Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Come on, we go into burning buildings for a living. What’s a talk with Bobby?”

Eddie looks at him, his chin set down and his brows raised so high they almost reach the middle of his forehead, rippling on the skin in a wave Buck is tempted to smooth with his thumb.

“You weren’t there last time. If that’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather run into the burning buildings. Or rescue a man on the tree-top course.”

Buck laughs at the ridiculousness of the man before him and at the half-offended moue he can’t quite keep in place without the tips of his lips tilting up. The memory of their first date doesn’t hurt.

“At least you know what he’s gonna say.”

Eddie raises a finger at him, narrowing his eyes as he waves it around.

“That’s not the argument you think it is.”

“And I’ll be with you the entire time,” Buck replies, snatching the hand before Eddie has a chance to poke someone’s eye out, most likely Buck’s because, by how they haven't come across anyone yet, the C-team must be out in an intervention.

When Eddie’s pout relaxes into something more tender, Buck has to remind himself that making out with him in the changing room before going to see their captain is really not a good idea — the room has glass walls, to begin with — even if the hall is currently empty as they took care to arrive half an hour early to talk to Bobby.

He tugs on Eddie’s hand to get them to do just that before Hen, or even worse, Chimney appears, feeling the man’s reluctance through the contact, and doesn’t let go until they’ve reached the door to Bobby’s office. With an overly long sigh, Eddie knocks, then opens the door when encouraged to do so.

“Buck, Eddie. What owes me the pleasure —” Bobby looks over some papers to peer at them when they enter his office. By the air of weariness on his face, he’s been there a while.

“Uh, Eddie has something to tell you.”

“What?” Eddie startles in outrage. Even if Buck is back on the couch next time he’s invited into the house, the sheer indignation playing on Eddie’s face in that second is worth every moment of it. He bumps against Buck’s shoulder, whispering a well-earned “Traitor” as he passes him to approach Bobby’s desk.

Buck’s cheeks are straining from the grin he hasn’t quite been able to suppress since Eddie cornered him at breakfast to tell him in no uncertain terms that they were telling Bobby today. 

Thing is, neither of them is a good liar, so Bobby must suspect what’s up before Eddie opens his mouth again. The intermitting glares Eddie shoots Buck’s way are a strong first clue.

“We are here to ask for the forms you were talking about the other day.” It gets Bobby’s complete attention, the files on his desk falling back in an untidy bunch. His expression changes into a more neutral mask, although the edges of an amused smile peek through the careful facade he’s put on. Eddie is too busy glowering at Buck to notice it, or too stressed about the impending discussion. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Eddie. As a captain, I handle a lot of different forms...”

Buck bites down his lips hard to dampen his laugh. Seems like it’s payback for whatever went on during Eddie and Bobby’s previous conversation, and Buck is here for it. A shame he couldn’t be for the first round.

As he threads his fingers through his hair, Eddie lets out a heavy sigh. The light flickering through Bobby’s stores enhances the anxious set of his jaw.

“We’re dating. I need the forms for dating a coworker... Please?” Eddie’s voice doesn’t waver exactly, but its texture gets too frayed for it not to draw some slivers of guilt from Buck’s chest. Too close to the discomfort he displayed when he admitted to Buck he believed his love was unrequited.

“Since a week and a half?” Bobby asks, unimpressed by their timing.

“Damn right. We even saved a man on our first date. It was great!” Buck takes the opportunity to snake an arm around Eddie, but raises his aim to his shoulder to casually lean on him instead of his waist, which was his original target, figuring it might not be welcome nor too professional. Eddie jolts at the contact, frowning at Buck’s sudden proximity, but makes no move to shrug him off.

“Well, we don’t know if he made it to the hospital… But we’re optimistic,” Eddie adds, taking in the way Bobby’s studying them with some wariness that gets him to withdraw slightly into the embrace.

Squeezing his shoulder, Buck replies, “Still counts.”

Eddie shifts, his hand almost lifting to lace their fingers together, but he chooses to abort the barely initiated gesture instead, glimpsing at Buck and Bobby before wetting his lips. A hint of disappointment accompanies the discontinued motion, even though Buck knows it’s for the best.

“Didn’t you want to keep a lid on it for more than ten days?” Bobby inquires, not unkindly.

“Why? Aren’t we supposed to notify you of any notable change impacting the department? Isn’t it what you implied last time?”

Bobby raises his palms, but some tension has settled in Eddie’s frame. Buck can feel a responding one taking hold of his muscles, making their position awkward.

“Eddie’s aunt caught us the next day when she came back early with Christopher.”

Eddie went all in then. Even now, he seems more determined to see it through than when Bobby was having him on earlier. Like the hint of disapproval is triggering his fighting instincts, like it’s all well and good as long as it’s Eddie’s attitude being mocked, less so when it’s their burgeoning relationship.

“How did Christopher take it?”

Despite himself, Buck’s jaw slacks half-open at the question and he releases his grip on Eddie’s shoulder, his arm gently slumping down. Chris’ reactions to the news have been lukewarm, at best. Not bad, but reserved. Buck knows Eddie had a talk with him upon arrival and that whatever came out of it didn’t make him back out of the relationship or upset him all that much. Not as much as Buck would have thought. Not as much as Christopher giving him the cold shoulder has impacted Buck.

It didn’t start immediately. Or rather it most likely did, but Eddie’s belief that Christopher would come around on his own muddled the water, making Christopher picking the evening he was supposed to spend with Buck having a sleepover with a friend troubling.

“It’s only been a few days. He’s still getting used to it. It wasn’t the best timing on our part — not that we got to choose — but, so far, he hasn’t thrown any tableware on the ground and my phone is still accounted for,” Eddie deadpans, catching Buck’s hand as it grazes his hip before entangling their fingers, effectively pining it in place. 

“Yeah, huh, we’re — we’re giving him time,” Buck adds, more to remind himself of his resolution than for Bobby as he uses the firm and comforting grip on his hand as an anchor.

“More time than you’re giving me,” their captain points out drily, ordering the haphazardly planted pens on his desk.

Buck no longer cares for Bobby’s plan to get a rise out of Eddie. Why does it even matter if their captain approves if Christopher doesn’t? Even that is a lie. Buck would have liked nothing more than an accolade and a warm ‘I’m proud of you, son.’ instead of this weird dance they’re doing. Though throwing Eddie at Bobby’s mercy might have been responsible for closing that door.

Eddie squeezes Buck’s hand in a silent reassurance, to tether him back to the present, but plays along. In under a minute, it seems like their roles have been reversed. Like Eddie is now the one supporting him through a conversation Buck doesn’t want to have.

“Come on, Cap. I know you’ve got the forms tucked away somewhere. Probably with our names already printed on it.”

The remark pulls a warm laugh out of Bobby, breaking his blank facade. Finally, he relents, “I’ll slip them into your locker when I’m done, but I’m afraid you’ll have to fill them out completely yourselves.”

“We’ll get on right on it, Cap.”

“Not during the shift. And no PDA either. I don’t want to put signs around the station, but I will, Buck.”

When Buck doesn’t react fast enough, Eddie says in a forcefully eager tone, “I’ll keep him in check.”

Bobby spares Eddie a considering glance, inclining his head to the side, but eventually says, “I’m counting on you, Eddie.”

Under different circumstances, Buck would have flailed at the remark and resented Bobby for pretty much guilting Eddie into keeping him straight...ish. However, he’s no longer in the mood for that.

After an awkward wave, Eddie tows Buck outside of the room. Once the door is safely closed behind them, he turns to Buck, his brows furrowed in concern. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

Neither of them has to specify who. Not after talking to Bobby. The thought is alluring in its simplicity, but Buck doesn’t want to start their relationship by hiding behind Eddie for anything Christopher-related.

“No. I don’t think that’d help,” Buck concedes, still queasy about finding a way to get back into the kid’s good graces that doesn’t involve ditching his father after their first date. Even that would be a pyrrhic victory for Christopher and a tremendous loss Buck is not sure he could ever forgive himself for.

After a brief approving nod, Eddie grips Buck’s shoulder with his free hand, his thumb resting against Buck’s pulse point as he gathers him closer.

“Hey, I know you’re used to being the good cop in this duo but, as bad as it will make you feel, you need to learn how to push back.”

He knocks their foreheads together for a few seconds, enough time for Buck to taste the coffee lingering in his breaths, but draws back the moment Buck leans closer to kiss him. Being mere steps away from Bobby’s office, even if it doesn't have glasses as walls, might play a part in that decision, in ‘keeping Buck in check’.

