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The front door opened, and the peaceful quiet of the afternoon shattered.
It wasn't a loud noise, necessarily, but Buck knew his family. He knew the specific sound of Christopher's crutches hitting the floorboards, usually accompanied by a breathless, mile a minute story about a new project for school or a terrible joke he'd heard at recess.
Today, the crutches moved with a heavy, dragging shuffle. There was no chatter. No dropping of the backpack in the hall. There was only the sharp, definitive click of Christopher's bedroom door shutting down the hallway.
Buck frowned, tossing the dish towel into the sink. He wiped his hands on his jeans just as Eddie walked into the kitchen.
Eddie looked entirely wrecked. The exhausted, tense set of his broad shoulders was something Buck hadn't seen in months. Eddie dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, the clatter echoing too loudly in the silent house, and let out a long, ragged sigh. He scrubbed a heavy hand down his face, his jaw tight.
"Hey," Buck said softly, keeping his voice deliberately low. He closed the distance between them in two long strides, instinctively reaching out to rest a warm, grounding hand on Eddie's bicep. "What happened? Where's the 'guess what I learned today' speech?"
Eddie leaned into the physical contact, his dark brown eyes filling with a helpless, frustrated sorrow. "I don't know," Eddie admitted, his voice rough and tired. "He got in the truck and just completely shut down. I tried to talk to him on the ride home, asked him if something happened with his friends, or if a teacher said something, but he wouldn't say a word. He just stared out the window."
Buck's chest gave a painful, empathetic squeeze. Chris was the brightest, most resilient kid he knew. To see his light dim was a physical blow to both of them.
"I'll give him a little bit," Eddie murmured, looking down the hallway toward the closed bedroom door, his protective instincts warring with his desire to give his son space. "Let him decompress. And then we can go chat to him... if you want to come?"
The question was a mere formality. They were a unit now. They tackled the hard stuff together, a united front against whatever the world threw at their boy.
"Yeah, of course," Buck nodded, his mind already spinning rapidly with ways to fix whatever had broken in Christopher's day. He looked toward the pantry, a familiar, comforting idea taking root. "You know what? Give me twenty minutes. I'm going to make something."
Eddie offered a tired, but incredibly fond smile, the deep affection in his eyes cutting straight through his worry. "Baking?"
"Raspberry and white chocolate muffins," Buck confirmed, already moving to pull the flour and sugar from the shelves. "His favorite comfort food. We can't go in there empty handed, right?"
"You're a lifesaver," Eddie breathed, walking around the island to pull out a barstool and sit down, content to just watch.
Baking was therapeutic for Buck, it was a way of getting out of his own head. It required exact measurements, a gentle touch, and patience, things he had learned to apply to his own healing journey. He moved around the kitchen with focus, adding the dry ingredients before gently folding the tart red raspberries and the sweet, chunky white chocolate into the thick batter. As the tin went into the oven, the kitchen began to fill with a warm, sugary scent that felt like the absolute reverse of the clinical, sterile smells of rubbing alcohol and bleach that used to haunt him.
They didn't talk much while the muffins baked. They didn't need to. The shared, anxious anticipation of finding out what was hurting Chris was a silent, pulsing current between them. Eddie sat with his elbows resting on the counter, his eyes tracking Buck's every movement, finding his own grounding in the domestic normalcy of his partner.
When the oven timer finally beeped, Buck pulled the tin out. The muffin tops were perfectly golden brown, the red berries bursting through the crumbly crust. He didn't even wait for them to cool completely. He grabbed a small serving tray, loaded three of the largest, warmest muffins onto it, and grabbed three cans of soda from the fridge.
"Alright," Buck said, balancing the tray against his hip. "Let's go."
Eddie pushed himself off the stool. He looked at the tray, then looked at Buck, his heart overflowing. He loved that Buck's immediate, ingrained instinct when someone he loved was hurting was to create something warm and sweet to offer them. It was such a beautiful shift from the man who used to think his mere presence was a burden.
They walked down the hallway. The door to Christopher's room was firmly shut. Eddie reached out and knocked twice, a gentle sound against the wood.
"Chris?" Eddie called out softly. "It's Buck and me. Can we come in?"
