Archive of Our Own

Hey, are you doing alright?

It's like every hair on Buck's body stands up straight all at once, goose bumps spreading across his skin as he reads the text from Maddie. She wouldn't send a question like that without a very good reason — but his day has been uneventful; he's spent the past few hours aimlessly scrolling on his phone.

The message is just … ominous. It sets off every silent alarm his body can send him. Buck sits up on the couch, spine rigid, and clicks on the notification banner, thumbing out a reply.

what do u mean?

He doesn't even give her a chance reply before he follows it up with:

????

He almost sends a third text when finally the typing dots show up — just for a split second —before they're replaced by a succint reply.

With Chris?

Buck sucks in a panicked breath. What the fuck? Something's going on with Chris? And how come Maddie knows? Another message appears.

I heard they found him. Just thought I'd check in on you

Reading the words is like — like in the movies when a bomb goes off and everything goes silent except for a steady hum ringing in your ears. A bright light. Everything combining to impair your sensory input.

Found him. Found him? Buck had no idea he needed to be found. Why were they looking? Found him where? How?

Buck doesn't have any memory of standing up, putting on his shoes, grabbing his keys and wallet, but he must have done all those things, because he finds himself outside his front door in a stupor. He shakes his head back and forth like a dog drying off in hopes that it'll clear his mind.

It doesn't, not really. But that's okay, Buck can drive the route to the Diazes' house with his eyes closed. Which. They might as well be.

He locks the door and speed walks to his truck, adrenaline still pumping through his body. His limbs are somehow both heavy and light, numb and buzzing with electricity all at once. He tears his phone out of his pocket and navigates to Eddie's contact as he gets seated, hits the call button. It connects to the Bluetooth when he powers on the truck, and the ringing echoes through the cab.

Buck backs up out of his driveway and sets out toward the Diaz house. He doesn't even know for sure that they're home, just that — he needs to be there. Needs to be with them. Knows in his bones that Chris needs him. That Eddie n — Buck's breath hitches in his throat as a thought fully forms, verbalizing the feeling that's been building in the back of his awareness since he read the text with Chris's name in it. It's: Why do I not know where they are? Why didn't Eddie call me the second he realized something was wrong?

"Hi," Eddie's voice greets.

"Eddie! What's —"

"You've reached Edmundo Diaz, leave a message."

Buck feels a shock of heat across his face, his nose wrinkling. "Fuck," he mumbles, before realizing that it's recording. "Eddie. Call me back. R-right away. I — I, I need — I need to know what's going on. Call me," he demands, as emphatically as he can, and hangs up.

He does his best to stay focused on the road, to be a defensive driver, shifting his gaze between all of his mirrors and the road in front of him. Overcompensating for how stupid — how fucking dangerous — it is to have his phone in his hand while he's actively driving.

Buck hits the call button again, and is greeted by Eddie's "you've reached Edmundo" for a second time.

After the third time the call rings out to voicemail, he jabs the red button to hang up, a frustrated noise escaping his throat. He pushes down on the gas pedal a little harder.

—

"I really get it, mijo, I do, but —"

The sound of a key in the lock draws Eddie's ear, and that deep, gutting hole of panic that only just started to abate reopens in his stomach. His head swivels toward the front door as he reaches up with both arms to shield Chris from whoever has the audacity to let themselves in.

"Dad, what the hell?" Chris says, fidgeting as Eddie pulls him in toward his body and down out of sight of the front door.

"I —"

The door bursts open, and for a terrifying moment, Eddie expects to see Abigail, or her parents, or — he's not sure, someone else from their church, maybe — but it's not any of those awful possibilities.

"Buck," Eddie gasps. He has seen Buck at so many scared, high-pressure moments, both on the job and just — in life. That must be why seeing him now feels like such a sucker punch of relief. If Buck is here, then Eddie is one half of a team. If Buck is here, he isn't alone. Eddie extends one arm over the back of the couch instinctively, reaching for Buck, still keeping Chris close with the other.

Buck's gaze flits frantically between Eddie's hand, Athena standing in the living room, Pepa in the armchair, and Chris, who wriggles his way out of Eddie's loose hold.

"Chris, oh my god!" Buck barrels toward them, grabbing Eddie's hand as he does, throwing his other arm around Chris over the back of the couch. Having Buck here, holding Eddie's hand close to his chest, squeezing it tightly, kneeling down on his bad leg to hold Eddie's son close — it's like Eddie can take his first real full breath since Chris didn't get off the school bus.

