person.

“Gotta the other team that you can’t just mess about without there being consequences.”

“Like pushing them into the glass?”

Tommy nods, squeezes Buck’s hand together. “Or a stick to the groin. Or gloves are dropped.”

“And that’s the best part!” A guy sitting next to Buck yells, interrupting their conversation. He bumps his plastic cup of beer with Buck’s soda, jumping up with a yell when the Kings—Kempe—knocks one into the back of the net. In fact, everyone around Buck, including himself, explodes with cheers.

There was a small moment where he thought he felt a bout of nausea coming, but then the arena erupts in more cheers and Buck’s suddenly more invested in the game.

The team is up 3 - 1.

Then it’s 3 - 2 with the Ducks scoring once more.

But the Kings are quick to retaliate. In the end, the game closes with 5 - 3 and the Ducks losing.

On the ice, Buck sees a small interaction between two of the players, one of the Kings and the other a Duck, their orange and black jerseys clashing like it’s Halloween all over again. Their heads are bent close and expressions half-hidden from view by gloves and visors, but there’s something about the body language that makes Buck think these two have history. He’s not given long to think about it more because next to him, Tommy is moving and Buck finds himself once again with his hand clasped in the other’s as he’s pulled out of his seat.

They make their way through the retreating crowd, occasionally stopped by an ecstatic Kings fan or two for random high fives.

“So hockey is basically like fight club where occasionally they hit the puck?” Buck summarizes as he follows Tommy out.

The older man’s still got a grip around his hand even as the number of people around them starts to thin out. He stares down at it for a long second, reminded of that first coffee meet up they had and the way his heart had been pounding then also.

If Buck didn’t know any better, he really might have thought this—and the other times—were dates. But they’re not. That much he’s certain. Not that he doesn’t think Tommy could be gay or have anything against Buck’s bisexuality (they’ve had a brief conversation about that a while back) but rather nothing except the occasional hand holding has happened. And Tommy doesn’t really seem like the time to bear around the bush if he had really wanted Buck as something in a more romantic sense.

Tommy laughs, startling Buck out of his revelries, “something like that.” If he notices anything weird, nothing is said.

Their hands stay connected until they’re halfway down the plaza to the garage. Tommy comes to a standstill and turns to Buck, one perfect eyebrow arched inquisitively. Buck flexes his hand, still feeling the lingering warmth of the other man (and missing it a little).

“So…?”

“So.” Buck copies him but quickly breaks down in giggles. He doesn’t get wishy-washy about it, nodding as he says, “I like it! When’s the next game?”

Head tossed back, Tommy laughs.

“Slow down there, Evan.” Then he pins Buck with another look. “Have I made you a Kings fan yet?”

“Hmm…” Buck hums, unable to keep a smile off his face. “I need more data in order to make an informed decision.”

“Oh I know I’m not talking to a future Ducks fan right now.”

“More data!” Buck laughs, shoving Tommy lightly. He hiccups suddenly and feels his stomach growl a little. “And food.” Even though they’d gotten some snacks at the game, they were both more concentrated on the actual playing to do more than much.

“Food it is.” Tommy announces, purposefully ignoring Buck’s indecision on which team he likes better. “We’re celebrating our win today!”

“And commiserating my possible—maybe future team’s—loss.”

The mock scowl Tommy shoots his way has Buck laughing anew. Even as they go their separate ways to head to a restaurant Buck has been wanting to try that happens to be close by, they end up on the phone, still talking to each other.

And the conversation keeps flowing during dinner.

“Italian food has been my biggest craving lately.” Asides from the banana bread, which Buck has been baking nearly twice a week. He’s starting to think he’ll be causing a state-wide banana shortage soon enough. Not that he tells Tommy all of that. He even feels a small stutter in his chest at having just admitted to having cravings.

It’s not that Buck is hiding his pregnancy—he’s not, and everyone that needs to know knows—but he’s just not ready to tell Tommy yet. Mostly because he doesn’t want the other man to ask too many questions, or to think Buck is in a relationship when he’s not. And why he’s worried about the latter, is a matter only to himself.

“God, reminds me, does Bobby still make that lasagna?” Tommy asks.

Buck perks up, “he does. And it’s still the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Well then, you’ll have to come over and taste my Nonna’s spaghetti and meatballs.” It’s said so matter-of-factly Buck can’t help but already be excited at the prospect of some good food. The proud expression on the older man’s face is also quite telling.

“Your Nonna?”

Tommy nods, “has the best recipes—don’t ever let Bobby know—but her pasta? A hundred times better.”

Buck lets out a loud, over exaggerated gasp, one hand pressed against his chest in faux shock. “Ooooh, those are big promises you’re making.”

“All the more reason to let me prove it.”

They make plans to see each other again. Saturday, at Tommy’s house, because Tommy will be cooking and Buck would never turn down the offer of food and even better company.

Saturday comes almost too fast, but at the same time, not nearly fast enough. Work has been a little more exciting this week, at least for Buck. Turns out being the man behind can be just adventurous as being out on calls with the rest of the team.

Buck tells Tommy all about the little kid that came running into the stationhouse while he was the only one around, asking for help.

“I thought someone had been hurt!” He exclaims, leaning against the kitchen counter, hands making big gestures while a few feet away, Tommy is opening cans of Cento tomatoes for the red sauce. Buck had helped him roll out the meatballs—though apparently he is not privy (yet, he thinks to himself) to what actually goes in; Nonna’s secret, Tommy says.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Not unless you count my pride.” Buck pouts, remembering how he’d stumbled over the long division problems the kid had presented him—the emergency in question. Apparently, the kid had been told that firefighters are always ready to help out when someone is in trouble, and that lesson stuck. He’d come to the 118, his local firehouse, asking for help on his math homework that he was having trouble with.

“Well in your defense,” Tommy chuckles, moving on to mincing the other ingredients that needed prepping. “I don’t think I’ve used long division since elementary school.”

“Okaaaay, that does make me feel—” he pinches his pointer and thumb together until there’s barely enough room for a piece of tissue to fit between. “—a little better.”

In his pocket his phone buzzes, and Buck peeks at the screen, regretting it almost immediately. It was Eddie. He moves to put it down, screen facing the countertop, when it buzzes again. Tommy looks over, but doesn’t say anything even though Buck’s face probably shows his obvious annoyance at the interruption. Whatever it is Eddie wants to say can’t wait, he tells himself, but obviously he’s the only one that thinks so.

When the phone buzzes again, with another text, Buck opens his mouth to apologize, but Tommy simply shakes his head.

“Get outta here.” Buck is stunned for a moment at the sudden dismissal, but Tommy doesn’t look upset; there’s that crinkly smile he’s come to really like on his face still. “I’m about to get out Nonna’s secret ingredients and I can’t let you see or the magic in the sauce doesn’t work.”

It was as much the truth as it was an excuse for Buck to go have a moment if he needs it. Sometimes, Buck is still surprised at how thoughtful Tommy can be.

