Archive of Our Own

one // you can’t start a fire without a spark

It’s been a… well. Buck knows better than to use the q-word now (Hen and Chimney still haven’t let him live it down), but it’s been a calm day for the 118. It’s been a few hours since they’ve been out on a call, and the last one was only to an apartment building to get a cat out of a stuck washing machine. Easy enough, and Buck got to cuddle a cat for ten minutes while Bobby wrapped up the scene, so it’s been a decent day, all things considered.

He and Hen have just finished another round of Mario Kart. Hen always plays as Rosalina, and she almost always beats Buck, but Buck’s Yoshi managed to hit her with a really well-timed red shell and snuck right into first place. 

Hen’s convinced he’s cheating, and they’re probably about to get into it when Bobby calls them for lunch. They glance at each other before dropping their controllers and hustling over to the table.

One of Buck’s favorite things so far about the 118 is Bobby’s cooking. The man is usually closed off, but when he’s in the kitchen or watching the team scarf down his delicious meals, Buck feels like he can see through the cracks a little bit. He always seems a little more at ease than he does at any other time, and Buck relishes the small chances to get to know him more.

“Smells great, Cap,” he grins, sitting down next to Chim and stealing the serving spoon right out of his hand. 

“Buck!” Chim complains, slapping at his hands and managing to steal the spoon back, though not before Buck has served himself a huge helping of Bobby’s lasagna. He doesn’t wait to dig in, and actually moans once he’s taken a bite.

“Holy shit, Bobby, this is incredible,” Buck says. Bobby rolls his eyes, but Buck can see the small smile flit across his face.

“Manners, Buckley,” Hen chastises, kicking him under the table. “Also, no one wants to hear you make those sounds.”

Buck lets a wicked grin curl the corners of his mouth. “Well…”

“Shut up, Buck,” Bobby interjects. “But thank you, kid. An old favorite recipe, good for days like this when things are qu—”

“Cap!” Chim and Hen chorus, glaring at Bobby. Buck snickers and shovels more lasagna into his mouth. It really is one of the best things he’s eaten in a while. He’s not much of a cook, but eating food like this, it makes him want to learn. Maybe Bobby would be willing to teach him sometime.

It goes… q-word around the table as everyone digs in. Buck goes back for seconds—thank god today isn’t a cutting day—as Chim pushes his plate away and pats his stomach.

“Delicious as always, Cap. I’ll be full until tomorrow,” he grins, waving his fork at Bobby.

“Yeah, we won’t even need to eat before the show,” teases Hen.

Buck perks up at that. “The show?” 

“Yeah, Hen and I are going to see New Kids on the Block and Salt-n-Pepa. Reliving our youth,” Chimney waggles his eyebrows at that, and Hen snorts.

“Salt-n-Pepa were my very first concert ever,” she sighs, dropping her chin into her hands. “I was in love with Cheryl James.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Buck admits, and the rest of the table turns to him, outraged.

“Buck, your lack of pop culture knowledge will never cease to haunt me,” Chimney grumbles. 

“I mean, if it’s from your youth, it must be ancient,” Buck teases.

“Watch it, Buckley,” Hen raises a brow at him and points her fork.

“I mean, my first concert was Britney Spears. My sister took me with her after her friend bailed. A truly formative experience for twelve-year-old Buck, let me tell you,” he grins. “And of this century, so immediately better than whoever you guys are talking about.”

Hen rolls her eyes. “Shameless,” she tsks.

“My first concert was Hootie and the Blowfish,” Chim offers.

Buck guffaws. “Who and the who? That can’t be a real band name.” 

“Uncultured swine,” Chimney retorts. “They were one of the best bands of the 90s, you plebeian.”

“You’re definitely messing with me,” Buck insists. There’s just no way that’s a real band.

“What was your first concert, Cap?” Hen pivots.

Bobby smiles at the question, and Buck gives up on making faces at Chimney and directs his attention toward his captain. Bobby’s face so rarely looks like that, and another piece of Cap lore is always compelling. “Bruce Springsteen in 1980, on The River tour. What a show,” he says wistfully.

Springsteen rings a bell for Buck. “Oh, I know him! I love Bruce Springsteen,” he agrees, and Hen and Chimney both raise an eyebrow at him. Okay, so maybe he’s exaggerating, but it’s worth it when Bobby grins at him. He’ll look the guy up later—he’s pretty sure he’s heard of him before.

“The kid does have some taste after all,” he teases, and Buck ducks his head, grinning. 

“I guess there’s some things that do transcend time,” Hen muses. “Makes sense that the Boss is one of ‘em.” 

“And Whatta Man doesn’t? Hen,” Chim sighs. Buck makes a mental note to look that song up later too. He never watches the ever-growing list of movies that Chimney is shocked he’s never seen, but he usually checks out the music they mention. Sometimes it reminds him of Maddie—mornings in her car, being driven to middle school, or late in the evenings, muffled through their shared wall. 

Hen and Chim keep bickering, and Buck stands to help Bobby clear the table. “I can do the dishes, Cap,” Buck offers, taking the plates from Bobby’s hands.

“Thanks, kid,” Bobby claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll be in my office, I’ve got some paperwork to do.”

Buck makes quick work of the dishes, scrubbing the station kitchen clean. Chim’s taken Buck’s place in Mario Kart with Hen, though he’s switched his character to Waluigi, which Buck privately thinks is insane. 

Buck plops himself down at the counter instead, pulling his AirPods out of his pocket and searching Bruce Springsteen on Spotify. The album cover with the flag seems familiar, so he clicks on Born in the U.S.A. and a song he’s definitely heard before floats through his headphones. It’s not bad, though it’s definitely the type of music he would associate with Bobby. He skips through some of the other songs on the album, but something about the opening of one called Dancing in the Dark gives him pause. The opening instrumental feels inexplicably nostalgic. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard this song before, but it’s pulling at his heartstrings regardless. Once Bruce starts singing, the feeling grows, like this guy somehow reached into Buck’s head fifty years in the future and put how he feels to music. 

While the song keeps playing, he switches to Safari and googles Bruce Springsteen. The first thing to show up is a link to his current tour dates, and Buck pauses. He glances up at Bobby’s closed door and then back down at his screen before opening the tour page. A few weeks from now, he’s playing at the LA Memorial Sports Arena. And tickets are still reasonably priced. 

Maybe this is a good way to get Bobby to open up more. He clearly loves this guy, and Buck got a smile—a real smile—and a clap on the shoulder for it. And Buck likes the music well enough. Before he can think too much about it, he buys two balcony tickets.

Later, once Bobby’s come out from his office—they still haven’t gotten a single call—Buck waves him over to where he’s curled up on the couch. Hen and Chim have retreated to the bunk room to take naps, so it’s just Buck upstairs.

“Hey Bobby, funny story. I have a couple tickets to see Bruce Springsteen next month, and my friend bailed on me last week. I was just going to sell them, but I haven’t gotten around to it. Do you think you’d want to go with me instead?” Buck asks. He’d rehearsed a story in his head, something that wouldn’t seem so purposeful. If he’d said he bought them today, he thinks there’s a fair chance Bobby would feel uncomfortable. Just an extra ticket—that seems easy, low commitment. 

“Oh, uh,” Bobby says, raising an eyebrow. “What are the odds of that?”

“I know, funny. Since you mentioned him, I thought you might like to relive your glory days,” he laughs, and Bobby snorts. “And it’s an anniversary tour for The River.”

“You’re driving a hard bargain, Buck,” Bobby deadpans. “Sure, why not?” 

“Really? I mean, uh, awesome,” Buck grins. That was way easier than he expected. 

“Thanks for thinking of me, kid,” Bobby says, and he offers Buck a small smile before heading back toward the kitchen.

Buck’s been at the 118 for a few months, and while Bobby’s been perfectly kind, a good captain, he’s felt a purposeful distance. He can see it with Hen and Chimney too, and the others on A shift. Bobby holds himself back, always the first to step away when things turn toward the personal, often with his head ducked low over the strange little black book he carries. But something about this feels like an opening, like there’s a chance Buck could finally find what he’s been looking for at the 118. He glances over at Bobby, who's pouring himself a cup of coffee, before putting his AirPods back in and returning to Dancing in the Dark. Maybe Bruce Springsteen himself can be Buck’s spark, for a chance to finally find something real.

two // no wedding day smiles, no walk down the aisle, no flowers, no wedding dress 

It’s an unseasonably warm day for late November in Los Angeles, which essentially means a straight-up heat wave for Thanksgiving. For the first time in Buck doesn’t even know how long, he actually had someone to celebrate with—he and Maddie were invited to the Diaz family Thanksgiving, which was really just Eddie, Christopher, and Eddie’s abuela. His aunt Pepa, the only other Diaz he’s met, is at her daughter’s for the holiday, with her son-in-law’s entire family, which Eddie (and therefore Buck) has heard an earful about. 

Eddie refused to return to Texas, which seems to be a point of contention with his parents if the way he clams up about it is any indication, and his grandmother says that she just didn’t feel like traveling. When she’d said that to Buck as she passed the potatoes, however, she’d had this look in her eye, and Buck knew she’d stayed for Eddie and Chris. It’s sweet, really—Eddie’s parents are potentially problematic, but his abuela is already one of Buck’s favorite people. She’s taken to calling him Evancito, and on Thanksgiving, she’d let him shadow her in the kitchen, explaining the steps to all her favorite dishes as she went and assigning Buck tasks to complete as they went. 

It’d been his best Thanksgiving in a while. And now, a few days later and still warm, he and Eddie are taking Christopher to the beach. It’s been months since they moved, but the Diaz boys have only been to the beach a couple times, and Christopher lit up when Buck had offhandedly mentioned that the weekend would be good weather for a beach trip. Eddie had rolled his eyes when Buck had turned to him with the same puppy dog look Christopher was sporting, but he’d agreed easily enough, and now Buck is headed to the Diaz house, windows down and music turned up loud. 

Christopher is sitting on the front porch when Buck pulls up, surrounded by a somewhat alarming amount of beachgoing supplies.

“Buck!” he shouts, a grin overtaking his face. Buck feels a similar smile stretch across his lips, throwing the Jeep into park before leaping out to catch Christopher in a huge hug, lifting the boy right off his feet and earning a joyful laugh. 

“Hey, Superman! Are you excited for the beach?” Buck asks, setting him down and reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Christopher groans and swats his hand away. “Buck,” he whines. 

“Sorry, kid,” Buck laughs. “Is your dad planning on renting a U-Haul to get us there, though? I don’t know if all this stuff is going to fit in my car.”

“I told him it was too much stuff,” Christopher huffs. “He’s still got more in there too.”

Before Buck can reply, Eddie bursts out of the house, arms laden with a comically large cooler and another tote bag filled with god only knows what. 

“Oh, hey Buck,” he grins, and Buck can’t help but laugh. His hair is ungelled, flopping over his forehead, and his smile matches Christopher’s.

“Eddie, we’re going to the beach for a few hours, not getting stranded on a desert island,” Buck says, reaching out anyways to take the cooler. 

“I know, I just want to be prepared,” he counters. 

“Christopher, you better hope there’s still room back there for you once we load all this stuff up,” Buck teases. 

“You have to take me with you!” Chris protests. “Dad doesn’t need four chairs, there’s only three of us.”

Buck raises an eyebrow at Eddie, who turns a surprisingly pretty shade of pink. “I may have let things get out of hand.”

With Buck’s more discerning eye, they load up the car quickly, bringing only enough chairs for the three of them and Eddie allowing Buck to return a myriad of other things to the house. By the time the car is packed and Christopher is buckled into his booster seat, Buck has worked up a sweat. 

