Archive of Our Own

Eddie's aware that his hair is likely a mess, his eyes are wild, and his shirt is barely, haphazardly tucked into his jeans, but the alarm bells going off in his head are all-consuming, demanding his attention in a way that leaves nothing left to care about his disheveled appearance. He herds Chris through Buck's door, absent-mindedly gesturing for him to make himself comfortable on the couch with Theo while he frantically pads his way to the kitchen.

"Code red, Buck," Eddie yelps, his voice carrying down the hall and toward the kitchen. As he approaches, he hears somebody rummaging through pots and pans in an apparent frenzy. Which isn't ideal, given that he's the only one who's meant to be panicking right now.

He steps into the kitchen and his eyes lock onto Buck's, whose blue orbs are looking equally wide and hysterical. He opens his mouth to speak, and almost like a reflection, Buck moves to speak at the same time. They both clamp their mouth shut with similar tension.

"Um… Your crisis first?" Buck offers, his hands scrubbing at the pan in the sink now, frayed nerves on full display.

Eddie huffs, his throat uncharacteristically dry as he rasps, "My parents called. They booked a flight. Wanted to come see Chris for Thanksgiving, and they figured I wouldn't have plans since they're coming three days early. Tonight." Then, he turns his gaze downward, voice dropping. "I uh— I told them we were having dinner here and they kind of… invited themselves."

Buck blinks, looking awfully like someone in the midst of being choked, his tongue sitting dumbly in his gaping mouth.

"And uh— your crisis?" Eddie prompts gently, shaking Buck slightly out of his stupor.

Buck gulps, the panic in his eyes morphing to thinly-veiled horror. "My parents," he says, and Eddie's stomach free falls, a swirl of dark dread clawing its way up his gut. "They just called to tell me they're coming to dinner. Tonight."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Eddie's been to war. He's been buried alive. He's been shot. He's been stabbed. But he's certain his entire nervous system has never been as on edge as it is today. Every move he makes sends jitters throughout his whole body, every movement in his periphery makes him fully flinch.

It'll be fine, he soothes his frazzled brain for the hundredth time. Like the previous ninety-nine platitudes, it does nothing to calm him down. He'd sent a text to his parents, informing them that Buck's parents would be joining them for dinner as well, and received a curt "ok" in response from his mom. He tries — desperately, hysterically, unsuccessfully — not to overanalyze it.

Buck has set about preparing like a man on a mission, situating Theo and Chris in the room with a video game and (likely empty) promises from Chris to work on his science report, he had started cooking and broiling and baking with the intensity of a man possessed. Eddie, despite his similarly distressed state of mind, had at least the wherewithal to remove himself from the kitchen, lest his left arm be chewed off by one very stressed Evan Buckley. Instead, Eddie has been channeling the restless energy surging through his body into cleaning every corner of Buck's home, moving as if the act of scrubbing, sweeping, vacuuming might somehow work out the knots already forming in his shoulders.

He's at the tail end of his very systematic deep clean of Buck's bathroom, when there's a knock at the door. He reels back, as if struck, and Buck lets out an audible screech from the kitchen.

"Eddie," Buck says, fear clinging to every syllable. "They're half an hour early. Why the fuck are they half an hour early?" He slinks into the living room, entering Eddie's eyeline, and Eddie catalogues that Buck is almost shaking.

Despite his own nerves, Eddie places his hand lightly on Buck's shoulder, his thumb sliding in snugly under Buck's collarbone, applying light, grounding pressure. He exhales slowly, motioning to Buck to follow, and sighs in relief as the tension drains from Buck. Buck straightens himself up and walks over to the door, opening it with a slight flourish.

That strangled quality to Buck's voice is back when he chokes out at his guest, "D- Diedra?"

"Hi Buck," Diedra replies, oblivious to Buck's mental turmoil. She peeks her head in and eyes Eddie. "Oh and Eddie's here too! I'm just here for a surprise visit. Is now a good time?"

Buck's mouth opens. Closes just as quickly without any words. Eddie quickly answers in his place, "Of course." Great, he thinks. He sounds totally normal, totally not on the verge of a near mental collapse. "We're having both our parents over for dinner in about half an hour, though. Early Thanksgiving."

"Oh, that's lovely," Diedra says sincerely, and Eddie winces slightly at how misguided the sentiment is. Diedra steps through the threshold into the house, adding, "I should be out of your hair by then, just need to talk to Theo and get updated on your progress."

"Sure," Eddie says, patting himself on the back for how unaffected he's managing to sound. "He's in his room with Chris."

Buck recovers by then, his brain apparently rebooted. He's moving a mile a minute again, offering to take Diedra's bag and leading her to the couch while he goes to fetch Theo from the room. As he turns toward the room, he gives Eddie a light squeeze on the bicep, and whispers low to him, "Do you mind taking the lasagna out from the oven? I have a timer set, just bring it out when it rings."

Eddie smiles and nods, quietly mourning the loss of warmth when Buck's fingers slide off his arm as he shuffles toward Theo's room.

"Make yourself at home," Eddie says quickly to Diedra as he walks toward the kitchen with a quick wink. "Just gotta make sure Buck's hard work doesn't catch on fire."

Diedra gives him a warm smile in response, looking suitable reassured. It settles Eddie, at least for now, and he feels a little lighter as he heads into the kitchen.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The next half an hour passes without incident. Buck's food is completed, and it looks and smells ethereal, if you ask Eddie. Eddie lays the spread out on Buck's dining table and sets the table for eight, finally sufficiently at ease to quietly hum to himself as he places Theo's plastic fork and spoon at his place mat.

