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Buck knows a lot about his boyfriend. Over the years, Buck has slowly memorised every single one of Eddie’s preferences that he’s managed to get out of him. He even has a little note on his phone with Eddie’s favourite orders, favourite snacks, and favourite drinks—just in case he wakes up one day with amnesia and loses all this very valuable intel from his brain. He’s got a reputation for keeping his boyfriend happy, fed, and content, and he’d like to keep it up, even in the event of a serious brain injury, thank you.
That being said, Eddie loves, loves, loves to wake up to breakfast. He loves walking down the hall and being met with the full Evan Buckley Special Spread: crisped-up bacon, creamy scrambled eggs, cut-up little pieces of fruit in various little bowls, a concerningly high stack of pancakes, a jug of juice, and fresh, hot coffee with creamer (no sugar, because Eddie’s a freak).
Every time Buck wakes up a little early to make sure it’s all ready for the Diaz boys (or, on days like today, just for Eddie) by the time they wake up, Eddie pauses in the doorway, smiling fondly, usually unaware that he’s already been spotted in Buck’s peripheral vision. Buck lives for the look he wears in those moments — the silent contentment written all over Eddie’s face.
Buck thinks deep down, Eddie likes being taken care of. He doesn’t want someone who will do everything for him, but he likes someone who has his back, someone who dotes on him just enough to make him blush, someone who makes every day just a little lighter. Eddie doesn’t need someone to look after him — far from it. Eddie’s one of the most independent, strong, brave people Buck has ever known, but he deserves it. He deserves for his days to be easier and for his life to be brighter. If Buck can do anything to make that a reality, he will — every time.
It’s not like it’s a hardship. Caring for Eddie is one of Buck’s favourite things to do, so it really is kind of a win-win.
Plus, Eddie’s loitering usually shifts to him strolling up behind Buck and wrapping his arms around Buck’s middle, tucking his hands into Buck’s apron and kissing a line across his shoulder blade (and sometimes, if he’s lucky, up his neck, too). It’s kind of like a reward.
Today, though, Eddie doesn’t make it to the doorway before Buck knows he’s up and about. Because today, apparently, Eddie isn’t interested in breakfast at all.
Eddie is still, from the sounds of it, only halfway down the hall when Buck hears it: a sudden, quiet gagging sound followed by, “Jesus Christ– what the hell is that?”
Which, okay, is a little rude. Buck sets the wooden spoon down into the little frog-shaped utensil holder, turns the stove onto low, and moves to duck his head into the hallway, where Eddie looks– pale.
“Morning, you okay?” Buck asks.
Eddie should be all flushed and warm from his shower, but instead, his cheeks are three shades lighter than they should be, and he looks about three seconds from barfing. He runs a hand through his damp hair, brows scrunched together. “What is that smell?”
Buck tries very hard not to look a little hurt by that. He’s not sure he succeeds. It’s just– Eddie loves his cooking. Eddie loves his cooking more than anyone else likes his cooking. Sometimes Eddie moans like he’s being stuffed full of Buck’s cock when Buck tucks a small tasting-sized spoonful of a nice sauce into his mouth. He’s never reacted to this, not even when Buck has made … interesting, unique choices while trying to crack a recipe. He hasn’t even gagged at things that Buck himself has had to spit out. Eddie’s face is always a pleased little smile, some smaller than others. It’s never anything like this.
“Uh—coffee. Eggs. Pancakes. Bacon is in the oven.” Buck steps through the archway and fully into the hall, his body tilting till he’s leaning against the wall, his arms tucked crossed over his chest. “You feeling okay? You don’t look good.”
Eddie frowns harder, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Yeah. Yes. I’m fine. Just–” And in what turns out to be a mistake, he inhales deeply to steady himself, then he begins to gag violently — a concerning, wet click of his throat echoing through the hall. His frown disappears completely and is replaced by a frightened, wide-eyed look. A hand snaps over Eddie’s mouth, and then suddenly, his pretty, sleepy-looking boyfriend is gone, retreating down the hallway toward the bathroom at an impressive pace.
