Work Text:
“So, Mr. Diaz, what can I do for you? It seems we have your personal information, but there was no note saying what you’re here for.”
The man seems nice, ish, Eddie supposes. On the shorter side with dark hair and eyes, wearing a suit nicer than Eddie ever has, but not one so expensive that he looks sleazy. He came recommended, Pepa insisting that she had worked with him a few times and he was good and honest. She hadn't even asked him many questions when he asked her for recommendations for a lawyer— she always was his favorite, besides Abuela.
The room is warm, the walls painted a kind of gray-blue paint and decorated with a smattering of framed diplomas and photographs, all surrounding a large wooden desk and mostly comfortable chairs. It looks like it is designed to make you feel at ease probably, legal things are usually stressful. For most people, at least, or so Eddie assumes. He’s never talked to a lawyer before.
But lately.
Lately, there has been this itch under his skin. An idea that comes to him in the middle of the night, lying in bed and staring at the blank ceiling above him. Just days after the well collapse, while Eddie was on a short one-week leave, just meant to let him rest and settle after a scare and to think. To think about Shannon being gone, his parents— well, his parents, and Chris. To think about if something happened to him, what would happen to Chris.
It’s eaten away at him ever since—it feels so wrong to think of Chris; Chris who is full of light, who is always curious and so so confident in his abilities, being with his parents. The memory of maybe one time there being a similar light in Eddie, cradled in his chest between his ribs, cared for and cherished, getting snuffed out under expectations and duty. A weight he has learned and known until it feels like just another piece of him, a building block in Eddie Diaz himself. And he worries. Worries that the light he used to have, that thing that he thought was gone forever, but maybe was just waiting for someone new to hold it, has found its new home in his son and is still in danger of being dimmed.
He worries their desire for a ‘redo’ in his son will not be enough to protect Chris from being trapped into the high-walled path of Eddie’s cursed fate. And he can’t stomach it, won't let them get their hands in Chris and rework all the things they don't like or approve of, won't allow his parents another opportunity to play build-a-son like they did with him, just because they were unhappy with how he came out.
So his parents are out.
His Abuela is too old to take on a child, no matter how much she loves Chris, or how well she would care for him. How well she cared for little Eddie, tried to nourish that thing inside him, tried to relight it herself a few times before giving up with a sad smile and a kiss to the top of his head. A reminder that he is loved for who he is and not just what he does.
Pepa is too busy, still working, and has her own kids and grandkids to look after. Though he is sure she would also be good, she has always looked at Eddie a little too knowingly to not be able to read those same things in Chris. To learn his quirks like reading a book, and show off all the little tricks she has found in the margins to make him feel loved.
His sisters— he doesn't know as well as he wishes he did. Too busy being a parent to them growing up, just to get caught up in a teenage pregnancy and a rushed marriage. Shipped off to ‘fight for his country’ and provide for his family. His antiquated views of them still often stuck in what book Adriana really liked her Sophomore year of high school before he shipped out, or the boy that Sophia had sobbed over in junior high for leaving her at homecoming to dance with Jessica R.
So he worries.
And the more he thinks about it, the more he worries, this ouroboros of anxiety in a never-ending loop. just cycling forever, interrupting his sleep and gnawing at the edges of his mind even during the day. For weeks, until one Tuesday he’s off work, planted on his couch at noon watching a documentary on flamingos with Buck, and distracted from the monotonous narration to still spin this problem in his mind. As if there is an angle he hasn’t yet thought of, despite what feels like a lifetime of thinking.
“You know, I think it’s sweet that flamingos alloparent.” Buck’s voice breaks Eddie out of his spiral, and he jolts for a moment before turning his head towards the other man.
“Allowhat?” He asks, because even an anxious Eddie Diaz still wants to hear anything Buck has to say.
Buck’s whole face lights up as he lifts a leg to tuck under him while he turns his whole body to face Eddie. “Alloparent! It’s a thing where certain species of animals will parent young that aren't theirs. Usually it’s because they're in social groups that are very close and share parenting responsibilities with each other. But research shows that flamingos specifically will adopt abandoned eggs or chicks in same sex pairs just the two of them, building their own little family. Isn't that sweet?”
Eddie nods before thinking, caught up in the light dusting of blush across Buck’s cheeks and nose in his excitement and joy to learn and share. But when he thinks about it, it is sweet, so he says so.
“Yeah, Buck, that’s real sweet."
Buck grins with his teeth, tongue poking between the rows and the blush darkening a few shades on his face before he nods back at Eddie and turns around to focus on the TV again, the documentary that is still running, explaining feeding patterns and diets that Eddie does not understand after missing the first half from his recent crippling anxiety.
He turns Buck’s words over in his mind, endeared by the man and the idea itself— of taking care of someone else’s kids just because you can, just because they are there and deserve to be cared for. It makes sense that it is a sentiment that Buck feels strongly about, he is all too aware of how the absence of that care can feel.