Buck pulls back, keeping his points of contact with both of them. His forehead is sweaty, his curls damp and frizzy at the same time. He's in lounge wear — Eddie recognizes the ratty T-shirt as one that Buck once promised he'd never wear out of the house, begging Eddie not to turn it into a rag or throw it away.

"Are you okay?" Buck asks Chris, but before he can answer, he turns to Eddie. "What happened? Why didn't you — why didn't you call me?" He asks it like a scorned parent talking to their ex, like he should've been involved sooner, like Eddie's not good enough to make decisions and take care of his kid on his own.

Eddie pulls his hand back. "Excuse me for calling Athena first! You know, the person with the resources to actually find my son."

Buck straightens up and meets Eddie's eyes. "Not — after that, I mean. You could have …" He trails off, drops his gaze.

"Our Christopher is home safe," Pepa says mildly from her chair. "That is what is important."

Eddie exhales, looks down at Chris. "That's right," he says.

"Right," Buck says, audibly switching gears. "How are you doing, Chris? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Chris says, and there's a stubborn edge to his voice that suggests he's already over all the fuss.

"Do you need anything? Glass of water?"

"Sure, Buck," Chris says.

Eddie waits till Buck heads off into the kitchen before sinking back onto the couch. "You okay, buddy?" he checks, once again taking in Chris's slightly rumpled outfit. "Really?"

"Still yes," Chris says, though he leans into Eddie.

Eddie lets his head fall back against the couch and he closes his eyes. Chris is safe, and close enough that Eddie can feel him breathing. Buck is here.

Buck is here, and he could have been here earlier, except Eddie scrolled through his contacts for Athena's number first thing, and then everything moved so quickly, and it wasn't like Buck could have done anything in particular to help find Chris. The professionals were on it. If Athena wouldn't let Eddie go out looking, there's no way she would have agreed to Buck searching the streets.

The truth is, as Eddie paced his house with his phone in his hand, he knew he could have called Buck. They're both on a forty-eight off. But there was a part of Eddie that thought — he didn't deserve that. The relief and strength that Buck's presence brings. The knowledge that he loves Chris, knows him almost as well as Eddie does.

That kind of comfort is for dads who don't keep losing their kid — over and over and over.

So he didn't call Buck.

And then he got a call from an unknown number and it was Chris whispering that he was at a diner with Abigail, and Eddie stopped thinking about anything except for his son in his arms. Safe.

Underneath it all, Eddie knew the news would get back to Buck at some point. Knew that as soon as he found out that Chris was gone, wild horses wouldn't stop him from rushing over here. And — even if Eddie couldn't ask for it, maybe he was counting on it, just a little. That Buck would come anyway.

What he wasn't counting on was the anger he saw on Buck's face. Anger-fear-hurt. Not calling didn't just hurt Eddie. It hurt Buck, too.

Not for the first time, Eddie wishes there was a more precise term to use for Buck in their life. Best-friend-work-partner-safe-grownup-in-Chris's-life. Pretty long to put on a form or use in an introduction. Years and years ago, it occurred to Eddie that if Buck were Catholic, he could be Chris's godfather. Instead, Eddie did the next best (secular) thing and put Buck in his will. It's not the same, though. You can't really introduce someone as your kid's guardian-in-case-I-die either.

Buck walks back into the living room, balancing two glasses of water. He hands one to Chris, and presses the other into Eddie's hands. His face has smoothed back out to worried-helpful. The hurt is just a little pinch between his eyebrows.

"Oh," Eddie says. "I didn't —"

"Hydration is the enemy of the adrenaline crash," Buck says sternly. "Drink."

—

"I still don't get why everyone's making such a big deal out of this," Chris says. He's pushing the last bits of rice around on his plate, shoulders slumped. "My friends go do stuff after school all the time and they don't get the police called on them."

Buck flits his eyes to the front door, where Eddie and Athena just stepped outside to discuss "what comes next."

Buck sighs heavily. Chris has spent most of the evening unsuccessfully arguing this very same point to Eddie, and Buck has been trying his best to avoid getting wrapped up in it. It's clear that Eddie doesn't want Buck meddling in this. He hadn't even planned on sticking around, not after Pepa had to intervene to get him and Eddie to stop snapping at each other. But then she left to feed her elderly cat and quietly put Buck in charge of making dinner.

