Archive of Our Own

The kid’s been out there for at least an hour, by his estimate.

Buck’s not timing their runs or anything, but they’ve been back here twice and the kid’s still sitting there, all alone. Glancing at where his Captain is talking to the Sergeant, and where his team is still sanitizing the ambo, he heads on over.

The kid doesn’t seem alarmed at all by his approach, gray eyes clear and steady and utterly fearless behind thick—and likely expensive—high prescription glasses. His clothes are tidy and his braces gleam fairly new. His face is clean and his hair is evenly combed. The elbow crutches at his side are barely scuffed and are customized in a bright red color. He doesn’t seem like a neglected kid.

Buck is gonna ask anyway, but before he can say anything, a car pulls up to the curb.

A willowy brunette flies out in a frantic whirlwind and the kid is gone.

Relief is a breath of fresh air in his lungs. He commits the license plate, make and model to memory anyway, just in case.

The next time, he doesn’t even hesitate when he sees the kid. "Hey," he greets, crouching beside the bench.

"I’m Buck. What’s your name?"

Those eyes are, once again, fearless—more curious than anything. "C-Christopher."

"Nice to meet you, Christopher. I just wanted to ask if you were okay. I saw you the other day and you were waiting an awfully long time before the lady came for you. And now you’re here again."

Something defensive creeps into that gaze. "My m-mom was running late. It happens."

"Yeah, no doubt," he agrees easily, wondering if he should push.

"Buck!" He glances back at Bobby, but doesn’t rise just yet. "Do you have a pen?" Christopher blinks, but nods and digs in the front of his backpack to hold one out. Buck flips that thin wrist over and writes his number on fair skin. "I don’t mean to assume anything, but if you’re ever feeling unsafe, or if your mom is ever running late again, please give me a call. I’ll give you a ride home, no questions asked, okay?"

The curiosity is back in Christopher’s eyes as they study both the number and Buck’s face.

"Buck!"

"I gotta go, but promise me, okay?"

Christopher nods.

He smiles wide, relieved.

"Awesome! I’ll see you around, Christopher. "

He jogs back over to the team.

"What’s that about?"

His smile is half-hearted. "Nothing, Cap." He truly hopes. "Just making a friend."

He gets his first phone call not even a day later, which is…not good. Christopher’s mother had seemed really concerned and apologetic in that brief glimpse that he’d caught, but it’s nearing seven pm and the sun is going down and this kid is asking for a ride home from a complete stranger. Granted, he’s a firefighter and the inherent trust in firefighters is normal. But even if Buck is a good person, he very well could not have been. Buck is not a happy camper. Worse, he’s now even more worried about this tiny child that looks like a good wind could knock him over. Still, he promised no questions, so when he pulls up to the curb all he does is smile and ask the kid about his day.

Christopher is eight years old and he loves science, if the babble about his school day is anything to go by.

"T-thanks for the ride, Buck!"

He smiles and holds up a hand in a wave, watching the little man hobble up the driveway and into the fully lit house before he leaves. If his mother had been home, then why hadn’t she picked him up? If his mother cared, why is Buck here? He really wants to meet this mother.

He’s slightly regretting the no questions clause. He’ll be the first to admit that he might be projecting, and that Christopher’s mother may love him, but it definitely isn’t enough. Not from where he’s standing; not from where he’s stood.

Phillip and Margaret Buckley hadn’t been the greatest or most attentive parents and he knows all about the desire to protect your inadequate parents; remembers the same reckless determination—the adamant belief that his parents loved him, they were just busy, and those "helping hands," who had seemed like thieves in the night, were just trying to take him away for no reason. Helping hands who had ultimately failed anyway in the face of avarice or his own reticence.

Christopher calls four more times in a span of two weeks, and just…Buck doesn’t want to take Christopher away from what seems to be his only parent, but this woman...he can’t let it go on.

"Hey, can I come in and talk to your mom for a second?" Christopher freezes, and then his head bows. There’s a sinking feeling in Buck’s stomach. "M-mom’s working right now, b-but I can ask her to call you?"