And the timing was almost too perfect because just as he steps out of the kitchen his phone goes off again; this time it was a phone call. He guesses Eddie got tired of receiving no responses for his series of texts.

Sighing, Buck presses the green answer button and puts the phone up to his ear. He drops onto Tommy’s couch as he starts talking, not in the mood for pleasantries.

“What do y—”

Eddie cuts him off, “have you decided?”

Buck resists the urge to throw his phone away just so the man on the other end would maybe disappear with it. But instead, he just grips it tighter and hears his fingers creak with how much strength he’s holding onto the device. He’s practically shaking.

“Decided? What are you talking about, Eddie.” Only Buck absolutely knows what the other man is talking about, he’s just in no mood to entertain Eddie’s…whatever issues. Turning his head, Buck looks over his shoulder back at the kitchen; it’s with not-so-little amount of relief coursing through him when he sees that Tommy isn’t paying attention. The older man’s got his head down, arm muscles straining distractingly against the sleeves of his shirt, rolling out pasta dough he’d prepared earlier.

When Buck turns back around, however, he doesn’t notice Tommy looking up and over when, eyes filled with concern and care.

“The baby, Buck. Pay attention. This is important.”

He wants to hang up.

Buck exhales tiredly, “what about the baby, Eddie? There’s no decision that needs to be made; I’ve alrea—”

“Buck.” His nose wrinkles immediately at the other man’s tone, coming through loud and clear from the other end of the phone. It’s clear what Eddie is going to say and in a way that makes it all Buck’s fault, as if it didn’t take the both of them to create this baby that’s now growing larger and larger by the day. He’s still not quite showing yet, but the definition in his abs have started to disappear, becoming just a bit more round. As always, his hand goes right to the center of his belly, rubbing it in a self-soothing manner. On the phone Eddie lets out an exasperated sigh—one that used to be filled with added fondness that’s no longer there anymore. “Buck,” and yeah, Buck much rather listen to Tommy call him Evan than to hear Eddie at all right now. “I need to know if I need to prepare myself for another kid.”

God, let this conversation be over already. It should have been weeks ago.

“You don’t,” he tells the other man through gritted teeth.

His stomach churns unpleasantly, Buck pets his abdomen some more, rubbing his thumb on the point just above his bellybutton. When Eddie keeps talking, it shouldn’t come as a surprise at all that only nonsense spills out. The man really hasn’t been listening to Buck at all; he’s starting to doubt that Eddie has actually even thought of him in all of this, as something more than a burden.

“So you’re thinking the adoption route? I told you I’ll take care of the baby, you don’t need—”

Buck resists the urge to throw his phone across the room. “It’s my baby, Eddie. I’m keeping it.” He almost blurts out the gender, but refrains. That’s not something Eddie needs to know. “This isn’t any of your business.”

“Be serious, Buck. This is a kid, not a puppy.” The accompanying scoff has Buck seeing red.

“I know that, Eddie. I’m well aware of that fact seeing as I’m the one who is growing the baby inside of me.”

“And we’ve been through this. You can’t take care of a kid, you know that. You’ve never been a parent before.”

“How is that—” Buck nearly screams, but catches himself. He looks over his shoulder at Tommy, still in the kitchen, now at the stove stirring the sauce and no doubt cooking the meatballs, and lowers his voice as much as possible. There’s no need for Tommy to come check on him. His voice barely above a whisper, he questions Eddie, “how is that different than anyone else having their first kid? What the fuck are you trying to say, Eddie?”

“Just—”

“Just nothing. I—you know what? Bye, Eddie.” This time he does hang up the call.

Fuck, Buck closes his eyes and leans back to recline against the back of the couch; he can’t believe the conversation he just had. With Eddie of all people. The now familiar prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes appears…and that’s when he hears footsteps approaching. Quickly straightening himself, Buck wipes at his eyes before turning to smile at Tommy as the older man slowly walks over.

There’s a flicker of concern in the other’s eyes and Buck suddenly worries Tommy had overheard everything. Maybe Buck should really tell Tommy about the pregnancy, about Eddie. But he also wants to keep the baby to himself, and keep Tommy’s good impression of him, for a little longer.

Holding his breath, Buck braces himself for Tommy to confront him, but all he gets is a soft smile and a beckoning hand. Suddenly, he’s more glad than ever that Tommy isn’t one to pry, that he’ll wait for Buck to let him in instead.

Okay. This he can work with.

Jumping up from the couch, Buck teases, “oh? Finally going to let me help?”

“Just wanted you to come have a small taste. Come on, Evan. Nonna’s sauce works miracles.” Tommy is already walking back to the stove but he keeps looking back at Buck to make sure he’s following. The fragrance of Italian food fills all of Buck’s senses, the smell that had flowed out into the living room was much stronger in the actual kitchen, and Buck’s been salivating for a while now. On the counters there’s fresh pasta all rolled out and left in piles to wait for the water to boil. Tommy is back at the stove, dipping a spoon into the giant pot of pasta sauce, waiting for Buck to come closer. “The best cure-all.”

Maybe Tommy did overhear. But he still wasn’t mentioning it, so Buck chooses to ignore it as well. He sidles over and bends forward to taste the sauce. A small moan escapes him as the tangy, slightly sweet, and perfectly salty sauce hits his tongue. If he notices blue eyes darkening slightly at his little noise, Buck turns his blushing face away.

Saved by the water coming to a boil right at that moment, they finish the last of the food prep together, shoulder to shoulder.

And later as they eat, Buck can’t help making more noises, moaning and groaning as he practically inhales the pasta and the meatballs. Nonna’s secret must be magic, it’s so good. There’s no other explanation for it. He’s always thought Bobby’s sauce was amazing, but Tommy was right, Nonna’s blows him out of the water by miles.

“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself as he takes another big bite of meatballs and then another bite of the spaghetti. Everything melts on his tongue and Buck thinks he might be in love; this is hitting all his cravings right on the head.

Across from him, Tommy is barely able to contain his laughter as he watches Buck. He ignores the older man in favor of the good food before him, but Tommy nudges his foot under the table to get his attention. (He also ignores the jolt of electricity that zips through him at the feel of the other man’s foot on his—and the way it stays next to his own).

“Should I leave you and the pasta alone?”

Buck brings his bowl closer to his body and glares playfully at Tommy over the top of his full fork, “yeah, you should. Leave it all for me, this is soooo good.”

That earns him a full bellied laugh.

They eat more; Buck shamelessly finishes at least three bowls himself, not at all helped by the fact that Tommy would keep adding more to his bowl. After a while, Tommy’s fork dings on the plate as he sets it down. Buck looks up and finds the older man staring at him.

“Feeling better now?” There’s that comforting smile again.

Buck blinks, a little lost in the other’s crystal blue gaze, “w-what?”

He swallows that last bite and stares back. The smallest wave of panic swells up inside of him. Buck can’t help but wonder how much Tommy may have overheard. Does he know about the pregnancy and the baby? Or did he only overhear that Buck had been upset but not the actual content of the earlier conversation.