"Chris," Buck starts, setting his silverware down on the table. He looks at Chris, who just wanted to go out for a milkshake with a girl, and who won't understand why what Abigail did was wrong. Eddie keeps laying into the I didn't know where you were and I was scared something had happened to you approach to no avail, so Buck tries another tactic. "You know, you did the right thing today."

"What?" Chris sits back in his chair as his eyebrows ruffle, giving away his surprise.

Buck presses on. "Calling your dad from the diner. You must have known he'd be worried."

"Uh …" Chris pauses.

Over the past couple hours, Buck has gleaned the story in bits and pieces from Athena and Eddie. He prompts gently, "You called him."

Chris nods, keeping his eyes on the table. "When Abigail went to the bathroom. I thought he might be worried if he didn't know we stopped for food." He flicks his eyes up to Buck, some of his earlier irritation returning. "I didn't think he'd send the police after me."

"You get that Abigail — you know she didn't have permission to pick you up, right?"

Chris shrugs. "She just wanted to hang out."

Buck looks around the room, eyes catching on Chris's phone, plugged in to charge on the sideboard. Safely returned to him. "You borrowed a phone, right?"

"I thought I lost mine," Chris admits, shifting in his seat. "I started to freak out a bit, so the server gave me hers."

Oh my god, Buck thinks. No one told him.

"Abigail took your phone, Chris."

"What?" For the first time since Buck arrived, Chris looks genuinely spooked. Like the reality of how serious this is finally set in.

"They found it in her purse. She took it because she didn't want you to tell your dad. Athena told me, I figured you knew …" He trails off as the thought occurs to him that maybe Chris was left out of knowing this detail on purpose. Fuck, Eddie's going to be pissed —

So be it, Buck thinks, overriding the worry. Let Eddie be pissed at him. This is about Chris, and Chris deserves to know the gravity of what happened to him. He deserves to know the truth.

"Abigail is sick, Chris. They found a state map in her glove compartment. She was going to take you — well, we don't know. But she — she needs help. And you are so smart, and you did everything right today." Buck reaches over to clasp Chris on the shoulder. "You went along with it. And then once you were alone, you found a way to contact your dad. You knew that something was wrong, and you got help."

Tears gather in Buck's eyes and that familiar about-to-cry tickle dances in his throat.

"She wasn't trying to hurt me … was she?" Chris asks, voice wobbly.

"I don't know, Chris," Buck answers honestly. "None of us know. That's why everyone was so scared."

Except Buck never got the chance to be scared about it until after Chris was already found, already safe and sound back at home.

A sob jars Buck out of his thoughts, and he immediately scoots his chair around the corner of the table to pull Chris into a hug. "Fuck," Buck mumbles against his hair, his own tears leaking down his face silently. "Are you okay?"

"I — I don't know," Chris wails miserably into Buck's chest. "I thought I was."

"I know. I know, bud, I know. You're safe. I'm here, I'm here for you."

The front door opens then — because of course it does — and Eddie re-enters the house. Alone, thankfully.

Chris adjusts, getting closer to Buck, grasping at the front of his sweater and crying harder, body wracking more violently with sobs.

Buck watches as Eddie goes from exhausted to activated in a split second — the way he does on shift when the tones sound in the middle of a sleepy night. He makes frantic eye contact with Buck across the house, silently asking what happened??

"It's okay, Chris, we're here. We've got you," Buck continues to soothe, gesturing Eddie over to hurry and join them. "Your dad is here, want him to —"

"Dad, I'm sorry," Chris says, still pressed into Buck.

Eddie puts a hand on Chris's shoulder and drags a chair up behind them. He takes a deep breath before he replies.

"Honey, it's okay. Buck's right, you're safe. We're both here, we're not going anywhere. It's okay." His voice is even, measured despite the nerves that Buck can read so plainly on his face.

"Eddie I — I told him about his phone, I'm sorry. I —"

"It's okay, Buck," Eddie cuts him off, placing his other hand on Buck's bicep where it curls around Chris. "I was going to tell him — Chris, I was going to tell you, just as soon as Athena left."

Eddie leans in, slides his arms around them, joining the hug. His face is close enough that Buck can feel the warmth of Eddie's breath on his cheeks, and it's only a little bit distracting. They trade off soothing Chris physically and with words until eventually, his sobs have subsided and Chris pulls away from both of them.