Buck plugs into the aux and navigates to the Bruce Springsteen playlist on Spotify—good weather always makes him want to listen to the Boss. Since he’d gone to that concert with Bobby in his probie year, Buck’s had a low-level obsession with his music. It makes him think of Bobby, of the home he’s made for himself here in Los Angeles. 

A track from Born to Run comes on, and Buck taps along on the steering wheel as he navigates out of Eddie’s neighborhood and toward Malibu. The breeze that floats in through the open windows is deeply refreshing, and he’s taken aback by the feeling of contentedness that washes over him - the beautiful weather, his newly-minted best friend (Buck’s never really had one of those before), the coolest kid in the world in the backseat… he feels happy in a way that’s escaped him ever since Abby left for her trip.

The River comes on next, and Buck contemplates skipping to a more upbeat song when Christopher pipes up in the backseat. “Dad loves this song!” 

“Oh, really?” Buck asks, glancing at him in the rearview. 

“Yeah, he listened to it all the time when we lived in Texas. I like it too, but it’s not my favorite,” Christopher says matter-of-factly.

“All the time?” Buck looks to Eddie, who shrugs. 

“Gotta love the Boss,” Eddie says, and Buck can’t argue much with that. 

The second verse flits in, and Buck mumbles along. No wedding day smiles, no walk down the aisle, no flowers, no wedding dress… Buck flinches and looks up at Eddie again, who grimaces at him.

Eddie hasn’t talked a lot about his wife, but Buck knows it’s incredibly complicated now. He knows that they got pregnant young and saw no choice but marriage. It’s no wonder Eddie relates to this song. Buck looks back in the review again at Christopher, who’s singing the melody but clearly doesn’t know any of the words. He also knows that Eddie couldn’t regret Christopher if he tried, but god, this song in Buck’s limited context of Eddie is breaking his heart just a little. 

He slows as they pull up to a stoplight. Christopher is still mumbling along in the backseat, looking out the window. Buck glances sideways at Eddie, and his heart clenches at the wistful look on his face. Eddie meets his eyes for what feels like an eternity, and Buck feels a sense of knowing click into place. Like maybe best friend isn’t a little premature, like that moment a couple years ago where he bonded with Bobby over Springsteen and felt a door crack open. 

Buck only manages to look away from Eddie at the sound of a horn behind them; the light’s clearly been green for a few seconds, so Buck refocuses on driving and lets the rest of The River wash over them. There’s a few seconds of quiet before the next song comes on, and Christopher shouts with glee.

“Oh, Buck, I love this song! Dad likes sad songs but this one’s my favorite!” he chirps from the backseat as the opening notes of Dancing in the Dark starts to play. Buck’s heart feels so full it could burst—over two years of listening to Springsteen, and the first song he listened to was still his favorite. And now he gets to share that with the best kid in the world.

“You have great taste, kid. This is my favorite too,” Buck grins at him, and Chris lights up to match.

“No way! Dad, did you hear that?” he says, absentmindedly air-drumming in his excitement.

“Two peas in a pod,” Eddie agrees, and when Buck catches his eye again, there’s a soft, beautiful smile on Eddie’s face. Buck hasn’t really seen Eddie contentedly happy in the several months they’ve known each other, and it looks good on him.

“I wanna be just like Buck when I grow up,” Christopher states, and Buck huffs a laugh. 

“Christopher, you’re gonna be you when you grow up, which is gonna be a whole lot cooler than me,” he tells him.

He glances at the kid through his rearview mirror, and watches Christopher roll his eyes. “Buck,” he groans. “You’re being silly. You’re the coolest person I know. Way cooler than Dad.”

“Thanks, Chris,” Eddie laughs. Buck catches him rolling his eyes in his periphery and is struck by how similar the Diaz boys are—the actual two peas in a pod, here.

“I mean, Buck helps you, Dad, but you’re Dad. You can’t be cool,” Christopher explains. Buck can hear the earnestness in his voice, and he can’t help but giggle.

“You heard it here first, Eds. Can’t be cool if you’re a dad,” Buck agrees just to make Eddie roll his eyes again.

“Just you wait, Buckley. Soon you’ll be nothin’ but chopped liver too,” Eddie points at him, laughter threatening to bleed through.

“Chris and I have the same favorite Springsteen song, so I think I’ll be cool forever,” Buck counters. The last chorus of Dancing in the Dark is floating over the speakers, and he can hear Christopher humming in the backseat. 

“Exactly, Dad,” Chris says. 

“One day when you’re both older you’ll understand the sad songs better,” Eddie hums, lifting a brow at Buck.

“I’m literally almost exactly a year older than you, Diaz,” Buck scoffs.

“Not in spirit, Buck. In spirit, you and Chris are the same age. That’s why you get along so well,” Eddie says.

“Buck’s too tall to be seven, Dad!” Chris objects.

“He’s got a point, man,” Buck agrees. “Older, taller, wiser…” he lets his voice trail off. Eddie actually snorts at that, a hideous, honking laugh that Buck is honestly surprised to hear coming out of his calm, cool, collected best friend. He can’t help but start giggling at the sound. “What the hell was that?” he manages to wheeze out between laughs.

“Language! That’s a whole dollar for the swear jar, Buck,” Chris interjects. Eddie is laughing just as hard as Buck is now, making more of those weird, ridiculous snorty sounds. 

“Have I never heard you really laugh? Is this what it sounds like?” Buck asks, still trying to catch his breath.

“Why do you think Dad’s not cool?” Chris sighs, a world-weary thing. That sets Buck right off again, which makes Eddie continue to laugh, and Christopher is staring at them both from the back like they’re crazy. 

“Stop making fun of me,” Eddie wheezes, swatting Buck across the shoulder. “And don’t think we’ll forget that dollar. Christopher is a menace when it comes to the swear jar.” 

“Worth it,” Buck shrugs. He glances back over at Eddie, who’s awash in the golden sunlight of Los Angeles, cheeks pink with laughter, and is struck again by how lucky he is to have found the 118, to have found Eddie and Chris. He’s managed to pull back a few more layers of the enigma that is Eddie Diaz on this car ride. He thinks back to Eddie’s quip about understanding the sad songs, and while Eddie was absolutely pulling his leg for Christopher’s amusement, he does think he understands The River just a little bit better thinking about it from Eddie’s point of view. He thinks about nineteen-year-old Eddie, with a pregnant girlfriend and an army uniform, compares him to nineteen-year-old Buck, who’d just dropped out of college and was driving farther away than he’d ever been from Pennsylvania. Nineteen-year-old Buck would’ve been a disaster if he’d found out he’d gotten a girl pregnant—he has no idea how Eddie managed to handle it, to grow up so fast, to raise a kid as wonderful as Christopher. Buck is sure couldn’t have, if he’d been in that boat. 

Another Bruce song flits out over the speakers. It feels familiar, like home settling deep down in his bones. He’s always associated him with Bobby, but the Diazes are stretching out the shape of Buck’s love for the Boss, wrapping Buck’s entire understanding of family in his scratchy voice. He feels his eyes well up for a moment, inexplicably; feels like something just clicked, settled even further into his very being. 

“You good?” Eddie nudges him. Buck shakes out of his thoughts and glances over at Eddie, a smile that he knows is much too soft for this moment on his face.

“All good,” he replies. He can feel Eddie’s gaze on his face and blinks a few more times before he tilts his head back toward the other man. “Just… lucky, you know?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Eddie sighs, but it’s a nice one, an almost fluttery thing from a very not fluttery man. “I know.”

three // sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull

Buck recognizes he’s being a little crazy, okay? He knows. He knows he’s been unreasonable and overwhelming and snappish. Their shift today didn’t help—he knows Bobby (and Hen and Chim) are pissed at him for climbing up the crane to save that guy. But Buck did save that guy. That’s what he does. He saved the guy today, he saved Eddie after he got shot in the middle of the fucking street in broad daylight after—

The point is, that’s what Buck is supposed to do. He’s supposed to save people, he’s good at it. It’s stupid that everyone’s mad at him, honestly. They know what he’s like. This is the exact type of scenario where Buck is going to lose his mind a little bit. They know the sniper has put him on edge, that he’s been trying his best to take care of Christopher and be there for Eddie and not step on Ana fucking Flores’ toes. That he’s trying to just do his job. It’s like they don’t realize this is all he can do, that he needs an outlet and he’s not going to watch another one of his friends get shot and be splattered in their blood. He can still taste it. Food has been wrong since the shooting. Anything he tries to eat or drink tastes like Eddie’s blood, no matter how many times he brushes his teeth until his gums bleed or swishes around half a bottle of mouthwash. 

He throws his bag into the back of the Jeep and slams the door, then climbs in and slams his own door. It doesn’t help at all to dissipate the rage simmering under his skin. He plugs his phone in and presses shuffle on his music before throwing the car in gear and leaving the station parking lot. He’s already heading west towards Christopher’s school when he remembers Ana is picking him up today. He’s going with her to the hospital to visit Eddie, because they don’t need Buck. They don’t need him to help any more than he already has, because Eddie has a beautiful, smart, kind teacher for a girlfriend and Buck isn’t necessary. 

He pulls into a strip mall to turn around as I’m On Fire comes on, and he stops short. A car behind him beeps, so he pulls over into a spot and parks, dropping his head down onto the steering wheel. He might be losing his fucking mind, actually.

He sits there, sun beating down, the sounds of LA traffic muffled by Bruce Springsteen. He sits there until the bridge, when Bruce sings ’sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull’ and Buck starts sobbing. His chest feels carved out with a knife, too, like a butcher has come and sliced him clean through and left a gaping, cavernous hole where Buck used to be. He buries his head in his arms and lets his tears soak through his hoodie. They’re so hot, it feels like they’re burning little cigarette holes into his sleeves. 

All Buck has ever known to do in the face of crisis is to jump into action, to keep his body moving, to try to fix everything for everyone else. He leaves his own injuries by the wayside, and he focuses on everything he can possibly do. But no one seems to want him to do anything at all. They expect him to sit idly by while a man bleeds out on a crane, they expect him to stay down behind the engine while his best friend bleeds out in the street, they expect him to just go home after the worst is over and let the right people take care of things. And Buck isn’t that person, apparently. He hadn’t been trying to overstep—someone needed to tell Eddie’s family, to tell Christopher. Buck was there, of course it would be him. And someone needed to help Carla take care of Chris, and Buck already knows so much of how to do that, has a flexible schedule, can be there for whatever Christopher needs. But then Eddie woke up, and Ana was there by his side when he did. She was the one to call Buck—he wasn’t even there when Eddie finally woke up. He was there when Eddie’s eyes rolled back in his head in the truck, hands pressed to his shoulder, trying to keep him awake and to stop the bleeding. He saw them close and he wasn’t there to see them open.

And now Ana is picking Christopher up, which should be Buck’s job, at least, if he’s not there in the hospital with Eddie, and he feels… he feels like he’s on fire. He feels like B shift needs to pull up to this stupid strip mall three and a half minutes from the station and turn the hose on him, because he’s burning up and there’s not much Buck left. 

His thoughts are still swirling as Bruce sings the outro, soft and sweet, incongruous to the inferno of the song and the inferno of Buck’s brain right now. He thinks about where he wants to be most, and then he thinks about where he can always go when he doesn’t feel like he’s wanted anywhere, and as I’m On Fire fades out, he throws the Jeep back into drive and barrels toward Bobby’s house.

Bobby has clearly barely settled in when Buck shows up on his doorstep. He can still hear the engine of Bobby’s car ticking as it cools, and when Bobby opens the door he’s still got his shoes on, bag abandoned in the hallway behind him.

“Buck? Everything okay?” Bobby asks, eyeing him warily.

“No,” Buck says, or really shouts. Bobby steps back to let him in, eyes full of concern. 

