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Theo is a picky eater.
Which Buck is perfectly fine with. There are worse things to be, after all.
He’s figured out by now that Theo’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches must not have crust, and need to be cut diagonally twice, making four small triangles. He knows that he’s not allowed to add butter to his mac and cheese under any circumstances. He knows that Theo loves green peppers, and absolutely despises yellow ones. He knows that his applesauce must be dyed red to look like an actual apple, despite the fact Buck’s pointed out only the skin is red, and not the inside.
The problem is the trial and error Buck has to go through in order to figure these things out, because Theo’s a toddler who doesn’t know how his food is made, just that he likes it a certain way. The problem is Buck can’t just go and ask Connor or Kameron how they make—made—Theo’s food in those particular ways.
The problem is Theo gets tired of what Buck does know how to make, almost frustratingly quick. The problem is Theo is refusing to eat everything Buck offers to cook.
He doesn’t want spaghetti with marinara sauce, meatballs cut into fourths and never touching his pasta. He doesn’t want dinosaur chicken nuggets, perfectly cooked without being too crispy or too raw. He doesn’t want any kind of potato. Not mashed, all chunks eradicated, not hashbrowns shaped into his best attempts at hearts, not fries, all crunchy ends cut off or eaten by Buck.
“What about potato wedges?” he tries desperately, doing his best to not rip all the hair out of his head. “You liked those the last time we had them.”
“I hate potatoes,” Theo wails, cheek smooshed against the floor. He threw himself down at Buck’s feet about ten minutes ago, after he had the absolute gall to bring up eating lunch.
“You don’t hate potatoes, buddy, you love potatoes.” Buck isn’t crazy, he knows Theo loves potatoes. He knows it. He’s witnessed him inhale a bowl of mashed potatoes the size of his head in under five minutes.
“No!”
“We had them a couple days ago, remember?”
“No!” Theo screams.
Buck takes a deep, stabilizing breath and lowers himself to the floor, ignoring all the cracks and groans of his joints that make him feel decades older than he is. He presses his hand against Theo’s back in the hopes the pressure will help calm him down.
They’ve had a long week. Theo refused to take a nap yesterday, so by bed time he was too tired to actually sleep. Which meant that he didn’t go to bed until at least midnight, which meant Buck didn’t either. Unfortunately, going to bed late has never deterred Theo from getting up at the crack of dawn, which meant that Buck also got up at the crack of dawn.
There haven't been any particular, blaring reasons for the tough couple of days they’ve had, but that’s just how toddlers are. They’re emotional roller coasters, especially those struggling with grief—too many feelings packed into such a small body.
Buck lets Theo cry it out, even if it breaks his heart. As sad as he is to have missed the first four years of his kids life, Buck is just glad he didn’t have to live through sleep training him as a baby. He might not have survived it. He rubs Theo’s back in small, hopefully soothing circles, until the sobs slow and eventually stop.
“Theo, I know you’re hungry, and probably tired, and—” Buck takes a breath, voice edging into a sudden tremble. It’s too early to start crying on the kitchen floor. If you’re not a toddler, that is. “—and you miss your parents. But we’re going to figure this out together. We’re gonna find you something to eat.”
For one slow, agonizing second, Theo goes deathly quiet. Which usually isn’t a good sign, because it means he’s about to scream, or start crying, or knock something large and/or breakable over. Then, finally, he flops over onto his back, hand stuffed in his mouth, eyes red and wet.
“Okay?” Buck prompts gently, coaxing Theo’s chewed-raw fingers free. They’re still trying to find a better self-soothing technique, but so far they haven’t had much luck. Buck doesn’t have much hope, considering Eddie catches him chewing on his own fingernails at least four times a shift.
“Mmm,” Theo putters sadly. He reaches up and makes grabby hands until Buck gets the hint and pulls him into his lap.
Buck runs a hand over Theo’s head in an attempt to smooth down his messy hair. “Do you know what you want?”
A bit selfishly, Buck’s hoping that Theo will be willing to do a repeat of breakfast, and eat a bowl of cheerios and a protein shake that Buck tells him is a milkshake.
