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The firehouse had its own rhythm on B-shift days, quiet hums that built into crescendos of laughter or chaos, depending on who got caught up in Buck's orbit.
This morning was no exception.
The smell of coffee lingered in the kitchen, Bobby already in his domain at the stove, spatula tapping against the skillet in a steady beat.
Hen was on the couch, laptop propped on her knees, muttering something about her latest med school readings.
Chim was at the table, pretending to check reports but really scrolling through something on his phone if his smirk was anything to go by.
And Buck, Buck was everywhere.
He'd come barreling down the stairs not five minutes ago, half a granola bar in one hand, a screwdriver in the other.
Somehow, in the span of thirty seconds, he'd tried to help Bobby flip pancakes, distracted Chim long enough to get his phone swiped, and nearly tripped over the corner of the couch, narrowly missing Hen's laptop.
"You're gonna take yourself out before we even get a call." Hen remarked without glancing up.
"I'm fine," Buck said brightly, dropping onto the couch arm beside her. "Totally fine. Nothing broken, no injuries, still standing."
"Barely," Chim muttered, reclaiming his phone with a glare that held zero heat.
Across the room, Eddie was leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching it all unfold with the calm expression of a man who had learned, through much trial and error, that trying to stop Buck was like trying to stop weather.
You couldn't. You just learned how to work with it.
And if Eddie's eyes softened a little too much when Buck grinned, well, nobody called him out on it.
The morning passed slowly, the lull of no calls leaving them all to their own devices.
Hen retreated deeper into her studies, headphones in place.
Chim set up shop at the table with a puzzle he swore was "for stress relief."
Bobby moved seamlessly between paperwork and meal prep, clearly already thinking ahead to lunch.
Buck flitted between them all like an overexcited golden retriever, offering Hen suggestions for songs she could study to ("Trust me, eighties power ballads really help with memorization"), bugging Chim about puzzle pieces until he was banished, and finally drifting into the kitchen where he hovered at Bobby's elbow.
"Want me to help chop something?" he asked.
"No." Bobby replied.
"I'm a great chopper," he insisted.
"You're a distracted chopper," Bobby countered without missing a beat.
Buck made a show of being offended, but still lingered, sneaking a piece of bell pepper from the cutting board until Bobby swatted at his hand.
Through it all, Eddie sat at the table with a maintenance report in front of him, though he only half-read it.
Mostly, he listened, letting the steady hum of voices fill the space. He was used to it now, the way this team felt more like family than coworkers.
Used to Buck's voice cutting through every quiet moment. Used to watching Buck gravitate toward everyone, offering himself in bits and bursts until there was nothing left at the end of the day.
And if sometimes Eddie thought Buck deserved someone who'd notice the way his eyes dimmed when the teasing went on too long, well, Eddie tried to be that someone.
By the time Bobby called lunch, the kitchen smelled rich and comforting. Pasta, bread, salad—simple, filling, exactly what they all needed.
They gathered at the table in their usual spots, plates filling quickly, the room alive with chatter.
"So, I had a patient the other night. Total diva." Chim was the first to toss something out between bites. "Refused to get in the ambulance until she had her purse, her coat, her cat, swear to God, her actual cat."
"Please tell me you let her bring the cat." Hen perked up.
"Do you know what it's like to transport a cat in an ambulance?" Chim grimaced.
"Better than transporting a patient without their cat." Buck said, twirling pasta onto his fork. "People need comfort, you know? You can't just leave behind what matters most to them."
"Of course you'd say that." Chim rolled his eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Buck's eyebrows furrowed.
"It means you're basically the human version of high maintenance." Chim said with a teasing tone, smirking.
"Oh, I don't know." Hen laughed immediately. "He might be right."
"Excuse me?" Buck set his fork down, scandalized.
"You heard her," Chim pressed, clearly enjoying himself. "Buckley here is the most high maintenance person at this table. Hands down."
Bobby arched a brow but didn't comment, choosing instead to sip his water.
"I mean, think about it." Hen leaned in, her grin widening. "You complain when your coffee order's wrong. You can't stand it when your socks get even a little damp. And don't get me started on the number of times you've redone your locker organization because it didn't 'feel right.'"