It takes Buck a second to kick into action. In that second, he stands there and blinks repeatedly, before his brain finally seems to remember how to work. He makes a quick pitstop to turn the stove off completely before he follows the same path Eddie took. The bathroom door is shut and locked, and behind it he can hear Eddie– oh. He’s throwing up.
“Eddie?” Buck raps his knuckles against the door. “C-Can I come in?”
Eddie doesn’t respond. Instead, another gag. Another retch. The sound twists Buck’s heart. Eddie doesn’t get sick. Not like this. He’s seen Eddie with a cold once or twice before, and Eddie hadn’t thrown up; he’d just sweated, coughed, and got all snotty and—well. It’d been cute. But Buck had not mentioned that part. Because they’d just been friends at the time.
But Eddie, wrapped in a blanket, nose all red and eyes all heavy, had admittedly been pretty fucking cute. Especially when his cheeks got all warm as he started inhaling the soup Buck had brought him, like it was the finest delicacy in all the land.
This is nothing like that. Eddie’s really sick. After a short beat, Buck ducks into the laundry. He wets a fresh, clean cloth with cold water and grabs a bucket, just in case.
When he returns, Eddie’s unlocked the door and is in the hallway, looking a little green in the gills and swaying a little, but for some reason, he looks– panicked rather than just ill. Really panicked.
Buck steps closer with the cold compress in hand, but Eddie steps back as he does. Buck frowns. Steps forward again. Eddie meets it with another step back. Buck’s frown only deepens.
“Hey, slow down,” he pouts, stopping in his step-by-step chase of Eddie. “Come on, you need to sit.”
“Can’t,” Eddie says abruptly, a lot louder than either of them expects him to. “I’ll—I need to go grab something. From the store. It’s for Chris’s project. Due tomorrow. Uh—”
“Eddie, you just—Eddie.” Buck is cut off by Eddie spinning and grabbing his keys. Eddie’s still wearing the bunny slippers Chris got him for Christmas, and one of Buck’s shirts that fits loose and is hanging low over Eddie’s thighs.
“Slow down,” Buck insists, walking after him. The chase is back on. “You need water. Let me–”
“I can’t.” Eddie’s tone is so—final. It’s the first day off of their 48 off, and they were supposed to have a nice morning with a slow start, maybe a little lazy making out on the couch after breakfast before they got properly dressed for the day. Eddie always gets a little handsy on mornings like this, his hands always wandering beneath Buck’s clothes, sometimes before he’s even got them fully on.
It’s one of the things Buck looks forward to most on their shared days off, other than spending time with all his favourite people in general.
This is officially not a nice, slow morning.
Eddie grabs his jacket off the hook and slings it over his shoulders. Buck follows after him. Again. “Hey, come on. Can you just– can you please–”
Eddie pauses, jaw tensing. Buck knows what that means. Eddie wants to say something, but feels like he can’t. Buck’s gaze traces the stressed, pulled-tight line of Eddie’s shoulders and his own slump as he exhales roughly.
“Okay,” he murmurs, surrendering. “Just– come back soon, okay? I’ll put breakfast away,” Buck tells him as he steps forward, and before Eddie can even attempt to duck away, he manages to secure a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and squeezes it thrice. A silent little I love you.
Eddie’s shoulders soften. “Yeah. I’ll be thirty minutes. Max.”
He still won’t look at Buck. He’s never seen post-throw-up Eddie, or food poisoning Eddie, or whatever this is, so maybe, just—maybe he’s embarrassed. Buck’s not sure.
Buck lets him go.
Eddie does go to the grocery store. Buck, very bravely, only checks Find My Friends once before settling down properly and sipping his protein shake — it’s the only thing he can stomach right now, his appetite a lost cause after this morning’s events.
He tries not to worry too much.
He’s not successful. But he does try.
He calls Maddie while he cleans up breakfast. He doesn’t explain what’s going on, but he knows she can tell something is up. She talks instead, and he’s grateful to her for filling the silence and easing his nerves. She tells him about Jee’s most recent pre-school adventures and about an issue they’re having with a raccoon that keeps knocking over their trash can, which, unfortunately, Chim sees as an enemy while Jee sees it as a potential new housemate.