The only hint that Diedra's still here is the sound of soft conversation coming from Theo's room, punctuated by loud laughter every once in a while. The sound is like warmth wrapping itself around Eddie's chest, comforting and comfortable.

Before long, there's another knock at the door, much closer to the agreed upon start of dinner. Before Eddie can make his way to the door, he hears the door fly open, and Buck say in a surprisingly even tone, "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Diaz."

Eddie hurries over, schooling his face into something pleasant as he greets his parents at the door. He receives two similarly placid smiles in return, as Helena and Ramon enter the house, eyes already searching for Christopher.

Chris emerges shortly after, having heard the front door opening, and greets his grandparents politely. He's immediately wrapped in hugs from both of them, showered in coos of "You got so much taller," and "You're looking more and more handsome by the day". Eddie tries not to dwell on the fact that they hadn't greeted him with a fraction of that same enthusiasm. Tries not to let it sting.

"Thank you for having us, Buck," Ramon says, giving Buck a slight smile and a nod.

"Of course," Buck responds, tone perfectly pleasant. "Sorry if it's a bit of a squeeze tonight. It was just going to be the four of us tonight, but then you and my parents had the same idea to surprise us on the same night."

"Four?" Helena asks, mouth twisting into a slight frown.

As if on cue, Theo dashes out of his room, Diedra trailing behind. He lodges himself firmly between Buck and Eddie, one hand tugging on each of their jeans. "Buck! Eddie! I did really good. I answered all the questions!"

Eddie sees his mother's eyebrow jump up, and quickly clarifies, "This is Theo, Buck's fostering him. He was um… friends with his parents." He settles for the simplest explanation, and sees his parents' faces soften with understanding.

Diedra joins them, smiling at Helena and Ramon. Eddie turns to introduce her, "And this is Diedra, the social worker assigned to Theo's case. Diedra, these are my parents."

"A pleasure, Mr. and Mrs. Diaz," Diedra says, offering a handshake, which Ramon and Helena take graciously.

As if there wasn't enough stress piling on Eddie's near-spilling plate, delicately balanced on the razor's edge of his last remaining dregs of sanity, the doorbell rings again. With an almost manic energy, Buck flings the door open, the effort making it strain against its hinges.

Phillip and Margaret stand at the door, and Buck's smile doesn't budge an inch — impressive, if Eddie hadn't already noted the smallest twitch in his neck. Buck lets his parents into the house, his frozen smile never faltering.

There's a moment of weighted silence in the air, as seven adults and two children blink wordlessly at each other in Buck's overcrowded living room, before Diedra clears her throat and offers, "You must be Mr. and Mrs. Buckley."

"Not anymore," Margaret says, smiling sweetly despite the slight bite in her words. "Phillip and I just finalized the divorce."

"Oh!" Helena pipes in, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. "But you still decided to come together?"

"We're just… taking the RV on a final couple trips before we sell it," Phillip says, betraying nothing in the cadence of his voice. "It was an amicable divorce, anyway."

Helena falls silent after that, confusion and unasked questions written plainly in her countenance, but Eddie wills her lips shut with a bit of a withering look. Margaret and Phillip finally lift their gazes, appraising the room they find themselves in, and its many characters. Their wandering eyes settle on Theo, who has chosen to shrink himself behind Eddie's leg, a feeble attempt to escape the judgemental scrutiny of the Buckley parents.

"Mom, Dad, this is Helena and Ramon, Eddie's parents," Buck finally chokes out, cutting through the taut silence. "And this is Diedra, the social worker for Theo's case. And you've seen pictures of Theo."

"Ah," Margaret says, and Eddie prickles at the sheen of disinterest that's crept into her tone. "That's… still going on, then?"

Eddie catalogues the way every muscle in Buck's body tenses at once, his back going rigid, fists balling. "You mean… fostering Theo?" Buck says through gritted teeth. "Yeah, Mom, that's still going on. And it'll be going on for as long as Diedra and the state lets me."

Diedra smiles kindly, adding softly, "Which, as far as I can tell, will be as long as you're willing, Buck. You and Eddie are doing a really good job with him. You're providing him with love, care, stability. He also said he loves having an older brother." She adds the last bit a little conspiratorially, winking toward Christopher, who grins at her words.

Eddie's just clinging to the word stability. He wants to throw it into his parent's faces, puff his chest out in vindication, preen a little at the praise. It was the one thing they had insisted he couldn't provide Chris, and here was a whole other person, (sanctioned by the state, mind you) declaring him a veritable source of stability. Then, remembering the implication heavy in Diedra's words — the suggestion that he and Buck are raising Theo together; which, he reasons, is not untrue per se, but he's sure his parents will take that whole statement the wrong way. So he tamps his smug retort down, simply nodding in response.

"I'll get out of your hair. Have a lovely family dinner," Diedra says, unaware of how heavy-laden that statement is, and the tentative balance she's knocked askew by lobbing it squarely into this already volatile gathering of humans. She smiles and ducks out the door.

Once the door clicks shut, Helena opens her mouth to speak, but Buck is quicker on the draw. Before anybody really has a chance to react, he says with a little too much forced enthusiasm, "Who's hungry?"

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It was stupid, really, to hope that things would ease up once they were all seated at the dining table. Because it hasn't. At all.