Theo stands up in his lap, stomping his tiny, yet apparently lead-heavy feet all over his legs, to wrap his arms around Buck’s neck and shove his face into his throat. He mumbles something into his t-shirt.
“What was that, bubba?”
Theo sighs with an air of annoyance that he would like to blame on Eddie, and moves his head so his cheek is squished against Buck’s shoulder. “Quesadilla.”
Buck knows better than to say, ‘Quesadilla, please,’ because he’s already narrowly avoided a full-blown meltdown. Although one might consider throwing yourself to the ground a full-blown meltdown. But Buck doesn’t like to get himself stuck in the semantics of meltdowns.
What he does like to do is cook. He’s made plenty of quesadillas plenty of times. Just not for Theo. Which is—fine. No pressure.
“Alright. I can do a quesadilla,” he says, a bit naively, knowing how cooking for Theo has gone before. You don’t just guess to dye apple sauce red; you try it after your psyche has been broken by a four-year-old. “Easy-peasy.”
Buck reaches up to grab onto the counter and pulls himself to his feet with one hand, the other maneuvering Theo to sit on his hip.
He opens the fridge to find it is not ‘easy-peasy’ to make a quesadilla, seeing as the only cheese they have is half a block of something—the package was thrown out after Buck ripped it in two, and the cheese now resides in an unlabeled plastic bag—that has a suspiciously Theo-shaped bite mark on one side, and is beginning to grow mold on the other.
Buck just hopes that Theo took a bite out of the cheese before it molded. And if he didn’t, well, at least he didn’t eat from the moldy side.
“Are you sure on quesadilla?” Buck broaches as he throws the moldy cheese out.
The anguished noise Theo makes and the way his head ducks down for his best attempt at burrowing into Buck’s chest feels like answer enough.
“It’s okay!” Buck rushes out. He’s not sure he can make it through another crying fit without breaking down himself. He bounces Theo in his arms a couple times. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We can go to the store. We’re going to the store.”
Buck beelines down the hallway and stuffs his feet into the closest shoes. Luckily for him, he rarely remembers to put his keys and wallet away, so they’re sitting on the bench, right where he left them last night. He forgoes putting shoes on Theo, since that’s already a battle even when he’s in the best of moods.
Getting Theo in the car while he’s still crying is a challenge, even though it's mostly tapered off by now. Getting himself in the car and driving to the grocery store when all he wants to do is pull over and start sobbing is also a challenge.
But Buck manages.
He probably looks manic as he stumbles into the grocery store, basket in one hand, a clearly distressed, non-shoed toddler in the other. Buck doesn’t look much better himself; his eyes wet—if he cried at a red light, that’s between him and the car next to him, and the traffic cam, and the pedestrians waiting to cross the street, and the biker right by his window—hair a mess, and, now that he’s looking, wearing two different shoes.
Buck almost breezes straight through to the dairy aisle, before he remembers that Theo needs to have a healthy, balanced diet, and backtracks slightly to the produce section. “What do you want, huh?”
Please pick something Buck already knows how to prepare, please pick something Buck already knows how to prepare, please—
“Carrots,” Theo decides. “Please.”
Buck smiles and kisses Theo’s head. Not only is he using his manners, but they’ve already done the how-can-I-get-Theo-to-eat-this song and dance weeks ago, so Buck knows exactly what to get. Carrot chips, that don’t even have to be cut, or dyed another color, just a light rinse and quality check.
He throws one bag of carrot chips into the basket, resisting the urge to buy out the whole stock. He’s already made the mistake of getting too much of one thing, just for Theo to grow tired of it two days later and leave Buck to let it go bad or pawn it off onto Eddie.
Their next stop is to get tortillas, and Buck has the appropriate reaction of getting almost every possible option. Flour, whole wheat, yellow corn, white corn, blue corn. He even gets them in various sizes: taco, quesadilla, and burrito, just in case somehow the size of the tortilla affects the taste.
Finally they make it to the diary aisle. Buck freezes in front of the door to the shredded cheese. There’s so many options. So many chances to get the wrong one. “Do you know what color the cheese is in your quesadillas?”