When the conversation lulls, quietly, he hears her tap her nail a few times against her dining room table—once, twice, thrice. A sure-fire sign she’s about to prod. It’s her little gearing-up tick. She’s done it since she was a teenager. It looks like his time of loitering and avoiding his anxieties is up.
“So,” she says, so subtly in her shift of topic. “How are things over there?”
Buck sighs and melts against the dining chair, picking at the corner of a placemat. “I don’t know. Okay, I think. Weird morning.”
She hums. “Weird like … ?”
“I really don’t know. Eddie’s not feeling well, I guess.”
“Oh,” Maddie exhales, voice softening, “he’s sick?”
Buck’s nail digs into the edge of the placemat, curving the corner of it up. “Yeah. I think so. He threw up a couple of times.”
“And you’re not currently interrogating him about his symptoms? What have you done with my brother?”
She’s got a point. Buck does not handle his loved ones being sick without putting on his worry-wart cap and his mental make-shift nurse's uniform. Actually– maybe that would be hot. He would do that for Eddie, if Eddie wanted him to. Not right now. Not while Eddie’s actually unwell, but another time.
Buck rolls his eyes. “No, he– he just threw up. And then he dipped. I don’t know. It’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine. Completely, totally, fine. No interrogation required.”
Maddie doesn’t say anything for a second, which unfortunately means Buck barrels on to fill the silence, his nervous energy bubbling far too close to the surface.
“Really, it’s fine. It’s just that I made breakfast. He loves breakfast, Maddie. He loves my breakfast. But he just left. But it’s fine. He’s just at the store. Just shopping.” He attempts to take a steadying breath, but it trembles even to his slightly ringing ears. “Which is fine.”
“Evan,” she cuts in. “If you say fine one more time, it’s not going to sound real anymore.”
Buck takes the last sip of his protein shake and stares into the swirly, beige coloured stains left behind as if they will hold the answer to his life's problems. They don’t. “Okay, it’s just—”
Then, in the distance, somewhere down the hall, he hears a key slotting into the lock of a door. Then, the click of it being unlocked.
Buck’s eyes snap open, pulse spiking. “Maddie, I love you. I gotta go.” “What?”
“Bye bye bye bye—” He whispers rapidly into the phone, hitting the end call button. When Eddie makes it through the front door and down the hall, Buck has his empty (unfortunately clear) cup in his hand and is mid-taking a sip of said empty cup to feign nonchalance. Eddie walks through the archway, and Buck lowers it down, abandoning it onto the table.
Eddie’s got a half-full grocery bag in his hand and a panicked look in his eye.
“H-How was the store?” Buck asks, like a totally normal, not prying guy.
Eddie looks at him for a long second before succinctly saying, “Pregnant.”
Buck blinks. Once. Twice. “What?”
“What?” Eddie repeats back. Which is crazy. Because Eddie is the one saying and doing crazy shit. Buck has done nothing that needs questioning.
“W-What did you say?” Buck expands, leaning forward in his chair.
The reusable shopping bag is placed onto the dining table where the beautiful breakfast spread had once been, and then Eddie lifts the bottom of it, letting the contents spill out over the table. The contents are several little sandwich bags with eight completed pregnancy tests inside them.
“The first time– uh, with Christopher, I walked into my parents’ kitchen and hurled on the floor because my dad made coffee. I–” Eddie swallows. “I don’t throw up. I never throw up. Not unless I’m–”
Buck tilts impossibly forward in his chair, a gentle squeak sounding as his weight shifts, and lifts up one of the bags. Positive. He grabs another. Positive. Another. Still positive. The next one even says Eddie’s about six or seven weeks along. His heart is jackhammering in his chest as with trembling fingers he grabs another, and another, and another—
“They all say the same thing, Buck,” Eddie tells him—panic somehow making space in his tone enough for amusement to bleed through.