"Buck?" he says after he blows his nose on a napkin.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Did you bring me any dessert?"

A breathy chuckle escapes him. "Sorry, you think I stopped to bake something when I heard —" he stops mid-sentence, stumbling again over the fact that he didn't know anything was wrong until after everything was over. "Come on, dude."

Both Diazes smile at his response — just small ones that don't quite override the exhaustion-fueled bags under their puffy eyes and their slumped shoulders. But it's something.

"I think there's ice cream?" Buck says. He saw the carton in the freezer when he was searching for dinner options.

Chris's eyes brighten at that. "Can we have some?"

"Yeah," Eddie replies, getting up to head to the kitchen, groaning as his joints crack. "Buck, want some?"

"Oh, no, that's okay. Don't know if I could handle all that dairy right now." He pats his stomach, still full of curry and anxiety.

Eddie comes back a few minutes later with two healthy bowls of rocky road for him and Chris. Buck side-eyes Eddie's bowl. He didn't think he was hungry for dessert but he's a sucker for the weird frozen marshmallows.

Without looking at him, Eddie produces an extra spoon and hands it to Buck.

"Dude, was that in your pocket?" Buck asks, even as he scoops a bit of marshmallow out of Eddie's bowl.

"I made sure to get it extra linty for you," Eddie jabs back, a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

"Gross," Chris says. He looks more relaxed now. Less on edge, more tired. He loses steam a few bites into his ice cream and pushes it toward Buck to finish, stretching his arms out. "Can I go to my room now?"

Buck and Eddie exchange a glance. A little worried-adult check-in.

"You sure?" Eddie checks.

"I'm tired," Chris says simply.

Buck gives Chris a one-armed squeeze. "Night, Chris."

"Are you staying?"

"Yes," Eddie answers definitively before Buck gets the chance to say anything.

"Y-yeah," Buck agrees, meeting Eddie's eyes. Eddie nods minutely to grant permission — or maybe even to ask Buck to stick around for Chris. "I can stay."

"Alright," Chris says, getting up and grabbing first his phone and then his crutches. "Good night, Buck." He's playing it cool, but Buck can see the little slump of relief in his shoulders.

Eddie gets up, too. "Be right back," he says to Buck, looking over his shoulder quick before disappearing down the hall.

Buck can hear Eddie and Chris talking quietly in Chris's room. Not the words, just the murmur of it. He wishes —

Pointless. He eats one more spoonful of melting ice cream, then gets up to clean the kitchen.

—

"Is Chris doing okay?" Buck asks when Eddie finds him in the kitchen.

Eddie sighs, briefly presses his hand over his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, he's fine. Resilient."

Buck is emptying the dishwasher, putting all of the dishes away in the right spots, and it's such a little thing, but after that initial tense moment earlier, he went to work being as helpful as possible and has kept it up all evening. He put the kettle on for tea that only Eddie ended up drinking. He whipped up some curry after Pepa went home, helping them remember that they still needed to do normal things like eat dinner.

And now Eddie watches him remember to dry out the mugs coming out of the dishwasher, and it pulls him up short for a moment.

"Did he go to bed?" Buck asks.

"I think it was more about getting some time away from all the hovering. He said he was going to read."

Every time Eddie slows down long enough to think, his brain starts replaying the events of the day. His kitchen, his house — they don't feel as safe as they used to, before he let Abigail in. He tries to stave off the feeling by pouring himself a glass of water and taking a big gulp. He wishes Buck would say something. Fill the silence.

Buck closes the dishwasher, then stands awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. "Eddie?"

"What?" Eddie asks.

"What I said earlier — about you calling me —"

Okay, scratch that, maybe silence would be better. "Look, I'm sorry," Eddie says, turning away to put his glass in the sink, even though he knows it's going to drive Buck crazy.

Sure enough, Buck glances at the glass, then rolls his eyes before grabbing it and loading it into the now-empty dishwasher. There's something about the action — like Buck knows better in Eddie's own kitchen — that makes him snap.

"I'm sorry!" Eddie says in a not-very-sorry way. "I was a little busy!"

Buck holds his hands up. "Okay, just —"

"I wish —" He stuffs his hands in his pockets, tries to take a breath. He makes himself really look at Buck. He has water on the front of his shirt from washing the curry pot, and his hair is the kind of unkempt that comes from worrying. Next to Chris, Buck is the best sight Eddie can imagine. Buck in his kitchen. Here even though Eddie didn't call him. Here to help his son navigate his latest piece of trauma. "I'm sorry," he says, and means it this time. "I wanted to call. I wish I had."