It's been polite enough, Eddie figures, his parents have very graciously thanked Buck for hosting and complimented his cooking. The same can't be said of Margaret, who's picking at her food, pushing a stray piece of lasagna around, letting the Bolognese slather across her plate like blood in a murder. Phillip, too, is chewing in short, mechanical bursts, seemingly unaffected by anything as trifling as flavor or texture.

Conversation starts and stops in stilted spurts, petering out into uncomfortable silence as quickly as it's attempted.

"How long are you in town for?" Eddie ventures, directing the question toward Margaret and Phillip.

"Oh, just two days. We're having dinner with Maddie and Howard tomorrow, then headed up to Yosemite," Phillip responds, making no effort to continue the conversation.

There's nothing but the subdued clinking of forks and knives against plates for a brief moment.

"So, Buck, is this your specialty? The lasagna is really delicious," Ramon offers, trying for friendliness.

Buck smiles, answering a little sadly, "The recipe was Bobby's — our late Captain. He's the one who really taught me to cook."

"All of Buck's food is really good," Chris says, swallowing before continuing so that his mouth isn't full. "You should see the way he makes Bisabuela's tamales, they're almost as good as hers were."

Ramon's eyes widen slightly, and he's clearly trying to hide the surprise in his voice as he says, "My mother shared her tamale recipe with you?"

Buck nods, and Ramon turns his gaze back onto his plate, appearing deep in thought. Eddie can already guess what he's thinking — Abuela had told him ages ago that the tamale recipe was a Diaz family secret, only to be shared with family. Something warm flares in his chest as he reaffirms quietly to himself that yes, Buck is family.

Another sheet of awkward silence falls over the table, and Theo looks up at Chris. Chris grimaces, gesturing to Theo not to say anything, and finish the cut-up lasagna in his bowl. Eddie sees the way Theo's eyes light up when Chris tells him something, memorizes his resolute little nod, and how he dutifully proceeds to do what's asked of him. Oh, to have that kind of command over Theo — he and Buck can only imagine.

Helena and Ramon decide to direct their attention toward Chris, and for the next few minutes, the conversation turns to Chris' extracurriculars, how he's liking his classes, which subject he's excelling in, and which he's struggling in (Eddie's proud to highlight that the answer to that is none of them). Chris manages to fill a good fifteen minutes with stories of school, teenage drama, and robotics club. Eddie notes, for the record, that for the hundreds of questions Ramon and Helena have for Chris, Phillip and Margaret don't ask a single question about Theo.

"You're not playing Chess anymore?" Ramon asks Chris, his mouth turned downwards, disappointment evident.

Chris keeps his eyes focused on the table, shrugging and saying, "I didn't really like it that much. Robotics is way cooler."

"Chris came in 2nd at the Regional Junior Robotics Championships last month!" Buck quickly appends, grinning at Chris and giving him an encouraging bump on the shoulder.

"Oh! You didn't tell us that!" Helena coos, excitement lighting her every feature, eyes suddenly bright. "Chris! That's great!"

"Yeah," Eddie adds, tone light and with a smile playing at his lips. "He got a trophy and everything. He was amazing."

"You know, your Dad used to take home trophies all the time," Ramon says with a slight wink toward Chris. "Regional Junior Ballroom Dancing Champion two years in a row."

"Eddie!" Buck says, smile impossibly wide. "You never told me that?"

Eddie feels heat rush to his face as he rubs his nape absently. His right index works at a cuticle on his thumb, a nervous tic he's had for years. "Y— yeah," he mutters. "I was just a kid. Quit when I was fourteen."

"We never understood why," Helena says, commiserating. "He was so brilliant. Then he switched to playing baseball."

"Never quite had the same talent at baseball," Ramon teases. There's an attempt at levity, but indignation makes itself known as a flare deep in Eddie's sternum.

"I told you why," Eddie says, trying to keep his tone civil despite the rumble in his gut. "You guys made it all about winning. Sucked the fun out of it."

Distantly, he recalls a young Eddie at thirteen, listening to his his father begrudgingly accept the sequins and satin on his costume, with the caveat that he'd better be winning. He'd been so stressed he threw up in the hall's bathroom fifteen minutes before he had to go on, the taste of puke still acrid on his tongue by the time he had to paste a smile on his face and dance.

"Well, there's no need to get too worked up about those trophies, right?" Margaret says, eyes still darting around her plate. "They're just for children anyway. Hardly matters in the long run."

Ramon clears his throat, an uncomfortable little gesture that has him sitting up a little straighter and averting his gaze. Helena's frown etches itself into her face, as she asks, "So, what did Buck get up to as a child?"

There's a brief moment of silence, something that reads as hesitation on Phillip and Margaret's part, before Phillip waves the question off, saying, "Oh, well, Evan didn't really do any extracurriculars, did you Evan?"

Buck's jaw hangs loose, brows stitching together, before his expression reshapes itself into a bit of a sneer. "I played football for 8 years, Dad. Tight end?"

"Oh, we never really got into football, Evan, you know that," Margaret says, a nervous laugh underpinning each syllable. "And it's not like you were winning much."

Chris' head tilts at that, confusion clear across his face. "I thought you said your high school won the State championship one time."

"Yeah," Buck says, forcing a smile onto his face for the benefit of Chris alone. "We did." Eddie can hear the hurt, so raw and evident in Buck's voice, tamped down and managed for the sake of decorum at this table. And he wants to yell, shake Buck's parents, demand they look at their son. At this incredible human they've somehow, against all odds, managed to bring into adulthood — who's flourished in every sense of the word. He wants them to acknowledge the incredible man he's become, in spite of all they've done to tear him down.