Opening his mouth, he readies himself to explain, but doesn’t get the chance to.

Tommy reaches out and puts a hand on Buck’s, squeezing reassuringly. “It’s just that you sounded upset on the phone? I hope it wasn’t anything too bad.”

Oh. Buck lets out a tiny sigh of relief. Tommy didn’t know. But the urge to tell the other man grows by the second as he blinks blankly across the table. The worry that he’d be judged for his poor choices still lingers even if, rationally, he knows that Tommy would never be that kind of person.

Instead, Buck just plasters on a smile (not at all disgenuine).

“Nothing Nonna’s sauce didn’t already fix.”

Tommy stares at him for a beat longer, eyes accessing. Then he nods approvingly, and sets another meatball onto Buck’s plate. The rest of the meal passes with no more questions about what had happened earlier, just good food and good company, and apparently a surprised tiramisu (also Nonna’s recipe).

It’s only when Buck gets ready to leave—well fed and feeling much better—that things shift.

There wasn’t really anything specific he could put a finger on, but he can also say that he definitely felt something in the air. Tommy walks him to the door and Buck is charmed by the gentlemanly move, almost like this was an actual date. And maybe the universe was trying to tell him something, because he’s steps away from the door when he trips. Over thin air. Right into Tommy’s arms.

The wrap around his waist, warm and sturdy, pulling Buck close. His face is all but smushed into the other man’s chest, and when he looks up, their faces are only inches apart. Buck is close enough he can easily make out the wisps of green and silver in the man’s eyes.

He doesn’t know who moved first. Buck just remembers that one second they were staring at each other and the next, their lips were connected. The kiss was everything Buck had imagined it would be—even if he often tried not to—and so much more. With a mind of their own, his arms rise up to wrap around Tommy’s neck, pulling the other man closer, pushing himself up to deepen the kiss. His tongue traces across the seam of Tommy’s lips, asking for entrance that was easily granted.

A small sigh falls from his lips as he gives more of himself over to the older man. He relishes the feel of Tommy’s arms around him and Buck wants nothing more than to crawl further into the other’s embrace. They’re chest to chest, pressed from shoulder to—

Buck’s stomach bump, still small and barely perceptible, presses up against Tommy’s own abdomen, and suddenly the fuzziness around his head clears up. He jumps back immediately; Tommy lets him go with ease, even as the older man’s arms stay raised and reaching towards Buck.

“Uh, thanks for dinner. I…it was really good. Just what I needed.” Buck smiles hesitantly, but he means every word. Dinner had been great; Tommy had been better than great; but he’s the one that’s lost his mind in the last few minutes.

So he reluctantly starts to walk away. But something pulls him back. He pauses to look at Tommy, who still hasn’t moved from his spot, and Buck quickly darts back towards him. Hands on Tommy’s chest, he leans in to give the man another kiss. Short as fast, but he feels the other’s smile as he pulls back.

The Buck leaves, and Tommy lets him.

And he spends the entire drive home in a stupor. It’s honestly amazing he’d made it home safely given Buck had almost no recollection of the journey. All he remembers is the smile he’d been wearing the entire time. The one that slowly starts to turn upside down into a frown as he walks into his apartment. Worries of all sorts start to pop up in his head, overwhelming and suffocating.

Was it right to kiss Tommy? What did it mean? Was Buck ready to start another relationship? Was Tommy really going to be able to accept the condition Buck would be in? Would any man be able to accept that the person they have romantic interest in is pregnant with another man’s child? Could this all be one giant mistake? Was Buck going to get his heart broken? Was he going to break Tommy’s heart?

So many things run through his brain.

That kiss he’d just shared with Tommy had been as close to perfect as Buck has experienced in too long. He had once thought that he and Eddie were a match made in heaven—soulmates even—but that had shattered right alongside his heart. But Tommy was different. From the very beginning the older man never saw Buck as any form of burden, even when Buck had stumbled or was a mess.

Slowly, his hand traces over his stomach, across the apex of the bump, the exact spot where he’d been pressed against Tommy.

A small tendril of guilt starts to set in as Buck thinks about the kiss. He moves to sit down at the kitchen table, hands still rubbing his barely there baby bump, brain working a mile a minute.

In the end, the only answer Buck comes up with is this: he is going to tell Tommy about his pregnancy, about the baby; and about Eddie. Because he likes Tommy. A lot. Might even be falling in love with Tommy even though it hasn’t been very long since they’ve met. But it just feels right, when he’s with the older man. So he’s going to tell Tommy, and he’s going to let the other decide if he still wants Buck—or even if he wants to still be friends—after everything is laid out on the table.

Taking in a deep breath, Buck texts Tommy.

we should talk?

Yeah, Evan. Whenever you want, let me know.

This is the most nervous Buck has ever been in his entire life. Even his usual technique of comfort-seeking via his baby bump is doing little to calm him down. His leg hasn’t stopped shaking since he sat down, that same table at the same coffee shop they’d first met up in.

He’d chosen the place for its familiarity and for the pleasant memories it held. But it doesn’t negate how jittery he is right now.

When he sees Tommy’s figure coming closer, Buck stands up immediately—a little too fast—and nearly knocks over his tea. And then he drops down into his chair and his knees jars the table; luckily he still has his hands wrapped around the warm paper cup. He’s finally saved by Tommy arriving at the table, a warm smile on his face as he signals for Buck to stay seated.

Buck knows his face must be red as a beet, but the older man makes no comments.

“Evan,” even Tommy’s voice is warm, filling Buck with a confidence he didn’t really have when he showed up (too early and too nervous).

“Hi…” he still sounds hesitant though, voice low and barely above a whisper. “I’m, uh, glad you showed up.”

“We had plans, Evan, of course I’d show.” It’s said with a laugh, but not condescending or berating, just stating facts. And Tommy’s eyes are soft as they look at Buck.

Okay, yeah. He can do this, Buck thinks. He can tell Tommy everything and the older man won’t react negatively. Taking in a deep breath, Buck steadies himself. He swallows, takes a quick sip of his tea, and opens his mouth to explain it all. Only Tommy beats him to it.

Before he could get a single sound out, the older man takes him by surprise.

“Go out with me, Evan.”

Of all the things Buck was expecting to hear coming out of Tommy’s mouth, that was not it. Though maybe he should have; his mind travels back to their shared kiss, the one that was enthusiastically returned by Tommy.

“Um, a-aren’t we out…now?”

“No, Evan. I mean, go out with me on a date.” Tommy reaches out slowly, giving him enough time to move out of the way if he so wanted, and takes Buck by the hand. “Not just hanging out as friends.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

The smile never drops from the older man’s face as he squeezes Buck’s hand, running his hand over the back of his hand. “I like you, Evan. A lot. Actually, I’ve liked you since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

Buck blinks.