There was a long, agonizing pause. For a terrifying second, Buck thought they were going to be turned away, that Chris was going to ask them to leave.
Then, a small, watery voice filtered through the wood. "Yes."
Eddie turned the knob and pushed the door open.
The room was dim, the blinds pulled tight against the afternoon sun. Christopher was lying on his bed, curled up tightly on his side, his back to the door. He was staring blankly at the wall, his glasses discarded carelessly on the nightstand next to his lamp.
When Buck and Eddie walked around the edge of the bed, the sight of Christopher's face made Buck's heart completely shatter. Chris’s cheeks were flushed and heavily tear streaked, his eyelashes wet and clumped together. He looked so incredibly small, stripped of his usual larger than life personality.
Eddie didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. He dropped to his knees right beside the head of the bed, putting himself perfectly at eye level with his son. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently smoothing Christopher's messy curls back from his damp forehead.
"Oh, mijo," Eddie breathed, his voice thick with raw heartbreak. "What's wrong? What happened today?"
Buck put the tray of muffins and sodas down on the desk chair near them. He walked over to the bed and sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress, positioning himself right between Eddie's kneeling form and Christopher's legs. He wanted to box the kid in with safety, letting him know he was surrounded by their love.
Christopher's bottom lip trembled. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as a fresh, hot tear spilled over the bridge of his nose and soaked into his pillowcase.
"You know you can tell us anything, right?" Buck said, his voice dropping into that low, rumbly, comforting register he used on rescues when victims were terrified. "You don't have to hold it in, Chris."
The gentle coaxing was the final crack in the dam. Christopher let out a ragged, miserable sob, his small hands coming up to rub frantically at his wet eyes.
"There were... there were some older kids," Christopher choked out, his chest heaving with the effort to speak through his tears. "At recess. They're a year above me."
Eddie's hand stilled in Chris's hair. "What did they do?"
"They were laughing," Chris cried, his voice pitching higher with the devastating humiliation of the memory. "They were walking behind me, and they were… they were teasing me. Making fun of how I walk. They said my legs were broken, and wrong."
The atmosphere in the bedroom shifted in a singular, terrifying millisecond.
Buck watched Eddie’s face. He watched the gentle, concerned father entirely vanish, replaced instantly by the lethal, uncompromising fury of a man ready to tear the world apart. Eddie's jaw locked so tightly the muscle feathered near his ear, his dark eyes flashing with a violent, protective rage that Buck recognized intimately. It was the exact same look Eddie had worn in the court room, when he was about to punch Lucas. Eddie wanted blood. He wanted to march down to that middle school, find those kids, and scorch the earth they walked on.
Buck felt the exact same, furious burn in his own chest, but he knew they couldn't let Chris see that right now. Chris didn't need their rage, he needed their comfort. He needed to know he wasn't broken, wasn’t wrong.
Buck caught Eddie's eye over Christopher's head. He gave a slow, firm, quiet shake of his head.
Not right now. Focus on him. Breathe baby.
Eddie swallowed hard, a muscle jumping in his neck as he forced the lethal anger down, burying it deep in his chest for later. He returned his focus entirely to his weeping son, his hand resuming its gentle stroking motion.
"I am so sorry, Mijo," Eddie murmured, leaning forward to press a lingering, fierce kiss to Christopher's temple. "I am so sorry they did that to you. They are mean, and they are cruel, and you did not deserve that, there is absolutely nothing wrong with how you walk."
"It's not fair," Christopher sobbed, turning his face to bury it against Eddie's shoulder. "I hate it. I just want to be like everyone else."
Buck’s heart ached with a deep empathy. He reached out, resting his large hand warmly on Christopher's back, rubbing slow, steady circles over the boy's spine.
"It isn't fair, Chris," Buck agreed softly, validating the anger rather than dismissing it. "It sucks. And you are allowed to be angry, and you are allowed to be sad about it. But those kids? They were trying to make you feel small because they don't understand how incredibly strong you are. You work harder every single day just to get out of bed and go to school than they do."
They stayed like that for a long time, just letting the boy cry it out against his father's shoulder, offering a safe, judgment free space for his grief.