"Oh."Buck closes his mouth, looks down at his feet. "I'm just glad Chris is safe."

Eddie reflexively glances over his shoulder toward Chris's bedroom door, left ajar. The warm glow of his lamp is shining into the hallway. When he looks back, Buck is peeking up at him.

They could keep picking their way through this tangled conversation, or they could just —

He closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Buck. He must not have telegraphed his intentions very clearly, because Buck just stands there, arms hanging down by his sides, for long enough that Eddie starts to pull back. But then his arms come up under Eddie's shoulder blades and he squeezes back, and the world quiets down.

Eddie tightens his arms, then Buck tightens back, until they're boa-constrictor squeezing each other, and it's honestly getting a bit painful. Eddie taps the back of Buck's neck, then loosens his arms a little. Buck follows suit.

"Thank you so much for talking to Chris," he mumbles.

Just like he's done so many times before, Buck managed to get through to Chris with just one conversation. It should make him angry, maybe, that he couldn't figure out how to communicate the seriousness of the day's events to his own son, but instead there's just pure full-body relief. Relief that Buck was here, that he knows what this family needs. That he felt comfortable enough to just — do it. To have the hard conversation.

They pull back enough to look at each other's faces.

"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you first, that I told him about his phone —"

"No, Buck." Eddie shakes his head. "I'm glad he heard it from you."

He knows he can't always see around his wish to protect Christopher. He wanted so badly to hide the ugliest part of Abigail's actions from Chris, to somehow have him understand what happened without telling him all of it. He's grateful that Buck saw how important it was to just — tell him.

Meeting Buck's wide eyes feels like looking directly at a bright light. Eddie can't keep it up for very long before he's pulling him back into a hug. Gentler this time. They adjust their arms. Eddie lets himself rest his chin on Buck's shoulder. He is so warm and comforting in his bulk. So familiar.

Eddie's about to pull away, to begrudgingly make moves towards the linen closet, when his conversation with Abigail — her assumption that Eddie was inviting her over to stay — comes to mind. Just like that, the thought of Buck on the couch is untenable. But so is the idea of him leaving, of Chris waking up and needing them and Buck being gone. Of Eddie waking up and needing him.

Now that Buck's here, within reach, in his arms — Eddie's reluctant to let him go.

Just over a day ago, he was hugging Abigail right here. He can still feel her crowding into his space, the deep buzz of discomfort that he overrode to offer her comfort. Fuck. He hopes she gets the help she needs — and he hopes she does it far, far away from his family.

"Hey," Buck says, starting to pull back again. "You okay?"

Eddie tightens his arms, keeping Buck in place, pressing his forehead into his jaw a little. When Buck wraps his arms back around Eddie, the return pressure overwrites the memory of hugging Abigail. Buck is practically holding him up, and it's overall good. Hugging him feels so good.

"Safe," Buck murmurs into his hair.

Eddie sighs deeply. "Yeah. I know." He pauses, then adds, "Will you stay?"

"I already told Chris I would?" Buck pulls back to look at him. "Well, you were the one who —"

"No, I mean." Eddie moves his hands to grasp Buck's forearms. Tries to just beam what he's thinking directly into Buck's mind so he doesn't have to verbalize it, but the confusion on Buck's face doesn't give way to understanding. "With me," Eddie says.

Finally, the crease between Buck's eyebrows disappears. "Of — of course, Eddie, anything."

—

Everything in Eddie's room is familiar to Buck: the same old bed, the dresser he's borrowed countless garments from, the bland art, the curtains, the lamp. The spots where he patched the drywall. It still feels different when he shuts the door behind himself.

Eddie's sitting on the foot of the bed in just a tank top and basketball shorts, palms covering his eyes.

"Hey," Buck says, tentatively stepping further into Eddie's space.

Eddie drops his hands and looks up. "Hey."

Buck sets his phone down on the dresser, sits down gingerly next to Eddie. "How're you holding up?" He asked earlier, but in the time it took them to go through their bedtime routines, it feels like several days have passed.

The puff of air he exhales says it all. "Today was …" Eddie trails off, but just shakes his head instead of finishing the sentence.

Buck nods, understanding him anyway. "It was."