"That's called having standards!" Buck threw his hands up.
Eddie, who had been quiet until now, hid his smirk behind a piece of bread.
"Don't you dare laugh at this, Diaz." Buck caught it instantly.
"I didn't say anything." Eddie said smoothly.
"You didn't have to." Buck turned back to the group. "I'm not high maintenance. I'm... passionate."
"Passion doesn't explain why you spent twenty minutes last week picking out which protein shake to buy." Chim shot back.
"Oh my God, I remember that!" Hen nearly spit out her drink. "You made the poor clerk restock the fridge just so you could compare labels."
"I was being health-conscious!" Buck defended.
The laughter at the table grew louder, Bobby even shaking his head as though he wasn't surprised.
Buck laughed with them, but Eddie noticed the shift. The way Buck's smile didn't quite reach his eyes anymore, the faint tightness in his shoulders.
To anyone else, it probably looked like Buck was still playing along.
But Eddie knew better. He always knew.
When Buck finally turned toward him, blue eyes shining with a mix of amusement and something almost pleading, Eddie straightened.
Buck didn't say anything, didn't have to. The look said enough, 'back me up here'.
Eddie met his gaze steadily, and for a beat, he considered lying. Telling Buck he wasn't high maintenance at all. Letting him off the hook. But lying never did Buck any favors, and Eddie had promised himself long ago that he'd always be honest with him, even when it wasn't what Buck wanted to hear.
"You are a little high maintenance." Eddie said finally, voice calm but gentle.
"Really?" Buck's face fell, just a fraction. A flicker of betrayal in those wide blue eyes.
The table roared with laughter again, Chim practically slapping the table, but Eddie didn't join them.
"But that's not a bad thing." He leaned in slightly, his tone softer, meant just for Buck even if the others could hear.
The noise around them dimmed, the teasing fading as the weight in Eddie's voice pulled Buck's attention.
"You care," Eddie continued steadily. "You care a lot. About everything. About people, about details, about doing things right. So yeah, sometimes that makes you...not easygoing. But it also makes you passionate. And that's a good thing."
Buck's lips parted, his breath caught somewhere in his chest. The betrayed look shifted, softening, though confusion lingered there too.
"And when you get upset about the little things, I think you're pretty good at letting me make you feel better about them." Eddie kept going, his voice low and certain. "That's good, too."
The table had gone quiet now, the team watching openly, though Eddie didn't care. His focus was on Buck. On the way his jaw flexed, on the way those wide eyes searched his face like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.
Eddie lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, until it cupped Buck's cheek.
Buck startled slightly at the touch, not because it was unwelcome, but because Eddie had never done it here, not in front of everyone.
The silence stretched, thick and charged.
"They can say you're high maintenance all they want," Eddie said, every word carved with certainty. "But that's okay. Because I love maintaining you."
The room collectively inhaled.
Chim's eyes went comically wide.
Hen's lips curved into something dangerously close to finally.
Bobby just blinked once, though Eddie swore he caught the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Buck, though... Buck was frozen. Breath caught, eyes wide, face burning beneath Eddie's hand.
His lips parted once, closed, then opened again.
"You—" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. "You can't just say that here."
"Why not?" Eddie asked simply, thumb brushing along his jaw. "It's true."
And maybe Eddie should've been nervous. Maybe he should've cared about the team watching, about the fact that the relationship he and Buck had been carefully, quietly protecting for months was no longer a secret. But the relief on Buck's face, the way the tension finally drained from his shoulders, made it worth it.
"You're insane." Buck's eyes shimmered, his breath shaky. He didn't look away, not even for a second.
"Probably," Eddie murmured, lips curving just slightly. "But I mean it."
The table erupted again, but this time it wasn't teasing, it was a mix of laughter and groans and Hen muttering, "Took you long enough."
"Unbelievable." Chim dramatically pushed his chair back. "All this time, and you two... Ugh, I feel cheated."
"Pass the salad." Bobby finally spoke, calm as ever.
And just like that, the tension broke. Conversation picked back up, though now it was laced with sly comments and knowing looks thrown their way.