And Eddie might have a point because Christopher’s cold shoulder seems to be reserved for Buck. He acts normally around his dad but almost shuns him, his smile deflating as he catches sight of Buck after he tags along at the end of the shift, causing Buck’s heart to plummet, and directs questions only at his father despite Eddie’s persistent attempts to draw Buck back into the conversation.

Buck leaves after breakfast, claiming some late-notice tasks to perform for Maddie to get out of their hair. The way his face contracts at the news, Eddie is not duped by the excuse. He waits for the door to close behind them to ask, “We’re still on for the bird sanctuary at the end of the month?”

“Of course, I need —“ he cuts himself before serving Eddie some platitudes he doesn’t mean.

Eddie sighs at the pause and reaches for Buck’s arms, softly caressing the skin as soon as he’s able to. “What I told you about Chris applies to you as well. I know Pepa made us come out early, and that I rushed you earlier with Bobby. I shouldn’t have.”

“I was —“ Buck closes his mouth at Eddie’s intent stare.

“But there is no schedule for us. No milestones we need to reach before we’re ready or obligatory steps. We can take our time.”

“I know that, Eddie.” Buck draws Eddie to him, placing a kiss on the corner of his lips to appease the concern that has curled in the divots of his smile, relishing in the way the man leans into his touch, how he moves to keep Buck close for a little longer.

He can’t give that up. Can’t be caught in the eventuality of losing Eddie, losing the home the three of them built since the man arrived in his life.

It takes a few days until Buck manages to see Eddie outside of work again. A moment disconnected from their routine while Chris is at school and Maddie and Chim not working on their wedding, which was expanded to a hundred guests, last time Buck was around, to accommodate their parents’ suggestions, forcing the organization to be rearranged and putting a strain on Buck’s free time. 

Buck observes Eddie, snatching the crude handmade knife laying on the table between them to put it in a safe place before the man can toss it aside or burn it like it seems he wants to. For someone who was so set against not burning sage in his kitchen, Eddie appears unbearably chill about doing the same to his creations.

He’s worrying his lips, his face set in the disappointed moue that usually follows his attempts to find a hobby. Not for the first time, Buck wonders if it’d be helpful to tell him he’s sticking it out again. Only this time with his search rather than with Ana.

Maybe later. When Eddie doesn’t look frustrated enough to fling the knife Buck has saved into the trash. When Buck has spent more than thirty consecutive minutes a week with him outside of work.

It is selfish, but Buck wants his partner for himself right now. To take advantage of a time they’re alone in the loft, as short as it may be. Before they go their separate ways again. Before Eddie goes back home to Chris. Before Buck joins Maddie and Chim to cater to their next wedding obsession.

And Eddie doesn’t protest when Buck seizes his hand and leads him upstairs, when he kisses a line on his neck before tugging at the hem of his shirt. His eyes grow wide and his face flushes and, for a second, Buck worries he’s pushed too far too soon, but the lines on Eddie’s face morph into something closer to wonder than discomfort and the way he pushes Buck toward the bed, and crawls after him finishes to bury that train of thought.

He’s beautiful like that, sprawled on the grey linen of Buck’s mattress, flushed and eager, as they each trace the lines of the other’s body, discovering new planes and turns on the skin. New moles, Buck can’t help but kiss as he goes along, eliciting soft gasps from his partner.

It would be in poor taste for Buck to tell Eddie some derivatives of ‘stop looking desperately for a hobby, you’ve got me, now’. Too self-centered even for Buck and not what Eddie, or either of them really, needs. Besides, the wedding preparations ensure Buck wouldn’t be able to deliver on having Eddie’s attention on him more often than he already has, even discounting the situation with Christopher.

Despite it all, Buck doesn’t want to let go, longs to cling to Eddie, to ravage him or get ravaged by him until neither of them can leave the bed, until they’re no longer apart.

But, regardless of Buck’s desires, of the caresses and kisses meant to linger, to keep Eddie at his side, the moment ends, and, too soon, reality has to find its way in and Buck has to face Christopher’s dissatisfaction again.

“You can come pick him up with me, you know?” Eddie murmurs, tracing the veins on Buck’s forearm with his finger.

“He doesn’t want me there.” And damned if even putting those words out in the air isn’t drilling a festering hole into Buck’s heart.

Eddie sighs, reluctantly moving away from Buck’s arms, to sit on the edge of the bed, his absence leaving Buck cold. “You can’t avoid each other forever.”

Buck rolls on his belly, drinking the sight of Eddie picking his boxers and shirt from the floor of Buck’s mezzanine like the man wasn’t coiled against him moments ago. “I’m not the one doing the avoiding,” he protests in something that sounds more like a whine than a solid argument.

“Hmm hmm,” Eddie doesn’t look or sound that impressed as he puts his clothes back on. “I can still count on you for Thursday, right?”

“If Chris doesn’t desert the house before I arrive, yes.”

After strolling back closer to the bed, Eddie pats Buck’s head and says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’ll be sure to turn down every sleepover invitation that comes our way. Now, come on, least you can do is kiss me goodbye.”

Eddie softly tugs on Buck’s hair for emphasis. Not that it is a demand Buck isn’t keen to fulfill, taking his time to indulge in a slow and thorough kiss that leaves them both breathless to make up for his unpleasant mood.

Thursday comes and, with it, Eddie’s poker night. A night that Buck hasn’t been invited to take part in. Again. No one is bitter about that decision. No one. If Eddie wants to spend one of the rare nights they’re both technically free away, in a suit Buck can't toggle for more than ten minutes, and abandon him home alone with a kid Buck is pretty sure hates him now, that’s totally cool.

A kid who is eyeing his portion of plant-based meatballs with a nonplussed expression. Buck’s been experimenting with tofu and soy this week after Maddie introduced him to some vegan alternatives she’s been testing for the wedding. However, the recipe might not have been the best bet to win Christopher over.

Before leaving, Eddie had taken one look at the pan, lifted his eyebrows, and whispered an amused “ambitious.”, as he patted Buck’s arm. By the expression on the kid's face, Buck should have gone with the burger or the pizza.  

“It looks disgusting, and it stinks.”

Buck can’t exactly argue on the aspect of the dish, but the smell is alright, overpowered by the stir fry. Eddie should have definitely asked Carla to be here. Not Buck. Not when Christopher seems to hardly tolerate his presence.

“That’s why I offered to make you a steak instead,” Buck tries, weary of the low-grade hostility.

“I don’t want steak.”

Buck keeps the plates and the position of Christopher’s hands under surveillance, afraid dinner will turn into one of the infamous tossing scenes he has heard about from Eddie but never witnessed first-hand.

When close to a minute has passed and the cutlery is still on the table, unscathed, Buck lays his fork on his own plate and says, “Honestly, Chris, I’m not sure what you want from me. Is it to break up with your Dad? To split us up?”

He thinks of Eddie squeezing his shoulder and telling him it would be alright, that Christopher’s reluctance would not scare him away.

“Nothing,” the boy answers, shaking his head, his fingers clenched too tight around the handle of his fork.

Buck might not be the only one uncomfortable with the tension.

“Hey, I can’t read your mind. And I can’t help you feel better if you don’t talk to me.”

Christopher glares at him. “Why? You didn’t talk to me first when you started dating Dad.”

Buck frowns. Is that what it is about?

“Would — would you have felt better about us if I spoke with you before asking your dad out?”

Christopher spares him a disdainful glance before going back to picking at his greens. A few peas topple down the plate and the table at the attack. Their risky escape to the ground being the least of Buck’s problems at the moment.

“I would have told you not to bother,” he says, stabbing another one down with an uncomfortable screech as the fork meets the plate.

Buck’s own remains untouched in front of him, slowly cooling, to the indifference of his stomach and nonexistent appetite.

“Why?”

“Mum left, then Ana left. Even the women Dad tried to date left.”

“Your dad is the one who broke up with Ana. She didn’t leave on her own.”

As for the women Eddie — and men, though Christopher doesn’t seem privy to that detail — went out with, those dates always seemed to leave him more miserable than anything. Did, by Eddie’s own admission. So Eddie replaced those outings with his search for a hobby, which turns out to be marginally better.

For one, it doesn’t feel like a rat is ripping Buck’s insides to shreds each time Eddie goes out without him — though he’ll admit, Eddie hiding from Julie after she introduced him to a friend of hers had been entertaining to watch at the time. Less so, in retrospect.

Besides, Buck would be the worst hypocrite if he pretended he was sorry to see them go, to his eventual benefit.