"I can't believe I let her into my house — into our lives at all. That I put Chris in danger —"

"Hey," Buck says sternly, cutting him off before he can get worked up again. "None of that. This is on her. And — and her parents. But not you. You were just being kind. She took advantage of that, and that isn't your fault."

A glint of metal catches Buck's eyes — Eddie's St. Christopher medallion, usually tucked away, is hanging down from his neck into the open air.

Buck reaches for it, and Eddie sits up straight, the chain coming to rest against his skin. The medal itself — and Buck's fingers — brush against Eddie's chest.

"Eddie, you're a good dad."

Eddie scoffs, and Buck tugs on the chain lightly in admonishment.

"Stop that," Buck chastizes.

"Buck, no. I'm —"

"Bad dads don't care like you do." Buck tugs again — slightly harder this time, until Eddie turns to face him. "They don't agonize over decisions, about whether they're doing it right. They — they make excuses." He pauses. "I would know, I have a bad dad." Buck flattens his palm against Eddie's chest, trapping the medal between them.

Eddie just blinks.

"You're a good dad," Buck repeats.

Eddie looks at Buck for a long moment, eyes a little wet. "You're gonna be …" Eddie trails off, shakes his head. "No. No, you already are —"

Buck inhales sharply. "Wait — you — what's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means." Eddie's eyes fit to Buck's hand. "He's — you're … hang on."

Eddie stands up, and Buck's hand drops away.

"Eddie, what were you going to say?"

It sounded like Eddie was saying that Buck's already a good dad. Which — that's impossible. He's not — he isn't — Buck's just … he's just Buck. Uncle Buck. Donor Buck.

"Just a sec." Eddie yanks open his sock drawer — a drawer Buck's pilfered from countless times — and rifles around in the back.

If Buck stays very still, maybe he won't scare this moment away. He doesn't know exactly what's happening, but when Eddie pulls out a small cardboard jewelry box, he doesn't feel surprised somehow.

"Uh, what's that?"

Eddie opens the box and shows the contents to Buck. It's a St. Christopher medal. Buck stands up and takes the few steps toward Eddie for a closer view.

He looks at it and looks at it and looks at it. It's a match for Eddie's, except it's a little shinier, maybe a little bigger.

"I don't understand," Buck finally says, even if the thought — the hope — is dawning on him.

"It's for you," Eddie says, deftly pulling the chain from the box. He holds it out for Buck, who slowly brings his hand up to accept.

"Why?" Buck checks, pinching the metal disc between his thumb and finger, pulling it out of the protective foam.

"You know why."

Buck shakes his head slowly. "I think I need to hear you say it."

Eddie blows out a breath, looks away, setting the box down haphazardly on the pile of worn-but-not-quite-dirty clothes on his dresser, then seems to force himself to look back. "I … I don't want to second-guess myself about calling you anymore."

"Okay," Buck says softly. "So — don't. You can always call me, Eddie. For Chris. For you. Anytime."

"I know." Eddie nods. "I know. Now I know." He reaches over and takes the medal back. Before Buck can protest, though, Eddie's got a hand on Buck's shoulder, pushing him backwards until the back of his legs press against the mattress.

One more good shove has Buck stumbling to a seated position yet again, and then Eddie's unclasping the chain and holding the medal up with one end in each hand, eyebrow raised in question.

Buck nods and bends his neck forward so that Eddie can fasten it. He's still not quite sure what he's agreeing to — except. He's pretty sure.

Eddie's hands brush against Buck's neck on either side, coming around to the back to do the closure. It takes him a few tries, and Buck smiles imagining the way Eddie's big hands must be fumbling the delicate metal pieces.

Eventually — too soon — Eddie's hands retreat.

"So, this —" Buck gestures at the medal "— this means … you can call me?"

Eddie steps back and now Buck can feel the weight of the medallion on his chest. A match for Eddie. He feels lit up.

"It means," Eddie says patiently, as if Buck is being obtuse on purpose, "that you belong to us."

Oh. It does mean what he thinks it means. It means — everything. He stands, wanting to be on the same horizontal plane as Eddie, and he can see him opening up his arms for another hug, but Buck bypasses them to go straight for — his hand on Eddie's cheek. He can feel the blush bloom under his fingers.

"You're a great dad," Buck says again, which might not actually be the point in this moment, but it doesn't matter because then he leans in and kisses Eddie.