Theo shrugs. “Cheese color?”
“Right.” Buck closes his eyes and nods to himself. What a stupid question to ask.
So, Buck decides to set Theo’s socked feet on the floor and grab as many shredded cheeses as he can in good conscience that he’ll be able use them before they go bad—sharp cheddar, mild cheddar, cheddar jack, pepper jack, monterey jack, mozzarella, multiple types of blends.
He chooses to ignore the looks being shot his way as he loads up the basket with enough cheese to get them through armageddon. Clearly none of his fellow shoppers have lost a battle of the wills to a toddler.
Buck scoops Theo back up and lifts the basket, which is significantly heavier than it was before. He’s just about ready to face the confused and worried look of a cashier, when he stops short and redirects them further down the dairy aisle. So stupid of him to almost forget that, when it comes to Theo, it’s better to have something you don’t need than to forget the one thing that makes or breaks his meal.
“Do you want sour cream, buddy?” Buck would have never forgiven himself if he went home and made, somehow, the right-tasting quesadilla that Theo refused to eat without sour cream. He would come back to the grocery store, of course, but it would only add unnecessary time and suffering to the taxing task that is making and eating lunch.
Theo shakes his head no, but he does point to the next refrigerator door over. Buck takes a step to the side and frowns. “That’s ranch.” Theo shakes his arm impatiently. “That’s—okay. It’s fine. Whatever you want.”
Buck opens the fridge door and hovers his hand over the ranches until Theo hums in approval that it’s the right brand. He’s pretty sure he already has a bottle of ranch sitting in the fridge at home, but there’s a substantial chance that Theo only eats that kind with his veggies, and needs another for quesadillas.
Armed with everything to get Theo through the day—or at least through lunch—without starving to death, Buck makes his way to the check out. He sets his basket down and unloads it onehanded onto the conveyor belt.
The cashier wishes a good day to her previous customer, gives Buck the typical smile and greeting, then double takes at all the cheese and tortillas. Buck gives his best half-smile that he hopes says, ‘I promise I’m not crazy.’
Once the basket has been emptied, Buck sets it on the floor with the others, then sighs and grabs a shopping bag hanging on the end of the aisle—resigning himself to buying another, despite the four already sitting in his trunk. One day he’ll remember, but maybe by then the car will be filled with reusable shopping bags and it won’t be very hard for Buck to forget.
He sits Theo on the edge of the bagging area and begins packing up his monstrous haul of tortillas and cheese, along with the singular bag of carrots and bottle of ranch.
“I had a picky eater too,” the cashier—Doris, if her nametag is anything to go by—whispers conspiratorially, like it’s a secret only for them.
Buck lets out a long breath. At least one person in this grocery store doesn’t think he’s losing his mind. “Thank you,” he says earnestly.
The last of the cheese comes down the conveyor belt and Doris reads out his total, which he decides to ignore. Buck vows to himself that he will use all the tortillas and cheese before they go bad, even if it means giving it away to his neighbors and the station.
Buck shoves his wallet back into his pocket, smiles at Doris as she hands him the receipt, and scoops up Theo and their shopping bag.
“Have a good day, hon. And good luck.”
Buck almost bursts into tears and leaps across the register to give Doris a hug, but decides against it. Instead he gives her a very grateful look and says, “Thank you,” in a way he hopes conveys that she saved him from having a mental breakdown in the middle of a grocery store.
With that, Buck makes it back to the parking lot. A part of him wants to stay and build a sort of encampment so he never has to go home to potentially face disaster. He loads the groceries into the backseat and Theo into his booster. Neither of them are even crying this time, which Buck counts as a win.
He gets into the car, takes a moment to mentally prepare himself, then starts the drive home. Things could take a turn for the worse if Theo gets too hungry to wait for long.
“What’s a picky eater?” Theo asks suddenly.