“She still left me. What if he breaks up with you? I don’t want you to have to miss you, too.”

Buck can’t mask a grimace at the thought, at the fear and powerlessness swirling in Christopher’s voice.

For yet another time, he regrets that the choice of the how and when of their talk to Christopher was taken from them. One minute Buck was kissing Eddie to sleep, the next they were dealing with his aunt barging in. It didn't leave much time to come up with a gentle way to familiarize the kid with the idea. Certainly not the weeks Buck had to get acquainted with the realization that Eddie loved him, to cradle the thought against his chest, like a night light, as he looked for the best way to say something without rushing or cornering Eddie. 

Without thinking, Buck stands up and moves to the other side of the table, crouching to be at eye-level with Christopher.

“Then he breaks up with me. But what I told you two years ago is still true, Chris. I’m not going anywhere. Not if I can help it.” Because there was a moment less than a year ago when his heart stopped beating and, with their jobs, Buck knows better than to be certain about what the next shift will bring. “I know it wouldn’t be easy.” Buck can’t even imagine the state he’d be in if that were to happen, though he can’t imagine Eddie would fare much better. The thought alone feels too big and scary to contemplate now that they’ve actually got together, reigniting a low drum of anxiety. “But me and your dad, we’d work through it.” For Christopher if for nobody else. “And we would make sure to be there for you.”

Eddie was his partner before they dated. Buck can’t see him playing a lesser part in his life if they break up. Can’t conceive a life without Eddie’s gentle ribbing and his support.

“You can’t promise that,” Christopher replies harshly. “Do you even love Dad?”

Buck jolts back at the accusation as if stabbed.

“Of course I love your dad.” Where is that coming from? Buck swallows. It doesn’t matter. After taking a deep inhale, he says, as softly as he can, “Hey, we wouldn’t risk what we have if we didn’t love each other.”

“What if you have to choose between us?”

“Why would I ever have to choose between the two of you?”

Buck’s first thought places them in the middle of an emergency. There is only one choice Eddie would ever let him make. So that’s a non-question. It’s unlikely to be what Christopher meant, however.

Some mornings, it still amazes Buck that, in some lawyer’s files, there’s his name close to Christopher’s in case anything happens to Eddie. The part about something happening to Eddie usually sobers him up pretty quickly. Still, Buck wonders if Christopher knows about the will, if Eddie kept it from him as he did to Buck for a year.

“Look, Chris, I love you both differently, but it doesn’t mean one love is greater than the other or that, because I’m dating your dad, I will stop coming over to see you.”

He punctuates the ‘you’ by tapping lightly on the left side of Christopher’s chest with two fingers.

Christopher doesn’t accuse him of lying outright, but it’s clear from his expression that he doesn’t quite believe Buck either. To Buck’s disappointment, the conversation doesn’t end with a hug or the feeling that everything has been said and hashed out.

Still, Christopher calls a tentative truce till the end of the evening, not being his usual self, but he doesn’t walk out of the kitchen after eating, even accepts to watch a documentary with Buck afterward. One about migratory birds that might be very interesting, but that Buck can’t quite appreciate given the tension lingering in the room and the impression that his every move and decision are being watched, noticed, and appraised for any slip.

Or that Christopher is expecting him to bolt and launch into an hour-long dithyrambic speech about Eddie or call the man to avoid staying alone with Christopher. It makes Buck uneasy, clunky in his reactions in a way he’s never been with the kid.

The bowl of popcorn goes over much more easily than the previous meal, most of which Eddie will find in his fridge tomorrow, but they don’t talk more, don’t exchange any meaningful words for the rest of the night.

By the time Eddie comes back, Buck is dozing off on the couch. The hold of sleep tenuous enough that the sound of the door shuffling on the floor drags him back to consciousness.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, poking at his shoulder, after Buck closed his eyes for a second while Eddie was still removing his shoes.

Buck smiles and reaches blindly for Eddie’s face, missing it on his first try, hitting Eddie’s nose on the second, triggering an amused ‘ouch’, and finally succeeding on the third try to bring Eddie close for a goodnight kiss. The man still smells of beer, fried food, and of the mix of liquors, fragrances, and spices the brown room with green couches and card games exhales.

Once Buck is satisfied with the kisses, he answers, “I figured it’d be easier for us to drive together to work tomorrow if I slept here.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining about you sleeping in the house. Just, the couch, really, Buck? What are you trying to prove?”

“Chris is afraid he’ll lose me with our new relationship.”

“Yeah,” Eddie answers laconically, patient but thoroughly unsurprised by what was news to Buck, as he gently pries him away from the couch, providing no other comment.

As they go through the short corridor, Eddie is careful to turn down the light, towing Buck by his hand like he’s liable to skip back to the couch if he divides his attention for too long.

“I thought it was something I did.”

“That’s because you always think you are the problem.”

“I made it about me,” Buck admits, a bit of shame crawling to the surface.

“To be fair, it is about you. And us. And Chris. Doesn’t mean you have to be stupidly self-sacrificing, Buck. But if you’re set on playing martyr, I’ll set my alarm earlier and you can go lie on the couch at half-past six,” Eddie offers as he opens the door to his room. He lets Buck slide in before pushing the door close behind them.

“Okay,” Buck says, not knowing how else to reply, unable to refuse the comfort of Eddie’s presence.

“By the way, you’re invited to our next poker night.” Before Buck can react to the invitation, Eddie adds, swiftly removing his vest and shirt, “Give it a week and you’ll probably wish you weren’t. Rosen outed us. They’re gonna be insufferable.”

Buck groans as Eddie puts on a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt. “You’re the one who wanted to sleep a door away. Why are you annoyed?” he asks with an incredulous laugh.

“Not because I didn’t want to sleep with you! You’re just, huh, distracting?”

Eddie lets himself be pulled till Buck can nuzzle his neck, chasing traces of the perfume he put on hours ago, mixed with the smell from the grill.

“Still not removing my shirt,” Eddie replies with a last peck on Buck’s temple. “And I need to go brush my teeth.”

Who cares about teeth?

“Wait,” Buck calls, catching his arm before Eddie is out of reach. “Do — do you want me there?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side and looks at him like he’s gone mad while doing his best to decipher what Buck is aiming at.

“Of course I want you there,” he responds, like the very idea of him not wanting Buck around is too ludicrous to conceive.

“You didn’t last time.” Buck can’t stop some petulance from dripping into his tone.

Eddie’s chest heaves in a deep inhale as he seems to realize the point of Buck’s question and nods.

“Because they’ve been ridiculous about my feelings for you since you came the first time. No way you would have left the place without finding that out.”

“Oh.” A giddy open-mouth smile slowly stretches Buck’s lips. One whose roots stretch in his guts in filaments of blinding warmth.

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie replies, pushing Buck’s chin up until he closes his mouth, the corners of his own lips curling up. “Now let me get to the bathroom while you get your ego boost in check.”

The three minutes Eddie spends away are not nearly long enough for the expanding and euphoric bubble blooming inside Buck’s chest to subside. He wraps himself around the man as soon as he approaches the bed, and almost tackles him to the mattress. Eddie’s not very good at fighting off a fond smile at the ambush and doesn’t fight Buck’s proximity at all.

Aiming for a more comfortable position, he wiggles in the embrace until they’re face to face and the blanket is covering them both. His breaths smell of spearmint and mouthwash that Buck doesn’t get to taste before he delves his head into the crook of his neck, pecking the skin and whispering a half-yawned goodnight that Buck answers by planting a kiss on the top of his head.

It takes Buck more time to fall asleep, softly stroking Eddie’s back until exhaustion takes over.

The alarm rings far too early. When Buck burrows his face in the comfort of Eddie’s shoulder instead of making any proactive move to get out of bed, Eddie nudges his head away. “Go back to your couch. I’m sleeping for the next half hour.”

His voice is still imbued with slumber, hoarse in its torpor.

It only makes Buck long to huddle closer, to caress the early-morning lines sleep has left on Eddie’s face. For a moment he does, dragging Eddie closer to him, closer to wakefulness.

It takes five minutes for Buck to rise and convince Eddie to follow with as much grace as a bear getting out of hibernation. Buck has to coax a smile out of him through promises of fluffy pancakes and a series of peppered kisses.

Even so, upon entering the kitchen, Eddie heads straight to the coffee machine. Its activating beeps resonate in the quiet room as Buck gets to work, pulling the ingredients out to start the mix.

Buck’s presence and breakfast don’t elicit more than a “You’re still here.” from Christopher when he gets ready for school.