Instead, he hums and says, "Wish I'd been there to see that."

When he glances up to meet Buck's gaze, he's greeted with the most blinding smile, like sunshine pouring through the cracks of this dull, strangling dinner. He stares, willing the light to burn into his cornea, to leave a permanent mark on him in the shape of his best friend's joy.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Eddie's eyes flick over to Theo at the next bout of silence, and finds him squirming in his seat. It's not quite like Theo to stay silent for so long, but the kid's smart, and he's clearly picked up on the weighted tension in the air, a frown now etched onto his face. Eddie smiles at how similar his pout is to Buck's, the slight protrusion of his bottom lip, the way his brows turn down at their edges, nose scrunched just a hint. Theo notices Eddie staring and blinks up at him, looking ready to pounce off his seat.

"Chris," Helena's voice cuts through the silence, distracting Eddie and keeping Theo in his place. "Let me help with that meat. The pieces are so big."

Chris looks up from his plate, where he's just placed two slices of ham. "Um, no thanks, Grandma," he says politely. Far more politely than his grandparents deserve, Eddie muses. "I've got this."

"Don't be stubborn, Chris," Helena huffs. "It's okay to ask for help."

A twinge of annoyance sprouts in Eddie, and he says, sharper than he intends, "He knows to ask for help when he needs it, Mom." Taking a moment, he slows his breathing and adds, "If he says he's got it, he's got it."

Chris beams at him, slowly slicing the ham on his plate and gleefully forking a smaller piece into his mouth. Helena tuts again, incensed.

"Well, if he'd stayed with us in El Paso, he'd have someone around to help him more often. He wouldn't need to do all this himself," she argues, defensive.

Eddie huffs, but before he can argue, Chris is already speaking. "I want to do this myself. I want to be independent. Eventually I'm gonna want to go to college and move out and live on my own and I have to be able to do all this by myself anyway." He says it like it's obvious, like it's basic fact, and Eddie can't help the swell of pride that's threatening to burst out of him. Glancing to his left, he sees his expression mirrored on Buck's face.

"Besides," Eddie says, his confidence growing now. "El Paso was never meant to be permanent. Chris got the space he needed, then he came home." He doesn't growl 'to me' like he wants to, but the unspoken words are evident in his testy delivery. His mom lets out another huff of annoyance, then slinks back, slightly deflated.

"Don't get all defensive, Eddie," she says, and Eddie nearly cackles, because she says it in the most defensive tone he's ever heard. "We just want what's best for Chris."

And then, incredibly, Phillip Buckley is the next to speak. He coughs, then simply asks, "Well, Christopher is Eddie's son. Shouldn't you leave it to him to know what's best?"

Eddie sees Buck fighting not to roll his eyes, but distantly, he thinks this tracks. Of course Phillip and Margaret are projecting, implying that they know what's best for their children. But he'll take the small win, and tries not to feel too pleased when the argument dies on Helena's tongue, as she slouches back onto her chair.

Theo, naturally, has had enough of this conversation. Smearing a healthy amount of Bolognese on his face, he catapults himself from his seat, giggling as he sprints in the direction of his room. Buck, clearly fighting back a fond smile, ducks his head and excuses himself from the table, quickly padding off behind Theo.

Phillip and Margaret avert their eyes, continuing to poke and prod at the food on their plates.

Helena huffs and says, "And what about you two, you don't seem to even be involved in your grandson's life?"

"Oh, w— well," Margaret looks taken aback, flicking her gaze briefly toward the direction of Theo's room.

Phillip interjects with, "Evan's probably got it handled."

"Besides," Margaret adds, nodding. "He's not actually our grandson. Sure, I think Evan was also the sperm donor, but he's just a foster. We're not… We didn't see the need to get too attached."

Eddie can't seem to find oxygen, his body nothing more than rising heat, his vision flashing red. Through his barely-concealed rage, he spits out, "Not actually your grandson? Buck loves that kid like his own, he's taking active steps toward adopting him. This is forever. Theo is going to be family forever." Then, with a scoff, he says, "Or maybe he's not actually your grandson because you've never really cared for Buck as your son?"

Margaret gapes, affronted at Eddie's snide retort. Eddie can't quite bring himself to care that he's hurt a sixty-something-year-old woman's feelings. Certainly not one whose particular idea of motherhood is ignoring your child till he's old enough to leave and never think about him again.

Eddie glances over to his own parents, who look sort of mortified. But, he notices with some relief, their horror doesn't seem to be directed at him, but at the Buckley parents. Helena tuts, and with a healthy dose of contempt oozing out of her throat, she says, "How can you not care? T— That child is your own flesh and blood! He's your grandson!"

Margaret folds her arms across her chest, closing herself off as she barks back, "We care enough! Who are you to judge the way we choose to parent our children?"

Helena lifts her glass to her mouth, murmuring into her drink, "We're parents who actually care about their children."

Phillip raises an eyebrow, lip twitching, as if he's considering whether or not to speak. Finally, the impulse wins out, and he says, tone neutral, "Well, it just didn't seem like you really cared too much about your son when you questioned his ability to parent and said something about… taking his son to El Paso permanently?"

"Well, you're misrepresenting the situation," Helena says, with a bit of a more manic edge now. "We just want to do what's best for our grandson."