“What happened?” he says, putting a hand on Buck’s shoulder and steering him toward the kitchen.

“Nothing happened. Well, nothing new. But Bobby, I just, I mean, I don’t know—” he stops and takes a heaving breath, noisily choking down air. It doesn’t really help, but he does it a few more times and finally feels like he can get a semi-coherent thought out. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sit down, kid,” Bobby sighs, pushing Buck into a seat at the table. Once Buck is seated, he moves into the kitchen and puts the kettle on, opening cabinets and pulling out mugs and tea and sugar. Buck drops his head into his arms on the table and breathes, trying to force his body into some semblance of calm.

An indeterminate amount of minutes later, Bobby is dropping a sweetened cup of lavender chamomile tea in front of Buck and sitting down next to him.

“Alright, talk,” he says simply, taking a sip from his own mug.

“I feel like no one wants me to do anything at all, but everything is fucked and I have to make things better. I have to Bobby, I have to. I was literally born to make things better, apparently, and I failed at that and I feel like I’m failing now because I just. No one will let me help. I have to help, I can’t sit still, and no one is letting me help,” Buck says, words falling out of his mouth faster than he can think them. 

“You’re not failing, Buck. You saved a man’s life today,” Bobby reminds him.

“Yeah, and you’re pissed at me about it,” Buck retorts, and Bobby sighs again. He’s always doing that around Buck, the weary sigh of a father trying to deal with a problem child. Buck knows that sigh well—it’s the only thing he ever heard from his parents. It prickles at him now, even though Bobby doesn’t usually make Buck feel the way his parents make him feel.

“I won’t lie to you and tell you I’m not mad, Buck. You’re always flouting protocol and jumping headlong into danger. I’m mad about it because I don’t want you hurt, too. One of my firefighters was just hurt, almost killed, and the person who did it is still out there. I don’t know what I’d do if they got another one of you,” Bobby says, and Buck can hear the earnestness bleeding into his tone.

“That’s why I had to, though, Bobby. I can’t let it happen to anyone else, but somebody had to help that man. It had to be me. You have Athena and the kids, Hen has Karen and Denny, Chim has Maddie and the baby… if any of you had been taken from your families when I could’ve done something, I—”

“Buck.” Bobby says, and Buck clamps his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, or at least not like that, because Bobby is looking at him with his sad eyes. “You have a family too, kid. Your life isn’t any less valuable than another’s because you don’t have a partner or a biological child. What do you think Maddie would do if we lost you because you were reckless on a call like you were today? Or Eddie? Christopher? Me?”

“Eddie and Christopher don’t need me any more,” Buck grumbles, choosing to ignore the Maddie and Bobby of it all. He might’ve made an error in his focus, though, given how Bobby’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

“What are you talking about?” Bobby asks gently, though his face doesn’t match the tone.

“I was with Christopher from the moment he found out about his dad until we showed up for our shift yesterday, and now Ana is doing school pickup and taking him to see Eddie and Eddie is awake and going home and Ana will do everything he needs because she’s perfect, and it makes me feel useless, Bobby. I love that kid, I’d do anything for him, and he doesn’t need me because he and Eddie have Ana now,” Buck says, tears threatening to spill over again.

“Just because Eddie has a partner to help him through this doesn’t mean he and Christopher don’t need you in their lives, Buck,” Bobby says. Buck can hear how carefully he’s choosing his words, but partner rankles. Ana’s his girlfriend, not his partner. Buck and Eddie have been partners—work partners—for years. Handpicked by Bobby. It’s just… it doesn’t feel right. It’s unnecessarily confusing, since they use partner at work. 

“I talked to Eddie on the phone and he literally said ‘thanks man, but Ana can take it from here,’ when I offered to pick up Christopher today and stop by the hospital.” 

Bobby’s eyebrows raise again, and Buck wishes he understood what about this conversation Bobby was so surprised by. Maybe it would make his own brain make more sense. “Recovering from something like this takes a village, Buck. I’m sure he didn’t mean it in a permanent way, but just that Ana is stepping up to help.”

“But she doesn’t need to!” Buck exclaims. Bobby blinks and takes a sip of his tea. Buck takes a deep breath before going on. “I mean, I know she wants to. Of course she wants to help, she’s a nice person and Eddie literally almost died. But we always take care of each other. I always help, and I just want to help. I want to make it better, I didn’t do enough to save him and I cried when I told Chris and I feel like I just kept fucking it up so bad and Eddie doesn’t need that, he needs stability. He needs someone to not cry when telling his kid he was hurt. I was built for this and I fucked it up, just like Daniel,” Buck says, choking on his last sentence.

Bobby’s giving him that look again, the one where his sad eyes pierce Buck’s soul and see right down to the rotten, useless core of him. It’s full of pity and right now it’s driving him crazy.

“It’s like someone took a knife and cut a valley through my skull,” he whispers, dropping his head down.

Bobby hums the chorus. “Listening to the Boss again?” 

“That’s why I came here. The song came on and I just… Bobby, I feel like that. Like someone just carved me right out and left all the parts that don’t work right, that can’t be what people need. And if I can’t do that, what do I do?” Buck lifts his head enough to prop his chin on the table and stare up at Bobby.

“Even if you do feel carved out—which, we all feel like that sometimes, kid—the parts you have are working just fine. You don’t have to be a statue, and you don’t have to be a martyr. It’s okay you showed emotion when you told Chris. It’s terrifying what happened, and knowing someone else is scared can make it less scary. Christopher loves you. Anyone with eyes can see that when you two are together. He knows that his dad will do anything to come back to him, and that you’re right by his side, and he feels safe knowing that. And Buck, from everything Captain Mehta told me, you did save Eddie. If you hadn’t rolled under that truck—which is no small feat for you, as we both know—and pulled Eddie back, he would’ve bled out right there in the street. You got to him in time, you got him to safety, you saved his life, Buck,” Bobby says, tears spilling over. Buck is fully sobbing now, wracked like he was in the car an hour ago, and Bobby gets up out of his seat and pulls Buck into his chest.

It makes Buck feel like a child, when Maddie would tuck him under her arm after he’d gotten hurt and tsked but told him she loved him anyways. He never feels small like this, like he has someone protecting him the way a parent would. The thought chokes him up even more. 

He hears the front door click open, and Athena’s voice floating through the house, calling, “Honey, I’m home!” and it makes Buck’s heart squeeze in his chest. He always says that to Christopher when he comes over, and the kid has been doing it back to him too. Even Eddie joins in sometimes, and it makes him wish more than anything that he was at the house on South Bedford Street, both Diaz boys safe and sound. He cries harder as Athena enters the room, stopping short.

“Oh, Buck,” she says, and he feels her arms wrap around him and Bobby. If his heart squeezes any more it’ll pop, blood everywhere, just like Eddie. He feels untethered, heartbroken, and like he’s yearning for something simpler that he never even had.

The three of them stay like that for longer than Buck would care to admit, his sobs finally shrinking down into hiccupy breaths. He pulls back from Bobby and Athena, scrubbing at his face embarrassedly. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, eyes down.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Buckaroo,” Athena says, ruffling his hair. “Unless you try to tell me you won’t stay for dinner—then we’ll have a problem.”

Buck huffs a laugh and nods, lifting his gaze to lock eyes with Bobby. “You’re doing enough, kid. You’re enough.” Bobby says, and Buck, just for a second, almost believes him.

four // will you walk with me out on the wire, ‘cause baby i’m just a scared and lonely rider

For the first time since before he got struck by lightning and died for a few minutes, Buck actually feels well-rested. Yesterday, exhausted by the endless rotation of well-meaning visitors, he’d ducked out of the loft and driven straight to Eddie’s. He was almost surprised that Eddie wasn’t on Maddie’s roster of babysitters, but when Eddie opens the door with that soft smile he so rarely sees, Buck knows that Eddie knew what he needed. He’d shuffled Buck in, left him on the couch to get a few beers, and the next thing Buck knew, he was yawning awake, the light having shifted, and Eddie was in the kitchen. They’d talked, Eddie had tried to pry, Buck had just barely let him, and then he’d yawned so big he cracked his jaw and Eddie changed tacks and herded him to bed. He’d tucked Buck right into his bed, which Buck complained about the whole way, but he’s pretty sure he’d been asleep again before Eddie had even turned out the lights.

He’d woken up this morning to light streaming through an unfamiliar room, disoriented but sated in a way he hadn’t been in eons. His eyes didn’t scream as he opened them far too early, his body didn’t ache as he sat up and got out of bed, his heart didn’t race with the remnants of nightmares coursing through his blood. He meanders out of Eddie’s bedroom, pausing at Christopher’s door, left slightly ajar, peeking through to see the boy splayed out across his bed and snoring. After he uses the bathroom, he heads to the living room, where he finds Eddie sound asleep on the couch, a leg dangling off the side and his face unceremoniously shoved into a throw pillow. It’s one of those woven ones that Buck knows will leave an insane grid on his face when he wakes up, and he laughs to himself. He scoops up Eddie’s blanket where it had landed on the floor and spreads it back over him.

Buck heads into the kitchen and catches sight of the griddle, tucked away above the fridge. It’s been a while since they had a Buckley-Diaz pancake breakfast, he muses. And he actually feels good today, like he can handle spending twenty minutes whipping up something he actually wants to eat. He pulls the griddle down and starts rifling through Eddie’s cabinets, pulling out everything he’ll need to make pancakes. Eddie has a tub of blueberries in the fridge, and he unearths a package of bacon from the deli drawer. Buck fires up the griddle and pulls out his phone to play some music. He’s already connected to the Bluetooth speaker Eddie keeps in the kitchen, so he turns the volume down low and puts on Born to Run. It feels like a Springsteen sort of morning. 

Backstreets is playing as he flips another pancake onto a plate. He’s made a little stack of blueberry pancakes for Christopher and another of chocolate chip for Eddie, and he’s finishing up the blueberry-chocolate-chip ones he makes for himself. The Diazes have very strong and dissenting opinions about what should go in the perfect pancake, but Buck is indiscriminate in his love of pancake additions. The smell of bacon permeates the air, and Christopher appears, floating down the hallway on the scent like a cartoon.

“Buck, you’re here!” he exclaims, dropping into his seat at the table. “And you’re making pancakes!” 

“Sure am, bud,” Buck smiles. “Morning, by the way.”

“Morning, Buck,” he hears, but it’s not Christopher. Eddie is leaning in the doorway, hair mussed and, as Buck predicted, a giant grid on his face from the pillow. One leg of his sweatpants is hiked up to his knee, his t-shirt is askew, and Buck feels his breath literally catch in his throat as he looks at him.

Eddie raises an eyebrow at Buck, frozen in front of the griddle, and Buck shakes himself out of that weird moment and says good morning in return.

“I can’t believe you made all this food, man. Aren’t you tired?” Eddie steps closer, taking over the stove and flipping the bacon.

“Honestly, Eds, for the first time since… well, you know, I actually feel well-rested,” he says, and a pleased smile flits across Eddie’s face.

“Still didn’t have to do all this,” Eddie says quietly.

“Speak for yourself, Dad. I’ve been needing pancakes for ages,” Christopher says. He grabs Buck’s phone and turns up the music a little more. “Buck, do you ever listen to anything but Dad Music?”

“Christopher!” Buck exclaims. He remembers that road trip to the beach, years ago now, where a tinier, adorable Christopher had been thrilled he and Buck had the same favorite Springsteen song. Now he’s sitting here grumbling about Dad Music. Why do kids grow up so fast?

“Chris, you love Bruce Springsteen,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Just because we do too doesn’t mean it’s Dad Music.”

“He’s from like, the 1900s. That makes it definitively Dad Music,” Chris says, and Buck and Eddie both choke on a laugh.