“The first time? On, uh, that MVA call?” He remembers that call, it’s only been a couple of months, and it had been the first call he’d been out on since he had revealed his pregnancy news to everyone. And he also remembers running straight into Tommy, being caught in the man’s arms for a few seconds. It was memorable, sure, but the first time they really met—was introduced officially—Buck had been less than put together. So it’s almost unbelievable to Buck that their bare minimum interaction was somehow enough. He’s also slightly flattered. “I smelled like puke and god knows what else.”

“And somehow managed to pull it off,” Tommy laughs.

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” it was accompanied by a shrug and then Tommy smirks, sending a wink Buck’s way that has his face heating up once again. “Or maybe I just know what I like. And it’s you, Evan. So, what do you say? Do you want to go on a date with me?”

The initial reaction Buck has is to say yes, to blurt it out and throw himself into Tommy’s arms. But then he feels a tingle in his stomach, the same one he’d been feeling on and off all morning, and it isn’t until now that he realizes…it wasn’t all nerves. It was the baby. The baby moved. He’s sitting in front of Tommy—who was still waiting for an answer from Buck—and his baby was moving; had been moving for hours.

Buck inhales slowly, tries not to shake from the sudden bout of excitement rushing through him. He looks up at Tommy across from him and, yeah, he can do this. He has to do this.

“I—” he starts, then stops. Buck hesitates, turns his hand under Tommy’s and entwines their hands. He doesn’t tug or pull, just holds on, for his own comfort and reassurance, and to keep Tommy close. “Tommy,” a long sigh rushes out of him, “there’s something I need to tell you.” Running a hand down his abdomen, flattens his shirt to his stomach—still small but definitely no longer flat.

“Evan—”

He squeezes Tommy’s hand, turns pleading eyes onto the older man. “No, please. Let me finish. Or else I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get it out.”

“Okay, but—”

“Please, Tommy.” Buck practically pleads. “I…just, god, it’s just that I’m…” He’s worried that even if Tommy won’t be mad, he won’t want Buck anymore. After all, he’s about to drop a big bomb on the older man and it could ruin everything. Which is the last thing Buck wants because he really likes Tommy; he wants to date Tommy. But he can’t if he has this big of a secret. Fingers clenching against his belly, the words burst out of him, “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes close, afraid to see Tommy’s expression shift into something he won’t like. When he hears laughter, Buck’s eyes snap open and he stares. Tommy is laughing, soft and body quaking with it. Buck blinks, confused. This was not the reaction he was expecting.

“Tommy?” He whispers, tentatively.

“Is that all?”

What?

“W-what? I—didn’t you hear me? I’m pregnant, Tommy.” Buck repeats his earlier announcement, putting extra emphasis on the most important word, but the other man’s reaction doesn’t change.

“I know, Evan.” Tommy holds his hand tighter when Buck moves in surprise. He doesn’t try to force Buck to stay in place, but only to steady. “I’ve known for a while actually.”

“You…have?” Buck was even more confused now, head tilting to one side.

“You’re not exactly subtle, baby.” A sudden burst of warmth fills him; the baby moves again and the tingling feeling vibrates through him. He wants to hear Tommy call him that—baby—again. Tommy’s eyes crinkle as his grin stretches wider, and this time he does tug gently on Buck’s hand, a little playful. “And…I might have overheard your phone call with Eddie,” he admits.

Of course he did. He had a feeling about that anyway. Though he’s more focused on the fact that Tommy has known for a while because Buck is a terrible secret keeper.

“And you never said anything…?” He squeezes Tommy’s hand, lets the other man’s heat soak into him. Then, slowly, he asks, “and you still, um, want to date me? Even though I’m a mess and carrying another man’s baby?”

“Evan, sweetheart, I’ve just been waiting for you to be ready to tell me. Because I don’t care about whose baby you’re carrying, just that you’ll be…mine.”

A smile slowly appears on Buck’s face, uncontrollable and he doesn’t want to control it. He’d happily scream it out into the world that Tommy still wants him.

“Yours?” The corners of his mouth keep rising higher.

“Yeah, baby. Be my boyfriend. Partner. Whatever you want to call yourself.” Tommy’s words are dripping with sincerity. So welcoming and comforting and Buck wants nothing more than to dive into the other man’s arms; to stay there forever.

“And the b-baby?” He has to make sure. Because Buck does want this baby, and if Tommy didn’t…

“Will be loved by the both of us.”

Those words. The promise behind them. They’re far more than he could have hoped for.

Buck almost leaps across the table. This time the tea does spill and Tommy’s coffee is only saved by his quick reflexes, but neither man cares. Because Buck has his arms wound around Tommy’s neck, his lips on Tommy’s lips, and is doing his best to imprint himself onto the older man. When a broad hand lands on his stomach, moving to cup the small bump gently, Buck pushes deeper into the kiss.

From that point forward, Buck felt like he was floating on clouds. Everything was perfect.

The baby—a boy he’s already thinking up names for—was healthy and making himself known to the world via Buck’s stomach finally popping. He was much rounder around the waist now, but Tommy had told him it meant there was more of Buck to love. Which the baby clearly agrees because every time Tommy is near, he would kick and move out of excitement. And his relationship with Tommy is even better than he could have imagined. Nothing really changed, Tommy was still warm, sweet, but with more open affection—both emotional and physical—shared between them.

Work has been going well. Calls that Buck is allowed out on dwindles with each passing week. The larger he grows, the more Buck does not mind staying behind. He had even introduced (not that much of that is required given Tommy’s former 118 status) his boyfriend to his team and family. Everyone loved Tommy.

(Him and Maddie have definitely spent a bit of time giggling over his boyfriend. How could he not talk about that cleft chin at least a hundred times a day.)

Throughout these near-blissful few months, Buck had pretty much forgotten about Eddie, who hasn’t reached out since that last time on the phone.

Until he does.

And Buck’s little rose colored bubble shatters. Because perfection always has a time limit, it seems; his has run out.

Buck just never expected it to be somewhere as public as a supermarket. Though given he’s been the butt of the universe’s joke many a times, he should have expected that’s exactly where he’d encounter Eddie for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. Still, he can’t help but be surprised anyway, because Eddie’s house isn’t in the vicinity of this grocery store; they’re closer to Tommy’s house. But none of that matters when their eyes meet across the aisle.

His first instinct was to run away, just turn and keep walking as if he hadn’t seen Eddie. Only he’s not as fast in his current state and Buck only makes it three steps before a hand around his wrist stops him.

Body tensing, Buck looks around, hoping to spot Tommy. But the older man had said he was making a quick run back to the produce section, something about not enough zucchinis (because that’s been Buck’s new baking obsession—zucchini muffins with salted cream cheese icing).

“Buck.” Somehow, his name sounds wrong coming from Eddie’s mouth even though it doesn’t sound all that different from before. Yet it grates in Buck’s nerves in a way it never has.

“Eddie.” He acknowledges the man, turning around slowly and snatching his arm away immediately.