Buck drags his eyes up to the fully lit house and back down at the little boy in his car. He struggles to keep the frown from his face, heart squeezing a little in his chest at the love of this little boy for his mother; covering for her. He’s feeling a lot of things and none of it nice. The question—the accusation, really—is on the tip of his tongue.

He swallows it with some difficulty. "If your mom isn’t home," he starts, carefully considering his words, "I can come in and wait for her...or do you want to come and hang out at my place until she calls?" He quickly amends when Christopher’s expression grows anxious. "I’ll order pizza and we can do video games or movies."

Christopher stares at him and then a shy smile creases his face.

"I’d really l-like that." Ah, this kid. His chest feels tight. He just can’t tell if it’s from the outrage or the sympathy; the spike of anxiety, because this could have all ended so terribly for Christopher if it hadn’t been Buck.

No, he won’t let this stand.

Shannon Diaz is a spitfire.

Blazing eyes and indignant expression and stiff posture all on display as he pulls up to the house for the second time that night. She’s going to have to suck it, because it’s nearly midnight and he’s got words.

"Christopher, go inside," she orders.

It’s a good sign that Christopher doesn’t flinch, because otherwise, this conversation is going to be a lot different, with even more witnesses.

"Have a good night, Christopher!" He calls cheerfully. The kid turns when he gets to the door, clearly worried, but goes inside with a short wave.

She whirls on him, but he speaks flatly over her. "Did you know firefighters are mandatory reporters in the state of California?"

There’s a brief, weighted silence as she stares at him.

And then she bursts into tears.

He meets Eddie Diaz on a Tuesday. The man in the long term care ward of the hospital is still very handsome despite the sickly, yellow pallor of his skin and the sunken, waxy nature of his cheeks.

"He’s been sleeping for a long time," Christopher says matter-of-factly, and oh, something in Buck’s chest caves a little watching Christopher’s little hand slide into his dad’s much larger one. His eyes burn. If he’d known what tragic depths laid beneath this unassuming child…well, he’d probably do the same, but God, he’s even more endeared by Christopher’s ever present cheerfulness.

He musters a smile. "I’ll bet he’s having really good dreams, though, because you’re here to share every day, aren’t you?" Christopher beams at him before dismissing him entirely to talk to his dad and Buck has to blink rapidly to contain the moisture welling. It’s clear to see how much this little boy loves and misses his dad.

It’s also clear to see that it’s hard for Shannon to be here.

Her eyes are hardly on her husband, bouncing around the room as she fusses over the placement of the wilting houseplant, the humidifier with a slightly cloudy tank, the picture frame of the tiny family, and finally, the edges of the blanket. Anything to keep from having to look at her husband for long.

By the time Christopher has climbed onto the bed to lean up against his dad—Buck bites the inside of his lip, because fuck, he’s really gonna cry—Shannon already has one foot out the door.

"He was in Afghanistan," Shannon says quietly when Buck follows her out. He stares at the tragic tableau of father and son and can’t help but wonder why the hell Shannon isn’t in there. "There was a helicopter crash." She doesn’t say anything after that, but the conclusion to that story is right in front of him. He studies the shadows under her eyes and the nervous wringing of her hands, glances over at Christopher, who is still talking quietly at his father, and just asks.

"And how are you doing?"

Because Eddie is the one in the coma and yet Shannon seems to be the one missing.

Her laugh sounds more like a sob. "It’s just..." her voice lowers to barely a whisper. "It’s been so hard. The benefits finally came through, which—thank God, but Christopher is special. He just needs...and then my mother...I just…" Another sobbing laugh. She stares back into the room, but Buck is pretty sure she’s not seeing inside.

It turns out that Eddie Diaz was the sort of guy who’d spent almost the entirety of his son’s life in a desert far away.

It’s commendable, that sort of sacrifice.

It also really sucks.

"He was supposed to come back," she says, a palm covering half her face. "It was supposed to get better."

Tentatively, he offers and isn’t surprised when she nearly collapses into him.