“Not the 1900s,” Buck groans. “Chris, I miss when you were little and thought I was the coolest person ever.”

“You’re basically Dad, Buck,” Chris says back, and even though it’s meant to be a dig at how old and uncool he is, Buck’s heart still kicks in his chest. He’s not Christopher’s dad, he knows he’s not, but sometimes he really feels like it. And sometimes he thinks Chris does, too.

“The kiss of death,” Eddie deadpans. 

“Your dad is pretty cool, so I’ll take it as a compliment,” Buck grins, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s neck and pulling him in.

“Buck,” Chris groans, as Eddie laughs and shoves him away. It’s gentler than it normally would be, and Buck’s heart stutters again. Maybe he needs to mention all this tachycardia to his doctor—it could be a new symptom post-strike. 

Buck turns back toward the griddle and ladles out more batter while Eddie flips the rest of the bacon. Christopher is pulling out glasses and juice as the opening drums of Born to Run trickle through the speaker. Eddie grabs Buck’s phone and turns it up even louder, air drumming with the tongs. Christopher is humming along to the glockenspiel and Buck feels his heart swell up as the music does. He was so close to never having this again—to never having anything at all, but he would’ve missed this the most. Mornings at the Diaz house, the smell of breakfast in the air, Bruce Springsteen on the radio, Eddie and Christopher happy. 

“In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream,” Eddie starts singing, tongs now a microphone. His hair is floppy and his eyes are bright, and he points at Buck as he continues singing. 

Christopher is cackling, and Buck knows a ridiculous smile has washed over his face. Eddie is fully performing now, reaching out to Christopher as he sings. Chris rolls his eyes but can’t stop laughing, and right as the hook comes in, Eddie turns his attention to Buck, holding out his tong microphone. Buck grabs it with no hesitation, singing ‘tramps like us, baby we were born to run,’ and Eddie grins at him. Buck feels his heart skip another beat, fluttering rapidly. 

Eddie holds Buck’s gaze for just a split second longer, eyes crinkly with a smile, before he turns to Christopher and pulls him out of his seat, spinning him around in a slow circle before handing over the tong microphone. Christopher rolls his eyes but he sings along—between Eddie and Buck, he knows all the words. Buck takes a deep, slow breath, letting the moment wash over him.

five // i’m alive and i’m out here on my own, i’m alive and i’m coming home

“What the hell, guys?” Buck whines. “This was supposed to be a 118 family outing.” 

“Buck, I’m sorry, but Karen’s brother needs her out in Arizona. He tore his ACL and his wife is insanely pregnant, they need a hand. Somebody has to watch the kids,” Hen says. 

Buck heaves a sigh. “That’s valid, but I’m sad about it.” 

Hen huffs a laugh and nods. “Fair enough, Buckaroo. I’m sad too—I would’ve loved to go.”

“But you,” he whirls on Chimney. “You don’t even like your family. Why on earth are you canceling on us for your dad?”

“Do you really want me to leave your sister to deal with my awful father on her own?” Chimney asks, lifting a brow at Buck. 

“Don’t bring Maddie into this,” Buck shoots back.

“She doesn’t deserve that!” Chimney retorts. 

“Okay, okay. Buck, it’s fine, we’ll find someone to take their tickets,” Eddie jumps in, physically stepping between Chimney and Buck where they’re arguing in the kitchen. He does that thing he always does, where he forces Buck’s eye contact so he knows Buck is listening. It’s infuriating, mostly because it works.

“Eddie, c’mon, it was supposed to be all of us,” Buck pouts.

“What if we bring Christopher with one of them?” Eddie asks, and Buck lights up. He hadn’t considered that, but Chris would love it, even if he’s too cool to see a concert with his dad and his friends. 

“May is actually coming to town this weekend too. What if she takes the other? She likes Springsteen, she’d enjoy it,” Bobby suggests. 

“Perfect, Cap,” Eddie agrees. 

“I accept. I like Chris and May better anyways,” Buck says, and Chim scoffs. Hen cocks a brow at him, though, and he shrugs.

“I’m literally your brother,” Chim says.

“Exactly,” Buck snipes.  

“It’s settled, then. We’ll bring the kids, it’ll be great,” Bobby interjects. “Now, let’s eat before—” the bell goes off just then, and they all jump into gear, conversation forgotten.

Buck is having the time of his life. He’s not sure how he managed to start this tradition with Bobby of seeing Springsteen every time he comes to town, but now they get to go with Eddie, Chris, and May too, which makes it even better. 

They have better seats than the last time; still balcony, but close to the stage with a perfect view. Buck has Bobby on one side and Chris on the other, and he wonders idly if Bobby had any idea the tickets that first time were a ruse.

“Bobby, you know when we saw Bruce my probie year?” Buck nudges him with an elbow.

“Of course, Buck,” Bobby nods.

“I have a confession,” Buck says, and Bobby raises a brow. “I had hardly listened to Springsteen before that conversation at the firehouse. It was just a familiar name, so I clung because Hen and Chim were making fun of me, and when I googled him later, I found out he was touring and the tickets weren’t too expensive. I bought them and told you I already had them.”

“I know, Buck,” Bobby says.

Buck gapes. “You do?” 

“Well, I knew you bought the tickets that day. You weren’t very slick, kid. I figured you didn’t know him very well, but it was a nice gesture, so I said yes,” Bobby smiles. 

“Why do you always know everything?” Buck sighs. It’s a little embarrassing to think that Bobby saw through him so easily, but it’s nice, too. He saw through him but still went, and for that version of Bobby, it’s kind of a miracle. Buck had always viewed that day as the moment their relationship started to shift into something real. 

“You’re thinking of Athena,” Bobby jokes, and Buck laughs. “I pay attention, kid. And you’ve never been a very good liar.”

“Seconded,” Eddie leans in, poking Buck in the shoulder. 

“Shut up, Diaz,” Buck grumbles. 

“See, I know you don’t want me to,” Eddie teases. He looks content in a way Buck hasn’t seen him look in ages. It’s been a long year—Eddie’s been distant in a way Buck doesn’t know how to handle. After Buck healed up from the lightning strike and started dating Natalia—a short-term disaster of a relationship—Eddie had always been busy with one excuse or another every time Buck wanted to hang out. Buck has been feeling unsettled, on edge, until this moment right now. Bobby on one side, Chris on the other, Eddie smiling at him like he used to. And a musician that Buck has come to associate with his family is about to take the stage.

Buck is still on a high after the show, grinning as they meander slowly through the crowds towards the exit. He can only imagine what it must’ve been like to get to see Springsteen back in the day—he bets it would’ve been incredible, maybe even more than this. He’s done his deep dives, of course, he’s watched live concerts on Youtube, but it’s nothing like the real thing.

“Buck, the band was so cool,” Christopher says seriously, nudging Buck.

“The E Street Band is one of the best parts of a Springsteen show, kid,” Buck agrees. “Did you know they’re named after the street in New Jersey where their original keyboardist lived? His mom used to let them practice in the garage, so they named it after their roots.”

“Original? It’s not all the same people?” Christopher asks. 

“There’s been like, a billion members. A lot of the guys up there are the originals, but they’ve had a lot of people hop in here and there to help out. Common for a touring band,” Buck explains. 

“What was the song where he introduced them all?” Chris asks. They’re slowly inching their way towards the doors to the parking lot, Eddie in front clearing a path. Bobby and May are behind him, leaving Buck and Christopher to pull up the rear. He can hear Bobby talking about the band with May, hears her ask how many of them he’d seen back in the 80s at his first concert, and he feels struck by the parallel of their conversation to the one he’s having with Christopher. “Buck?”

Buck startles and looks down—though not as far down as he used to have to look—at Christopher. “Sorry, Superman,” he says, and Chris rolls his eyes.

“Buck, I’m too grown for that now,” he grumbles.

“I know, I know. Let me live, will ya? I’m feeling sentimental,” Buck grins, and Christopher rolls his eyes again, but Buck can see a smile creeping out. “The song was Ghosts, anyways. He always introduces the band during that song nowadays.”

“I liked it. Is it old?” Chris says, narrowly avoiding a woman pulling her husband through the crowd. Buck steps a little closer to Christopher, watches Bobby do the same thing with May as the lady shoves past them too. 

“Pretty new, actually. He still releases new albums,” Buck says, leaning in.

“I was surprised he was still alive,” Chris says, and Buck can’t help but laugh. He loves this kid. Eddie glances back to make sure they’re still with him, and Buck catches his eye mid-laugh, Christopher giggling alongside him, and Eddie gets that soft, warm smile that Buck only ever sees when he and Chris are being a little ridiculous together. It makes his heart squeeze and his stomach flip over, and he can’t stop thinking about Bobby and May right in front of them. The way Bobby talks to May, looks out for her, takes care of her… it feels just like what he does for Christopher. It’s almost like he’s a stepparent, too, but that would mean… well. It’d be ridiculous, but he aches for it just a little all the same. Not, like, the Eddie of it all, but the Christopher. Buck has always wanted to be a dad. He thinks about the baby existing out there in the world somewhere now, with his DNA but who doesn’t know him at all, and he looks at this curly haired kid next to him, with none of his DNA but that he knows better than almost anyone, and he thinks he’s a lot closer to being a dad than he’d ever realized before.

Not that he can ever say any of this out loud to anyone. Maddie already teases him about Eddie, even though it isn’t like that at all—he’s Eddie’s partner, his teammate, and that extends to life too. That’s what best friends are for, it takes a village and all that. Buck likes (needs) to be useful, and he loves kids, so it makes sense that he helps out his single-dad best friend as much as he does. It makes sense to Buck that he feels paternal about Christopher, but he knows he’d get side-eyed if he said that to any of his friends. He thinks Eddie would probably understand, but Buck has always been conscious of overstepping his boundaries with the Diazes, anyways.

“Alright there, bud?” Eddie asks, elbowing Buck and pulling him out of his head. He’d held the door for their little group to get them outside, and then fallen into step right beside Buck without him noticing. 

“He’s sentimental, Dad,” Christopher explains, sounding like all thirteen of his years, and it makes Buck feel it even more. He’s been around for half his life, ever since this kid used to think he was the coolest person in the world.

“Springsteen has always reminded Buck of family,” Eddie nods, knocking his shoulder into Buck as they walk. Buck turns to lift a brow at Eddie—he knows he’s probably been obvious, but he’s never said it out loud like that before. 

“Good thing you brought me, then,” Christopher says, eyes bright. 

Buck chokes a little bit, eyes watery. “Good thing for sure,” he agrees.

six // i’m gonna sit back right easy and laugh when scooter and the big man bust this city in half

“Would you please shut the computer and come to bed?” Tommy asks, grumbling as he rolls over again. It’s dark in Buck’s loft beyond the glow of his computer screen. When Buck looks at the time, he realizes it’s almost 3am. No wonder Tommy’s grumpy that he’s still flooding the room with blue light. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve just been down a rabbit hole again. Did you know about Bruce Springsteen and Clarence Clemons?” Buck asks, turning the screen towards his boyfriend. 

Tommy squints and sighs, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “Evan,” he says, voice tight.

“Sorry, not the time,” Buck agrees. He feels his face flush red with embarrassment, so he closes the computer and sets it on his nightstand before rolling over to kiss Tommy goodnight.

“Thank you,” Tommy says, brushing his lips against Buck’s in a dry peck before rolling over and yanking up the covers. He tugs them off Buck just a little, which always drives him crazy because he sleeps cold, but he burrows in, trying to get comfortable without disturbing Tommy any further. 