At any cost, even your son's well-being. Eddie's mind quietly supplies, before letting the thought slip from his consciousness just as easily. He'd promised himself not to let his parents rile him up tonight, and he desperately want to keep to that promise. "Alright," he says firmly. "Let's not have this argument here tonight. Please?"

"Of course," Ramon is quick to agree. He glances over at his wife, whose lips are pursed into a flat, neutral line. Helena nods tersely, offering a quick, "My apologies if we offended you tonight."

Margaret and Phillip nod easily in return, Margaret refusing to meet anybody's eye as she says, "We apologize as well. It wasn't our intention to cause any disagreements."

Eddie sighs at the approximation of peace he's managed to negotiate. It's about as close to cordial as he can hope to get. He glances over at Chris, and finds that he'd checked out of the conversation a while ago, fingers deftly texting under the table. For once, he'll allow it.

Buck emerges with Theo on his hip, having clearly lost in a struggle with a four-year-old, if the large red stain on Buck's shirt is any indication. He smiles sheepishly, blissfully ignorant to the altercation just moments earlier, and looks to Eddie.

"He tried to hug me," Buck offers with a shrug, gesturing to the splotch on his chest with a mixture of embarrassment and a hint of glee.

Eddie immediately stands, stretching his arms out for Theo. "Hey, bud, let's get you cleaned up. No more hugging till you're all clean, okay?"

Theo giggles, nodding enthusiastically, letting himself get passed over into Eddie's arms. Eddie gives an apologetic nod toward the others at the table, before ducking out to grab some paper towels from the kitchen.

Eddie has Theo seated on the kitchen counter, and is in the middle of wiping sauce off Theo's left cheek, when Theo lifts his hand up to stage whisper, "Your mom and dad are mean to you."

Eddie freezes, his eyes softening and shoulders slumping. "Uh— why do you say that, bud?"

"They talk to Chris a lot. But they always look mad when they talk to you," he says, matter-of-fact. Like it isn't shattering that his parents' disdain for him is so evident that a four-year-old picked up on it. Like he hasn't craved their validation for decades. Like it didn't break him a little when he realized he'd never get it.

"Yeah," Eddie says, trying to hide the waver in his voice. "They do that."

"Buck says that when someone's mean to you, you need a hug!" Theo declares, raising both arms and trying to thrust himself into Eddie's chest. Eddie quickly steadies him with both hands, holding him in place.

"Nope, what did I say about hugging before you get cleaned up?"

"Okay, hurry! So I can hug!"

Eddie wipes the sauce off Theo's face with renewed vigor.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

When he returns to the table with Theo, Buck is in a clean shirt, a dark green long-sleeve that wraps around him snugly. He looks much cozier than he did in the white button-up he'd been wearing earlier, and it makes Eddie feel soft around the edges too, more relaxed and less like something primed to blow. The hug he'd shared with Theo in the kitchen had certainly helped as well.

He slides back into his seat, letting the strained silence fall once again. There are polite nods, whispered requests to 'pass the salt', and muted sounds of scraping of silverware for a while, nobody quite daring to breach the invisible threshold of conversation once again.

Finally, Chris sits up with a dramatic sigh. "May I be excused?" He says, gesturing to his plate. "I'm done with dinner."

"Yeah, okay," Eddie says, just as Buck nods. He peers over into Theo's bowl, which he's pleased to find is scraped clean. "Bring Theo into the room with you?"

Chris stands with a flourish, nodding to Theo. "Come on, Theo, let's go hang out in your room."

Of course, Theo's eyes sparkle, and he scrambles off his seat, jumping up and down next to Chris all the way to the room. The door closes with a hushed click, and the table is plunged into a disquieting hush once again.

Margaret is the first to speak again. "So, Evan, I thought you were seeing uh… Tom?"

Buck blinks, stunned into stillness for a moment, before recovering with a full-body shudder. "You mean Tommy? We uh— we broke up. It's been a year and a half, Mom."

"Oh, Evan, you never told us," Margaret tuts, as if chastising him.

"You uh— you never asked," Buck responds, bitterness curling at the ends of his words.

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to scream. Instead, he huffs out a curt, "Weren't you in town a couple of months back? Had dinner together? You didn't think to ask then?" He has to will himself to stay calm, bite back the angry speech he should be giving the Buckleys.

"Well, there was a lot to discuss that night," Phillip says, sounding about ready to move on to another topic. "Tommy seemed nice. You know, we thought you'd finally make it work now that you, you know, figured out you swung that way."

There's something weary in Buck's voice when he sighs and says, "Well, I'm bi, I swing both ways. It could've worked out with one of my ex-girlfriends too."

Helena and Ramon glance at each other in a moment of brief discomfort, and the movement doesn't escape Eddie's attention. He inhales shakily, briefly wondering if he'll need to shut down some passive aggressive bigotry from his parents. It starts a bit of a migraine behind his eyes, and he silently begs the universe that his parents stay on their best behavior.

"Sure, Evan," Phillip says, a little condescendingly. The words clamp Buck's mouth closed, and Eddie watches as Buck slinks back a little, chewing slowly and carefully, as if he's willing himself not to react. He shakes a little with the effort.

"So, Eddie," his mother chooses to speak, to his great dismay. "Any new women in your life?"

Eddie coughs. He's aware it comes off a little like he's choking, the wet noise a sputter thanks to the drink he'd been sipping. "No," he manages, through the spasms in his esophagus. Margaret and Phillip are blinking at them, a little confused.