She doesn’t make a sound as she cries, shoulders shaking and he has to swallow multiple times, concentrating hard on just patting her back and murmuring hopefully comforting things before he starts to cry, too. This poor woman who is, for all intents and purposes, a single mother to a special needs child and who’s also supporting a cancer-stricken mother. He hugs her because he thinks she hasn’t had one in a long while, but he doesn’t really think it’s enough to keep her from eventually shattering. He’s swinging way, way out of his weight class here.

It’s an assessment Bobby seems to agree with, which doesn’t help Buck at all. He was looking for support here, Bobby! Bobby just shakes his head and looks at Buck solemnly, with something close to pity.

"You can’t help everyone, Buck."

"But Bobby—!"

"If she’s neglecting her child, then we need to report it. That’s probably the best you can do for her if this is something she can’t handle."

"That’s not really fair, Bobby! She’s already got so many problems!" And sure, maybe he doesn’t completely understand how she can just…not be there for Christopher, but he can clearly see she’s having a hard time of it.

But Bobby is unsympathetic. "She’s endangering her child. What happens if you don’t report her and the kid goes missing or ends up dead because his mom once again decides he wasn’t a priority in her life? Worse, because she couldn’t make him one? How would you feel then? Sometimes people do their best, and sometimes that still isn’t enough."

Buck feels himself go a little pale, a little cold. "I just...I just think I can offer her a little help. Take some of that burden off of her. Christopher is a great kid. I don’t mind watching him when his mom’s working. I don’t even mind sitting in the hospital with his dad. They just need a little help, Bobby.”

Bobby stares at him and Buck struggles not to squirm under that gaze. "You shouldn’t get involved in this, Buck. It might not go how you expect it to. The system is there to help her."

"I can help her, Bobby, just for a little while. If she doesn’t seem to be getting a handle on things, then I’ll talk to her. Please? I just need a safe space for Christopher to hang out when I’m on shift. He’s a good kid, you won’t even notice him hanging out here."

Bobby sighs.

"Your funeral, kid."

So, he’s a helper, and a fixer, and a doer and he might be overstepping. It’s a thing he does, and he knows he doesn’t have the healthiest or most normal sense of boundaries, but...it really does seem like Shannon is one bad day away from a breakdown and well, what else can he do? Christopher loves his mom, so she deserves whatever grace he can afford, doesn’t she?

Plus, the man in the bed is also a hero who has sacrificed in the worst way and doesn’t deserve to have his family falling apart where he can’t do anything about it. So, Buck mostly takes over Christopher’s visits because it’s easy to relieve her of that burden, even if it makes him uneasy to think about just why it makes her so uncomfortable to be with her husband, but people grieve differently, so. It’s easy to be with Christopher anyway, because the kid is just so bright and his daily update session with his father is something that always leaves Buck with a too warm and too full chest.

The team fall in love with Christopher immediately, even their sometimes very taciturn Captain, who had looked on disapprovingly at the start. He doesn’t call Bobby out on that, just beams helplessly at the wide smiles filling the firehouse. He’s not at all smug about this.

He also takes over Christopher’s dinner, because more often than not, Shannon is still working or with her mother, who is currently not responding well to treatments.

It doesn’t take long before he starts to talk to Eddie too, offloading his day and trying to fill the silence left in expected responses that they all know won’t come. Some days, he understands better why it hurts Shannon so much to be here.

At the same time, he can’t imagine ever not wanting to be in this tiny hospital room with this man who has given up so much and a precious little boy who clearly yearns for his father with every fiber of his being. Because it could be so much worse. Eddie could be dead, and isn’t that worse?

But maybe that is worse, at least for Shannon, who can neither move forward or on or even away from all the responsibilities around her neck.

She looks better than she used to, but at the same time, he can tell it’s not enough. She continues to look brittle, even as she showers her son with kisses and hugs when she comes home, or laughs when he details their day together.