When he wakes up, his toes are frozen and Tommy is lying flat on his back, snoring loudly. Sunlight is trickling through his blinds, and he pulls himself out of bed and pads downstairs to make breakfast. His slippers, these giant, fluffy monstrosities that Christopher picked out for him four years ago—”your feet are always cold, Buck!”—start to warm up his toes as he pulls out some eggs and the variety of half-used vegetables he’s got in his fridge. Maybe he can make a veggie scramble, and he’s got enough kale to throw in a couple smoothies, too. 

Before he really gets going, he turns on Youtube on his TV, volume low enough that he can hear it in the kitchen but not disrupt Tommy sleeping. He searches ‘bruce springsteen and clarence clemons’ and clicks on a live performance of Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out. It’s twenty minutes long, so it should be plenty to keep him entertained while he cooks. 

The band has just drifted into a cover of Take Me to the River halfway through the song when Tommy stumbles downstairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He sidles up behind Buck and wraps his arms around him where he’s chopping up vegetables at the counter. 

“Morning,” Tommy says quietly, pressing his head into Buck’s neck. Dating a man is wild—Buck has never felt so small before. 

“Good morning,” Buck grins, setting down the knife to turn around and greet his boyfriend properly. 

“I told you last night I wouldn’t be able to stay for breakfast, Evan,” Tommy says after a too-brief kiss. 

Buck tries not to slump over in disappointment too much, but Tommy clearly sees it anyways. “I was just going to whip up something quick,” he says, gesturing to the eggs. “Ten minutes, tops.”

“I promised Johnson we’d meet for Muay Thai before my shift today,” Tommy counters. He’s already stepping back from Buck, reaching for his shoes by the door.

“Course,” Buck says, following him towards the door. “We’re still on for Thursday, though, right? Dinner?” 

“Yeah, yeah, see you then,” Tommy waves a hand as he pulls his hoodie on. “Bye, babe,” he pecks Buck again and is out the door. Bruce is introducing the band on Buck’s TV, and he’s pointing to Roy Bittan, growling out ‘you need a man’ as he points. Buck stares at the door to his apartment and slumps back. He thought he had one, but it’s feeling less and less true. 

Thirty minutes later, his omelet is devoured, smoothie mostly gone, and Buck has propped his feet up on the coffee table, laptop open, Springsteen videos autoplaying on his TV. He’s back to his Springsteen and Clemons rabbit hole that Tommy had interrupted last night. For all Buck has learned about Bruce Springsteen over the years, it wasn’t until he found himself on queer history research spirals since coming out that he realized how… not straight the vibes are, even though the man in question is straight. Springsteen has been flouting heteronormativity since the 70s, and Buck had no idea until he himself realized he was bisexual. 

Since this era of self-discovery began, Buck has thrown himself into learning about the queer community. First to figure out exactly what he was, and then because he wanted to know more. He’s been listening to a lot of Chappell Roan—much to Tommy’s chagrin, though Buck doesn’t understand why—and just last night, he scrolled past a Tiktok talking about Bruce Springsteen and Clarence Clemons. He’d seen the saxophonist in a number of videos, he’d watched the interviews with Springsteen after Clemons died talking about their love for each other, but he hadn’t realized just how brave it was, especially when it began.

Before he’d started at the 118, Buck had by and large avoided media from before he was born. Unless it was something Maddie had introduced him to, he didn’t really have a lot of access to anything as a kid. He had nothing but basic cable growing up, so all he watched was shows on PBS and the nightly news. He listened to the music his friends liked at school, but there weren’t really adults to actually show him anything from their time in his life, so he mostly ignored anything old.

But between Bobby, Hen, and Chim—and eventually Eddie and his ancient, old-man tastes—Buck had been well and thoroughly educated in the media of the late 20th century. It’s turned him into a bit of a trivia junkie. He loves learning about new things, and Wikipedia is his most-visited website by a mile. A Substack article he finds takes him to an academic paper in JSTOR, which he needs to use his Los Angeles Public Library login for, and he spends his entire morning off reading about queer interpretations of Springsteen lyrics and feeling eerily connected to the way the man talks about Clarence Clemons.

“Evan, can we just enjoy the evening and stop talking about a straight man?” Tommy sighs, meeting Buck’s eyes over the table. They’re out at dinner—one that they rescheduled twice and that Tommy was then late for—and Buck has been rambling about his Springsteen discoveries for twenty minutes.

“Sorry, I mean, I just,” Buck starts. He can feel his face reddening a little, like it always does when Tommy chastises him. “I know he’s straight, but there’s just something so compelling about the way he treats masculinity. It’s inspiring.”

“It’s queer-baiting,” Tommy corrects.

“I don’t think real people can queerbait,” Buck objects, eyebrow raised.

“You realized you were gay a couple months ago, Evan. You don’t know everything,” Tommy says, and Buck feels himself prickle.

“You know I’m bisexual,” he says. “And I’ve been learning a lot. I already knew a good amount, too. It’s not like I didn’t know gay people existed before I came out.”

“Whatever. I just don’t want to spend so much time talking about some boring old straight man,” Tommy says, taking a sip of Buck’s beer. He hadn’t ordered his own, citing work in the morning, but he’s drank about half of Buck’s already. 

Buck considers his options. This is important to him, but it’s also important that they have a nice night. They’d already barely spent any time together in the last week and a half because of their shifts, and he doesn’t want to ruin the night by continuing to talk about something Tommy is uninterested in.

“Sure, of course,” Buck agrees. “Well, I had something I wanted to ask you anyways. Are you busy two Fridays from now?”

“Let me check,” Tommy pulls out his phone and opens his calendar. “Sure, why?” 

“I got tickets to a Chappell Roan pop-up show at the Forum, and I wanted you to come with me if you’re free,” Buck smiles, faltering when Tommy groans.

“She’s so annoying, Buck. I can’t believe you like that pop garbage,” Tommy says. “That concert will be filled with teenage girls, too. We’d be so out of place.”

“I just thought it’d be fun. Celebrate the end of Pride month and all,” Buck tries. 

“I’ll have to pass, babe. There’s just no way,” Tommy says. 

This date is going so poorly. Buck is half convinced Tommy will leave him on the street again, like that first time they tried to go out. It’s just—Buck doesn’t always know what to do with Tommy. He’s not very romantic, and most of their dates have consisted of grabbing dinner when their shifts overlap. Tommy had brought him to an Angels game one time, which was okay, but Buck wants to embrace his newfound queerness a bit more, and Tommy’s already done that. He doesn’t want to go to the clubs in WeHo with Buck—”I did that a decade ago, I don’t need to go back,”—or to drag brunch at the restaurant near Buck’s loft on Sundays—”Drag just doesn’t interest me, babe.” He hadn’t even wanted to go to the LA Pride parade with Buck, who’d wound up going with Hen and Karen and having the time of his life. 

He wants to make this work—he likes Tommy, genuinely. He’s funny in a dry, sarcastic way, and he’s so handsome and strong. And he gets Buck’s life in a way none of his exes ever did. So what if he thinks Buck is a little childish sometimes? They don’t have to share all the same interests. It would be nice if they shared a little more, but it’s fine.

May loves Chappell Roan—maybe he’ll text her and see if she wants to come. They’ve been hanging out regularly since her stint at dispatch, and he feels a little like an older brother in a way that’s unfamiliar but not at all unwelcome. She’d have more fun at a Chappell Roan concert than Tommy would, that’s for sure. 

He just wishes Tommy saw him a little more, is all. He can’t help but think back to his conversation earlier with Eddie, sprawled out on the roof of the firehouse in the morning sun after a two-hour callout for a multi-car accident. He’d been telling Eddie what he’d learned about all the different interpretations of Springsteen, and how he’s sort of a butch icon, it seems like. And he talks about his friendship with Clarence Clemons, too. There was a quote from an article Buck had found where Springsteen had called him “elemental” in his life, and all Buck could think about was Eddie.

There’s a chance this relationship he’s in right now won’t work out—he doesn’t have the best track record, after all. But he thinks he’d be okay if the big love story of his life was platonic, if it was Eddie the way it seemed to have been Clarence for Bruce and vice versa. They’d both been married and divorced multiple times, nothing ever sticking the way they stuck to each other. He can relate to that, and when he’d told Eddie, his best friend had agreed.

seven // i get shivers down my spine and all i wanna do is hold you tight 

“I think I might be cursed,” Eddie sighs from Buck’s speaker. Buck is in Eddie’s—Buck’s—kitchen, making snickerdoodles for his next shift.

“Who are you and what have you done with Eddie Diaz?” Buck accuses, pointing a rubber spatula at the screen.

“This house is a disaster, man,” Eddie says. He’s sitting on the floor of the house in El Paso, and he turns the camera around to show Buck the newest disaster—a hole in the living room. An actual hole, right there in the middle of the hardwood, the top of Eddie’s favorite armchair just barely visible inside.

“It’s so bad it has you believing in curses?” Buck says, eyebrow raised. 

“The floor is my final straw,” Eddie says, collapsing. The camera goes wild for a moment, a blur of Eddie Diaz, and then he’s splayed out, hair a disaster, sweaty from the broken AC, and Buck’s thoughts take a sharp left for just a second. He’s a man—a bisexual man—with eyes and his best friend is pretty, sue him.

“This floor would never have done that to you,” Buck agrees, gesturing around Eddie’s kitchen. No, Buck’s kitchen. It’s been two weeks and it hasn’t gotten any easier to remember.

“Yet another reason LA is better than Texas,” Eddie grumbles. His eyes drift shut, and Buck can see his mind racing through the screen.

“Have you gotten through to Christopher yet?” Buck changes the subject.

“Things were on the up and up, but now I’m lying about this job and I feel awful,” Eddie tells him.

“Eddie,” Buck starts, and Eddie tsks and brushes him off.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck, but the only thing he seemed interested in at all was me being a firefighter. It seems like the only thing I can still bring to the table.” 

“You’re such an idiot sometimes,” Buck sighs. 

“Really feeling the love, Buckley,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. 

Buck feels heat creep up the back of his neck. “I just think it’s counterintuitive—you went there to rebuild the trust between you. This won’t help, man.” 

“It’s just for a little while. I’ll figure it out,” Eddie says, almost sharply. 

“Course,” Buck agrees. He doesn’t want to overstep; he hardly ever knows where that line is with Eddie until he’s already crossed it. 

“I’ve gotta deal with this, Buck. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Eddie says, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, good luck, Eds,” Buck says, and the call ends. Buck collapses into a chair at the kitchen table and drops his head into his hands. This might actually kill him. 

It’s been two weeks since Eddie left, and a little less than that since Tommy had stood right here in this kitchen and accused Eddie of being the competition, and of Buck being in love with his straight best friend. A little less since Maddie had said ‘it wouldn’t be so crazy’ when Buck had told her about it. But it would be crazy—Eddie is straight, and he’s in Texas, and he’s not coming back. And he’s Buck’s best friend. All of that adds up to not someone Buck could fall in love with. 

He scrubs at his face and sighs. Nothing will come of him turning this over and over in his head. Eddie isn’t an option, and Buck isn’t in love with him. End of story. 

Buck picks his phone back up and opens Spotify, his phone automatically connecting to the Bluetooth speaker. The River is at the top of his recently played, and he starts it again at the beginning. He’s been listening to this album more than anything lately; it always makes him think of Eddie, and it’s been weird and terrible since he’s been gone. When he listens to Eddie’s favorite Springsteen song, it feels a little less like he’s 800 miles away. 