But he sits at the table and accepts the food. Doesn’t ask more questions to Buck, doesn’t check if the bed is made in the living room — it is, undone even — but doesn’t ignore Buck either or keep him out of the conversation they have as they eat. In fact, he sends him frequent glances as though expecting something. Something Buck is unsure how to deliver.

It should be a good sign. However, Buck can’t shake the sensation that he’s trapped in a peculiar state of limbo of his own making, hitting a low after believing some of the tension had been dealt with the previous day. Which is fair. He didn’t expect everything to be back to normal when he went to sleep, but it’s still disheartening to realize how true it is. That there is something he failed to do, to offer. 

“You two doing better?” Eddie asks when the car halts at the first red light after dropping Christopher at school.

“Somewhat. He no longer runs to his room when I’m nearby.” Or hasn’t since last night, though that might have been more caused by them being the only ones in the house and, well, there being pancakes at breakfast rather than any sudden epiphany on Christopher’s part.

“That’s progress,” Eddie says as the light turns green.

Buck sneers at him and drives, narrowly avoiding the hole in the road that threatens to bite into any unsuspecting wheel meeting it. “How is it that he was fine with you after one conversation?” Buck asks, frustration hanging over his tone.

“Careful, bud, your main character syndrome is kinda showing.” Eddie pats his thigh when Buck keeps staring stubbornly ahead. “You’re not all we talk about, but your name comes out fairly often. And I asked him before getting you to watch over him yesterday.”

“I thought you weren’t going to talk to him about us? Does — does that mean he’s over being pissed at me?”

“Oh, no, pissed is not the right word, but he’s definitely still sulking.” Buck sighs, letting the car in front of him overtake him to avoid an accident. “However, he knows I will not give in if he suggests ending our relationship.”

Buck groans, his mind delving back to the previous day’s talk about Christopher’s fear. Buck doesn’t know how he can make it better, how he can reassure Christopher he’ll be around whatever happens, how to show up for him. The only thing he knows is that he can’t rely on Eddie for that, can’t put it on him, or achieve it with the other man present.

“Can I take Chris out on our next Saturday off?” Buck asks in the spur of the moment as Eddie is taking a water bottle out of his bag.

“The day before our visit to the bird sanctuary?” Buck nods. Seeing Christopher twice in a weekend considering the kid’s current dispositions might be pushing it, but Buck has to try to make things better between them and a regular evening doesn’t seem like enough time to mend those bridges. Even an entire day feels delusional. Yet, it might be a chance to ensure that Sunday’s visit is not a miserable experience for the three of them. “If he’s up for it, I have no objection. But Buck, as much as I believe that Christopher won’t be pissed at you for more than a few weeks —“

“A few?” Buck asks in horror — and what happened to ‘pissed’ not being the right word? — while Eddie shakes his head at the interruption.

“A few. He will most likely be wary of where we’re taking it for a long time. Some of it is on me. I fucked up with Ana and probably kept him too much in the loop when I was thinking about calling Marisol.” Eddie raises his hand to scratch at his raised eyebrows. A horn blast behind them tells Buck he has remained static for too long, the car before him in the line being a good thirty feet away. “Point is, he’s convinced I suck at dating. Don’t look at me like that, you don’t have a better track record than I do,” he adds, pointing his finger and the nozzle of his water bottle at Buck, who was keeping a perfectly respectable poker face, despite Eddie’s remark.

“He told me as much. That — that you’d break up with me, actually,” Buck says, a slight hesitation in his voice, scared despite himself that his words might conjure the idea into Eddie’s mind, nudge him toward it.

Before he can make a mountain out of a molehill, Eddie cuts him out. “Won’t happen.” His voice resounds in the car, calm and settled in a way that’s sending shivers through Buck’s spine and making it hard for him to keep his eyes on the road and away from his partner. Not to get lost on that look Eddie’s got when he believes Buck needs the reassurance. He slows down just in case Eddie’s words have already acted as some kind of drug in his system. “If you want a breakup, you’ll have to initiate it yourself.”

“I won’t,” Buck replies in a half-strangled voice.

“I certainly hope not… Anyway, won’t change the fact that Chris needs time to see that we will last. That’s not something we can press.”

Buck parks the car in the remote part of the fire station parking lot.

“Ana lasted six months…” he says with a pout, a persevering dread settling in his guts at the idea, as he pulls the handbrake up, feeling like he is doing the same for his love life.

Eddie shrugs, “I’d wait years for you.”

Buck hawks up a cough, relieved to no longer be driving. Trust Eddie to follow up on discomforting news with a heartfelt declaration.

“Even if the only moments we have together are those twenty minutes back and forth from work?” Half a night in the same bed and some stolen hours in Buck’s loft.

“Even if they are. Buck, I didn’t even think I’d get to have those a month ago. And look at the bright side. At least, it forces us to go slow.”

Buck frowns, his lips contracting into a disbelieving grimace. He thinks about Eddie naked in his bed, still lax and satisfied from fooling around, his dimples incrusted in his cheek as he reached for Buck to snuggle back together for a little longer. About coming out to their captain with Eddie’s only concern being about finding himself on the receiving end of Bobby’s righteous ‘I told you so’. About Eddie's steadfast 'won't happen'.

Eddie seems to hold his very own notion of what ‘going slow’ is supposed to mean. Then again, the man had a kid and got married to his high school sweetheart barely out of said high school. That would screw with anyone’s landmarks.

Twisting in the car, Buck reaches for Eddie’s hand to lift it to his lips.

“Does that mean I can’t marry you to prove to Chris I’m serious about us?” he asks, half joking, half picturing Eddie in a tux, waiting for him at the altar, unable to contain a blush at the mental image.

Eddie’s eyes grow wide as his eyebrows shoot up. However, his expression gets a touch drier. Nowhere near mean or resentful, but a little more closed off. Even his hand tenses, the fingers not slipping from Buck’s grasp but the jolt that goes through them, a sign that it was considered.

“If you propose to me to pacify my son, you’ll have to elope alone.”

Buck does his best not to flinch. Message received. Between the seagulls and today, he’s starting to believe he is not that great at making his intentions clear to Eddie.

Nudging Buck’s side, Eddie continues more kindly, “I’ve been there, Buck. Done that. With Shannon. Twice. The second time when we had a pregnancy scare before — before she died. It sucked, and I wasn’t even on the receiving end of that proposal. I don’t want that for us. If we do marry, I don't want it to be for anybody else.”

All Buck can think is ‘I don’t know what I did to deserve you’ as he lifts his hand to caress the side of Eddie’s face. Something relaxing in him as Eddie mellows into the touch. Safe in the knowledge that he hasn’t damaged things beyond repair yet.

“Okay,” Buck says, watching the sun’s reflections playing out on Eddie’s face, highlighting the brown nuances in his eyes. “When I propose, I’ll make sure you know it’s about you and me.”

He swallows Eddie’s choked chuckle, undoing his seat belt to slide closer to the other man while navigating the relative exiguity of the car. The position is uncomfortable as hell, but nothing that is not well worth the soft gasp that gets out of Eddie’s mouth as Buck deepens the kiss or the panting that follows.

Buck can’t resist slowly retracing Eddie’s lower lip with his thumb and giving him a soft parting kiss. If anyone asks, the inside of Eddie’s car is not a part of the fire station Bobby and his anti-PDA rule can lay claim to.

Eddie’s grip on Buck’s hip wobbles as his tongue flickers between his lips, rendering a third kiss very tempting. “Great. Maybe not in the first two months, though?”

Okay, so Buck might see where Eddie was coming from when he talked about going slow and how little it had to do with getting their hands on each other. 

“You’re still coming with me to Maddie and Chimney’s wedding? Like officially. Together. As a couple.”

When a car comes to park nearby, Buck draws back to the driver set, suddenly aware of how obvious they were being.

Eddie doesn’t even raise an eyebrow when Forrest gets out of his car, not two places away from them, turning any remnant of Buck’s hope for a third kiss to dust, and squints at Buck instead. “Were you planning to invite anybody else?”

“No, but we might have to tell them before the wedding.”

Eddie groans, letting his head sag back on the car seat. “I’ve done Bobby, Pepa, and Chris. We can let all the others figure it out on their own…”

“That’s my sister who’s getting married, Eddie.”

Eddie gives him an amused look and playfully jabs his shoulder.

“Glad to hear you’re volunteering! I’ll support however you want to bring the news to her. Just don’t let Chimney rope me into making any more fancy candles. I still have a scar from last time.”