The first thing Buck notices is that Eddie looks…bad. There are dark circles under his eyes so prominent they’re more similar to bruises. He looks like he hasn't slept in days, maybe weeks. A tiny part of Buck twinges with worry. This is a version of Eddie he’s never seen before, not even in the days after Shannon had passed and the other man had been deep in the throes of fight club.

The hand around him tightens a fraction and Buck instinctively jerks away harder.

There’s a second of tug-o-war between them where the other man doesn’t seem willing to let go, but Buck was determined. A hard yank that nearly throws him off balance—fucking changes to his center of gravity—and his wrist pops free from Eddie’s hand. And he can (should) walk away now, but he feels frozen to the spot.

“You haven’t called in a while, Buck.”

The words feel accusatory. But that’s not on Buck.

“A phone works both ways. So do texts.” Even as he says it, Buck can’t help but feel glad Eddie hasn’t been reaching out. The reprieve was a welcomed one, especially because every single conversation with Eddie after Christmas—after the pregnancy reveal—has been nothing but hurt and pain and frustration.

Eddie hums, noncommittal, stepping closer.

“We should talk about the baby.” Brown eyes travel down his torso and land on his protruding stomach. Buck’s instinct rises immediately and his arms come up to wrap around his belly.

“We’ve talked about the baby, Eddie. Several times.” Buck stands stock still. Under his arms, the baby reacts to the tension in his body, kicking out against him, as if trying to goad him to move already. So he does, takes a step back and away from Eddie. But the Latino man follows.

“And you still haven’t given me an answer.”

“You mean I haven’t given you the answer you wanted to hear. But I already told you Eddie. I’m keeping the baby.” Buck puffs up his chest, chin tilted up, brings himself up to his full height.

Scoffing, Eddie rolls his eyes. “You can’t really be serious about that Buck. Look at you,” he waves a hand in Buck’s direction. “You’re about to pop, you’re so huge. This isn’t the time to be a fucking child about this. Stop with the games already. Always jerking me around.”

Buck gaps. Who was jerking who around?

“You’re as fucking exhausting as always—”

And for a second, Buck is launched back to a different supermarket nearly three years ago, where he’d heard the exact same word drop from those exact same lips. Exhausting. Like all of Eddie’s issues were caused by Buck and he was the only one needed to shoulder the blame.

Eddie had been the one to make the first move, to take their relationship beyond just platonic friendship. And he was the one to drop Buck like he was a hot potato, too burnt to be worth anything.

“Shut up, Eddie. You don’t know what you’re saying.” His voice sounds steadier than he feels. On the inside Buck is shaking with humiliation, with rage. .

The other man doesn’t seem to realize; he’s hardly even looking at Buck.

“Stop being ridiculous, Buck. You know I’m right. You can barely—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Eddie.”

Another roll of his eyes, Eddie steps forward. “Buck. Be serious.” Another step. He forces Buck to back up until there’s nowhere for him to go. The grocery shelf digs into his back and a few boxes of cereal threaten to fall from their perch. Eddie doesn’t stop talking, “you know you’ll lose interest in this kid soon enough, so do us both a favor and just admit that you can’t take care of a baby. It’s not a toy, you know.”

The fucking audacity.

“I know it’s not a toy.” Buck all but growls out. “He is my baby. Mine. And you can’t—”

Eddie is still moving, eyes sharp and scary looking. He’s got one hand raised and his hand clenched into a fist. Buck eyes widen.

And before anything could happen—if it was even going to happen; Buck liked to think Eddie wasn’t that far gone, that his (former) best friend would have caught himself in time—Tommy comes out of nowhere and shoves Eddie away, twisting to stand between them, Buck shielded behind his broad shoulders.

“Seriously, man. Back the fuck up.” Tommy takes a step forward, looking more intimidating than Buck has ever seen him. He is a wall of rigid muscle standing before Buck, blocking most of Eddie from his view.

“You stay out of it.” Eddie jabs finger in Tommy’s direction. “Who the fuck are you even?”

But the older man doesn’t even flinch. Even so, Buck reaches out to twist his hand into the back of Tommy’s shirt, letting the heat of the other man’s body seep into his. It’s as much a move to calm himself as it is to make sure he can pull Tommy away in case things get physical.

“I’m Evan’s boyfriend. Who the fuck are you?” A small jolt of joy shoots through Buck at hearing that word—boyfriend—out loud even after so many months. It dissipates when he catches Eddie moving closer; his grip tightens on Tommy’s shirt.

“I’m Eddie, the father of his baby. So you can back the—” Eddie’s finger is in Tommy’s face now, arm raised to make himself bigger than the man in front of him.

Tommy doesn’t even give him the chance to finish before laughing loudly. The sound echoing down the empty aisle. They’re probably lucky that it’s late enough in the day that the store isn’t filled with people, just a few stragglers here and there. Buck steps up to Tommy, lets his bump rest against the curve of Tommy’s spine and feels the older man extend one hand backwards to wrap around Buck and hold him close.

“Don’t kid yourself. You’re a sperm donor, that’s all.”

Then Tommy shifts so he's still mostly keeping Eddie in his line of sight as he pulls Buck into his arms more fully, still shielding from the other man, and starts to usher him down the aisle. They don’t move at a fast pace—Buck literally can’t—but Eddie doesn’t follow. He’s left sputtering in the cereal aisle as they leave. Buck doesn’t spot a peep of him even as they check out, but he doesn’t feel himself fully relax until they’re both sitting inside of Tommy’s car and on their way home.

Tommy is still touching him, one broad palm laying over Buck’s thigh, grounding him. They’re halfway home before either of them speak a single word.

“You okay?” Tommy breaks the silence.

It takes Buck a few seconds to answer as he gives himself a mental once-over. He still feels a little rattled from the out-of-nowhere confrontation with Eddie, especially after not having heard from the man in months. Looking at the window, he watches the now-familiar streets pass by, before turning to look at Tommy. The older man’s got his eyes on the road, but the hand on Buck’s thigh tightens briefly. Reassuringly.

“I—thank you.” It seemed important to say. Then he hesitates slightly, almost cautiously, “you…didn’t need to do that.”

“I know, baby. But I wanted to. You don’t have to fight your own battles anymore, Evan.”

Buck opens his mouth to…say something. But closes it when no words fall out. He stares at Tommy, takes in how the street lights leaking in from the outside sharpen the older man’s features. It makes him want to reach out, to run his hands through that soft hair, to feel the heat of the other man’s skin against his own. Instead, he slides his hand underneath the one still resting against leg, turns his palm upwards, and laces their fingers together.

He thinks of Maddie, of Bobby and the rest of the 118, even if Athena. And he thinks of Eddie—one of the people he thought he could rely on the most. Tommy isn’t any more or better, he just is.

There’s no need for thank yous again; everything is said in the smile that pulls up the corners of Tommy’s face and make the crinkles at the corners of his eyes more prominent. Buck squeezes the hand in his and feels the other man do the same in response.

They spend the rest of the way back in contented silence.

