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Buck is elbow-deep in a bowl of meatball mix when Christopher click-clacks over to him, crutches knocking against the familiar timber of the kitchen floor. Chris loiters by the island, likely leaning on it for support. Buck hums in greeting, his brain focused on shaping the perfect meatball. All his others have been misshapen or oddly sized, but he’s determined. This will be the perfect meatball. He smooths over the side, gloved thumb shaping it when—
“Hey, Buck?”
Head lifting, Buck turns, fingers still moving on their own. “Yeah, buddy?”
“I need a photo of you,” Chris says.
“N-Now?” Buck looks down at himself: long gloves, meatball hands, denim apron. This is not exactly Instagram-worthy material. Beneath the apron, he’s wearing a stretched-out shirt of Eddie’s that still smells of his cologne at the collar. He holds up his hands, brows raised. “I’ve got meatball on my hands.”
“No,” Chris responds, like Buck is crazy for even suggesting it. “It’s for school. I just need a normal photo of you.”
Oh. That’s fine. Buck’s got plenty of candid shots he can email Christopher’s way. Eddie’s no photographer, but he’s always been good at catching Buck at the right angle.
But then, shattering Buck’s delight in being part of Chris’s project, he continues: “And one when you were a kid.”
“Oh.” Dread injects itself into his veins—Buck barely has any photos from his childhood, half because his parents never cared enough to take them, but half because he doesn’t exactly like looking at them. He doesn’t look like himself in them. Long blonde hair, itchy dresses, hollow eyes and skin that never fit quite right. He swallows thickly, cooling his expression as he turns back to his meatball. Oh. It’s squished. He fully squished it in his hands. He sighs, dumping it back into the mixture before collecting another small handful.
Tentatively, Buck asks, “Um. What’s the project?”
Chris seems to realise this isn’t as quick a conversation as he had expected when he’d wandered in mid-dinner prep, judging by the vaguely huffy sigh that escapes him as he perches himself on a stool. “It’s a family tree thing. It’s about genetics. I’m supposed to include all my relatives.”
The idea of being included on Christopher’s family tree makes Buck’s sternum ache, something tender blossoming just behind it. He’s engaged to Christopher’s dad, and has known the kid since he was seven, there for all his important moments, but it’s still— it’s different. To hear it out loud. To have it acknowledged. So much of Buck’s relationships lived in the unsaid for years. It’s nice to be seen. Loved. To be family.
“You know we’re not blood related, Chris.”
“I know. But she said to include all parents.”
Buck’s heart, very reasonably, clenches so tight he squishes yet another meatball into a vague burger shape. They’re having some ugly meatballs for dinner. He haphazardly rounds it out and dumps it onto the tray, grabbing another handful.
Then, Chris adds, “And you’re my step-dad. I guess.”
“R-Right,” Buck manages, throat tight and eyes suddenly burning. “I’m— Yeah. I am. That’s me.”
Buck takes a minute, turning around and leaning the small of his back against the counter, his dirtied hands lifted into the air, a little weirdly surgeon-like.
Chris snorts. “Your hands look gross.”
Feeling slightly dizzy, Buck turns again, huffing a laugh. “Sorry, bud. Just– give me a second. To—” He looks at his tray of disastrous meatballs. Maybe he’s just not a meatball guy. They’re hideous. “Meatball.”
There’s a beat of silence, then, a very judgmental teenage sigh. “You’re so weird.”
“Hey,” Buck says, tone defensive. “I’m— I’m making you dinner. Be nice to me.”
Being nice is not a requirement for dinner. Buck makes dinner most nights—not because Eddie won’t (because Eddie does fight him on it), but because he wants to. There’s nothing like the satisfaction of seeing his little family well-fed, content, and happy. Eddie cooks for them on nights when Buck is dead on his feet, too tired to argue the matter, or for breakfast on their days off, when he wants Buck to wake up to the smell of fresh bacon and eggs.
Reminiscing, Buck smiles, content and— settled. He’s so settled these days. Life is so, so good.
“Can I have the photos?” Chris prompts. “I need them for Friday.”
Oh. He forgot— right. The photos. The photos of Buck as a child. The photos of Buck as a little girl that Christopher doesn’t know exist. Right.
Buck swallows thickly, nodding, shoving the bowl of mix away. That’s enough meatballs.
“Um. N-No, yeah. Of course.” He turns his head, smiling a little wobbily, but Chris seems to buy it. He smiles back. “Let me call Maddie and get her to– find one.”
Sliding off the stool, Chris says, “Cool. Thanks, Buck.”
Eddie arrives home from his shift about an hour later, his hair dishevelled like he’s been running his hands through it all afternoon, and his smile soft and lazy. He looks exhausted, but not upset. Like it’s been a long day, but not particularly a hard one.
“Hey. Hello,” Buck says, voice pitching high. He then purposefully lowers it, crossing his arms across his chest, forcing his expression casual. “Hi.”