Eddie doesn’t let Buck answer before getting out of the car. When he considers Buck has waited long enough inside, to unwind and process their conversation, he knocks on the window. The sound brings Buck back to reality.

“Come on. We’ll be late.”

Unfortunately, kissing Eddie again to start their shift on a pleasant note is still not an option, and Buck has to resign himself to very platonically knocking against the man’s shoulder as often as he can.

Eddie shoots him some fondly exasperated looks and, after half a day, switches sides without voicing any recrimination.

Buck hesitates for a moment and checks the lights are on before climbing the stairs. Hen and Chim went to their bunks an hour ago, and he left Eddie sound asleep in his. No one but Bobby should be up.

The man is indeed sitting at the table closest to the counter, correcting something that looks like a list as wisps of herbal mist rise from the green mug beside his hand.

“Why are you still up, Buck?” he asks, putting down his pen after placing its cap back on it.

Hunching a bit, Buck lifts his hand in a gesture meant to get his heartbeat under control, and dispel some of his anxiety through motion.

“I, huh, needed some advice.”

Once Bobby has taken a lengthy look at him, he drags the chair next to his farther from the table. “Well, come on. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Buck swallows, not quite ready to sit yet, and rubs his hands together, searching for how to begin.

“You — Athena has children.” Bobby raises his eyebrows in an unsaid ‘obviously’ as Buck berates himself for the nonsensical starter, taking a step closer to the chair. “I mean, how did you manage to get on May and Harry’s good side when you started dating?”

“Things are still awkward with Christopher?”

Buck slumps on the chair with a dull thump, torn between shame and misery as Bobby’s words echo in his ears.

“Slightly better, but I don’t know what more I can do. Eddie told me to wait him out, but — Well, Eddie’s first advice was to push back. Which, I’m not sure I did right. I mean, I confronted Christopher when we were alone together yesterday, because Eddie went out to see his poker friends.” Bobby blinks like that part of Eddie’s life is news to him. “But our talk doesn’t seem to have changed his opinion about us, or me, much. And, huh, that’s when Eddie talked about waiting. This morning. In the car.”

Bobby takes a few seconds to process the recap Buck offered, before stating, “And you don’t want to wait for things to quiet down.”

Things are already too quiet as it is. And it doesn’t feel right. The distance isn’t doing any of them any good. Worse, waiting feels like giving up.

“No, I —” Buck stops for a second, debating how forthcoming he should be. “Eddie said he’d wait for as long as it takes. But I don’t want to. I want to take him out, hold his hand, kiss or hug him without worrying about Christopher catching us and disapproving.” It’s selfish. Buck knows it is selfish. It’s been less than a month. However, self-recriminations haven’t made things better so far. No more than walking on eggshells around Christopher has. It pushed Buck to dive far too deep into drafting another unusable version of the wedding Maddie and Chim want to have and making far too many edibles. Plus, Buck needs to let it out to someone who is not Eddie. “But I don’t want to let Chris down, either. I know how it feels to be left behind because someone you love gets sucked into a romantic relationship to the detriment of everybody else.” Even themself. To the point of leaving the city and not reaching out for three years. “And I never want to make him go through that. For him to believe that he’s not important to me.” Be it by being absent now or after a breakup Buck doesn’t want to even think about. “I just — I feel like I’m failing them both. Like I’m not getting through to Chris and neglecting Eddie.”

“How’s Eddie handling the situation?” Bobby asks instead of chiding Buck for his impatience, his self-absorption, or any other flaw his tirade unearthed. The untouched mug at his side is still letting out what should be a soothing fragrance but one that can't settle Buck's nerves. 

“It’s Eddie. He’s great. He — he keeps reassuring me that things take time, that he’ll be there. And he is. Every time I let him. Even if he’s stressed about it as well.” Buck has half a dozen pieces of beginner’s art to show for it. Items he’s been keeping jealously in a corner of his upper bedside shelf. “I feel like I’m making things worse for him by not being better at fixing things with Christopher.”

Buck bites his lips, remembering Eddie’s tone after Chim had punched him and what he’d said about Buck being the guy who likes to fix things.

‘But, maybe this isn’t something you can fix.‘

It had been about Maddie and Chim at the time. And about Buck falling short when he did what he thought was best for them. As much as he wants their wedding to be perfect because they both deserve it, Buck wonders if some of his relentlessness is not stemming from a rusted remnant of guilt from that period, from failing them both despite his best efforts.

And if he can’t ensure Maddie and Chim’s happy ending, how can he claim to work toward his own? To earn Christopher’s forgiveness. Even if Christopher’s fears are directed toward Buck leaving more than by him screwing up, the situation is triggering Buck's fear of being left behind again. Setting the charges to blow the precarious situation himself if left by his own device. 

“I’m terrified of disappointing him. Of — of not being up to the task.”

“Buck.” Bobby cuts him gently but firmly. “Eddie doesn’t have a lot of wiggle room in your situation. He’s stuck between you and Christopher. You get to go home or to your sister’s place to escape the tension. Eddie doesn’t have that option. He has to be more cautious.”

“You’re saying Eddie doesn’t have a choice but to be patient,” Buck articulates, bitterness dousing his mouth. 

“I’m saying Eddie is letting you sort it out at your own speed, Buck. And that requires a lot of faith. If he’s ready to trust you that much with Christopher, I think he deserves to be trusted to know what he’s willing to endure.”

“Did — did you know about his will?”

Bobby takes a frustratingly long sip from his mug.

“Yes, Buck. I know about Eddie’s will,” he says in a soft tone, like Buck is a ticking bomb any sudden move or out-of-tune word might spark.

“Then you know why it is vital that I get this right. Eddie, he — he didn’t tell me before he was shot. Do you think he loved me even then?”

That Buck was blind to his feelings for over two years?

“For all his dedication, Eddie can be… indecisive when it comes to dealing with his feelings. Despite that, he’s never struggled with committing to you or with keeping you in his and Christopher’s lives.”

Back to cryptic declarations, then. Is it a complex admittance of Bobby having no idea about how long Eddie has known? Perhaps it’s not the most pressing issue.

“I’ve — I’ve asked Eddie if I could take Christopher somewhere.”

That appears to surprise Bobby. “Then it seems to me like you know what you’re doing next.”

Buck shrugs, self-conscious about not being able to come up with something good enough for the kid. “I — I don’t know where to take him or what to say.”

“Well, you’ll be going with Christopher. There’s no harm in asking him where he wants to go.”

That’d leave Buck a little more than a week to make reservations if he sees Christopher tomorrow and hours to make a preselection of places he might like.

“What if he doesn’t want to go anywhere with me now?”

“That’s why you have to ask him, not me. But I don’t think even you genuinely believe that’s true,” Bobby concludes before chasing Buck toward his bunk to finish th list he's been working on.

“Hey, Chris, mind if I sit here?”

The kid shoots him a wary glance but doesn’t use the first excuse he can come up with to flee his room, which Buck takes as a good sign. Christopher even nods, prompting Buck to nervously clasp his hands, feeling them getting numb the most time passes without talking, and sit on the edge of the pale yellow bed. “I wondered if you’d like to go somewhere with me next Saturday?”

Christopher frowns. “Why? Is dad taken that day?”

Buck deflates a bit at the question. 

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s free.” Knows for a fact that he is. Mostly because it’s Buck’s schedule that is getting in the way of them seeing each other more often with or without Chris around. Also, because Eddie’s planning is displayed on the fridge and imprinted in Buck's mind. Apart from his artistic wanderings, the man is not particularly prone to being spontaneous in his leisure activities. More of a creature of habits. Except in his — Nope, not thinking about that in front of Chris, who is squinting at him.

“And you don’t want to spend that time dating Dad? We already see each other the next day and it’s not like you've been around that often lately,” Christopher says like he can’t wrap his mind around Buck’s offer, like it is a trick Buck doesn’t intend to deliver on.

Buck pokes Christopher’s shoulder with his fingers.

“I want to spend time with you, too.”

“Even if it’s time you don’t spend with Dad?”

“Of course. I told you: you’re very important to me, Chris. Because you’re the coolest kid. Not because of your Dad.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to prove a point…” he says, dropping his eyes on his console and pushing some buttons in a nonsensical order and cadence, as though pretending in front of Buck that he doesn’t care about the topic of their conversation but failing by miles to keep his plan straight.

The attempt reminds Buck of Eddie. Of his reluctance to talk or ask for attention when vulnerable, like, even after working on himself in therapy, part of him is still expecting to be kicked when he’s down.