Time moves faster than Buck was prepared for. He’d all but transformed his living room into a baby nook and made sure everything was ready for after the labor. The loft apartment isn’t ideal, Buck is aware—he and Maddie have talked about it, he and Bobby have talked about it, and he and Tommy have also talked about it—but he felt it was important that he and his baby boy have their own space.

With help, he made sure the loft was that space. Other changes can come in the future. For not, the loft will do just fine.

And no sooner did he hang up the last few touches in the baby’s area, that things really started to feel real. Buck had gotten to the point in his pregnancy where it made better sense for him to stay home more than lug himself (and his not insignificantly sized belly) to the firehouse. His aching ankles appreciated that more than Buck himself did, but he conceded everyone’s point that it was better to not be that close to all kinds of heavy machinery when he’s days away from popping.

(He argued that it would actually be a lot more convenient for him to be around an ambulance and emergency personnel. That idea had been vetoed quick.)

In any other universe, the ideal would be for Buck to go into labor on a nice peaceful day where he’d start feeling the contractions and call his doctor. Maybe Tommy would be with him, or maybe Maddie, and they'd help him out of the apartment, into the elevator, settle him into the car, and they'd be on their merry way to the hospital.

Buck obviously doesn’t live in ideals.

He apparently lives in a world where if something can go haywire, it likely will go haywire.

His day started out fine. Except for the rare tropical storm that’s decided Southern California was the perfect place to make its home. Which would have been perfectly okay, if Buck got to enjoy the pounding rain against the windows as he sat on the couch with a nice cup of ginger tea. Instead, Buck is about to have a baby in the middle of a natural disaster. Because that would just be his luck, wouldn’t it? He can’t even give birth to his baby like a normal person, in a hospital.

Rationally, he knows—especially as a firefighter—that many people don’t make it to the hospital to give birth and that all kinds of situations can happen. Such as Buck going into labor early right as Los Angeles is about to be hit by the rare hurricane. Even if it’s only just edging across the city, it’s brought on torrential rain, the same downpour Buck is currently watching through his kitchen window as his last contraction slowly starts to dissipate.

They’re getting closer.

The last one was less than five minutes ago, and they’ve been persisting for longer than Buck liked, at regular intervals.

When the pain first started, he’d not paid them any mind. His doctor had said that Braxton Hicks was highly possible for him, so that’s what he thought it was. Until Buck realized that’s not what’s happening to him. The moment that realization hit, that’s when it happens; a weird popping sensation that he feels more than hears, followed by a gush of wetness.

His water just broke.

He was in actual labor.

And he was alone. Tommy was on shift, because they thought they had two more weeks (at least), but now they barely have a few hours.

Buck waddles towards his phone, at least glad that his water hasn’t broken yet. But he knows that he won’t be able to drive himself to the hospital, not if he wants to make it there in one piece. And Buck wants to meet his baby boy; he wants Tommy to meet their baby boy.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“T-this is off-duty firefighter Evan Buckley, and I’m—ooh,” a stab of pain cuts him off and Buck nearly doubles over as the next contraction hits. “I’m in active labor.”

It doesn’t take much longer for dispatch to send an ambulance his way. All Buck can do now is wait.

He gathers his go-bag, the one Tommy and him had packed just the other day. The entire process of grabbing it and lowering himself to sit down at the kitchen table takes much longer than it should, punctuated by the occasional rocking wave of pain from his contractions. They’re four minutes apart now. Closer and closer and still Buck was alone.

Closing his eyes, he lets the rain outside drown out any oncoming panic he may feel. It helps some and Buck feels calmer by the second.

He doesn’t know how long he drifts between even more contractions rolling through him before the familiar sound of sirens reach his ear. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Buck pushes himself up to open the door. Only he doesn’t quite make it as another contraction seizes him and the only thing he can do is fall back into his seat, breathing through it.

But then he hears it—hears them—it’s the 118. Bobby’s voice is loud as he calls out to Hen and Chimney, accompanied by the sound of keys (a spare set he’d given his captain when Buck had first moved into the loft).

The next few minutes after the door opens is a flurry of activity.

Buck is hee-ing and hoo-ing through the pain seizing his insides while people he considered family work around him to check his vitals. They’d brought a gurney with them and it doesn’t take long before Buck is secured onto it and being rolled out of the apartment.

The rain hasn’t let up at all. In fact, it looks to be going harder than before. They manage to get Buck into the back of the bus with minimal soakage, but the road ahead is still not going to be an easy one. Bobby is personally driving the ambulance while Buck is in the back with Hen and Chim. He’s not panicked, not yet, but as he looks out the back windows at the water-scattered lights outside, he does worry.

Although rain storms of the likes are rare in LA, Buck still knows from experience that because of how uncommon it is, there’s going to be more accidents on the road than usual. And Buck’s hospital, where his doctor is, is at least a twenty minute drive away. Maybe less with the sirens going, but road conditions are unpredictable.

“You never do things by halves, huh, Buck?” Chimney jokes as he keeps an eye on Buck’s vitals, while on the other side, Hen is taking the baby’s vitals.

“Where—‘s the fun in that?” He hisses, another contraction hitting him right as the ambulance goes over a small bump in the road. “How is he?” The question is directed at Hen, who gives him a smile and soft assurances.

“He’s doing exactly as he should be.”

And that’s a relief, even as Buck knows that his contractions are getting closer and closer. He looks down at where his hands are twisted into the handles of the gurney and then back at small windows on the doors. They’re on the highway now, and Buck can see more cars on the road than before. From the front, Bobby reports back the ETA.

Ten minutes.

They’ll make it. And Buck will actually give birth in a hospital.

Just as that thought passes through his brain the ambulance jerks to a full stop. All three heads in the back turn towards the driver’s seat and Bobby looks back at them.

“There looks to be some sort of blockade further up the way. Dispatch says there’s houses already working on it.” The fire captain sounds calm, but his eyes give away his anxiety at being caught in this situation. Bobby’s eyes catch on Buck and Buck nods, not trusting his own voice right now.

His back aches in that dull throbbing way that it’s been doing nearly all day. It’s a wonder Buck hadn’t realized he was going into labor sooner, not that it would have done him much good. Los Angeles has been under Tropical Storm Aiden for the last twelve hours. There was no way he’d be able to drive himself to the hospital—he wouldn’t risk the baby like that. And Buck wasn’t going to call Tommy away from his shift in these conditions. (And he was damn sure not calling Eddie.)

And now his contractions were getting worse, gaining ground in each other in true Olympic fashion. This baby wants out, as impatient as Buck has been known to be sometimes.

“Haaah.” He gasps out, inhaling deeply. One hand comes up to grip Hen’s arm, and she takes it like a champ even though Buck’s knuckles have gone white with how hard he’s holding on. “Fuck. They’re too close. Too close.”

Panic was starting to slowly set in.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll be moving soon enough.” Chimney tries to reassure but his poker face is as bad as Maddie’s and Buck sees right through him. They weren’t likely to be moving for a while.