Eventually, the tears subsided into quiet, exhausted sniffles. The awkward angle of Eddie kneeling on the hardwood floor and Buck perched precariously on the edge of the mattress wasn't going to hold for long.
Without a word, Buck shifted backward, sliding himself up the bed until his back was resting flat against the wooden headboard. Eddie climbed up onto the mattress from the other side, doing the exact same thing. They practically dragged Christopher up between them.
It was a ridiculously tight fit. Buck's broad shoulders were pressed flush against Eddie's, with Christopher wedged securely in the middle, leaning heavily against Buck's chest while Eddie wrapped a solid arm around both of them. It was cramped, it was incredibly warm, and it was perfect.
"Better?" Eddie asked quietly, resting his chin on top of Christopher's messy curls.
Chris nodded, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. He took a deep, shaky breath, and as he opened his eyes, his gaze finally landed on the desk chair.
He paused, sniffing wetly. "Are those... muffins?"
Buck couldn't help the small, fond smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "Raspberry and white chocolate. Fresh out of the oven."
Christopher looked up at him, his red, puffy eyes widening slightly. "Did you make them for me?"
"Of course I did," Buck said softly, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "I knew you were having a bad day. And bad days require muffins. It's a scientific fact."
Eddie snorted a soft, watery laugh, reaching over to grab the tray from the chair. He balanced it carefully over their laps, handing a muffin and a cold soda to Chris, then offering one to Buck before taking the last one for himself.
They sat there, a tangled, affectionate pile of limbs against the headboard, eating in a comfortable, healing silence. The warm, sweet muffin seemed to do exactly what Buck had hoped, grounding Christopher and chasing away the last lingering shadows of the bullies at school.
Chris took a sip of his soda, his small fingers tracing the condensation on the aluminum can. He was quiet for a long moment, his young mind clearly turning over a heavy, complicated thought.
"Buck?" Chris asked, his voice very soft, almost hesitant.
"Yeah, Chris?"
Chris looked down at his lap, his brow furrowing. "Do you get teased because of your HIV?"
The question dropped into the quiet bedroom like a stone in a glass pond.
Buck was genuinely taken aback. He blinked, a brief, instinctive spike of his old medical trauma flaring in his chest. It had been months now since his viral load was confirmed undetectable. He was U=U. But the word still carried a heavy gravity, a reminder of the frantic, terrifying days of bleaching his loft and flinching away from human touch.
Eddie immediately turned his head to look at Buck, his dark eyes instantly assessing, ready to step in and shut the conversation down if Buck was uncomfortable. But Eddie didn't rescue him. Eddie just smiled, a gentle, incredibly supportive expression that radiated absolute trust. Eddie loved that Buck refused to hide his reality from their son. He loved that Buck was strong enough to be honest.
Buck took a slow, steadying breath. He looked down at Christopher, who was waiting patiently for an answer.
"Not... teased, exactly," Buck said, choosing his words carefully, wanting to be honest but framing it in a way an intelligent kid could process. "Everyone in our family, and everyone at the firehouse has been really, really good about it. They know I'm healthy and doing good. But... outside of our family? The stigma is still real, Chris."
Christopher tilted his head, adjusting his glasses. "Stigma?"
"It means a bad reputation that something doesn't actually deserve," Buck explained softly, his mind drifting to the macro aggressions of the real world. "When some people find out, they act differently. It's not usually teasing like what happened to you today. It's quieter. Sometimes... sometimes they take a physical step back when I tell them. Or their posture shifts, and they get stiff. Or they suddenly don't want to share a drink with me."
Buck looked at Eddie, thinking back to his own irrational terror in the early days, how he had scrubbed his hands raw because he thought his own blood was a biohazard. He had been a victim of the very stigma he was describing.
"Does it hurt your feelings?" Chris asked, his eyes filled with an empathy that was far too big for his age.
"Yeah," Buck admitted honestly, a small, sad smile touching his lips. "It hurts a little bit every time. Because it makes you feel like there's something wrong with you."
Chris's face fell, the memory of his own bullies clearly mirroring Buck's pain.