“Uhhh…” Buck mumbles to himself, trying to figure out where the question is coming from, before remembering that toddlers have the unique ability to never be listening, unless you’re talking about them. He chooses his next words carefully, lest Theo thinks he’s calling him a baby, which was a catastrophic event the last time it happened. “Someone who only likes a couple of foods.”
Theo hums, considering this, kicking his feet into the seat in front of him—it’s not a coincidence Buck decided his car seat wouldn’t be on the driver’s side, it’s also not a coincidence the car seat in Eddie’s truck is behind the driver’s seat. “Am I a picky eater?”
Yes.
“Um, maybe,” Buck says instead. “I used to be a picky eater when I was your age,” he lies, just to make Theo feel better. He ate anything and everything as a toddler, and can remember several occasions where Maddie had to pull a bug out of his mouth before he could swallow it.
“Is it bad?”
Buck smiles and shakes his head. “No, buddy, it’s not bad. You could never do anything bad.”
“Not even when I clog the toilet?”
Buck laughs. “Nope, not even when you clog the toilet.”
“Not even when I break something on accident?”
“No, not even when you break something by accident.”
“Not even… Not even when I don’t pick up my toys?”
Buck sees straight through that one. Theo’s always trying to find a new angle to not clean up after himself. Last week he had to leave his toys out at night so their ghost could play with them, but that just had Buck searching the closets and under every bed for an intruder before he realized the ‘ghost’ was the pipes settling. “Maybe then.”
“No!” Theo exclaims.
“Oh, yes!”
“Buck?” Theo asks as Buck unloads him and the groceries from the car.
“Yeah, bubba?”
“I’ll pick up my toys.”
“I know you will,” Buck says, knowing that he won’t. He’ll probably forget ever saying that by tonight. But depending on how lunch goes, Buck might let the toys stay loose for the day.
He sets Theo in his seat at the table and quickly rinses, checks, and dishes out a handful of carrots and a generous pour of ranch onto a plate and sets it in front of him, bringing a cup of juice over a moment later. Maybe he’ll fill himself up on carrots and Buck won’t even need to make any quesadillas.
He lays the tortillas out on the counter and the cheese in the fridge to keep them cold. Like he’s preparing himself for battle, Buck pulls out a pan, spatula, and butter dish.
Despite having tortillas sized specifically for quesadillas, Buck decides to start with the taco sized ones, just in case things go awry. He chooses sharp cheddar, because it just so happened to be the one on the top of his new, very own shredded cheese tower-mountain taking up a substantial amount of fridge space.
Buck makes the quesadilla, being very careful that no cheese slips out and makes it too crispy, praying, praying, praying that he somehow has the love of god on his side to make it right the first time around.
He flips the quesadilla onto a plate and flicks the burner off with a flourish. Buck brings the plate to the table, trying to remind himself that he’s the one in charge.
Theo takes one singular bite, makes a disgusted face and pushes the plate away, but graciously does not spit the food out on the table—which used to be a problem until Eddie pointed out that only babies do something like that, Theo, you’re not a baby, right? The responding ‘No!’ had been loud enough that Buck thought the neighbors were going to file a noise complaint.
“No?” he asks, not lowering his head in defeat out of sheer will. “Not good?”
Theo shakes his head like he’s trying to knock it off his shoulders. “Mm-mmm.”
Buck takes a seat and encourages Theo to try eating some more carrots to no avail. He finishes the quesadilla and pulls his phone out to text Eddie, accepting the fact that he’ll be making more than a couple quesadillas this afternoon anyway.
Buck:
I made lunch
Eddie:
Good for you
Buck:
🙄
Come eat it
Eddie:
Over in twenty
He shoves his phone back into his pocket, biting back the stupid grin that always spreads across his face whenever he texts or calls Eddie. Hell, whenever he so much as thinks of Eddie. He heads back into the kitchen, continuing to use a burrito tortilla, but this time uses one made with flour rather than corn. Buck switches up the cheese to mozzarella.
If he had the time to prepare, Buck would have made a whole spreadsheet of every possible combination to go through one by one, but he’s dealing with a ticking time toddler.
This quesadilla, Theo declines just from a sniff.