He continues orbiting this fractured little family, hoping to shore up their cracks, hoping that it’s enough. He watches movies with Christopher curled into him and falls a little bit in love. He talks to Eddie and feels more at ease than he’s ever in his life. Every time Shannon looks a little bit less stressed and smiles a little brighter or completely relax and just be with her kid is a victory in Buck’s heart that trumps all other.

So whenever he stares at himself in the mirror and wonders what the hell he’s doing—that Bobby was right and that he’s not prepared for this sort of hurt—that they’re in a temporary holding pattern and how long can it last exactly?

Well, it doesn’t matter. There’s a kid who needs him. A mother at the end of her rope. A man who’s family is unraveling and he doesn’t even know it.

They’re all doing their best and that’s the end of it.

Except.

Shannon kisses him on a sunny Thursday afternoon.

It’s her rare day off and he’d taken the both of them to the park and she’d been so relaxed and happy for once.

He’s frozen, because she’s kissing him, and where is Christopher, what if he sees, and what?

After a moment, she pulls back, cheeks flushed and eyes darting everywhere but him.

"I’m sorry," she blurts. "I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I—"

He clears his throat, tries and fails not to edge back from her. "It’s uh—it’s okay. I just--"

"I’m sorry!" She says again, somehow looking both apologetic and crushed at the same time.

This can’t be good. "Shannon, wait—" he says, reaching as she turns away.

"Christopher!" She avoids him for the rest of the afternoon, and when she can’t physically, avoids looking in his eyes.

The car ride home is super uncomfortable with Christopher drowsing in the back seat. The door is shut before he can decide whether he wants to go after her. He decides not to. He taps his forehead a few times on his steering wheel and growls lowly in frustration.

This is...not a mess he wants to untangle.

He didn’t sign up for this.

He’d only wanted to help.

What the fuck.

In hindsight, he can see how much this isn’t a surprise.

In hindsight, this was probably what Bobby was worried about.

In hindsight, he might be sort of stupid.

He sighs.

It’s his fault.

His desire to help had in turn preyed on her vulnerability.

He’d probably crossed so many boundaries that it confused her. Still, it makes him angry, because even if he had been attracted to her, he would have never acted, if it were the other way around, because she’s married.

She’s married to Eddie, on top of that.

And oh God, Eddie.

Fuck. What about Eddie? Hadn’t–hasn’t he paid enough?

How can she do that to him?

How can Buck do this to him?

It’s his fault. He’s done this. He finds himself at Eddie’s bedside before he knows it, pacing the room before flinging himself into the chair beside the bed. "I’m so sorry, Eddie," he apologizes quietly, eyes downcast. "I don’t know where everything went wrong. I—uh—I don’t know what to do from here, man. You really need to wake up and-and fix your family, you know?" He feels tears well, inexplicably, frustratingly. “I’m sorry if I complicated everything." He takes that warm, dry hand, possibly for the last time. "I should—I should stop, shouldn’t I? Before you can’t fix it anymore. Tell me what to do, man. Wake up, Diaz! Your family is waiting for you. Your wife. Your son. They need you. Please wake up. "

He lays a gentle hand on that brow, taking liberty where he’s never dared because what’s this minor crime on top of his already very major fuck up. He doesn’t look back when he leaves.

He doesn’t avoid her because he can’t. He does reduce the amount of visits to Eddie’s hospital room, and limits whatever time he has when he’s with the both of them.

There’s Christopher to worry about, after all.

She doesn’t seem to have the same compunction, becoming even more absent from her son’s life than in recent times.

He worries. He fumes. He corners her one night by following Christopher in and waiting for her to come home. "You’re a good mother, Shannon," he says, pushing forward even when she flinches back, "and a good wife. Please don’t do this to yourself. To your son. Christopher needs you. You can do this. You can." He takes both her hands and squeezes gently. "And I—" Buck swallows and pushes forward despite his discomfort. "You’re an attractive woman, and I’m sorry I’m not what you’re looking for and I’m doubly sorry that I—that I don’t want to be. "

“I think you should leave, Buck,” Shannon says, soft and tired and, as usual, avoiding eye contact. She pulls away from him, curling into herself.