"You really just said that." Buck was still staring at Eddie, eyes wide and disbelieving and soft in a way that made Eddie's chest ache.
"Yeah," Eddie said quietly, hand still resting against his cheek. "And I'll keep saying it. As many times as you need."
Buck's answering smile was small but real, blooming slowly and warm until it lit up his whole face.
And Eddie thought, 'if this was what high maintenance looked like, then he'd gladly spend the rest of his life maintaining Evan Buckley'.
//////////
The Diaz house was quiet in the way it only ever was when Christopher was asleep.
The faint hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, the low glow of the lamp in the living room casting soft shadows across the walls.
Buck sat curled into the corner of the couch, one arm draped across the back, the other resting on his stomach. He looked...restless. Not fidgeting like he usually did, but holding himself too still, like movement might break something fragile.
Eddie came in from the kitchen carrying two mugs of tea. He set one on the table in front of Buck before sinking down beside him, close enough their thighs brushed.
"Thanks," Buck murmured, though he didn't reach for the mug. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
For a moment, Eddie just watched him, sipping his own tea in silence. He knew this version of Buck, the one who kept words locked behind clenched teeth, afraid of letting them spill. He'd learned patience worked better than pressing.
"You didn't have to do that today." Buck finally spoke.
"Do what?" Eddie turned slightly.
"You know." Buck's mouth twisted, somewhere between a grimace and a smile. "Go all...grand declaration of love at the lunch table."
"You make it sound like I proposed." Eddie's lips curved faintly.
"It felt like you did," Buck shot back, voice a little tight. "You just... You said it. Like it was nothing. In front of everyone."
"Because it is nothing," Eddie said, steady. "Nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to hide."
Buck's head snapped up, blue eyes bright and raw.
"Eddie, we've been so careful. Months of making sure no one notices, and then you just–" His voice cracked, softer now. "Why?"
Eddie set his mug down and shifted closer, reaching out until his hand brushed Buck's knee.
"Because you needed to hear it," he said simply. "You were starting to believe them. The teasing. Like being high maintenance meant being too much. And I wasn't going to let you think that. Not even for a second."
"You always do that." Buck swallowed hard, throat working.
"Do what?" Eddie's head tilted.
"See right through me." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Even when I don't want you to."
"That's because you matter to me. Every part of you." Eddie's hand slid higher, warm against Buck's thigh. "Even the parts you think are too much."
Buck's eyes glistened in the lamplight, his laugh shaky.
"You're ridiculous, you know that? You just say things like that and it's so easy for you, and I–" He broke off, shaking his head. "I don't know what to do with it."
"You don't have to do anything with it," Eddie said softly. He reached up, cupping Buck's face again, thumb brushing across his cheek the same way he had at lunch. "Just...believe me."
For a long moment, Buck just looked at him, eyes wide and searching, like he was trying to find cracks in Eddie's words. But there weren't any. There never would be.
Slowly, Buck leaned in until their foreheads touched, his breath warm against Eddie's mouth.
"You really love maintaining me?" he asked, voice trembling with something equal parts teasing and desperate.
"More than anything." Eddie's lips curved, brushing against his.
And then Buck kissed him. It wasn't the first time. They'd stolen plenty of kisses in the safety of closed doors, in Eddie's kitchen, in Buck's loft, in the quiet moments before shift change, but this one was different. This one was unsteady, urgent, filled with the weight of being seen, of being known.
Eddie held him close, one hand cradling his face, the other sliding around his back until Buck melted against him.
"You know this means we're never going to hear the end of it, right?" Buck was breathing hard, his forehead pressed to Eddie's shoulder. "Chim is going to dine out on this for years."
Eddie huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
"Let him. He can talk all he wants." He pulled back just enough to meet Buck's eyes again. "As long as you know I've got you."
Buck's answering smile was soft and a little watery, but it was real. He leaned back into Eddie's chest, finally letting himself relax.
And Eddie held him there, in the quiet glow of the living room, thinking that if this was what high maintenance looked like, if this was Buck, raw and vulnerable and his, then he'd gladly spend forever maintaining him.