It's reminiscent of just a bit ago, in the kitchen, when Eddie crowded into Buck's space for an unexpected hug. Only this time, Buck's the one catching Eddie off guard.

And just like before, when Buck got with the program after just a moment of hesitation, Eddie does the same.

Eddie brings one hand up to Buck's shoulderblade, pulling him closer, his lips moving intently against Buck's. His other snakes its way up between them, grabbing at Buck's medallion. It's a little mind-melty, kissing Eddie.

Because as it turns out, Eddie's an incredible kisser.

Buck pulls back for a panting breath, leaning their foreheads together. All the air whooshes out of his lungs when he catches a glimpse of the sight between them. Because it's not just Buck's medal in Eddie's hand — he's got his own clasped in his palm too.

"Eddie," Buck whines. "How long?"

"Hmm?"

"How long have you had this?" he clarifies. Buck wraps his hand around Eddie's. "When'd you put it in there?"

Eddie slams his eyes shut. "Uh …"

Buck pecks Eddie on the cheek, smiling when his coaxing results in Eddie meeting his gaze.

"Eddie?"

"Since I changed my will," Eddie whispers, a reluctant edge to the words.

"Since you — Eddie!" Buck admonishes with a humorless chuckle. "What … when were you going to give it to me?"

"I … wasn't," he says carefully. "My lawyer would've. When you got everything else."

"Eddie," Buck starts.

"I know." Eddie's pulls at the chains, and Buck feels his bite against the back of his neck. "I know. I'm sorry I waited. I'm sorry — that I didn't call." He lets off the pressure but doesn't release the medallions.

Eddie yawns, jaw hinging open so wide that it makes an audible click, and he releases the medals to cover his mouth.

Buck chuckles. "Sleepy?"

Eddie nods. "I'm beat. Adrenaline's wearing off."

"Wanna …" Buck gestures to the bed with his head, and Eddie nods — and yawns again — in agreement.

They crawl under the duvet, Eddie turns off the lamp, and then —

It's silent. They're both on their backs, several inches apart. The space between their bodies is alight with energy, so Buck gives in to the pull, rolling onto his side to face Eddie.

Eddie doesn't turn to meet Buck's gaze, but his breath hitches, and Buck takes it as tacit permission to reach out and place a hand on Eddie's chest.

"Eddie, you're —" Buck moves his hand up to Eddie's shoulder, then down his arm. "You okay? You're really tense." It's been a long, grueling day, and Eddie deserves to rest his body.

"Mm-hmm," Eddie hums, but his muscles stay tight.

Buck moves down to Eddie's wrist, squeezing lightly as he goes and then switches to the arm closer to him and makes his way up to his shoulder. Eddie remains just as tense; a human telephone pole lying in bed next to him.

There's a moment — just a moment — where Buck worries that Eddie's uncomfortable sharing with him, but then Eddie turns his head to the side to face Buck. Eddie's hand slides over, fingers making contact with Buck's belly.

Buck's eyes have adjusted enough to the dark that he can see the wrinkles in Eddie's forehead, his brows furrowed. A rolling sensation in his own stomach starts up, similar to how he feels when he's forgotten something important. There's a force drawing him elsewhere in the house that rivals the one pulling him closer to Eddie, and he's certain that he's not alone.

"Do … you want to go check on Chris one more time?"

Eddie sits up straight. "Yeah. Good idea — let's go." Eddie swings his legs over the bed and starts walking to the door before Buck can reply.

Buck wasn't really expecting to be included, but he's grateful for it. "Wait — wait for me!" He shuffles over to Eddie's side of the bed on his knees and launches himself towards the door.

"Oof," Buck lets out when he bumps into the large mass of Eddie's body where he's waiting in the dark hallway.

They pause, and Buck wraps his arms around Eddie's chest from behind, squeezing him tightly and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. They take a deep breath together. "Okay. Lead the way."

—

Christopher is asleep. He's lying on top of the covers, still in his khakis and polo shirt, glasses askew, mouth slightly open, book splayed open on his chest. Face smooth and peaceful-looking. Completely zonked out.

Eddie looks back over his shoulder and smiles at Buck standing in the doorway. Buck nods at him like — look, he's okay.

Eddie takes the book from his hand and sticks in a bookmark. He gently pulls Chris's glasses off his face and covers him with the spare blanket that he always keeps folded at the foot of the bed. He stirs a little at this, rubbing at his face where his glasses were, then settles back down.