Buck wants to argue, wants to shake her and maybe wake her up from what is clearly a downward spiral.

Instead he leaves.

Because he’s in over his head. He’s in over his head and he doesn’t understand how to help Shannon and is seriously considering stepping even further back.

He’ll never know if he regrets this decision; doesn’t allow himself to think about this moment for too long because of what he’d gained—at the cost of someone else’s loss.

A phone call at three A.M. never bodes well. A phone call from Christopher at three A.M. has him barely pulling on a shirt or locking his front door or even following speed limits.

A phone call at three A.M. changes everything.

Shannon Diaz walks out of her son’s life on a Sunday night without even a heads up to Buck. Instead, she leaves a fucking note for her son to give to Buck. "I heard her leaving. I-I pretended to be sleeping when she opened my door. I don’t—I don’t know why I did that."

He crushes the little boy against him, no small amount of despair and panic and what the hell, Shannon? What the hell is he going to do? He’s a mandated fucking reporter. Goddammit. He dials and dials and dials Shannon, until eventually it just goes straight to voicemail. Angrily, he opens the note, nearly tearing it in the process.

I’m sorry. I know what you think of me. What you will think of me, after this.

I’m glad to have known someone like you, who has faith in someone like me.

But I can’t see it. Maybe I don’t want to. I just can’t see it. I’m sorry.

He deserves better. Please take care of him. Both of them. I’m so sorry.

He doesn’t accept it. He’s so far from accepting any of this. And he sure as hell doesn’t forgive her. The note is crumpled in his hand before he thinks better of it and smooths it back out. He takes a deep breath, and then another.

One. Christopher is here. Christopher is safe. Christopher is the priority; should have always been the priority by his own fucking mother—another deep breath.

He spends the night curled around Christopher, who sobs intermittently and clings to him. The kid doesn’t ask any more questions and Buck is dreading that moment, that meltdown, when it comes. When the sun rises, he swallows his abandonment issues and decades of resentment and calls the one number he swore he’d never again. "I need your help."

Two. Shannon cannot just walk away. He maybe doesn’t understand how to help her, or where her head space is at other than it’s clearly in a terrible place. He clearly understands that because it’s insane that she just left Christopher here with Buck, a veritable stranger and—deep breaths. So, she can’t just leave, because there needs to be some sort of actual legal guardianship or Christopher will likely disappear into the system when someone discovers this situation, not if.

So. Buck calls his parents and evades as many questions as possible while getting the number for the family attorney they have on retainer.

When they find her, she’s not far at all. A singular county over. He could drive there and back in less than three hours. He doesn’t get it. If you were going to run, why wouldn’t you run to the other ends of the Earth? What kind of person is Shannon Diaz? How broken? He just…he doesn’t get it. His guilt would be eating him alive. It already is. This is all his fault. If he hadn’t interfered, if he’d just called social services like Bobby suggested, would Christopher still know the pain of abandonment? Would Shannon still see an opportunity to do the same? Would she have broken sooner, or later?

But it’s too late for regrets and he can only make do with the pieces left behind. Christopher and Eddie. The man is still sleeping peacefully, still horridly attractive despite the inexorable weight loss. Eddie is a good man, according to his son and, even if more reluctantly, his wife. Will he be so understanding? He’s still with Eddie when they return with papers, signed by Shannon and filed with the Court.

A Permanent Custody Order for Christopher, and a Power of Attorney for Eddie. He holds the file between shaking hands. What he’s doing is pretty insane. What will Eddie even think, when he wakes up? "Hey Eddie, you don’t know me, but I drove your wife away, permanently, took over your life and I pretty much adopted your kid. Surprise!" What the fuck. He blinks away the tears.

I’m sorry, Eddie.

The lawyer clears his throat. "Mr. Buckley, that should be the end of everything with Mrs. Diaz, but she warned that the grandparents would probably try to sue for custody if they learned of this situation. What would you like to do?"

Buck swallows uneasily. It was one thing to clearly see Shannon breaking and sympathize with that, but he doesn’t know Eddie’s parents at all. "Visitation, of course, if they want, with supervision if they’re excessively hostile to the idea."