Buck lifts the plate above the hand Theo is using to try and block him. “Nope, you gotta try it before you deny it.”
Theo gives him a look like Buck just suggested he lick the floor—which he has done happily before, by the way—but leans forward to take the smallest bite humanely possible. Buck’s pretty sure he didn’t even get any cheese. “It’s yucky, Buck.”
Buck takes a bite of the quesadilla and makes an exaggerated mmm! noise. Theo doesn’t buy it for a second. He sighs and pushes the plate to the other side of the table. Eddie can eat it, then.
The third quesadilla is made with a tortilla sized for one, because Buck’s come to the conclusion that size definitely affects taste. He uses some kind of blend this time, not entirely sure what cheeses are being blended, since the package just says ‘blended.’
Theo takes a bite, doesn’t make a face like he’s about to throw up all over himself, dips the quesadilla in the ranch and takes a second bite, which is where Buck gets his hopes up. Theo chews, swallows, takes a contemplative look at the quesadilla, then plops it back down onto the plate and shoves it away like it tried to eat him. “Gross.”
Buck sighs to himself, and starts a pile of not-just-right quesadillas. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s pretty sure he’s raising Goldilocks. If only he could be so lucky to get things right on the third try.
“Mad?” Theo asks quietly.
“No, honey,” Buck says, patting then cradling his head. “I’m not mad. But I bet that you are hungry.”
“Yeah,” Theo says matter-of-factly, like Buck’s been forcibly starving him.
“Then I’ll go make you something to eat, and I’ll keep making it until you like it, okay?”
“‘Kay, Buck.”
Buck kisses his forehead. If he swam through a tsunami for Chris, he would walk through fire for Theo.
The fourth quesadilla is made with a yellow corn, quesadilla sized tortilla, with a handful of mozzarella and a handful of cheddar jack. Yep, that’s right, Buck’s making his own blends now.
This fourth quesadilla, however, receives one bite from Theo, who then continues on to let his head thunk down onto the table.
“Hey, hey. You gotta be careful, Theo,” Buck chastises lightly. It’s honestly a miracle Theo hasn’t given himself a concussion. Yet.
Buck perks up as he hears the front door unlocking and opening. Eddie and Christopher coming to save him. Their presence, while the novelty has since worn off and Theo is no longer on his best behavior around them, always seems to put him in a good mood.
He gets up to greet them in the hallway. “Thanks for coming over, guys.” Buck wraps Chris in a hug and pulls out a chair across the table from Theo for him to sit in. “Theo, Chris and Eddie are here,” he says, edging on a bit desperate.
“Mmm,” Theo whines into the table, which is not a greeting, but is not not a greeting. Buck takes a win wherever he can get one.
“What’s up with him?” Chris asks.
“I don’t know how to make a quesadilla the ‘right’ way.”
“Hmm,” Eddie hums. “Must be a bruise on your ego, huh?”
Buck rolls his eyes. “Shut up. I swear all you do is eat my food and bully me.”
Eddie flicks his ear as he rounds the table and takes a seat next to Theo, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. “Too hungry to say hi to me and Chris?”
Theo groans dramatically into the table but sits himself up and leans into Eddie’s side. “Hi.”
Eddie pokes him in the side. “Is Buck starving you again?”
Theo nods solemnly. “Yeah.”
Buck scoffs and shakes his head as grabs plates and water for Eddie and Chris. “What about you, Chris? You having a good weekend?”
“It’s better now that I don’t have to eat something Dad cooked.”
“Hey,” Eddie says, and throws a carrot across the table in Christopher’s general direction. It goes wayward and smacks Buck in the stomach.
“No food throwing!” he exclaims. Buck can see the way Theo’s eyes light up just from hearing the words ‘food’ and ‘throw’ used right after each other. “How many times have I said no food throwing?”
“Only, like, a thousand,” Chris says.
“Like a million,” Theo corrects.
“A billion.”
“A trillion.”
“A—” Chris starts.
“Alright,” Buck interrupts before they end up going in circles of who can name the biggest number. They’ve done it before; it’s Chris. “That’s enough out of you two.” He pushes the pile of quesadillas to the middle of the table. “Eat up.”