And in thinking about Buck and how good he is in spite of his parents, and how dedicated flamingos are to love in all forms, apparently it clicks, and it could not possibly be more clear who should take care of Chris if something happens to Eddie.
Buck.
Buck who stepped into Eddie’s life like it wasn't a rapidly, dangerous revolving door, but like it was the easiest thing he had ever done. Stepped into Chris’ life like it was a gift to be there. Who had set Eddie up with Carla, and took Chris to the zoo for as many hours as he wanted; perfectly content to be dragged from exhibit to exhibit and put on the spot to spout off fun facts about every animal they saw like he was a doll and all you had to do was pull his string and let him go.
Who built Chris a skateboard and saved him from a tsunami for Christ’s sake.
It's so obvious Eddie almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of how much he’s tortured himself over the last few weeks. Of course, Buck would take care of Chris, would love him and help him with his homework, would encourage him to follow his dreams, and even probably be better at teaching him to be in touch with his feelings.
Eddie feels a weight lift off his shoulders, his next breath easier than it's been in a while, and he shifts just barely on the couch, until he’s just slightly pressed against Buck’s side from knees to hips to shoulders. When Buck looks at him for a moment to flash him a quick smile, he pushes his knee in just a bit more, a quick bump to say ‘hi’ and ‘thank you’. Even if Buck doesn't know that’s what it means, it doesn't matter. Because Eddie feels free, because Chris will be okay, and he doesn't have to worry or fear for what his life would be like if something awful happened.
Because that is what it would take for Eddie to leave Chris again. It would take something biblical to drag him from his son, and he would go kicking and screaming— fighting to stay. He isn't giving up, no, he didn't give up in the well under forty feet of mud with no way to contact his team, and he certainly isn't giving up now. It’s just in case.
Worst case scenario.
And he has seen worst case scenarios. Seen them cross the road on a sunny day at three in the afternoon, and seen them hit head-on by a red car and left to bleed into the concrete— redredred— seen them tear up when the inevitability of their death finally sinks in and they realize they can't beg or plead their way to just one more day with their loved ones. He has held worst case scenario’s hand and whispered fervent promises to tell their son he is loved now and forever. That it wasn't a choice, that worst case scenario wanted to stay just as much as Eddie does, but didn't get the chance.
“I’d like to make an official will. I’m a firefighter and I recently had a scare at work. I’d just like to make sure my son will be taken care of if anything happens to me.” The words feel robotic as Eddie says them, words he had practiced in the mirror for twenty minutes before coming to his appointment.
“Of course,” The man— Garrett Dearling, Eddie suddenly remembers— nods, opening his laptop and clicking on the keys with rapid fingers. He looks up for a moment, “Is there another guardian who will need to be involved in this?”
“I’m a widower,” Eddie replies.
Technically. In that, technically, Shannon died before they could officially get divorced. It feels a little wrong to say because Eddie knows she didn't want to be his wife anymore, maybe never really did outside of parental and religious pressure after getting pregnant, but it also is an objective fact, no matter how weird it feels.
“Alright,” Garrett nods again and goes back to typing at a speed that almost seems impossible, “and who would you like to care for your son in the event of an accident?”
“Buck,” Eddie says before clearing his throat, “Evan Buckley, please.”
“Okay, and Mr. Buckley is?”
“Buck is—”
Buck is his coworker, his best friend, his partner. Buck is his foundation when things get hard, the person who gets him more than sometimes he even gets himself, the only person he trusts to see every part of him and not find any of them ugly or lacking. Buck is something Eddie can’t put into words in this moment and he freezes, mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out what to say.
“He’s my partner," Is what he finally lands on, it's what feels the most accurate without spending thirty minutes trying to explain the complexities of BuckandEddie.
Garrett looks up from his computer suddenly, eyes wide. “Oh.”
“At work.”
“Oh.” He looks back down, but this time there is a furrow between his brows, deep and setting Eddie on edge. It almost sounded like he was disappointed, and Eddie feels distinctly like he has gotten an answer on a quiz wrong, or fucked up a question at a job interview and can see in real time the decision to not hire him. “Okay, so you would like Mr. Buckley to get custody of your son in case of emergency.”
It’s not really a question, even though he sounds kind of unsure but Eddie answers anyway. It's a much easier answer to give. “Yes.”
More typing, yet this time the silence feels awkward, heavy and almost like a third person in the room just watching Eddie make a fool of himself trying to explain the single most important relationship in his life that isn't the very son this is all about. Garrett asks a few more questions, details about Buck and where he lives, contact information, easy things Eddie can’t get wrong.
Garrett moves on, proof Eddie was right earlier, he is nice. “Are there any assets you would like to delegate in this as well?”