Except, Buck was really about to pop.

He tries not to think about the pressure in his abdomen and the shifting baby within it.

“God, I haven’t even settled on a name for him yet,” he breathes out, leaning back to look at the ambulance’s overhead lights. They’re bright, almost blinding, and they sting Buck’s eyes the longer he stares into them. When he finally closes his eyes as the next contraction hits, he sees a galaxy of stars behind his lids.

Chim reaches out to steady him, keep him from curling up in the gurney.

“Don’t think he cares to wait for that.”

“Baby wants out, baby gets out.” Hen tells him, running her palm up the sweat damp skin of his arm—and when did he even start sweating? Buck doesn’t know. “Names can come later, Buckaroo.”

Right. Later, when it would be more ideal to give birth. When they were caught in the middle of the highway during a raging Tropical Storm and the entirety of LA wasn’t a complete fucking mess. And later…when Buck would feel more prepared, maybe.

He shakes his head, one hand gripping his protruding belly. It almost feels like his entire body is vibrating as he digs his fingers into the soft-hardness of his pregnant stomach. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

Hen and Chimney share a look. They turn towards Bobby, who Buck can’t see, but whatever message is conveyed, Bobby is the one that speaks up: “but he is.”

Warm hands squeeze his and Hen smiles, “just eager to meet his daddy, isn’t he?”

Too eager, Buck wants to say, as another wave of contractions bulldozes its way through him. He’s still shaking his head, fear and doubt crawling their way up his spine, slimy and cold. If he can’t even give birth like a normal person—in the safety of a hospital—how can he take care of a whole baby by himself? Was Eddie right to say he didn’t think this through? That Buck had been selfish and childish and playing games he’s too stupid to understand?

If Tommy were here, the older man would have taken one look at him and have read him like the most open of books. He’d have reached out to take Buck by the face, broad hands cupping his cheeks so that he can only look at Tommy—at those mesmerizing blue eyes he’s come to adore more and more every day—and the older man would have told him to stop it.

Buck was good. Buck was ready. Buck was going to be the best dad ever. Buck—

“I—I want T-Tommy,” he cries out, upper body already halfway heaved off the gurney like he was about to make a run for it.

Hands press him backwards and Buck struggles a little before ultimately giving up and slumping down onto the not-so-comfy surface.

“He’ll be here as soon as he can,” he hears Bobby’s voice say, but the next bout of cramping contractions feel like the worst yet.

Suddenly everything feels too small, too suffocating, too hot. Buck feels like he’s burning, and sweat drips down his face. He starts pulling at this shirt, trying to remove it, and another gasp punches out of him as the lower half of his body hurts.
Vaguely, he’s aware of someone cutting open his pants. And then there are fingers reaching in between his thighs. Whatever they—he thinks it’s Hen—feel the twin looks he gets tells him enough.

Even if the ambulance starts to move now, they were not making it to the hospital for Buck to give birth.

“We’re with you the entire time, yeah?”

“You’re doing great, Buck.” Bobby’s voice joins in.

He’s breathing has gotten harsher, mouth open on one long gasp. The pain feels nearly continuous now, the muscles in his body feel like it’s twisting onto itself, seizing and cramping, and then there’s the pressure pushing up against his lower half. Something—the baby—wants out.

From next to him, Hen has shifted situated herself between his open legs. Buck would be embarrassed, but he’s beyond caring right now.

“D-doesn’t feel great. Not fun—” he’s panting, chest heaving as he tries to suck in as much oxygen as he can “—ten—fuck!—ten, do not recommend.”

“That’s the spirit, Buck.” She pats his leg, gives him a reassuring smile.

Somewhere up front, he thinks he hears Bobby saying something or other, but it doesn’t sound like it’s directed at him. Putting it out of his mind, Buck’s entire focus narrows down to him and the baby.

The pressure is growing. He can feel his body trying to stretch itself.

“This—oh god—it’s too hard. I don’t think—”

Chimney makes a soft shushing sound and runs a hand through Buck’s sweaty curls, “don’t think, Buck. When you feel the need to push, just do it.”

“I—someone please call Tommy. Please!” He’s begging even as Hen starts to talk him through the next step.

The baby is coming. The baby is practically already here.

“Crowning!” Hen crows from between his legs.

Buck feels a single drop of relief before the pain comes back. He’s a carrier, always has been, but in this moment he’s never felt less capable of anything. His body is too tense and too weak at the same time, and it is a dizzying sensation. He hears Hen telling him to push again, so he does. One hand flies out to bang against one of the cubbies on the ambo and a stinging pain ricochets up his arm, but all of that is drowned out by everything happening to his lower body. It’s so much breathing becomes hard, but Buck forces out every breath because he needs to. He knows he needs to.

With gritted teeth, Buck grinds out Tommy’s name again.

And he must be hallucinating from the pain of childbirth because there is no way the doors to the ambulance are swinging open, and standing there with the rain is Tommy in his turnout, wet hair falling into his eyes. Because Tommy is at work. He is helping out around the city with his crew, keeping people safe and rescuing victims from Tropical Storm Aiden. He should not be appearing before Buck’s labor-pain-fuzzy eyes in the middle of a Los Angeles highway looking like some sort of god-given mirage.

“Evan!”

Chim jumps out of the way and then there’s a hand, cold and wet, touching his arm. Buck heaves a little sigh of relief at the contact.

Tommy was real.

He’s really here.

“Y-you’re here?”

“Yeah, baby. I am.” Fingers touch his cheek and Buck strains towards the older man. Tommy obliges easily, darting forward to kiss Buck’s birthmark before pressing their foreheads together.

“Turns out the 217 was one of the houses clearing up the MVA up ahead.” There’s an obvious smile to Bobby’s words.

“—working! You should be working!” Buck hisses.

He feels the urge to push again, and even as he’s saying the opposite his fingers latch onto Tommy’s arm, to his shirt, and hang on. With his last remaining strength, Buck gives one last big push. And just like that, his body feels looser. Not completely, but the mounting pressure disappears. Everything still throbs, yet none of it matters because a bright cry breaks through air and Buck feels his heart settle.

That’s his baby boy. Loud and clear and strong.

“Buck, meet your son.”

Hen brings the baby up, hand cupped over the back of his tiny little head. He’s covered in bits and pieces of white, waxy, substance—vernix caseosa, Buck’s brain supplies—and his brown hair is stuck in tufts. And he’s gorgeous. When Hen lays him out in Buck’s chest, the connection is almost palpable; an instant string forming between their hearts. This was Buck’s baby. The same baby he’d been carrying for nine months; the one that gave him weird cravings and had him crying at the drop of a hat and the baby he’d been waiting to hold. He’s finally in Buck’s arms.

His eyes are glued to the baby’s still slightly scrunched face and when a familiar arm comes to rest around his shoulders, Buck finally looks up at Tommy again. There are tears welling up in the other man’s eyes and he’s smiling so wide his face is practically split in half with it. Blue eyes dart between Buck and the baby, like they don’t quite know where to linger, that they need to keep both in their field of vision.