“These all have bites taken out of them,” Eddie complains, even as he pulls one off of the top.
“Do you want to complain, or do you want to eat? And I’m not picking that carrot up, by the way.”
Eddie grumbles something that Buck can’t hear. He shoots him a warning look and disappears back into the kitchen.
The fifth quesadilla has moved on to a burrito sized tortilla, because Buck’s about ninety-nine point nine percent sure Eddie will be eating it anyway. He adds a little handful of most of the cheeses, hoping somehow this will be the one. But if it is, he might have to go curse out Connor and Kameron’s graves for introducing Theo to the concept of an eight-cheese quesadilla.
Luckily, in a messed up sort of way, Theo takes one, tiny nibble then slams himself backwards into his chair, which Eddie just narrowly stops from tipping over. “I’m hungry,” he sobs.
Buck crouches by Theo’s chair and wraps an arm around him. He pats his back and tries not to fall into hysterics himself. “I know, honey. I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Eddie whispers over Theo’s head. “Let me try.”
Buck considers it for a moment. Eddie isn’t the terrible cook he and Chris like to pretend he is. “Okay. Theo, did you hear that? Eddie’s gonna make you a quesadilla.”
Theo’s face brightens substantially, and his tears cut off. “Eddie?” he sniffs as he leans into Buck’s side and gets snot on his shoulder.
“Yeah. Eddie. If I can’t do it, maybe he can.”
Theo gives him a skeptical look, which Buck doesn’t enjoy, but he does appreciate that Theo doesn’t put all his faith into Eddie over him.
“Don’t worry, Theo,” Chris says. “Dad can do anything.”
Buck can practically hear Eddie’s mouth split open into a smug, self-satisfied smile. “Yes, he can,” he says reluctantly, because as true as it is, he doesn’t want to give Eddie the ego boost.
At least Theo still thinks Buck is better at reading bedtime stories. Buck will be holding onto that for as long as he can, probably until Theo is a teenager, if not a full grown adult.
“Yes, I can,” Eddie adds, voice all gloatful. He gets up and heads into the kitchen.
Buck nudges Theo’s plate of carrots towards him. “How about you have some veggies while you wait?”
“I’ll eat them all if you don’t,” Chris threatens.
Theo immediately stuffs two carrots in his mouth. It probably isn’t the best way to get him to eat if they’re also teaching him how to share, but you take wins when you can get them, Buck reminds himself.
“Make sure he doesn’t choke, please?” Buck asks, then joins Eddie in the kitchen. “Eddie, you have to make it right,” he whispers frantically.
“No pressure,” Eddie mumbles to himself, looking at Buck like he’s crazy. Maybe he is.
“If you don’t, I— I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” Buck runs a hand through his hair, which must look an absolute mess by now. He’s not entirely sure when he last washed it. Or brushed it.
“You can start by calming down.”
“I can’t!”
Eddie wets a paper towel and wipes away the snot Theo left on Buck’s t-shirt. “Yes, you can. You’re not being held at gun point, you’re making a quesadilla.”
Buck shrugs helplessly. “That’s basically the same thing.”
Eddie shakes his head, clearly wanting to laugh at him but graciously holding it back. “Take a breath. Seriously, it looks like you’re about to pass out.”
Buck sets his hands on his knees and takes a couple deep breaths like he’s just run a marathon.
“Kids feed off your energy, y’know.”
Buck straightens and frowns. “I’m making Theo anxious?"
“Is that what I said?”
“I dunno,” Buck sighs, slumping sideways into the counter.
“Just show me what combinations you’ve already done.”
Buck goes through the quesadillas he’s already made, trying his very best to remember what tortilla and cheese combinations he’s done. That spreadsheet really would have been helpful.
“Okay,” Eddie says, too casually. He is not taking this as seriously as he needs to be. “You can go away now.”
Buck’s not sure if he’ll be able to handle it if Theo doesn’t like the quesadilla Eddie’s going to make. “He can’t live off of boxed mac and cheese forever.”