Kneeling on the bed, Eddie presses a kiss to his head and breathes him in. Safe and sound. The relief is painful in his chest. How many times can he lose him? Thank god, thank god.

One more kiss, and then he backs off and heads back to the door, clasping Buck's shoulder on the way out to direct him down the hall.

"Guess he really was tired," Buck says, once they're back in Eddie's bedroom.

Eddie smiles a little, shrugs. "Getting kidnapped will wear a kid out."

This startles a laugh out of Buck. "It sure will, you maniac."

They're quiet for long enough that Eddie can feel the dust settling, can feel the fatigue sinking back in to his bones. He reaches out and takes Buck's hand, uses it to reel him in and wrap his arms around him. He leans in, and Buck is so solid, practically holding him up.

Eddie certainly didn't start the night intending to kiss Buck. The conscious thought never crossed his mind, he's pretty sure. Even giving Buck the medal, clasping it around his neck, wasn't — it wasn't an attempt to woo him. But by the time Buck stood up and walked over to him, Eddie's heart was so full, his body not big enough to encompass the joy of loving Buck. So Buck kissed him and — it wasn't a shock. It was just the natural extension of who they are to each other, what they've been building.

Simple. Un-take-back-able. Eddie stopped trying to puzzle it out about five seconds after Buck kissed him because there was no need. He's so happy to be here.

Eddie turns his head to kiss Buck, then pulls away at the last second to yawn.

"Okay," Buck says. "Bedtime for real."

This time, when they get under the blankets, Buck lies down on his back and opens his arms wide. Eddie takes it for the invitation that it is and scooches in, resting his head in the crook of Buck's arm. After that, it's like they're following choreography for a dance they both intrinsically know. Eddie's hand rests on Buck's chest as Buck settles his arm around the curve of Eddie's back. Then his free hand comes down over Eddie's, curling around it.

Eddie's eyes sink closed immediately, the exhaustion seeping into every limb and every finger and toe. He nuzzles in to get even closer and is rewarded by a kiss to the forehead.

"Mmmmmhhh," Eddie hums delightedly. "Thank you, Buck," he mumbles. "For everything."

"Course, Eddie," Buck says, squeezing Eddie more tightly to him for just a moment.

They're quiet for a bit before Buck moves, jostling him out of place. "Sorry — Eddie, my — my arm's going to fall asleep in like. A second if we stay like this. C-can I …"

Moments ago, Eddie was drifting off to sleep. But now that Buck's asking for something — or rather, not really asking — he's awake. Not wide awake. But awake enough to grunt a questioning noise to prompt Buck to keep going.

"Can I hold you? Like. Big spoon you."

Eddie's been spooned before. Plenty of times. In fact, he usually prefers side-sleeping, facing the edge of the bed — and the door. In the past when he's had partners in his bed, they've either not cuddled, or they've held him from behind. But he's never been spooned by someone bigger than him, hadn't considered what it might be like. So he really isn't expecting the way the idea lights him up inside.

Eddie kisses Buck's chest once and flips over, eager for the experience in spite of his fatigue. Buck scoots close and fits himself into the space behind Eddie, his knees and hips and belly all making contact as his arm comes to rest on Eddie's sternum. The way Buck cradles him is unlike any snuggling he's experienced. It's — so wholly encompassing. Warm. Sort of transcendent. He wiggles back into Buck, pressing them more firmly together, and Buck chuckles lightly, moving his hand down to settle on Eddie's waist.

"D'you think we should send him to school tomorrow?" Eddie mumbles, not wanting to lose the thought to sleep.

"Oh — um," Buck replies. "We?"

"Yeah, Buck," he says, like yeah, duh. "Whatdoyouthink?" he slurs, too tired to move his lips.

"Oh. Well." Buck presses his forehead against the back of Eddie's head. When he speaks, his voice is slightly obscured because he's talking directly into Eddie's hair. "I-I think … it's probably good not to interrupt his routine. But, I think we should ask him in the morning. See what he wants to do."

It's tempting to keep Chris home tomorrow — to keep him close by forever, really — but Buck is right. Including Chris in the decision is the best thing to do. Eddie uses the last little bit of energy he's got left to squeeze Buck's hand then bring it up to his mouth to press a kiss across his knuckles. "Good plan."

The last thought he has before melting in to sleep is — everyone is exactly where they should be. Chris asleep in his room. Buck next to him in the bed. Eddie in Buck's arms.

Safe.