He gets the cookies into the oven and scoops up the speaker to meander into the living room. He drops down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. It’s so weird, having his furniture in Eddie’s house. It’s all familiar, but in the wrong combination. He tips his head back and shuts his eyes, letting the music wash over him. Everybody needs a place to rest, everybody wants to have a home. Don’t make no difference what nobody says, ain’t nobody like to be alone. Everybody’s got a hungry heart…

Buck’s eyes well up just a little bit. He hasn’t felt as lonely as he has these last few weeks since he sued the department all those years ago. He’s always had a hungry heart, always wants more than what he’s given. He’s given a best friend, his kid, a captain, but he wants a partner, his kid, a father. He’s greedy, he never knows when to stop, and now he’s sitting here on his couch in his best friend’s house, crying to a Bruce Springsteen song.

He knew it would hurt. There was a reason Buck was acting like such a dick before Eddie left—easier to act out than to actually talk about his feelings. But he didn’t think it would hurt like this, like a piece of his soul has leapt out of his body and chased Eddie down the highway. But it’s classic Buck, isn’t it? He falls fast and hard, slotting people into places in his life before they’ve even realized, and when it’s ripped away, it hurts.

He sits in his feelings for a while, letting the tears slide down his face. He doesn’t move until the timer goes off and he has to get up to pull the cookies out of the oven.

It’s wrong to be baking in Eddie’s kitchen like this, too. This is where it feels the least changed—most of Eddie’s kitchen appliances and all were actually Buck’s. His best friend had a number of wonderful qualities, but none of them showed up in the kitchen. Buck would cook at Eddie’s all the time, preferring the cozy kitchen at South Bedford Street to the galley kitchen he’d had in the loft. So most of his kitchen tools had made their way here long before Buck moved, and most of them stayed when Eddie moved out. The sharp cut of the Diaz boys’ absence stings harder here because of it. It’s easier for Buck to delude himself into thinking he’ll turn around and Eddie will be sitting at the table, waiting to snatch a cookie off the tray as soon as they come out of the oven and burning his mouth. That he can go to the doorway and call for Christopher to get off his Switch and come sit down for dinner. 

But he pulls the tray out of the oven and sets it on the stove, and there’s no hands to slap away. He turns the oven off and walks back to the living room, and there’s no clicking of crutches coming down the hallway, no Christopher asking if he can’t have just one cookie before dinner.

The River has already played when Buck sits back down, and he’s privately grateful for it. That song always transports him back to that beach day, when everything was golden and simple and Buck realized he’d made an actual, genuine friend—maybe even a best friend. 

But Bruce is singing now rooms that once were so bright are filled with the coming night, and he’s heartbroken, okay? It’s normal to feel like that when your best friend has to move away. He remembers when Maddie was a sophomore in high school, her best friend’s dad got a job in Chicago and they had to move in the middle of the school year. Maddie was inconsolable for a week, drawn and quiet for weeks after. Eddie is his Clarence—if Bruce and Clarence had been split up in the 80s, they would’ve been upset too, the way Buck is now. 

He looks up at the mantle, where Maddie had helped him put up a bunch of photos. There’s one of the two of them at Maddie’s wedding, grinning and a little disheveled, holding pieces of cake. There’s Buck and Jee from a year or two ago, both wearing tiaras at a tea party. Buck, Eddie, and Christopher from a trip to the zoo when Christopher was young enough to think the zoo was cool. Buck and Bobby, Buck slouched and wrapped around Bobby, who’s hugging him back just as tightly with a small smile on his face. The whole crew at Hen and Karen’s vow renewal. Buck with Bobby and Athena and the kids at May’s birthday party a year ago, looking like a family. And Buck and Eddie, arms around each other at Eddie’s goodbye dinner, Buck’s eyes betraying his every feeling in that moment. He can tell just by looking at his own face. 

Fuck, it’s not nothing, is it? And not in the way Eddie had said that a few weeks ago. I get shivers down my spine, and all I wanna do is hold you tight, Bruce sings, and Buck blinks. Maddie’s in his head, asking “Are you? In love with Eddie?” and Buck thinks the answer might be yes.

No, he knows the answer is yes, he can feel it in his bones. He’d drive all night to see Eddie for five minutes. Nothing about the way he’s crashed out, the way he’s moped, the hole in his heart are platonic, but what the fuck is he supposed to do with this now? He’s a cliche, oh god. He’s in love with his straight best friend like some big bisexual cliche. How is he supposed to get over this? How is he supposed to act normal when Eddie calls him later? Because he will, because they’re attached at the hip and to Eddie that’s friendship but to Buck, that’s love and adoration and obsession. Shit. 

He’s pacing now, anxiety coursing through his veins. Maybe it’s a good thing Eddie is so far away. It’ll be easier to pretend to be normal on the phone, and if Eddie ever comes back to LA, maybe by then Buck will have been able to get his feelings under lock and key. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get over this, but he’s had a lot of practice in not getting what he wants because he wants too much. And he knows this is too much.

God, he’d moved into Eddie’s house like some sort of lovesick idiot. He’d rolled his eyes at Tommy’s scoff in this house just a handful of days ago, and now he’s wondering how his ex that never even called him by his preferred name clocked him so perfectly.

He has to lock this away. He’ll allow himself today to wallow—there’s a hole in Eddie’s floor, it’s more unlikely than usual that he’ll hear from him the rest of the day. Tomorrow, Buck will wake up and he’ll try to get over him. Maybe he’ll stop listening to The River so much. He’s such a cliche, fuck. 

eight // well, i believe in the love you gave me, i believe in the faith that could save me

The last few days have been some of the worst of Buck’s life. And he has a lot of greatest hits to choose from.

His entire body hurts. He has broken ribs from the car accident, and the doctors told him he’d been bleeding internally since then—he’s lucky it wasn’t too bad, or he would’ve died locked up in that horrible house. They’d done emergency surgery, but it’d been quick, easy, and Buck had been discharged from the hospital the next day. 

He still feels like shit. The burns from the cattle prod are still sore to the touch, and he can’t lift his arms above his head. His bad leg has been acting up since he was tied to that post, and he’s pretty sure his feat to save Eddie’s life worsened his concussion.

Eddie isn’t fairing much better himself. His arm isn’t in a sling anymore, like it apparently was after the accident, but Buck can tell he’s favoring it. His face is covered in cuts and bruises, and he carries himself like his entire body aches the way Buck’s does. 

“Ready to go home, bud?” Eddie says, hands on the roof of the… car. Car feels like a generous word. 

“Are you sure this thing will get us there?” Buck asks, raising an eyebrow. It’s a hunk of junk, and it’s so small his head hits the ceiling when he gets into the passenger seat. 

Eddie climbs in beside him. Their shoulders almost bump, and Buck attempts to readjust to give Eddie more space. There’s nowhere to go, though, because this car is the size of a go-kart. “We just have to make it to Flagstaff. Athena got us a rental car already.”

“We’ll be lucky if this thing makes it across the state line,” Buck grimaces. 

“I mean, our breaks every ninety minutes are as much for the car as they are for us,” Eddie jokes as he shifts the car into drive. It makes an insane noise as they sputter out of the parking lot. 

“I’m sharing your location with everyone we know,” Buck grabs Eddie’s phone and opens up Find My Friends.

“Beat ya to the punch, Buck,” Eddie says. Athena Grant can see your location. Maddie Han can see your location. Chimney (Work) can see your location. Hen Wilson can see your location. Karen Wilson can see your location. Ravi (Work) can see your location. Christopher can see your location. Pepa can see your location. Adriana can see your location. Sofia can see your location. 

“You’ve really got us covered,” Buck says. Only Christopher, Adriana, and Sofia have their locations turned on for Eddie, and he zooms in on Chris, who’s at the Wilson house, safe and sound. He can see his own name, location last updated two days ago. His phone hadn’t survived the accident, apparently. Maddie assured him she was already on it, but they were dependent fully on Eddie’s to make it home, and this car didn’t have anywhere to plug in a charger, so they’d already agreed it would only be used for GPS. Buck switches back to Google Maps and drops the phone in the cupholder, angled so that Eddie can sort of see the map.

“Trying to not take any more chances,” Eddie says. He flicks the blinker on and it flashes in double time, feeling like Buck’s heart. His pulse has been jackrabbiting ever since he woke up in Derek’s room, and his body clearly can’t catch the message that he’s finally safe.

“Why do you have Chim in your phone as Chimney (Work) still?” Buck asks as they pull onto the highway. The car emits a high-pitched whine, and they both glance at each other and start laughing. 

“I dunno, just never thought to change it, I guess,” Eddie says.

“How many Chimneys do you know, though? Why’d he need the descriptor in the first place?” Buck asks, still giggling.

“Fair point,” Eddie shrugs, smile playing on his face. 

They chat as Eddie drives, that horrible town fading in the distance behind them. Desert rumbles by, and they talk like the last few days didn’t happen, like everything is normal and Buck hadn’t just been kidnapped by a psycho lady who thought he was her not-dead son, and Eddie hadn’t almost shot her in an attempt to save Buck.

Eventually, the two of them drift into an easy silence. Eddie seems okay, though he’s gripping the wheel a little tighter than he normally would. Buck’s mind starts racing, though. He doesn’t really remember the accident, just waking up and wondering where the hell he was, and where Eddie was, and was Eddie okay? 

It’s been a weird year and change since Buck realized he was in love with Eddie. When Eddie moved back, Buck scrambled to get out of the house on South Bedford as quickly as he could—the Diazes deserved it back, and Buck knew he’d fall into domestic bliss (agony) if he allowed himself to stay without a plan. Eddie is kind of bitchy about Buck’s house, but he’s come around, and Buck almost doesn’t mind it because he loves bitchy Eddie—it’s so fucking endearing. Christopher loves the hot tub, and Buck manages to get Eddie to come over with the promise of food, because Eddie is nothing if not predictable. They’re still best friends, and Buck has done a good job, he thinks, of shoving his feelings down as deep as they can go. His mind is that one hoarder’s house they’d gotten called to, with the two elderly brothers, and he’s taken the box labeled ‘in love with Eddie’ and shoved it under piles and piles of old newspapers and t-shirts and baseball cards until he can’t see it at all. It’s right next to the box labeled ‘Bobby’s dead,’ but that one’s been unearthed a little bit, corner showing and flap open wide, feelings spilling out.

The point is, though, Buck’s done a good job of being normal. Eddie and Chris are back, Buck has his own place, he spends time with people who aren’t Eddie… he’s been so normal. Besides that time a couple weeks ago he’d sort of accidentally called Eddie sexy. And when he’d freaked out about Eddie’s mystery bidder just to find out it was his own sister. But besides that, Buck is so normal it’s weird. 

It’s just… he’d shocked that guy, and then the police had shown up, and the next thing he knew, Eddie was on his knees, cradling Buck’s head and looking down at him like Buck was the best thing he’d ever seen. His voice was as soft as his eyes, and he’d checked Buck’s pulse and helped them lift him into the ambulance and he hadn’t let go of Buck’s hand until they wheeled him into surgery, and it’s making him feel a little crazy. Like maybe someone kicked aside some newspapers up there in his head and he can see part of the Eddie box. 

Buck looks over at Eddie, who’s golden in the morning light. His hair is ungelled and floppy like Buck hasn’t seen it in ages, and he looks terrible, like he lost a fight—which Eddie never does—but he looks beautiful, too. Like a sight Buck wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. 

Eddie glances over at him after a while. Buck has been staring too long, and he averts his gaze, feeling a flush creep up his neck. “You okay there, bud?” Eddie asks gently, so fucking gently it makes Buck want to cry a little. 

“Yeah, just… I’m glad we’re here,” Buck says quietly. 

“Me too,” Eddie breathes, reaching over and patting Buck’s thigh. His hand lingers for just a second longer than Buck expects, and his breath hitches a little.

“I wonder if I can get the radio to work in this piece of crap,” Buck says abruptly, changing the subject. He’ll lose his mind if he has to sit here alone with his thoughts, or with Eddie looking at him like that.