“Everything to my son, Christopher Diaz, but probably for um, for Buck to hold onto until he is eighteen if that is an option.”
Eddie can feel heat rise to his cheeks, he really should have spent more time researching all of this instead of scheduling this appointment for two days after their documentary day on the couch. Everything had seemed so simple once he figured it out that he might have been a little impulsive in putting his plan into motion, but it's too late now.
“Yes, we can do that,” Garrett nods again, the earlier awkwardness dissipating in the face of his professionalism. “Is there anything else you wish to add at this time?”
Eddie shakes his head. “No, I think that’s it, thank you.”
“Alright, well I’m going to print this out, I’ll bring back in someone else and after you look over it to confirm, they will watch you sign along with me, as required by state law, and you will be all set.”
Garrett clicks a few more buttons before clapping his hands together and rising from behind his desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back with that.”
With that, he strolls out of the room. Eddie hears the door shut behind him and allows himself to take a deep breath in an attempt to relax now that the hard part is over. It was easier than he expected, even if he wasn't prepared for some of the questions, and it settles him even further to know this has all been handled, and by the time he walks out of this office, it will be set in stone.
If anything happens to him, Eddie Diaz, his son, Christopher Diaz, will go to one, Evan Buckley.
Written and signed and seen by someone else, real, like commandments engraved in stone for all to see and none to argue. His parents will have no recourse; Eddie will have been able to protect Chris one last time.
The door pushes open with a creak, and Garrett walks back in, a young blonde woman behind him. She smiles at Eddie and leans against the wall behind Garrett as he takes his seat again. “Mr. Diaz, here is what we have. I used a very basic will here, as you don’t have specific assets to divvy up or any precedent you want set besides the custody of your son. I’ll give you a moment to look it over, and if you see any issues, just let me know. We can change it at any time now or after you sign.”
He holds out a single piece of paper, crisply white and still warm from the printer, double-sided with boring blocky black font on it. Eddie holds it between two fingers, pulling it into his chest as if it’s something precious, this decree. His eyes scan over the words, once, twice, finally three times.
I, Edmundo Ramon Diaz, resident of 4995 South Bedford St in Los Angeles, California, of sound mind and under no duress or undue influence, do hereby make, publish, and declare this my last will and testament.
In the event of my death or incapacitation, I leave the custody of my son, Christopher Diaz, to Evan Buckley resident of 574 Grand St in Los Angeles, California.
I leave any and all assets to my name at the time to my son, Christopher Diaz, to be held and controlled by Evan Buckley, until Christopher comes of age.
There is a line at the bottom for his name, the final piece in making everything official, and Eddie picks up one of the pens that sit in a little metal cup on the desk in front of him and leans over to sign his name on that line. He signs slowly, making each letter as legible as possible, the prettiest, least scribbled signature of his life put onto this document. And it feels indescribably right.
“That’s perfect, thank you.” Eddie is surprisingly breathless when he finally speaks, an unexpected wetness stinging his eyes, and he’s grinning. He probably looks crazy, he maybe is crazy the way this makes him incadescently happy. This legal tie between him and Buck, physical proof that he is Eddie’s and Chris’s, and they are Buck’s. “Can I um, can I get a copy? To take home?”
“Of course, Mr. Diaz, Elizabeth here will see you out and get you both that copy and discuss billing with you.” Garrett holds out a hand and Eddie leans in to shake it, with probably a little more swing to the shake than necessary, but he can’t help it. The joy in his chest is overflowing, spilling out and seeping into everything around him. Eddie stands and gets the bizarre urge to skip his way out of the office behind the woman who has yet to say a single word.
Elizabeth sits down at her desk and clacks on her keys roughly, squinting at the screen for a moment before the printer behind her whirs to life. She rolls her chair back a few feet to grab the paper and holds it out to Eddie. It’s warm again, but this time the font seems better, no longer boring, it jumps from the page like neon letters. Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley. Official.
“Looks like the bill today is $150, will that be cash or card?”
“Card please,” Eddie sets his paper down gently on the desk, doesn't want it to get creased or bent before he’s able to get it home and put it somewhere important. He pulls out his wallet and hands over his credit card, his cheeks starting to ache with the smile he still has plastered to his face.
Eddie gets his receipt and puts his card away, thanking Elizabeth before picking his paper back up and walking out of the office into the hot California sun. He climbs into his truck, turning the key and setting the paper onto the dashboard for safekeeping, driving home slow and careful.
When Eddie gets home he goes straight to his room. Straight to his bedside table and the worn bible that has sat in the bottom of the drawer for years, he doesn't read it, hasn’t in years, but feels too guilty to throw it away. But it feels like the perfect place to hold something this sacred to him, so with careful hands, he folds his will in half, thumb running down the edge to finalize it and tucks it between the thin papers. Closes the book and holds it for just another moment before placing it back in his drawer reverently.