Maybe Bobby is right. Maybe Buck’s been too focused on catering to whatever he could perceive as Christopher’s needs. Maybe he’s been keeping Christopher at arm’s length, too. For the kid’s sake, but keeping him at arm’s length all the same.

“I’m not. And how long has it been since we went to the zoo together?”

“Is that where we’re going?” Christopher asks, jerking his head away from the game he’s not playing considering the screen is still locked on the start menu.

“If — if you want to. Or we can go somewhere else? Since we’re going to visit a bird sanctuary the next day. Might be redundant.”

“No. I want to, but we’re doing the botanical garden this time. And I want to see the World of Birds show. That way, we can show up to Dad on Sunday.”

Buck lets out a small laugh at the idea. “Deal.”

“You know he is going to go to one of his weird art lessons while we’re away, right?”

Buck chuckles at the way Christopher is scrunching his nose. Eddie will most likely attempt to get rid of any handmade work before they get home.

“He’s trying too hard, isn’t he?”

Christopher enthusiastically bobs his head.

“Like with the dates…” Christopher groans.

For once, the remark doesn’t seem pointed at Buck. Or perhaps, for once, Buck doesn’t take it personally.

It’s like Eddie has something to prove to himself. Just in case. In case Buck leaves, or worse. For when Christopher becomes independent, though, he still has some years to go. The stress of having to play intermediaries between them lately mustn’t have helped. But it’s not something Buck wants to put on Chris if he doesn’t already suspect that.

“He’s not very good at them,” Christopher adds, clueless about Buck’s theories. His voice is full of judgment, as he sets his console aside, giving up any pretense of using it.

Buck lets out a short laugh. “He’s not that bad,” he tries, immediately confronted with Christopher’s highly skeptical look. “What matters is that he’s having fun.”

Besides, Buck has a fondness for all those items Eddie awkwardly makes: the crooked corkscrew, the uneven molded candle, even the crude knife, like a series of tangible witnesses to Eddie’s steadfastness and fallibility. Of a touching clumsiness that only makes Buck love him more.

“It doesn’t seem like he’s particularly ’having fun’.”

Christopher isn’t wrong. Frustration is closer to it, like Eddie expects to be instantly good at anything he tries and can’t handle not getting the gist of it on the first attempt. Like he started doing it as a palliative and couldn’t find a reason to continue, but held on all the same.

Christopher reiterates his wish to see the birds’ demonstration before Buck runs out of time. So he lets the kid to his console and joins Eddie in the kitchen.

Soft whiffs of chicken, garlic, and oregano are rising from the two pans sitting on the stove, coloring the air with spicy and savory brushes.

“So?” Eddie asks, as he puts the lids on the closest one, containing the chicken and the aromatic broth from the glimpse Buck got.

“He said ‘yes’.”

“Of course he did.” Eddie snorts at the way Buck plasters himself on his back before craning his neck to admire Eddie’s profile. “You staying for dinner?”

Buck stops moving at the question and stays silent a second too long, spurring Eddie to flatten his lips and nod in curbed disappointment.

“Figured. Chimney giving you a hard time, or is it to keep Chris’ goodwill up?”

Rationally, Buck could go with the first. He has agreed to help Maddie rethink the seating arrangements. However, he’s not sure he wouldn’t have walked out anyway, in order not to strain ‘Christopher’s goodwill’ as Eddie put it.

“Does it matter?” Buck asks more for himself than for Eddie, his heart already sinking at the idea of letting him down.

“Well, I’m not giving you a container with dinner if you’re going to eat at Maddie and Chim’s house. Which would be a shame ‘cause I’ve got the feeling I’ve nailed the arroz con pollo this time!”

Buck lets his gaze drop to Eddie’s shoulder at the wave of overwhelming affection he feels for the man, at the proud tilt in his voice and unwavering warmth. He tightens his arms around Eddie’s waist to drag him as close as physically possible and lays kisses on Eddie’s sensitive spot below his ear, feeling some tension deserting his body at the attention as Eddie’s hand grips Buck’s forearm. Their moment alone at Buck’s loft feels like so long ago now. Too long ago.

When his phone buzzes in his pocket, Buck withdraws. “And that’s the signal I’ve already spent too much time here.”

Eddie grunts but lets him go, keeping his wrist encircled for a second longer, until their gazes lock.

“You can tell them no, from time to time, you know?” he lets out, concern transpiring through his eyes, peppered with a dash of frustration.

For having had a similar conversation weeks ago, Buck knows the underlying ‘You can tell me ‘no’ too.’ lies in wait in Eddie’s words. To be fair, that caveat would require Eddie to voice what he wants, which he only did after his latest poker night. Instead, he’s been meticulous about presenting it as options, questions about Buck’s plans, draining them of his opinion, as obvious as it can get sometimes. Increasingly so.

Bobby talked about Eddie being caught between Buck and Christopher, but the current paradigm, Maddie’s wedding included, has him untangled in multiple threads. Some most likely of his own making, not unlike Buck’s situation with Christopher. Others not so much.

Buck feels terrible for being grateful for his restraint, for Eddie allowing him to set the pace. Unsure he wouldn’t give in at the slightest pressure, at Eddie saying ‘stay’ instead of asking if he has previous engagements.

The conviction that they’ll have to tackle Eddie’s unwillingness to put his foot down for fear of Buck not pushing back is on the back of his mind. Not now, though. Not when the situation with Chris is so precarious and Buck worried about his sister getting married to one of his closest friends.

“I want it to be everything Maddie ever dreamed of.”

Buck means it. Even if there is a component of guilt woven into it, of his own self-serving tendency to use their wedding as a diversion from the situation with Eddie and Christopher, he wants Maddie’s wedding to be perfect, to be everything her wedding with Doug wasn’t. For her to get to be carefree on her big day.

“I know. But they’ve already changed their plans twice.” Eddie rubs his forehead in a more sincere show of uncertainty. “Just — don’t exhaust yourself in the process. Still got a few weeks to go before we get to the main event.”

Buck kisses him goodnight, several times. To reassure Eddie and himself, to soothe the spark of worries that endures, nonetheless. To convey an unswerving ‘I’m here to stay even if it’s not for the night yet’. Long enough for his phone to ring again.

“You, me, and the arroz con pollo, tomorrow at lunch?” Buck asks, his hand hovering over the handle of the kitchen door.

Eddie snorts. “If there’re leftovers...”

Despite Eddie’s word of caution, Buck has no doubt a share of the dish will be waiting for him, safe in the fridge, when he comes back the next day.

Coming clean to Maddie is far easier than expected. More of an oversight than a real confession. Buck does it as soon as they get around to building a temporary arch to judge the volume it will take.

“Wait. Wasn’t it what I was supposed to infer when you told me you were taking Eddie out for the day and asked me what to wear?”

“I… didn’t.”

Not exactly, not in those words. In the unlikely case Eddie being smitten with him wasn’t enough to turn that first date into more, Buck wanted to keep some plausible deniability.

Chimney shouts from the kitchen, “Don’t think dating Eddie means we’ll go easy on you if you shirk your man of honor’s duties!”

And, as far as acknowledgment goes, it’s all Buck gets before going back to putting flowers on the arch. He squints at it. It’s... Not the most symmetrical structure and the flowers make it seem like a powder-colored bush more than an elegant wedding arrangement. Maddie looks similarly circumspect at his side, grimacing before shaking her head.

“We’ll have to think of something else.”

Of course, Chimney knowing means that Hen and Karen are in the know as well and that Buck receives a long text asking him to detail the circumstances of their getting together. Just for knowledge’s sake, of course. Nothing to do with the money changing hands on their next shift or Hen’s big smile.

Which doesn’t leave that many people to tell. Buck doesn’t quite see himself calling his parents to tell them the news. He hadn’t for his previous relationships and the wedding will be about Maddie and Chimney, anyway.

No, Buck has enough on his plate with Christopher not being that enthused. No need to add his parents to the lot.

Eddie, however, disapproves, or not disapprove per se, but seems highly distrustful of Buck’s parents being mature enough not to make pointed comments if they don’t have the opportunity to let it out before the big night. That being said, Eddie doesn’t seem to have his parents in high esteem as a general rule, or have been won over by their presence at the hospital after Buck got zipped off of their engine ladder.

Reluctantly, Buck sends his parents an awkward text, easily summed up by ‘I’m dating Eddie, a man. Please don’t be weird about it.’ That stays on ‘viewed’ for too long for Buck’s comfort.