"But here's the thing," Buck continued, shifting his weight so he could look Christopher dead in the eye. "I don't think most of those people mean to be cruel. They aren't trying to hurt me. They just don't understand everything about it. They grew up hearing scary stories about it a long time ago, and they don't know the science of how it works now."
"Like how they think they'll get it, even when they can't?" Chris asked, his brilliant mind connecting the dots perfectly.
"Exactly," Buck beamed, feeling incredibly proud of his kid's emotional intelligence. "My medicine makes the virus undetectable. That means it's untransmittable. I couldn't give it to someone even if I tried. But because they don't understand that they act out of fear. Just like those kids today."
Buck reached out, tapping Chris gently on the chest. "Those older kids don't understand Cerebral Palsy. They don't understand how your muscles work, or how incredibly strong you are. They saw something different, and because they didn't understand it, they teased you. It's about themselves, Chris. It has absolutely nothing to do with you."
The room was quiet for a long moment as Christopher absorbed the explanation. He looked at Buck, his expression completely serious.
"But you're not wrong," Chris said, his voice ringing with absolute, fierce conviction. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.
Buck’s heart swelled so massively it felt like it might break his ribs. He felt the sting of hot tears prick the corners of his eyes. He looked at the boy who loved him unconditionally, virus and all.
Buck smiled, a brilliant, blinding expression of pure love. He reached out and cupped the side of Chris's face.
"And you are not wrong, or broken either, Chris," Buck vowed fiercely. "You are perfect. Exactly the way you are."
A massive, watery grin broke across Christopher's face. He let out a wet, happy laugh, the heavy burden of the afternoon finally lifting from his shoulders.
Eddie didn't waste another second. He lunged forward, throwing his arms around both of them, squishing Christopher entirely between them in a massive, ridiculous sandwich hug. Buck laughed, wrapping his arms around Eddie's back, burying his face in Chris's hair. They stayed like that, a tangled, messy pile of healing, until Chris started complaining that they were crushing his muffin.
Later that evening, the house had finally settled into its usual, comfortable silence. Christopher was in the living room, happily building a massive Lego spaceship on the rug, the tears of the afternoon entirely forgotten.
Buck was standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the muffin tin. He turned off the faucet, drying his hands on a dish towel. He walked over, Eddie was sitting at the dining table, typing aggressively on his laptop. Buck knew that look. That was the look of a man on a mission.
Buck walked quietly over to the table. He stood behind Eddie’s chair, resting his hands on the broad line of Eddie's shoulders, feeling the tension vibrating in the muscles there.
"So," Buck said, his voice casual, a playful lilt hiding just beneath the surface. "What time is the appointment with the principal?"
Eddie’s typing abruptly stopped. He froze, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He tilted his head back, looking up at Buck upside down, a sheepish, guilty laugh escaping his lips.
"How did you know?" Eddie asked, entirely caught off guard.
Buck smiled, a slow, incredibly fond expression. He stepped around the chair, invading Eddie's space. He wrapped his arms loosely around Eddie's neck, bending down to press his chest against Eddie's back.
"Because" Buck murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of Eddie's ear, "you would never let anyone hurt him. You'd burn the school down if you had to. I saw your face in that bedroom, Eddie. You've been planning your attack since we walked out of there."
Eddie let out a low, rumbling sigh, leaning his head back against Buck's chest, entirely surrendering to the embrace. The lethal, protective fatherly rage was still there, simmering just beneath his calm exterior, but Buck's arms were a perfect anchor.
"They made him cry," Eddie said, his voice dropping into a dark, protective register. "I'm not letting that slide. I'm going to have a very calm, very terrifying conversation with the principal about their anti bullying policies tomorrow morning."
Buck chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie's temple. He loved this man. He loved the fierce, uncompromising way Eddie protected their family.
"So," Buck asked again softly. "What time?"
Eddie smiled, reaching up to cover Buck's hands with his own. "10AM tomorrow."
Buck squeezed his shoulders. "Good."
He leaned down, tilting Eddie's chin up, and kissed him. It was a slow, deep, reassuring kiss, filled with the quiet certainty that no matter what the world threw at them, whether it was school bullies or medical stigmas, they were going to face it exactly like this.
Together.