The lawyer nods. "We’ll get it done."

"Thank you."

And that’s that.

Buck has somehow acquired a family, gently used, slightly weathered, and it’s all thanks to his old one. His parents haven’t cared about him or his whereabouts for almost a decade and now it’s probably only a matter of time before they come looking for him to find out why he needed their lawyers beyond trust fund management.

But that’s for future him to settle.

For now, he lets himself panic for just a little bit in the safety of Eddie’s room and in the scant hours before school lets out. He’s not really into brooding but his thoughts are a chaotic, tangled mess. He can’t believe he’s here. How the hell did he get here? Fuck, Bobby is going to give him the Look.

“What the hell do I know about being a dad?” He bursts out, then flinches as he catches sight of the man in the bed. Buck sags, letting his head drop back and his eyes fall closed before he trudges over to Eddie and slumps down onto the seat.

“Life is unfair.” He studies Eddie’s face, wills for the thousandth time for Eddie to wake up. “What should I do now, man?”

What’s best for everyone?

Eddie’s a veteran soldier. Would he just…soldier on? A Silver Star, huh. He feels a little unworthy in the presence of this man. But if Buck is a firefighter, shouldn’t he possess the same type of valor?

He doesn’t hate Shannon but God does he resent her for doing this, and isn’t that just a hoot? This is probably exactly how she felt in the first place. He’d just wanted to help.

He fucking hates how all of this played out.

But what’s done is done. He can’t change any of it.

He takes a deep breath, looks around at this tiny, bland room. “I’ve got this. I do. You just rest until you feel better, and then your son will be waiting for you.” For some reason, that brings tears to his eyes. He slips a hand into Eddie’s, like it’s normal, like it’s natural, and squeezes.

And he thinks about the future.

About what’s best for everyone.

He talks to Bobby, and Hen, and even Chim. Soldiers through the disbelief and disapproval and gets to the advice and even seriously considers it.

He researches and calls various departments of social services and talks to everyone.

He enrolls Christopher in a better school and moves the Diazes to a closer house with a permanent home care worker named Carla. He maybe feels a little guilty, that he hadn’t thought about this in time for Shannon, but then he remembers the way she left and lets it go.

He discharges Eddie from the hospital and brings him home.

And then he focuses on making it a home. At least for Christopher. Nothing Buck does makes him feel less of an imposter. A cuckoo that has stolen this nest, no matter his intentions.

He can’t tell if it’s pathetic that he likes coming home to Eddie, to Christopher, at the end of a long shift; that he likes helping Christopher with his homework and making dinner together; that he likes reading to Eddie or just listening to Christopher share his day and his own, when prompted. Pathetic.

On days that he can’t stand it, he pulls extra shifts at the firehouse, avoiding worried teammates and focusing extra hard on actually saving lives instead of ruining them.

Sometimes he even dreams of dark eyes full of accusation and that always results in at least a few days where he can’t stand to set foot into Eddie’s room. Where he can only hover on the threshold for Christopher’s sake because he’s already taken so much from this man and it’s—it’s despicable. Eddie does deserve better. Buck’s just not sure it’s him.

And he really, really tries hard not to think about how Shannon felt.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Christopher needs him, and so does Eddie. He’s never had a good sense of boundaries, anyway, and what’s done is done is done. Christopher is thriving, and so it’s all Buck can do. He still avoids Bobby’s knowing gaze whenever he tries to bring the topic up, adept at finding someplace else to be until Bobby drops it. He’s definitely bringing it up less.

This is a hole he chose to climb into. This is a bed he’s made, and he finds it’s not at all as terrible as he figured it was going to be. Christopher is relatively easy to love, to take care of. He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand Shannon, even if he recognizes he likely has a better support system than she ever did.

Carla is amazing, and so is Tessa, Eddie’s care nurse. His coworkers are even an emergency phone call away. Shannon had had no one until he’d bulldozed his way into their lives.