"Well, we kind of thought…" Margaret says, suddenly unsure. "The social worker did imply…"

"That you and Evan are dating," Phillip helps to complete his ex-wife's stammering sentence, directing the statement straight at Eddie. "I mean, it does seem an awful lot like you're raising that child together. Both those children."

Eddie opens his mouth to explain, but the words falter on the tip of his tongue. How does he explain that no, he and Buck aren't dating, but they are raising their sons together as best-friends-slash-platonic-coparents. And no, they aren't together romantically, but Buck remains the most important person in his life (kids aside, of course), the person he relies on, the person he loves.

The nature of that love, he thinks, is not something that he can look too closely at when he's under the scrutiny of two sets of parents.

"Well, that's ridiculous," Ramon says, harsh tone cutting through Eddie's silent musing. "Edmundo is straight."

Right. The age old statement, argument, excuse. He's straight. Buck can't be anything more than his best friend because Eddie's straight.

And he really didn't plan on having a slight sexuality crisis in front of his parents, but he wonders what it means that Buck is already so much more than a best friend to him, that title far too simplistic to encapsulate the depth of emotion that crescendos in his very soul when he gazes upon Buck.

"He's only ever dated women," Helena says, in a tone distinctly like she's presenting a gotcha at the Buckleys. Irrefutable proof. Only — Eddie knows that it isn't quite the truth.

His potential retort doesn't matter, though, because Phillip bites back, "Well, so did Evan, before Tommy. Then he figured out that he's gay."

"Bisexual," Buck corrects, exasperation in his voice.

Eddie watches with some perverse amusement, as the Buckley parents try to convince his own parents of his apparent non-straightness. He should probably put a stop to this, clarify something about his own sexuality, but he finds he doesn't quite know what to say.

"Well, he's not!" Helena Diaz, arbiter of Eddie's straightness, staunch defender of his women-loving tendencies, declares with some finality.

"Oh, you make it sound like it'd be so horrid," Margaret laments. "What does it matter if he's gay?"

"Or bi!" Buck chimes, and is swiftly ignored.

"Well, it's ridiculous," Ramon repeats, sounding a little like he's trying to convince himself.

Phillip scoffs a little at that, derision in his bared teeth. "You implied that we don't care about our son, but at least we're not bigots. It doesn't matter who he loves, as long as he's happy. Don't think you can say the same."

Eddie fights and, thankfully, wins the internal battle with the devil on his shoulder that wants to scream it doesn't matter to you because nothing about Buck matters to you. But even so, the accusation that the Buckley parents have beaten his parents in acceptance does sting. Even if he doesn't quite understand what exactly he's seeking acceptance for yet.

"This is a silly argument that we're not having," Helena retorts, voice hovering ever closer to a yell. "Because Eddie isn't gay. He's never liked men. So we're not having this conversation."

And Eddie — he can't help but bark out a laugh. It comes from deep in his chest, close to his stomach, doing a couple flips at what he's about to say. An involuntary noise, primal in nature, soaked in something like disbelief.

"Yeah," he bites back, closing his eyes and hoping he can pretend the fallout doesn't exist. "Except when you caught me kissing Oscar Alvarado in sixth grade and told me it can never happen again."

It's eerily silent for a couple beats, and Eddie chances a brief peek, cracking open his shut eyes just a smidge to look at Buck. There's a complicated mix of emotions working their way through his face, and Eddie's always been an expert in reading them in the lines of Buck's face. He catalogues sadness, pride, hopefulness, and above all, anger. Hot, furious, righteous. Directed at Helena and Ramon, sitting quietly across the table.

"Ha!" Margaret scoffs. "I guess we know that you two are certainly not the authority on good parenting either."

"Well," Helena says, but she sounds diminished, a bit like an exsanguinated flame, its final embers trying desperately to catch again. "It never happened again. It didn't have to mean anything."

Eddie bites down, teeth grinding. He wonders if he's exerting enough pressure to file his molars down till they're nothing but little nubs. With barely-audible hysteria, he manages, "Except that I think it does." Trying, trying desperately not to break down, he adds, "I think it always did."

Margaret and Phillip exchange a panicked glance, suddenly realizing that their earlier smugness might have been inappropriately timed. At least, Eddie thinks feverishly, at least they have enough awareness to feel some shame. At least they're not the source of over thirty years of repression.

Buck's hand flies out, fingers wrapping around Eddie's arm, the grip warm, steady, but not rough. It's the gentlest thing Eddie has ever felt, a salve to his sundered, poured out insides. He feels himself sway a little, close to slipping away, before letting the touch ground him in the present.

"Eddie," his mother starts, and it's clear she makes the effort to pull back something much sharper that's threatening to slip past her tongue, aimed straight at Eddie's jugular.

"Mijo, we didn't know," Ramon says, his voice losing its earlier harshness. Eddie finally allows his eyes to wander, looking back at his parents. There's something that reads as loss, devastation, worry carved deep in the wrinkles on their face. Whether for their son, or the son they thought they had, he can't quite say. "We don't — we don't really understand all this…"

"Look," Buck interjects, before Ramon can say something that might wreck Eddie further, pulverize the last remaining dregs of him. "I think we all can agree my parents aren't winning any parent of the year awards any time soon." Buck says it with a sad smile. Phillip and Margaret, to their credit, don't even offer the slightest noise of dissent.

"Or ever," Eddie mumbles, petulant. He hears a rumble of laughter from deep in Buck's chest in response.