“He’s beautiful.” Buck whispers, exhausted happiness radiating from him.

He returns Tommy’s smile, lifts his head just a little to give the older man a soft kiss on the lips. Sighing, he looks down at his baby and leans back against Tommy’s chest, uncaring that the man was still wet from the rain and hadn’t bothered to take off his turnout yet.

“Just like his dad. You did so good, baby.” Lips find their way to Buck’s temple and then the wine stain red of his birthmark, lingering there until Hen’s voice breaks the moment.

“Wanna cut the umbilical cord?” She asks.

Tommy jumps slightly, surprised. Hesitantly, he looks down at Buck and Buck would laugh if he had more energy. Instead, he nods with a small smile, encouraging the older man to take the proffered scissors. He hadn’t really said it out loud, but Buck had always planned to have Tommy in the delivery room with him and had always planned to have the man cut the cord. Where it happens hardly mattered in the long run; he just wanted Tommy to be part of it all.

Chim says something about afterbirth and Hen has said something in return, but Buck is no longer paying any attention.

He does feel the ambulance start to move again and spares a second’s thought on how the 217 must have been pretty much done by the time Tommy made his way to him. But all he cares about right now is this little bundle of joy in his arms. Stroking a finger down the baby’s tiny nose, Buck feels a tear trail down his face. The journey hadn’t always been smooth and things didn’t really go the way he thought they would when he first found out about the pregnancy, but the end result was better than he could have asked for.

He names the baby as they finally continue their way to the hospital. They’re less than two minutes away—according to Bobby—when the name comes to him.

“Noah,” he whispers the name against the baby’s fuzz-soft crown. It feels fitting, with the rain still continuing to pour down outside the confined space of the ambulance. His family growing up has never been particularly religious by any means, but he remembers the story about Noah’s Ark. This isn’t quite that, but Noah is Buck’s own little miracle. “It means…comfort.” Because that’s what Noah brings him, comfort and rest, and he hopes he will be that for his baby boy in the lifetime to come.

“Noah.” Tommy’s voice floats into his ear and Buck’s heart jumps a little at that name falling from his lips. If he hadn’t already been falling head over heels for this man, he thinks seeing him looking at Noah, hearing him say the name, would have been the final straw. “Perfect.”

They had just settled into the hospital, the rest of Buck’s friends and family gathered around, when the next disaster struck. In the form of the last person Buck wanted to see tonight.

Eddie had all but burst into the hospital room, interrupted the happy chatter and congratulations, demanding to see the baby—his baby, was the exact term he used. He barely acknowledged the rest of the people standing about the room, his focus entirely on where Buck sat on the bed, Noah resting in his arms.

“I’m his dad, too. I have a right to be here,” he’d declared when Bobby had come forth to try and convince him to leave.

“Eddie…”

“No, Bobby. Keep out of this; this is between me and Buck.” He barely even looked at the fire captain, shrugging off his hand and pushing him away as he stalked towards the bed. Not that he gets far.

Athena is quick to stand in his way, blocking his path, hands on her hips and looking every inch the LAPD Sergeant that she is despite not even being in uniform. And if Eddie were smart enough, he’d back off, slink off back to wherever he’d popped up from. But he’s too in his own head—the same way he’s been for a while now, Buck acknowledges—and he tries to bully past Athena, who doesn’t budge even though she’s at least a few inches shorter than Eddie.

“Diaz! Get a hold of yourself.” She shoves him back with enough strength that Eddie does actually stumble back a step or two, and right into Chimney and Bobby’s grips.

Eddie doesn’t struggle, but he looks ready to fight either way.

Buck watches all of this from where his spot, reclined, on a bed of semi-shitty hospital pillows, Tommy on one side and Maddie on the other, holding a surprisingly quiet Noah in his arms. He still feels the lingering exhaustion of pushing a whole human out of his body, but realizes that if he doesn’t deal with this—with Eddie—now, it’ll only persist.

“Guys, i-it’s okay. We should talk.” He calls out, voice still a little hoarse but strong enough to cut across the room. All eyes turn to him and he feels Tommy’s hand land on his shoulder, squeezing gently, reassuringly. “A-and…he should meet Noah.”

“You picked a name already?” There’s disbelief and what sounds like betrayal coloring Eddie’s voice.

Buck ignores it. He looks up at Tommy instead, and even though it’s not the whole truth, he says, “we picked it.” Clearly indicating he meant Tommy and himself.

And maybe that was a little mean, but Buck wasn’t completely lying. He’d been tossing random names at Tommy for weeks now, gauging the older man’s reaction to each one—having his fun with the more ridiculous names—before finally landing on the perfect name for his perfect baby boy; his perfect little Noah.

“Do you want to meet him or not?” Buck asks bluntly. “Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

He also notices that Eddie hadn’t even bothered to bring Christopher with him. At that, Buck felt a pinch of sadness; he’d wanted the boy to meet (who is technically, biologically) his little brother. That’ll have to wait until next time, maybe.

For now, he only watches silently as Eddie throws off Chimney and Bobby’s loosened grips before walking closer and closer and closer.

Buck stays still, body relaxed, though really still weak enough that he’s not sure it’ll be capable of much else except sitting in a bed and holding his baby. A nod towards Maddie has his sister moving back to make room for Eddie—his baby daddy, and isn’t that a hilarious phrase that nearly makes him laugh. When the other man is close enough, he doesn’t move to bring the baby closer, just sits there with Tommy’s hand still on his shoulder—offering him just the right amount of comfort he needs—and lets Eddie look.

As the man silently looks at the baby he also participated in making, who shares half his DNA, Buck takes the chance to say his own piece.

“No, Eddie. You don’t have the right to be here just because you contributed your genetic makeup. And this is the only chance you’ll get to see Noah, so you better look your fill. Because I’m not going to let you near him—not until you deal with yourself and whatever shit you need to work through.” Once the first words leave his mouth, the rest tumbles out after them. “You get mean, Eddie. Really mean. You wanted to take my son away from me,” he hears Maddie’s sharp gasp at that bit of news, and no doubt there are several other shocked faces around the room, “and basically called me stupid. So, no, Eddie. Noah is my son. Not yours. At this point, you’re at most a sperm donor. Thank you for your contribution. You should leave now.”

Buck looks down at Noah and smoothing his hand over the baby’s lightly furred head, turning both himself and his baby away from Eddie.

The message was clear. Visiting hours were closed, at least for Eddie that is.

The next time Buck hears any mention of Eddie, it’s that the man had made the decision to move back to Texas, back to El Paso. He was gone (and so was Chris). And maybe Buck should feel something more than just disappointment over that fact, but he barely felt that. In fact, he barely felt anything for the man. Because right now, all Buck really cares about is how it feels to look at Tommy holding Noah, and seeing the absolute adoration in the older man’s eyes as he gazes down at the baby resting in his arms.

He’s happy. And loved.