A ‘Noted.’ appears on his screen when Buck is parking the car in front of Eddie’s house after their shift. Buck keeps the phone away from Eddie’s reach. Too late for the sole word to go by unnoticed. The man looks seconds away from wrestling Buck to seize the phone anyway and call whichever of the two left the message — Buck’s money is on his dad — to let them know exactly what he thinks of their answer.

“They’re not worth it, Eddie.”

It’s what Buck’s been repeating to himself each time they’ve failed him since coming back into Maddie’s and his lives, since the sessions they did with Dr. Copeland, since the lightning. To be fair, there were moments of hope, flickers of interest, a couch even, that almost made him optimistic until their motivation to do right by their children waned the way it inevitably did every time Buck got hurt as a child.

It’s easier to accept they are fallible people who try to be parents when something — an occasion or an injury — reminds them they have children, or, at least, that Buck exists. Maddie’s relationship with them is different. Not necessarily easier, but she remembers a ‘before’ Buck’s never got a sample of.

“They might not be, but you are,” Eddie says, his fists clenched tight enough it looks painful in a pent-up indignation his voice is full of. Buck reaches to disentangle his fingers.

“Please don’t call my parents to yell at them.”

Buck doesn’t want to deal with that on top of every successive row of preparations for the wedding he’s helping Maddie wade through. The last thing they need is an open fight. Chimney’s father has already let his son know he wouldn’t be making the trip for his son’s wedding. Buck had been a room away for that long-distance conversation. When he had tried to offer comfort, Chim had suggested he go home. Maddie had discreetly signified to Buck that it was best if he agreed and let them deal with it alone.

For all their faults, Maddie and his parents hadn’t abandoned them in a foreign country with no other relatives around.

It doesn’t stop Eddie from squeezing his eyes shut, flattening his lips in a thin line as though he wants nothing more than to protest but realizes it would be detrimental to the point he’s trying to get across before opening them again to consider Buck.

“Alright, I won’t call them.” The missing ‘not yelling’ part of the agreement hangs between them for a dozen of seconds before Eddie sighs and holds his hands up. “And I won’t make a scene at Maddie’s wedding, Buck. Don’t worry.”

“But any other time is fair game?”

Eddie takes a step back, shrugging with his head cocked to the side and his palms still facing the ceiling. “You said it. Not me.”

Christopher is up and ready when Buck comes to pick him up the next Saturday, almost meeting Buck at the door.

“He got me up at seven,” Eddie complains when Buck approaches before handing him the bag Christopher left at the door. He looks like someone planning to dive right back into his bed, or the couch, the moment they’re gone. “I hope you got a good night's sleep. He certainly did.”

Eddie yawns as Christopher gets out of the house.

“Hey Chris. Ready for the zoo?”

“Yes, but I don’t think Dad should be left without supervision.”

“Oh, which one are you trying today?” Buck asks as Eddie stands, arms crossed, half slumping on the porch, his eyes already fluttering close.

Doing a poor job of studying the neighbor’s new pergola, Eddie replies, “I don’t see what you’re talking about.”

“Bookbinding, he’s going bookbinding,” Christopher helpfully provides, or commiserates, surprising Buck with his openness. Seems like roasting his Dad takes precedence over the tension between them.

Buck squints at him. He knew Eddie was sort of hectic about his hobby search project, but come on. “Bookbinding? You don’t even read that much.”

“Well, right now, I feel more like making a dream catcher. Or learning German, anything to catch up on the sleep I couldn’t have this morning because someone was too eager to leave the house.”

“Dad...”

“But maybe I should try to learn to play an instrument instead. Violin might be nice.”

Christopher and Buck share a look of horror. One that screams ‘please save me from that’ on Christopher’s end.

“Maybe you should stick to crafting hobbies? Or take Chim out to a karaoke. You know. Get it out of your system?”

That would have the double advantage of giving an outlet to Chimney as well. One that is sorely needed, since no matter how many hours a week Buck spends at his house to help with the wedding preparations, they seem to be running in circles. No closer to being done. Worse, they seemed further along one month ago.

“Or stop searching,” Christopher adds, a note of hope in his tone.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys. Anyway, I’m seeing Linda this afternoon. No lesson. Bookbinding was cancelled. We’re going to a tea house instead.”

“You don’t like tea either...” Buck feels forced to point out.

“But I like Linda and it’s been a while. Besides, she promised she’d share one of her newest recipes with me. We might come here to try it out.”

That seems a lot healthier than Eddie going bookbinding on his own with the single-minded purpose of finding a hobby.

“Do we get to taste the result?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side, his hands clutching on his hips. “Depends. Does it mean you’re staying the night?”

“Raincheck?” Buck grimaces. Tonight was planned for over two weeks. Chimney would throttle him if he canceled.

Eddie rolls his eyes, unsurprised like it is simply another bad news to add to the pile, but doesn’t call him out. Even waves at them as Buck’s car gets on the road.

The silence perseveres for a few minutes, the upbeat pop song, being the only sound animating the passenger compartment, before Buck lets out, “So, your Dad was in a mood...”

“Pepa told him tìo Rafael was coming over next weekend before you arrived.” Ah, the nosy cousin. Buck is almost expecting a day-long hobby attempt to conveniently fall right on the day they’re not working that weekend. “Buck. Do you think his bookbinding lesson was actually canceled, or that Dad wants to jump-scare us with the finished product when we get back?”

“I don’t think you need to worry about your English homework getting leather-bound anytime soon. Now, the dreamcatcher, that seems more likely.“

Buck is almost expecting to find one pinned to his door someday. Though he’d probably store it with Eddie’s other works, almost enough to build a small shrine by now. Christopher groans, the thought not being as amusing for him as it is for Buck.

After spending the rest of the drive planning how to structure their visit, they get to the zoo early enough to stop for churros and snap a few pictures before heading to see the show. They hold a debrief over their lunch, discussing the birds they watched looming and flying over their heads.

As they walk through one of the zoo birds gardens, Northern America or Africa garden, Buck notices Christopher stopping when he spots a bouquet of hummingbirds hovering over bright crimson flowers, seemingly mesmerized by the fast-paced wings flaps and the shimmering colors of their gorgets. More so than by any parrots, vultures, or hawks they saw during the earlier demonstration.

Buck halts near him, far enough not to frighten the birds. A sweet sort of nostalgia fills his lungs, along with the sweet and floral undertones emanating from the garden.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they? We had some in our backyard when I was a kid.” Buck chuckles at the memory. “Maddie used to tell me that I was worse than a hummingbird because I couldn’t stop moving and wanted to eat all the time.”

One spring, when a broken bone kept Buck from running around the block or taking a homemade crash course into becoming a stuntman, Maddie’s remarks  turned into a presentation for school. The preparations sucked them both into a common project for weeks. In retrospect, Buck guesses, more than the birds, the prospect of keeping Buck out of trouble must have appealed to Maddie.

Still, those were good days. Days, when they felt like an unbreakable unit inhabiting their own world. When their parents’ indifference didn’t matter as much as sighting a bird with an unusual gorget. When Maddie’s love kept Buck’s stomach fed with cookies as they waited hours lying on the grass. Hours spent trying to get the perfect pictures of the little birds with a camera that definitely wasn’t sophisticated enough for the result to be anything but a blurry mess, and attempting to fit their little guests into the diverse species livening the nearby library’s books. Species, distinct from the most common ruby-throated hummingbird Buck can still recognize on sight.

“They’re so small,” Christoper whispers reverently, his focus not wavering from the bushes.

“They are. Smallest birds in California.” Although Buck can’t recall the exact species for the life of him. “If I remember correctly, their average weight is around a dime. And, look, see how they can fly backward?” Christopher nods as Buck points at a bird with a purple collar. That one he used to know as well, the memories encrusted in over fifteen years of unused. “That’s because their wings move in an eight-shaped pattern. It makes them the most agile birds on the planet.”

“To feed from flowers?” Christopher asks, like their means seem to outdo the birds’ task.

“Well, they’re small and voracious. They can visit more than a thousand flowers a day to feed themselves. That’s a lot of work.”

Christopher nods along, his eyes coveting the birds with an unwavering focus. “How do they pick the flowers?”

“They love bright colors, red especially, because they can’t smell anything. And insects rarely go for red flowers. So, less concurrence.”

Buck remembers the vivacious spots of yellow, orange, and crimson brightening their yard in Hershey, in stark contrast to the ambiance at home. Remembers sitting feet away from the bushes, basking in the comfort the hummingbird bouquet provided even after Maddie’s departure. Until the year they were cut off, that is. No flowers bloomed during the next spring for the migratory birds to feed from. Then Buck was the one who left the house and its backyard behind. 