He reaches over to fiddle with the dials, but all they pick up is static. There’s a tape in the cassette player, though, and he switches the settings until music starts drifting out over the speakers, and Buck freezes in his seat.

He hasn’t listened to Bruce Springsteen in almost a year. It’s been ruined, irrevocably tainted, without Bobby. He’d had to block him on Spotify after his suggested playlists wouldn’t stop adding Springsteen songs, because Buck would start crying every single time he heard one. 

Badlands is playing. He hadn’t even tried to look at the tape, but now he wishes he had, because he wouldn’t have played it if he’d known Darkness on the Edge of Town was in there. Bruce starts singing, lights out tonight, trouble in the heartland, got a head-on collision smashing in my guts, and Buck is hyperventilating. Memories flood him suddenly, and he sees bright lights coming up from behind them, he sees Eddie’s terrified face, he sees Bobby telling him “I love you, kid.” He thinks he might be crying.

“Buck? Buck?!” Eddie is saying beside him, but it sounds like he’s underwater. The radio gets turned down and the car stops moving, he thinks, and Eddie’s hands are on him. “Buck, look at me,” Eddie says, hands on Buck’s cheeks. He swipes at the tears pooling in Buck’s eyes and drags his face up to meet his own.

“I—” Buck starts, but he still can’t breathe properly.

“It’s okay, Buck, deep breaths,” Eddie says. He picks up one of Buck’s hands and places it on his chest, over his heart. “Just like I’m doing, okay? Feel that?” 

“Mmm,” Buck mumbles, but he tries. He focuses all his attention on the sensation under his palm, Eddie’s slow, exaggerated breaths, and he can feel himself slowly returning to his body. 

“Here,” Eddie’s shoving a water bottle at him as soon as Buck drops his hand and opens his eyes. “Drink up, Buckley.” 

“I’m okay, Eds,” Buck protests, but he takes the water anyways. 

“Your favorite artist started playing on the radio and you had a panic attack. Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Eddie says dryly, but Buck can hear the worry lacing his tone.

“He’s not my favorite any more,” Buck says quietly.

He isn’t looking at Eddie, but he can feel his brow furrow. “What do you mean?” 

“Haven’t listened since Bobby died. It was too hard,” Buck says. 

“Oh, Buck,” Eddie breathes. It stings a little, the sweetness of the pity in Eddie’s voice. His hands find Buck’s face again, thumbs brushing away the tears. That stings, too. Eddie has never touched Buck’s face as much as he has in the last couple days, and even through all the trauma, it’s letting his imagination run wild. He feels loved, cared for, in a way he’s never felt before when Eddie cups his cheek.

“It’s fine, Eddie,” Buck says, but his voice comes out wobbly and thin.

“Jesus Christ, you have to stop saying that to me,” Eddie groans, hands dropping. Buck misses the touch like his own limb immediately.

“What?” Buck asks, shifting in his seat to turn towards Eddie.

“That you’re fine. You’ve been saying that for a year, Buck, and I know it’s not true,” Eddie says, agitated. 

Buck bites his lip. He really doesn’t have the energy for another argument with Eddie. Since Bobby died, it feels like that’s all they do. And it’s not the fun BuckandEddie bickering that the whole firehouse is used to; it’s sharp, barbs meant to hurt. “I’m trying to not make everything about me. I mean, we all lost our captain. Athena lost her husband, May and Harry lost their dad.” 

“You did too, Buck,” Eddie says quietly. 

“It’s not the same,” Buck dismisses, waving Eddie’s comment away. “He helped raise May and Harry with Athena and Michael. He’s literally their stepdad. I’m just a punk kid he took under his wing at work.” 

He puts his feet up on the dash and tucks his head between his knees. He knows better than to do that while they’re driving—the 118 has been called to enough motor vehicle crashes—but they aren’t moving and he needs somewhere to hide in this too-small car. His ribs and his leg scream, but the screaming in his head quiets when he tucks it away, so he’ll take the trade-off.

“You know it’s more than that. You’re doing a disservice to yourself and to Bobby by pretending otherwise,” Eddie counters, and Buck bristles.

“I can’t ask for that much, Eddie. We never called it what it maybe was, and I can’t ask for more. Bobby was my friend, and my mentor, and I thought of him like a dad, but it’s not allowed. Just like—” he manages to cut himself off before he keeps speaking, but he can see Eddie connecting the dots anyways.

“Buck,” he says again, and there’s emotion in Eddie’s voice that Buck can’t parse. 

“It’s fine,” Buck dismisses, and this time Eddie’s the one to bristle. He scoffs and puffs up, face turning red.

“God, Buck, won’t you just fucking talk to me?” Eddie blurts. It’s loud, and emotional, and when Buck turns to look at him, really look at him, he can see tears swimming in Eddie’s eyes. “I mean, we just went through hell, man. I thought you were dead, and Bobby did die, and you’re still sitting here telling me you’re fine, and I swear to god it might kill me, Buck.” 

“The last time I tried to talk to you about what was wrong you called it another act in the trials and tribulations of Evan Buckley,” Buck snarks. He doesn’t mean to, but it spills out of him, another barb that catches in Eddie’s skin and sticks. He’s so exhausted, and if Eddie keeps pushing it’s all going to spill out. 

“I didn’t mean it, Buck,” Eddie says. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and he reaches up to scrub it away angrily. “I was hurting, and I wanted you to hurt.”

“Mission fucking accomplished,” Buck grumbles. 

“You’ve been boxing me out for eons, man. Since before I left for Texas. I’m sorry I left, Buck, I didn’t want to leave,” Eddie says, words spilling out faster and faster. Buck can almost hear an implicit you at the end of his sentence. “But I’m back, and you moved out so fast, and you won’t tell me things, and I know it’s my fault and I fucked it all up but you now almost died again, Buck, and you won’t tell me what’s wrong and I don’t know how to fix it and I thought I got you killed—” 

He breaks off with a sob, and Buck feels all the anger flood out of his body. He reaches out, ribs screaming again, and pulls Eddie into a hug. He can feel Eddie wince as he wraps his arms around Buck. He’s careful to tuck his head into Eddie’s less-injured shoulder, feeling his pulse race against Buck’s cheek. Tears are dripping down onto his shirt where Eddie’s pressed his face in. 

“You saved me, Eds. It wasn’t your fault. None of it is your fault. I was overwhelmed by my own feelings and I pushed you away. I pushed everyone away,” Buck murmurs. 

“No, you don’t get it. I thought those dickwads from the diner were the ones that took you. I thought it was because of me, because I was mad at you for getting us lost and we were yelling at each other and then I was yelling at them, and I thought they took you because of me. I thought I’d gotten you killed, Buck,” Eddie spills. He’s still holding onto Buck, and he can feel his breath on his neck as he speaks. 

“Shit, no, Eds, that’s not what happened, okay? It’s not your fault. It wouldn’t have been anyways,” Buck tells him. His fingers rest on Eddie’s neck, and he itches to twist them into Eddie’s hair, a soothing caress, but he holds back.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Eddie says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper.

“I’m sorry too,” Buck replies. “Can we call a truce? Blank slate for all our arguments, forgive each other and go back to the way things were?” 

“Please,” Eddie agrees, finally pulling back. He scrubs at his face quickly, in an attempt to hide his tears, but his eyes are red-rimmed and blurry still. 

“I forgive you for being a dick,” Buck says, a smile on his face. He tries to keep his tone lighthearted, remind Eddie that it’s a little bit of a joke, but it lands a little harder than he means. 

“I forgive you for icing me out,” Eddie returns. He scrubs at his face one more time and then reaches out to grab Buck by the shoulder. He chases Buck’s eyeline in that way he always does, that makes Buck feel absolutely flayed open by the time their eyes meet. He’s looking up at Buck through his long, perfect lashes, big brown eyes sad and sweet. “Please just talk to me, okay? I always want to know what’s going on with you. You don’t have to go it alone.” 

“I’ll try,” Buck says, feeling his own eyes water. He tilts his forehead until it’s resting against Eddie’s, and they’re both breathing deeply, in sync.

God, Buck wants to kiss him. He can feel Eddie’s breaths puff across his cheek, and his hand has scooched up so it’s cupping the back of Buck’s neck. He swears he feels Eddie’s head tilt up just a tiny bit when a huge truck tears past them, shaking the whole car and sending them springing apart.

“Shit, that scared me,” Eddie says, pressing a hand to his chest. Buck looks up at him as Eddie resets—he can literally see him reboot, like he’s a fucking computer. The emotion that had been splayed across his face that Buck still can’t figure out disappears, and no-nonsense Eddie resurges. “Are you okay to hit the road again?”

He looks at Buck, and Buck can see Eddie’s emotions bubble back up for just a second. He has this look in his eyes that makes Buck feel crazy, but there’s no part of Buck’s concussed, exhausted brain that can even hope to figure out what it means. It disappears as quickly as it arose. 

“Sure, can we listen to that tape, maybe?” Buck says.

“Are you sure?” Eddie cocks a brow at him. It’s a fair question, considering it just gave Buck a panic attack.

“Bobby sent us to Nashville. It feels right to listen, now that I’m expecting it,” Buck tells him. Eddie nods at that, and before he pulls back onto the road, he turns the volume back up and presses play. Badlands starts up again, thankfully past the too-appropriate first verse, and he lets the tears slide down his face as Eddie begins to drive them through the desert, west towards home. 

plus one - the road is dark and it’s a thin, thin line, but i want you to know i’ll walk it for you any time

Buck is finally, truly starting to feel like himself again.The last few months have been a marathon, leaving him drained and flayed open, but for the last few weeks sleep has actually been restful and he’s started to stitch up the open wounds he’s let fester for far too long.

Withdrawal was brutal, worse than any recovery he’d ever been though. For days he was at his worst in front of his entire family—nauseous, feverish, uncomfortable. Beyond the physical shittiness, though, the most uncomfortable part was that they all knew. Sure, Buck knew logically that it wasn’t weakness, that he wasn’t a bad person for needing help, for getting hooked, but his instincts were screaming at him to shape up, to stop letting everyone see that something was wrong. 

But there’s a larger part of his mind that’s just gone quiet since that day he walked up to Chimney at the firehouse and told him about the fentanyl. That, in handing over his worst secret had just… settled. It was done, he’d told someone, and whatever happened next, he’d deal with it. The cat was out of the bag, and there was no way in hell it’d ever go back in. He couldn’t pretend to be okay—in fact, it was physically impossible for him to do so even if he’d wanted to—and there was a strange type of freedom in that. In releasing the control, in fighting back his instincts to not let anyone see him hurting.

Honestly, the worst part of recovery now is that Eddie won’t stop looking at him. Whenever they were together, Eddie’s eyes were always on Buck, often with an expression that Buck can’t figure out. He knows Eddie better than he knows himself, knows all the man’s faces, but he cannot for the life of him parse this one. And it’s become Eddie’s go-to face, all Buck seems to see, and he genuinely doesn’t know if Eddie even realizes he’s doing it. It makes him itchy, like he’s being perceived and he doesn’t know what Eddie’s seeing. And Buck is better enough now that he isn’t able to push his feelings aside as much. It was easy to ignore them when his entire body felt like it was betraying him in every way imaginable. But now, Buck is good. He’s gaining back some of the bulk he lost during withdrawal, he’s been building up his endurance again by going on runs around the neighborhood, he’s actually making progress in therapy for the first time in his life, and best of all, the disciplinary committee has agreed to let him return to work on probationary status in July. He feels like Buck again, which means the only thing he can think about is Eddie.