“Hey, Christopher survived on those for six months.”
“Barely,” Chris mutters from the table, loud enough for them to hear.
Eddie grabs a spatula and points it at him. “Watch it.” He nudges Buck’s foot. “And it’s not forever. Unless Theo never grows out of it.”
Buck glares at him. “That’s not funny.”
“Eh, it’s a little funny. Now go sit down, I can’t work with you hovering.”
“I’m not hovering.”
Eddie scoffs. “You’re never not hovering.”
Buck turns to leave but stops himself short. “Can you make sure no cheese gets out? Theo doesn’t like when his food is—”
“You do know that I’ve spent time with the kid, right? I know he doesn’t like when anything’s too crispy, or crunchy, or crusty, or flaky, or—”
“Did you just read the dictionary or something?”
“Hovering!” Eddie shouts, hitting Buck with the spatula until he tucks tail and returns to the table.
He sits at the end so Chris and Theo are on either side of him. Buck grabs Theo’s hand—which is perpetually sticky, or greasy, or just generally grimy—and reaches over for Christopher’s, who has to switch his quesadilla over so he can keep eating it. Unless Theo or Chris get the urge to hold each other’s hands, their prayer circle goes unfinished.
Eddie must see them, because Buck hears a snort from the kitchen.
“Shut up,” he says without looking up.
“Who, me or god?”
“Both. But you especially.”
“Uh-huh.”
Buck closes his eyes and nearly flinches he hears the stove click off and the transfer of quesadilla from pan to plate. He opens them just in time for Eddie to place the newest attempt in front of Theo.
Theo stares down at his quesadilla in anguish, but takes a bite anyway. He makes a happy noise, sits up, then takes another bite.
“Good?” Buck asks. Theo dips his quesadilla in the ranch and takes a third bite. “It’s good?”
Theo chews once, twice—the entire neighborhood holding their breath—then smiles with his mouth full of cheese and tortilla and ranch. “Yummy!”
“It’s yummy!” Buck cheers, shooting up from his seat. “Chris, it’s yummy.”
“Yeah,” Chris agrees, taking the bear hug Buck wraps him in like a champ.
Buck rushes around the table and hugs Eddie with so much force he almost knocks them into the wall. “Eddie,” he says, nearly in tears, “it’s yummy.”
“I heard, bud.”
Buck lets go and crouches by Theo’s side, not wanting to distract him with a hug and somehow get him to hate the quesadilla. “I told you we’d figure it out.”
“Technically I figured it out.”
“Eddie, which ones is it?” Buck asks desperately as he grabs Eddie’s hand and drags him into the kitchen. “Which ones?”
“Flour tortilla—”
“What size?”
“Slow down, cowboy,” Eddie snorts. “Flour tortilla, quesadilla sized since, y’know, you’re making a quesadilla. Half monterey jack, half mild cheddar.”
Buck shakes his head in awe. He never needed a spreadsheet, he just needed Eddie. “You’re a genius.”
“It’s a quesadilla, Buck, not rocket science. I’m sure you would’ve figured it out. Eventually.”
“No, I wouldn’t’ve. You’re a genius, Eddie.”
Buck’s body acts on pure instinct, fueled by the unadulterated love for Eddie that is overflowing from his heart at the moment. Eddie did it. Eddie did it.
Buck brackets his hands on either side of Eddie’s jaw and plants a kiss right on his plush lips. He always knew they would be soft—not that Buck spends hours at a time idly day dreaming about Eddie’s lips. He definitely hasn’t done that. He definitely hasn’t almost cut his finger off while chopping up vegetables for dinner because he was too busy staring across the loft at Eddie.
Buck turns away, somehow obliviously unaware of what he’s just done, gathers the correct tortilla and cheeses into a pile, takes a picture so he’ll always remember, and finally returns to the table so he can watch in glory as Theo eats.
He sits down, smiles at Theo, looks up to see Eddie standing frozen in the kitchen with his face beet red, and catches a surprised look coming from Chris.
Buck tilts his head as his eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Did I just kiss Eddie?”
Chris and Theo laugh at him.