And Eddie, well. He still finds himself staring at Eddie a lot, eyes tracing now familiar features late into the night; imagining scenarios he really shouldn’t—has no right to be. Hopeful for a nebulous future where Eddie wakes up and doesn’t rip away everything Buck’s built here on the ashes of Eddie’s misfortune.

There’s no way that anything Buck has done here isn’t creepy. Buck would probably be creeped out if their situations were reversed. But…he’s just…he’s just helping. Christopher and Shannon and Eddie had needed help. He’d helped, and for better or worse, now here they are.

Buck touches light fingers to Eddie’s wrist, too guilty to fully take his hand anymore.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”

The words aren’t for absolution. The intended recipient isn’t able to hear them, but it’s almost ritual, by now.

And then, a year to the day since Buck first saw Christopher sitting on that bench, three total since he came home from Afghanistan, Eddie Diaz finally opens his eyes.

And it’s great. It’s fantastic. It’s absolutely stupendous that Eddie Diaz is awake. But because things can’t be easy, Eddie…doesn’t remember a lot of things. And Buck has the unenviable job of telling Eddie what little he knows about his life. If he lets himself think about it, Buck really only has himself to blame for it.

He planted himself in this hole to help Shannon and Christopher and now he’s just hopelessly tangled with this family and unsure if he even wants to get out anymore because—because the stories of Eddie were—larger than life, but this Eddie. This Eddie is bone dry humor despite everything and calm, dark waters that somehow soothes over all of Buck’s anxieties.

But nothing is really up to him, is it? What’s worse, there’s an insidious, niggling little worry that Shannon will come back, now that Eddie’s awake, and doesn’t Buck feel like just the worst sort of monster for hoping that she doesn’t, that Christopher’s mother stays far, far away.

“And you?” Eddie asks quietly, after he’s—maybe not quite processed Afghanistan and his wife and his parents and his son, but accepted the situation to some degree. A little too well, if anyone asks Buck, who is neither a psychologist nor a military man who’s probably seen worse things. “Who are you?”

Buck blinks, and then laughs a little, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously. “So…funny story…”

And why did no one tell him that being pinned under Eddie’s gaze is just so intimidating? Here the man is, freshly woken from a coma and he’s making Buck nervous to hell and back by just sitting there with those limpid brown eyes that Buck is trying very hard to not wax poetic about in his dumb brain.

It also doesn’t help that he’s still exceptionally good looking despite being wan and almost wasted; vivid and full of life in a way he hadn’t been laying there. A three dimensional being now, instead of a faded wallflower that Buck has spent cumulative hours talking at.

“Thank you,” Eddie finally says, “for taking care of my…for taking care of us.” There’s something faintly wounded about him that makes Buck’s fingers twitch, itching to reach out and just touch like he’s used to. Or at least just a few fingers on that steady pulse. Only he can’t now, because Eddie’s actually awake. Buck has to just…pause a moment as the sheer weirdness of that thought hits him.

Eddie sighs, rubbing a hand over a face that suddenly looks ten times more exhausted even though he’s barely been awake for long enough.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Buck blurts, swallowing at the sudden rush of anxiety the words bring. After all, Eddie can reject him–can take Christopher away. Has every right.

Eddie just looks at him. He looks extra frail in that moment, bony wrists and sunken eyes and a hospital gown falling off one shoulder.

“You don’t know me, but I’m telling you—I’m not going anywhere,” Buck repeats with a little more determination, staring at Eddie as though his earnestness will break through the ennui; strangely feels like he would feel better if Eddie were to start crying or something.

“I’m here for you, and for Christopher. He’s waited a long time for you, he’s been here nearly every day, and he’ll be so excited when he sees you’re awake.”

There’s a twinge of unease, because what if, like Shannon, it’s too much for Eddie? Buck is more than aware that a lot of his attachment to this man may only be projections of his own sub-consciousness. That this larger-than-life superhero is on a pedestal mainly created from Christopher’s stories and Shannon’s vague references and whatever little else he’s dug up about Eddie’s service; a gleaming Silver Star that shines over him like benediction.