“Pregnant,” Buck breathes out, testing the word in his mouth. “You’re– holy shit. But I didn’t think it was—”
“Testosterone is not a birth control. I-I knew that. I’m on the pill, but– uh. I must’ve missed a dose. Or it just failed. It was unlikely, combined with the T, to ever happen, even with how much sex we have, but apparently your come is, y’know, dedicated. So.”
“So … pregnant,” Buck repeats, because that feels like the only word he knows right now. It feels like it’s on a sign with bright, flashing lights in his brain just behind his eyes, flickering on and off. “Holy shit.”
“Holy shit,” Eddie mirrors, exhaling slowly, dropping himself into the other dining chair.
A grin slowly creeps onto Buck’s mouth, and then, again, louder this time, “Holy shit!”
Eddie’s gaze snaps up to him, some of the worry shifting to hope. “Yeah?”
Buck stands, grabbing Eddie’s thigh and pulling the chair to the side a little before dropping to his knees between Eddie’s parted legs. He drops a few kisses over Eddie’s soft cotton shirt, against his abdomen.
“Holy shit,” he whispers, right against his stomach. “Hi.” His voice drops impossibly soft, arching up a few decibels in excitement.
Above him, Eddie laughs, threading his fingers into Buck’s curls. “Buck, you’re talking to an apple seed. If that. It can’t hear you.”
Buck’s bottom lip juts out, affection and adoration overflowing for him.
“Hey, little apple seed,” he whispers, almost conspiratorily, as if Eddie can’t hear. He lifts Eddie’s shirt up, letting it scrunch up around his sternum. Eddie’s toned stomach is hiding life behind it that Buck can’t help but press a kiss to before whispering, “Your dad’s being a buzzkill. But it’s okay, I love him anyway. Plus, he kinda just told me the most exciting surprise news of my life, so I can’t be that mad at him.”
Eddie tugs at Buck’s curls, tilting his head back. His eyes are wet, glistening, but there’s still a pinch between his brows — like he can’t believe Buck is this happy, like he can’t believe any of this is real. “Yeah?”
“Eddie, baby.” Buck slowly lifts himself, kissing a path along Eddie’s torso before pressing one against his nose. He curves his hand around Eddie’s jaw, adjusting the angle of it so Eddie’s holding his gaze. “Eddie, baby, you’re not nineteen. We’re adults. We’re in our thirties. We’ve got two incomes, a support system, a kid who honestly has real untapped older brother potential, and–” Buck feels his voice wobble, but pushes on. “And i-it’s not like it was never gonna come up, right? Sure, it’s only been like three months, and we’re not even engaged yet, but when have we ever done anything in order, you know? It’s us.”
Eddie covers Buck’s hand with his own, squishing it a little tighter against his cheek. “Yeah. It’s us.”
Buck’s other hand lifts, framing Eddie’s face with his fingers gently and carefully. “You want this?” He has to ask. There are options if he doesn’t. And Buck wouldn’t blame him if he took them. Eddie’s only a year away from when this would be considered geriatric when it comes to pregnancy, but even without that, there’s the dysphoria to worry about and the fact that this is a massive commitment — the biggest that a person can make, really. He has to put it out there.
But Eddie, his Eddie, leans in and kisses him slow and sweet. A hand settles at Buck’s hip, tucked under his shirt, flush against blood-warm skin. As their mouths separate, Eddie nods. “Yeah. I want this. With you. God, I can’t imagine doing this again with anyone but you.”
They kiss again, for longer this time, with Eddie’s hands holding on tight to Buck’s hips and Buck’s hands threaded into Eddie’s hair. Lazily making out by the dining room table until their lungs are burning and their necks ache a little from the angle.
Eventually, Eddie breaks the kiss, but not before pecking the corner of Buck’s mouth just once. Buck drops back down onto his chair, sliding it closer so their knees slot together.
“We’re gonna have a baby,” Eddie exhales.
“Two kids outta wedlock, Diaz. You’re gonna get a reputation,” Buck says, grinning.
Eddie pinches his knee. “Not my fault that you knocked me up before we even hit six months of dating.”
“Fuck.” Buck’s voice goes undeniably airy, his teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek as he drops back against his chair. “I knocked you up.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, eyes bright. “You did.”