"But if there's one thing they ever did right, it was when I told them I was dating Tommy, and they just nodded like I had told them about another girlfriend," Buck says, and Eddie can tell he's choosing his words carefully, keeping a short leash on his anger. "You don't need to get it. Hell, I'm sure my parents don't really either. But you can choose to get with the program, or you can lose him."

He expects some resistance, something vile to dribble out from their mouths, something acidic and corrosive like the words that tore into him at twelve, that forced him to shut a door and jam it so shut he hasn't been able to budge it in decades. Something that paints him as wrong, broken, mistaken.

Helena's answer is so quick he gets whiplash. "Okay. You're right."

Eddie's mouth hangs loose. "He uh— he is?"

"Eddie," his mom says, leaning over to rest a hand on his shoulder. He fights against the instinct to violently flinch away. "I regret it. That day with the Alvarado kid. I keep telling myself: Thank God Eddie's not actually gay, because if you were, then… then what we said to you that day…"

Eddie laughs, but it comes out as a broken, strangled thing. "It would have crushed me," Eddie finishes for her. "It did crush me. I saw your relief when I told you I was with Shannon, the way you were fighting not to crack a smile when I told you she was pregnant. I— I think I've been chasing that high again ever since."

Helena and Ramon's faces fall in unison. "We— We're sorry," Ramon says, after a brief moment of consideration. It not something Eddie had expected to hear from his father's mouth, and the words hit his ears with a bittersweet chime. "I know… I know it doesn't seem like it sometimes. But we do love you."

Buck barely lets Ramon finish before he says, "Then you need to show it. You need to trust him. You haven't seen the way he's stepped up for Theo, for me. Or the way he parents Chris. He's an amazing father, talented paramedic, and an incredible person. He doesn't need you second guessing every decision he makes, or everything he does in his life." Buck blinks, inhaling despite the agitation in his throat.

"I know he loves you both. He tries so hard to make you both proud. But you make him so afraid, you make him hide away, he keeps trying to contort himself into this idea of who you think he is and it hurts him. If you really love him, you just have to let him be who he is. And accept that."

Weighted silence hangs in the air once more. Helena and Ramon are nodding, looking a little shellshocked and deep in thought. Eddie averts his eyes, doesn't want to let himself hope for more, doesn't want to set himself up for more disappointment when it's possible that nothing changes after tonight. He can't help the small, quiet thing that sings so softly deep in the recesses of his heart, some beaten down faith in his parents that still lives. Optimistic belief that maybe, maybe things could be different. He tamps it down.

Instead, he turns his attention to Margaret and Phillip, who are fidgeting uncomfortably at the display of vulnerability they've just been privy to. From what Buck's told him of his own family dinners, anything that strayed too far from platitudes and niceties had never been a welcome dinner guest, so Eddie essentially coming out over lasagna is certainly not something they would've expected to sit through. He imagines the white-washed, near clinical walls of Buck's childhood home, impersonal and removed in all the ways his own childhood home hadn't been, but stifling all the same. He imagines a smaller, less self-assured Buck, sitting in his seat, birthmark pink and glowing, trying to shrink himself away.

As he turns to Margaret and Phillip, he finds his own tongue loosening, the words pouring out of him like an uncontainable oil spill.

"I don't understand you both. I really don't. Because you have this son— this beautiful, caring, brave, good human, one of the best people I've had the honor to call a friend. And you choose not to love him? Not to care about him? You make it sound like it's such a chore to give a crap about him, like it takes so much out of you to even listen to him when he talks to you," Eddie says, voice climbing, like he's sure the redness in his face is.

"But it's not. It's not hard to love him, to care about him, to hang off his every word. He's the easiest person to love. I've done it for eight years and it's as easy as breathing, easier actually. I love how much he cares about people around him. I love how much he has to say about everything, how much he has to give. I love how much he loves," he continues, pleased to find that Phillip and Margaret have been stunned into silent gapes. He reaches over to grasp Buck's hand, intertwines his fingers, and feels Buck reciprocate with a soft squeeze. "He has so much love and goodness and so many people around him to share that with. So if you think it's such hardship to even toss him scraps of your care and attention, then he doesn't need it. He already has a family."

The words hang in the air, pregnant and heavy. Eddie slumps back onto his seat, finally coming down from the swirl of righteous indignation he'd been so incensed by.

The rest of dinner becomes a bit of a subdued event, after. Nobody makes eye contact anymore, and there's a thrum in the air, distinctly feeling like loud thoughts mired with the stench of shame and regret wafting wetly in the air. Eddie doesn't mind too much, he's wrung out from the conversation, and content to finish his food in silence.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Their parents don't linger too long after dinner. Margaret and Phillip seeming to make a break for the door once the plates are cleared and table wiped. They do, however, manage to swing by Theo's room to say goodbye, even managing something of a smile for him. Phillip pats Buck on the back as he walks out, and whispers something into his ear that makes Buck blush a bright shade of scarlet, ducking his head down.

Buck shoots a quick glance toward Eddie, and preens when he notices Eddie's stare. Eddie can probably guess what Phillip's said about him, and something syrupy wraps its way around his heart.

Helena and Ramon only linger a little longer than the Buckleys, staying for a cordial drink with Buck and Eddie, before going into the room and having a long, drawn-out goodbye with Chris. Eddie stands close, and if he does it because he's paranoid and traumatized by what his parents did to him just 2 years ago, that's between him and the hallway he's skulking about.