Buck wants nothing more than to share with Christopher the comfort those memories conjure. How observing the hummingbirds with his sister was one of the moments of his childhood when he felt connected, part of a familial cocoon.

“We — we could try to install a feeder in your backyard, if you like them? And plant flowers. Even ask tomorrow, at the bird sanctuary, if they know which kinds we should choose. Though we’d have to take care of them because I don’t trust your dad to stick to caring for them.”

Christopher laughs, shifting his crutches to straighten up. “He’s already struggling with the aloe…”

“That’s sad.” And, Buck suspects a well-timed excuse to keep him coming around to take care of the plants that, granted, Buck brought, but that technically belong to Eddie or Chris who helped name them. To the household. “We’d have to be patient and dedicated. The nectar in the feeder needs to be recharged regularly and the flowers will be a lot of work to grow.”

“We can do it,” Christopher says, his chin raised in a defiant resolution. “Even if Dad’s terrible with plants.”

“You’re sure? I’d probably have to come along often for that.” Buck hesitates for a second before metaphorically shooting himself in the foot. “Or I think I saw a camp on observing migratory birds at the entrance, if it’s something you’d be more comfortable with.”

Christopher frowns but is quick to say, “No. I want to do it at home. With you.”

“Okay.”

“Buck? Did you and Maddie have a feeder?”

“Not exactly. But we used to wait for the hummingbirds to come into our garden with a camera.”

“Can you — can you tell me about it?”

Buck does. He describes the smell of the flowers, the failed pictures, and the glimmering birds they looked for in dusty books. Sitting on a nearby bench when Christopher shows signs of being tired, Buck shares those memories with the kid and the elation that comes with them long after the birds have flown elsewhere looking for sustenance, answering the boy’s every question.

After browsing through the rest of the gardens until Christopher needs to sit more often than not, they take the zoo shuttle back to the parking.

The kid pauses before getting in the car. “You can stay tonight. You know, if you want to. I’m sure Dad would be happy if you do. And I — I don’t mind.”

That’s not quite Christopher’s usual hugs or an unmitigated approval, but the flickering worry that hasn’t quite left Buck’s chest, even in the face of Christopher’s sunny dispositions since the morning quietens, briefly replaced by a spike of guilt.

“As glad as I am to hear it, Chris, I really can’t tonight. We’re sampling some food for the wedding. I’ll try to snatch you a piece of cake. But I’ll stay tomorrow night, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Yeah. You and I have some research to do, after all,” Buck says, helping Christopher pull his crutches into the back of the car.

Though the pieces of cakes Buck has gathered — Maddie offered him a box of their preselections to bring home with him as an edible ‘thank you’ — are not enough to make up to Eddie for not spending the night, they bring a smile to his face the next morning.

Christopher makes sure to review every bite he tries turning their breakfast into a foodie’s evaluation. Once they’re done, Buck texts Maddie their final rankings, showing the kid her response and agreement about not keeping the lavender and citrus purple monstrosity for the wedding despite Eddie’s remark about it not being ‘that bad’.

Then, it’s time to head out. To visit the bird sanctuary Eddie selected weeks ago.

Eddie squints at them for the third time in a row after they beat their guide to the punch with a bird fun fact. “Is that supposed to be common knowledge, or have you both become ornithologists behind my back?”

Christopher is quick to reply, “That’s because you didn’t read the brochure, Dad.”

“Yeah, Eddie, you didn’t read the brochure. How did you expect to keep up?”

Eddie purses his lips but doesn’t call them up on their antics, not even when Buck starts to laugh, giving their game away. He does wave his finger at Buck though, looking more fond than annoyed at them joking at his expense.

Buck knocks their shoulder together to soften the remark, taking advantage of the closeness to catch Eddie’s hand for a moment, then, when nothing of note happens, no side-eye or adverse reaction, he keeps Eddie’s fingers safe inside his hold for the rest of the walk. Happily discussing with their guide about migratory birds and endemic plants to grow to help them rest and feed during their journey.

Their visit ends at the shop of the observatory where Buck momentarily abandons the Diazes to look for a book on hummingbirds and for a vendor that knows which seeds he needs to buy to start on their backyard project. Fortunately, he finds the nectar-rich native plant seeds easily enough. He’s less lucky with the book.

“Look what I found,” Buck says, presenting several packs of seeds the vendor helped him pick to Chris. “Flowers to attract hummingbirds. I took some for spring and summer. Apparently, for winter we need shrubs. I figured those we better look for at a florist... Or it will take years before they bloom.”

Eddie studies his son, a knowing glint in his eyes, as though he’s just realized something Buck isn’t privy to.

“You’re not showing Buck what you got him, Dad?” Christopher asks, though the question sounds more like a deflection than a genuine wish for it to happen.

A small, mischievous chuckle leaves Eddie’s chest at the suggestion.

“Nah. It can wait. But I thought you would pin your new patch on your bag straight away, Chris.”

Christopher’s eyes dart away, visibly flustered as he fidgets with his clutches. “I’m waiting for the right moment, too. Maybe in May? That’s when we might see the most species of hummingbirds, right, Buck?”

Buck doesn’t see the correlation between a bag decoration and bird migration, but whatever makes the kid happy.

“Yeah. It’s still a few months away. That means some of the flowers might have bloomed by then, if we take care of them properly. It gives us time to research what best nectar to put in the feeder. You’re alright with that?” Buck turns directing his question at Eddie.

Eddie’s lips curl up in an overly satisfied smile that causes his eyes to crinkle. He pats Buck’s back like, even though the point is flying over his head, he admires his enthusiasm.

“Sure, the backyard’s all yours. Do your worst.”

Eddie’s grin is a little too wide, too fond. “You say that because it gives you pretty flowers to look at with no work.”

“And he gets to brag about it to Abuelita when she visits,” Christopher adds, too happy to be let off the hook.

“I’ll make sure to direct all the praises where they’re due,” Eddie replies, tousling his son’s hair as the kid grimaces but endures it.

The excitement relegates the mention of a present to the back of Buck’s mind. It’s only when they’re alone in Eddie’s room that Eddie pushes a small red-wrapped package in his hands.

“Would you have given it to me if I hadn’t spent the night?” Buck teases.

Eddie’s lips stretched into a lopsided grin as he jokes, “Eventually.” The spark in his eyes softens to something more tender before he quietly admits, “I didn’t want to steal your thunder earlier.”

“I — I didn’t get you anything,” Buck says honestly, flustered at the attention. The small cakes don’t count. Maddie bought them for him.

“Not the point, Buck. Won’t you open it? It’s not much. I just thought of you when I saw them.”

Buck rips the gift wrap until the first key ring falls into his palm. A curious seagull harboring a red and white striped bobble cap. Buck blinks at it, scared to even close his fingers around the plastic figurine for fear of it being a mirage. He shoots a timid glance toward Eddie, who is staring at him like he’s the one being offered something, not Buck. His mind thoroughly empty of any coherent response to the gift, Buck opens his mouth even though nothing comes out.

Eddie nudges him. “Come on. You’re not done.”

Four other seagull key rings join the first. All adorned with hats, sunglasses, or earmuffs, no one in their right mind would wear in California. Each like an additional fizzy pebble landing near Buck’s heart.

“The vendor didn’t say if they came from Santa Barbara island or not.”

Buck gulps to keep his emotions from overflowing, his mind away from the story about lesbian seagulls and the couple who researched them.

“It was a fluke...” he whispers, staring at the flightless birds.

Eddie gently closes Buck’s hand around the key rings, keeping his own above Buck in a warm hold. “Maybe, but we’re not.”

With a breathless laugh, Buck lets his chin drop to his chest before peeking back at Eddie.

“You can’t steal my metaphors and use them far more effectively than me, Eddie. That’s not fair. How am I supposed to top that?” When all Eddie does is laugh, the bedside lamp enhancing his blush, Buck whines, “I was the one supposed to sweep you off your feet.”

Instead, he’s the one being won over, again.

“Technically, you did sweep me off my feet when you knocked us both on the bed the other day,” Eddie remarks with a soft smirk.

“Not what I meant.”

“I know. You’ll have all the occasions you want to do it later,” Eddie says.

“Day after day?” Eddie lets out a promising hum near Buck’s ear as he releases his hold on his hand, reminding Buck of the precious cargo. “Wait, I need to get my keys and yours. And the jeep’s.” The seagull with sunglasses should do. Or maybe the earmuffs?