He doesn’t know Eddie Diaz at all, not really.

Well, at least that can now change. And Buck can only do his best to support this man he’s so entangled with.

“All we want is for you to get better, so please, just focus on getting better. He’ll wait for you as long as you need it. You made it, Eddie Diaz. You’ve come all this way, you just need to go a little further.”

Eddie stares down at his hands and a weight seems to melt off of his shoulders. He sags back into his bed and just looks at Buck.

“I made it.” The words are soft, a whisper barely heard over the humidifier next to the bed. The thousand yard stare is really unsettling and what the hell does he do about that? He probably needs to call the VA. Get a counselor over here while Eddie is still trapped in the bed.

Buck nods firmly. “You made it.”

Neither of them mention the way Eddie’s eyes shine a little too bright as they stay locked on the ceiling. Buck finally gives into the urge, linking his fingers through Eddie’s and squeezes. Eddie looks at him and Buck tries his best to project confidence. “You made it. You’re home. You’ve got this.”

Eddie’s lips twitch just the slightest.

Buck considers it a win. He calls for a VA counselor anyway, to join the rotating cast of Eddie’s daily care nurse and his new physical therapist.

And then he tucks himself firmly out of the way, trying not to hover or let any of his anxiousness cloud into Eddie’s…everything.

The first time Christopher manages to coax a full smile out of his father, Buck has to work to contain his excitement.

It gets better from there.

The counselor also helps, even if the sessions leave Eddie withdrawn at best and surly at worst in a way that Christopher can’t even penetrate. But Eddie is definitely a good man, because even at his very worst, he doesn’t let any of his darkness touch his son. He doesn’t even let it touch Buck, who wishes he would lean on him just a little.

But progress is progress even if it’s in baby steps.

The smiles come easier. The laughs, while rare, are genuine.

Something slowly uncoils in Buck’s chest. They’ll be okay. Eddie, and Christopher. Buck has them syncing physical therapy sessions together, which in Buck’s opinion, helps immensely in bridging the uneasy way Eddie sometimes seems to still feel around his son. At least, when he’s not staring at him in something like disbelief and awe.

And it’s…something else. If watching Christopher with his dad had simultaneously warmed Buck’s heart and broken it, watching Eddie be so utterly devoted to his son, engaged and active if at times apologetic—Buck doesn’t put a name to it, isn’t able to, but—

More than ever he wants to stay. To belong. To belong here.

But something else constricts, because if they’re going to be okay together, then Buck isn’t really necessary anymore. Is there even space for him here? He doesn’t deserve it, shouldn’t want it. It’s not his. Isn’t it just so weird that he wants it?

But…but he’ll set that aside until Eddie says differently.

They’ve got this.

Before he knows it, months have passed and that knot of anxiety that has never gone away has managed to loosen just a little when all his worst fears have yet to pass and the brightness in Eddie’s eyes manages to draw him in from the edges of this little family. To actually join their warmth. To actually be able to hold Eddie's hand because Eddie actually wants him to. And he realizes that yeah…he can have this. He can do this.

He can’t believe he’s doing this.

He’s so freaking late.

They’ve been waiting outside of the hospital for at least an hour, by his estimate. He hadn’t meant to just drop them off; had meant to actually be there for Eddie’s check up. But Bobby had had a slight emergency with Harry and both Christopher and Eddie had reassured him they’d be fine and now–now he’s freaking late.

He’s not rushing, because safety, but he may take the corners a little bit faster than normal.

“I’m here!” He gasps, shouting. “I’m here, sorry!”

Identical, disapproving gazes lock onto him and he swallows. It’s amazing, how much they resemble one another despite the physical differences. Like father, like son.

He grins apologetically. “Sorry, sorry, but I’m here now!”

Christopher huffs while Eddie looks on in amusement.

He helps buckle father and son into the car and then he turns from the driver’s seat to look at them.

“We good? We ready?”

“Yes!” Christopher cheers.

Eddie smiles, soft and fond. “Let’s go home.”