Instead, he hears Ramon lean in and speak in a voice reserved for young children, a voice he hasn't heard from his father since Chris added a second digit to his age.

"It was really nice to meet you too, Theo," he says. "We can tell Eddie loves you a lot."

"I love Eddie a lot too!"

"That's good," There's a slight pause. A clearing of a throat. "He's a good dad."

"He is," says a third voice, and it's Chris. Eddie's heart soars, and he blinks to fight back the heat building behind his eyes, the wetness that's close to spilling over. "Both he and Buck are really good dads." He states it with such surety, with such defensiveness. It takes everything inside him not to burst into the room and wrap Chris into a hug, mortifying the teenager for the crime of having shown an ounce of vulnerability.

"We see that," Helena says, and her voice sounds a little further from the wall, closer to Chris. "You're… You're both lucky to have them."

"We are," Chris says, and it sounds like the end of the conversation. Helena and Ramon say their goodbyes, and come padding out. Eddie quickly wipes the stray tears from his eyes, pressing the back of his palms against his warm cheeks as he heads back to the living room.

His father stops in front of him on the way to the door, and whispers, "He really loves you. Your whole family really loves you."

Eddie gulps, cursing the way tears are filling his eyes again. "Yeah. And I really love them. Love him." It comes out not as a confession, but like relief, an exhale at last after a lifetime of stuffy inhales.

"Good, son," comes Ramon's low response. "You deserve it."

"Thank you for having us, Buck," Helena says, off to the side, but there's an odd, melancholic edge to her voice. "Your home is lovely."

"Of course," Buck offers, easy as anything. "Any family of Eddie's is family of mine."

Ramon gives Eddie one final, reassuring pat on the back, as they turn to leave.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

They shuffle to the kitchen in absolute silence, the threat of conversation heavy on both their lips. It's not until they've worked through half the dishes, soapy water still pooled in the sink, and Eddie's hands pruning from rinsing suds off plates, that they breach the topic.

"So, uh— Oscar Alvarado, then?" Buck asks carefully.

Eddie's hand, circling the bowl in his hand, slows but doesn't still. "Yeah. My actual first kiss."

"You never told anybody?"

"My parents… they said some pretty terrible things to me that day. Then they told me it couldn't happen again. They told me it was wrong. So I— I pretended it never happened. Officially, Shannon was my first kiss, a whole year later. That's what I've been telling everyone my whole life."

Buck places the rag he's holding onto the table gingerly, letting his hand rest on Eddie's bicep, the faintest ghost of a touch. "I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"I honestly—" Eddie says, trying not to choke on his words. "I honestly haven't thought about it in years. Told my parents, told everyone, hell, I told myself I was straight. But then—" Eddie's eyes fly up to catch Buck's gaze. He lets himself drown in the pools of blue, two gorgeous, toasty lagoons, soothing his muscles, letting him lay down the burden of years of performance.

"Then?" Buck asks, hopeful. Anticipating. Like they're on the precipice of something big.

"Then I met you," Eddie says, dishes long abandoned. He turns to fully face Buck, everything in him screaming out to touch and hold him, to bask in the light of him. "The easiest person to love. So of course I fell in love."

Buck is smiling, his laugh lines prominent, cheeks straining with the effort.

"And then that brought up so many questions about myself. So much fear that I'll never be the man my parents want me to be. The father they expect me to be. The husband they raised me to be."

"Hey," Buck says, his hand rising to cup Eddie's cheek. Eddie lets the warmth from Buck's hand press against the cool surface of his face, and lets his head loll into its radiance. "You are, and will be, so much more than that."

"I know. And you," Eddie says, drawing himself closer. "You deserve to know how loved you are."

He pulls even closer, close enough to see how Buck's eyes dilate. How he gasps in a brief, surprised inhale, before their lips meet, and Eddie's sucking the breath out of him. His eyes flutter shut, and he lets himself feel the fire, the heat that bursts in glorious bubbles of bliss, exploding from every nerve ending in his body. He pushes in and feels Buck deepen the kiss, their fingers hungrily searching each other, trying to find purchase on the other's body, neck, hair.

They break apart, and Buck's eyes are wild, hair ruffled, and there's a stubborn grin that doesn't look like it'll be wiped from his face anytime soon. "Yeah," he says, throat raspy. "I know."

"I love you," Eddie hums. "I love every part of you. I love all the stories you tell, I always want to hear more. I love the way you parent Chris and Theo. I love the way you take care of us, the way you cook, the way you're excited about life. I love the way you love loudly and proudly."

Buck looks over at Eddie, eyes glassy and smile widening, his response already primed on his tongue. "And I love you. I love the way you step up without any questions asked. I love the way you're so good at everything but so modest. I love the way you get protective when anyone says anything about our family. I love the way you're so kind and gentle, when the people around you haven't been."

Eddie can't help himself, and he reaches over and folds Buck into a tight hug. He grips so tight that vaguely, he wonders if he's crushing him. Buck doesn't seem to think so, returning the hug with equal fervor.

"Pretty good speeches," Eddie says, a little choked up. "We should've saved them for the wedding."

"Oh? There's going to be a wedding now, is there?"

"Obviously," Eddie lightly taps Buck on the chest. "But I'll propose properly and everything."

"Just one thing," Buck says with a grin.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"There's no need to ask for my parents' blessing."

Eddie chuckles. "Obviously," he laughs, rolling his eyes. "I'd ask Maddie."