He’s been glued to Buck’s side since the 118 had upended Buck’s house on that horrible day back in March. It’s been three months of Eddie and Christopher basically living at Buck’s house—Christopher has taken over the guest bedroom like it’s his own, and Eddie had eventually transitioned from sleeping in the armchair next to Buck’s bed to the couch once Buck could sleep through the night again. Eddie has taken care of Buck in exactly the right way, too. Maddie means well but she hovers, trying to do everything for him, and it makes him feel a little stir-crazy sometimes. Eddie treats him with gentle hands but he never babies him. It reminds Buck a lot of the way that Eddie is with Christopher—always letting him lead, letting him tell Eddie what he needs instead of assuming. It’s making Buck feel crazy in a different way to have all that careful attention directed at him.

Eddie won’t stop touching Buck, either. He’s always been the main initiator of physical contact, especially since that fateful day Buck realized the depths of his feelings for Eddie and has since been trying to be as capital-N normal as possible. But Eddie won’t stop fucking touching him, and it makes Buck feel like he’s going to buzz out of his skin every time Eddie’s cautious, capable hands land anywhere on his body. Sometimes, when he’s tired or sentimental, he lets himself imagine, for just a moment, that it stems from love, the kind of love that Buck aches for Eddie to have for him. But then he feels beyond guilty, wishing for more when Eddie is here and doing so much, so he shoves that thought back into the box and kicks it as far into the depths of his hoarder-house-brain as it can go.

Eddie seems intent on tugging it back out, though. However inadvertently, he just won’t let Buck shove things away. He’s there, in Buck’s kitchen making him a smoothie, or playing video games with Christopher on Buck’s couch, or pacing the backyard on the phone with Pepa, or in Buck’s bedroom tucking him in and playing a crossword on his phone while Buck reads, and it feels so fucking domestic Buck wants to die a little bit. Everyone else has backed off, back to pre-New Mexico levels of spending time with Buck. May and Harry still come by once a week for reality TV—they’re watching Love Island right now—and Hen and Karen stop by semi-regularly with the kids for dinner and games with Buck, Eddie, and Christopher. Ravi stops by after his shifts often, bullying Buck into making him food as soon as he’s well enough to be in the kitchen, and the two of them spend entire afternoons playing Settlers of Catan and Terraforming Mars. Buck usually loses to Ravi, the fucking capitalist. Maddie and Chim are there a lot more than the rest; often using Buck for babysitting services under the guise of checking up on him and making sure he isn’t lonely. Because they trust him implicitly, still, in a way Buck still feels surprised by sometimes. Strangely (though perhaps it isn’t strange at all) he’s been talking to Athena the most. She calls every night, sometimes asking Buck about how he’s doing but often just to check in, tell him about the crazy calls she goes out on, the latest on May’s current career aspirations. He thinks it must be what having a loving mom would be like—Ravi talks to his parents almost every day, even when they’re at work, and he always seems happy, settled afterward. It’s how Buck feels talking to Athena. 

He thinks Bobby would be proud. Of the 118, of his wife, but also of Buck, for making it out the other side. Bobby had told him that they’d need Buck, but he hadn’t said that Buck would need them too, and he’d forgotten. He’d been so wrapped up in taking care of everyone else—even when they wouldn’t let him—and being fine, that he’d forgotten that he needed his friends, his family too. 

He’s smiling to himself just a little as he rounds the corner back onto his street. It’s a surprisingly cool day for late June in LA, and he’s been running for over an hour, twisting and turning his way through the streets. Beyond just helping him build his endurance back up, the running has been good for his head—allowing him the time and space to process on his own. Eddie’s truck is parked in his driveway, which should be more surprising than it is. He pulls up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow as he opens the front door.

A surprisingly heavenly aroma is wafting out from the kitchen, and there’s music blasting. He can hear Eddie singing along a little off-key, and he can’t help the grin that breaks out as he meanders into the kitchen.

Eddie is singing into a wooden spoon at the stove, stirring some sort of sauce intermittently. There’s a Springsteen song playing, and Eddie is fully in the moment, belting along and swinging his hips around. He’s even wearing Buck’s apron, which is accentuating his criminally tiny waist, and oh god, Buck might die, actually. He gives it thirty seconds, mostly to contain himself, before clearing his throat. Eddie jumps. 

“Buck,” he says, cheeks turning pink. Buck’s favorite thing in the world might be a blushing Eddie. God, he’s so fucking pretty it hurts. 

“No, please, continue. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Buck smirks, waving a hand at him. Eddie rolls his eyes and turns back to stir.

“I didn’t expect you home so soon. I was hoping this would be ready by the time you made it back,” Eddie says. 

“What’s the occasion?” Buck asks. Eddie’s so cute, here in Buck’s kitchen, in Buck’s apron, making dinner for Buck. It’s somewhat unusual, though—for all the time Eddie’s been spending with Buck, he has decidedly not been the one making most of the food they eat. He’ll throw together a sandwich or heat up a dish that Pepa brought over, but he rarely actually cooks. And it never smells this good.

“Well, our birthdays are tomorrow and the next day, and I’m 99% certain that Karen and Maddie are planning a surprise party, so I figured we could celebrate tonight,” Eddie says, cheeks still pink.

“You didn’t have to cook for us, Eds, we could’ve ordered takeout. I don’t see how you cooking for your birthday is celebrating you,” Buck teases, ambling over to lean up against the counter next to the stove, invading Eddie’s personal space just a little.

“I wanted to make you your favorite,” Eddie says, not meeting Buck’s eyes. Christ. Buck’s favorite—or one of them, at least, is that marry-me chicken recipe he’d found on Tiktok years ago, long before he’d realized his own feelings. He doesn’t think he would’ve told Eddie the name if he’d known then. A little voice in Buck’s head is screaming yes, yes, yes like Eddie’s actually asking the question by making the dish. He grabs it bodily and shoves it into the corners of his mind, taking a deep breath.

“Well, I’ll owe you your favorite tomorrow, then,” Buck says. “Owe you a whole lot more than that, actually. Wouldn’t have made it to this birthday without you.”

Eddie’s breath hitches like Buck punched him in the stomach. “Jesus, Buck.” 

“Sorry,” Buck winces.

“S’okay, bud. I’m glad you made it to this one,” Eddie smiles softly, eyes meeting Buck’s. “And hey, you don’t owe me shit, okay? That’s just what we do.” 

He can hear the implicit meaning, the wordless reminder of everything they’ve been through, all the ways in which they’ve shown up for each other. 

Buck might cry if he thinks about it for too long, so he grins and pushes Eddie’s spoon microphone back up. “I interrupted your concert, Eds. Please, go ahead.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle, and the next song starts up right then. Buck feels his face heat up when he realizes what’s playing—Tougher Than The Rest, Buck’s favorite of Springsteen’s romantic tracks. Eddie has helped him come back to Springsteen over these last few months, to make his music something Buck can love again, even though it feels different without Bobby. It aches, there’s still songs he has to skip, but most of the time it’s a good ache, an ache Buck can handle. 

He’s probably too close, but Eddie is so perfect here, in his house, in his life, and a song that makes him think of Eddie is playing, and he’s not tired of being alive anymore but he’s so tired of pretending he’s not in love. Eddie looks up at him, searching his face, and whatever he finds there eggs him on. He starts singing louder, spoon microphone back up, and he holds it out to Buck to finish up the chorus. 

Buck sings, “Well, if you’re rough and ready for love, honey I’m tougher than the rest,” with a smile, staring at his best friend. He’s a terrible singer, much worse than Eddie, but the other man is still grinning, looking at Buck with that look he’s had lately that makes him feel all tingly. 

“The road is dark and it’s a thin, thin line, but I want you to know I’ll walk it for you any time,” Eddie sings, stepping closer to Buck. His eyes are soft, and his hair is flopping over into his face, and he looks like the love of Buck’s life.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes. He doesn’t mean to but it spills out of him. Eddie sets the spoon down and reaches up towards Buck’s face, and he swears time stands still.

“Buck,” he breathes back, wrapping his hand around Buck’s neck.

Then Buck is being kissed, and every thought he’s ever had flies right out the window. His knees give out just a little, and he thinks he might’ve hit the ground if it weren’t for Eddie’s other arm wrapping around his waist, pulling him close.

It takes a moment for Buck’s body to get with the program—to realize Eddie, his Eddie, is kissing him. It takes so long that Eddie begins to let go, which sends Buck’s entire being into revolt. He knows he doesn’t want Eddie to stop. He reaches up to cup Eddie’s face in his hands and pulls him back to his lips, kissing him so hard he sees stars. 

Eddie gives as good as he gets, and Buck’s entire world is being rewritten by Eddie’s lips on his. He can’t believe he’s lived this long without it, without knowing what this is like. He never wants to go without again, doesn’t know what he’ll do when they inevitably have to stop. His entire self is distilled down to a person who kisses Eddie Diaz, and he could die happy right here, only that would mean he’d have to stop, so he can’t. 

He loses track of time, and when they finally separate for more than a second, Buck is up on the counter—Eddie lifted him there, which Buck blacked out about—and Eddie is between his legs, looking disheveled and kiss-bitten and like the rest of Buck’s life. 

“Holy shit,” Buck says. He can’t stop smiling. His face might be broken like this, stuck in a permanent smile courtesy of his best friend.

“Honestly,” Eddie grins, dropping his forehead to Buck’s chest. His arms slide around Buck’s waist more firmly, and Buck wraps his around Eddie’s neck to hold him close.

“Eds, I—” he starts, but Eddie pulls back to look at him. 

“I love you,” Eddie says, and Buck’s entire brain melts out of his skull. Whatever was left after that universe-shattering kiss—which was very little—is gone. 

“Holy shit,” Buck says. He can hear the giddiness in his voice, and Eddie huffs a laugh.

“You gonna keep leaving me hanging, Buckley?” he asks. It sounds flirty. Eddie Diaz is flirting with him. Did Buck fall into another coma? Has he always said Buck’s last name in that tone of voice? Has he been flirting with Buck? Holy shit. 

“You know I love you too, Eds,” he says, voice coming out more emotional than he intended.

Eddie’s eyes soften even more, and he reaches up to cup Buck’s cheek, thumb brushing over his birthmark. Buck has never felt so fucking held in his life. “I really, really hoped.”

“There’s no world in which I didn’t fall in love with you, Eddie,” Buck tells him.

“I would find you in any universe, sweetheart,” Eddie promises, and Buck has to kiss him again. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he mumbles against Eddie’s lips. 

Eddie pulls back to smile at him, holding Buck’s face in his hands. “Well, there’s another dance,” Eddie sings, and Buck tunes back in. How is this song still on? Haven’t they been kissing for hours? “All you gotta do is say yes,” Eddie croons, leaning in even more.

“Yes, to anything, baby,” Buck says, connecting their lips again. 

“Marry me,” Eddie mumbles. Buck feels his heart fall out of his ass.

“What the fuck?” he says, pulling back. He might actually be in a coma, there’s simply no way this is real. He’d daydreamed about it ten minutes ago, talking about marry-me chicken. It would make sense if his coma brain made this up, but Eddie is staring at him with those big brown eyes, and he’s still sweaty from his run, and he thinks the marry-me chicken might actually be burning, which he can’t be bothered to pay attention to beyond it pushing him to realize this is real, this is his actual life. 

“I know what I want, Buck,” Eddie says seriously. He catches Buck’s eyes, hand on his shoulder, and Buck feels transported back into a million momentous moments in their friendship, and his heart might actually explode. “I want you, and Christopher, and I want you to live with us again and I want to be a family and I want more kids and to cry when we send them off to college with you and to hold your hand when we’re old and grey and living in Chris’ guest room and every single moment in between. I can’t wait any more, please, sweetheart.”

“You’re insane, I’m obsessed with you,” Buck grins, matching Eddie’s bright smile. “Yes to everything, Eds,” Buck repeats, pulling him in. God, the rest of his life is sounding like his new favorite song.