Buck (now thankfully post meatball prep) is apron-less and loitering in the hallway, attempting to look inconspicuous. Eddie dumps his duffel under the hall table and toes his work boots off.
Voice a little rough, Eddie says, “Hey, sweetheart.”
He saunters closer, limbs looking heavy, and settles a hand against Buck’s hip. The touch alone eases some of the tension in Buck’s chest.
Drinking in Buck’s expression, Eddie’s head tilts, his thumb tracing a slow circle over Buck’s hip bone. “You look nervous.”
Fuck. He is not being nonchalant. Maybe it’s the tapping foot. Or the excessive swallowing. Buck schools his expression as much as he can, shrugging.
“N-No, I’m good,” he half-squeaks, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “I’m great. Excited to see you.”
He is, too. It’s not often they work separately, preferring to be on the same shift even though they’re not partners anymore, but Garrett from B shift’s wife just gave birth a couple of weeks ago, and they could use the overtime money with Christopher’s space camp coming up. And the price of eggs. The price of eggs is crazy. Buck tried suggesting they get chickens, but Eddie had just levelled him with a flat look and said no poultry in my backyard.
It’s a work in progress. Buck will eventually wear him down.
Eddie hums, tilting his head up a little, raising a brow. “If you were excited to see me, you’d be kissin’ me.”
Buck huffs a laugh, dipping down the last inch to seal their mouths together. It’s something just a little more intense than a greeting kiss, his mouth slotting together with Eddie’s, head tilting to get the angle just right. The contact soothes some of the panic in his chest, the swipe of Eddie’s tongue against his lips a balm over his worries. Buck sighs into the kiss, deepening it, and Eddie nudges him back against the wall, sliding a hand a little under his shirt.
Then, breaking the kiss, Eddie presses their foreheads together, exhaling slowly.
Breathless, Buck whispers, “Hi.”
A grin cracks across Eddie’s face. “Hi, Buck.”
Swallowing thickly, Buck pulls his face back a bit, letting his head knock against the cool wall. “Can we talk?”
Eddie blinks, hand stilling on Buck’s side. “Uh-oh.”
“No. No. It’s fine,” Buck assures, gently nudging Eddie back. He’ll probably end up kissing him again if he doesn’t. He really did miss him. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just– it’s about Chris.”
Eyes flying wide, Eddie glances down the hallway, already one foot toward Christopher’s room. “What? Is he okay? Did something—”
Buck catches him by the elbow before he bolts down the hall, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Nope! Sorry! Rewording.” Buck exhales raggedly, smiling nervously. “Chris and I talked about something, and, well, I think you and I should– talk about it. About what I should do.”
Coming out to Eddie had been terrifying, but so, so easy. Eddie made it so simple, like it didn’t change a thing. They’d been just friends, then, and Eddie had hugged him, squeezing him round the middle and telling him that he’s still just Buck.
It’s not often that Buck has to come out. It’s just not really relevant in his day-to-day life anymore. If he’s honest, he forgets how to sometimes—stumbles through it like it’s his first day on Earth, like he’s just as surprised to hear it himself.
Eddie’s eyes flit over Buck’s tense expression. He seems to find what he’s looking for and lets his tense shoulders sag as he says, “Right. Okay. C’mon.”
Grabbing Buck by the wrist, he tugs him toward the bedroom.
“Now is not the time to take me to bed, Eddie.”
Eddie shakes his head, amused, as he pulls Buck through the doorway and closes the door behind them, snipping the lock. Christopher is in a weird phase of knocking once and then just opening doors—something dangerous when the two of them are often making out behind said closed door.
“It’s for privacy, pervert,” Eddie scolds lightly, then nudges Buck onto the edge of the bed. “And for ass-grabbing if the timing is right.”
Buck rolls his eyes. The teasing banter is helping him feel a little less like he’s walking down death row. “And I’m the perv.”
Brows raised, Eddie retorts, “You are.”
Shaking his head, Buck settles against the bedding, tapping the spot next to him.
“Eddie, this is serious.”
“Okay, Mr Serious.” Eddie sits down next to him, knocking their shoulders together. “What’s up?”
He doesn’t know how to explain it all. He’s had hours to plan this out, even jotted down some key points about potential transphobia from Christopher’s teachers or classmates, and about how they might want to pre-warn the counsellor if this is something Chris decides to go ahead with, and—
Instead, all that comes out is a rushed, “Chris called me his step-dad.”
Eddie turns to him, blinking slowly. Buck meets his eye.
He seems to be waiting for him to continue, and when Buck doesn’t, Eddie says, “...Yep?”
“No. Um.” Buck swallows again. Why is he swallowing so much? Why is being nervous making him produce extra saliva? Is that normal? “Like for the first time.”
Eddie’s expression softens, his hand reaching over and finding Buck’s, tangling their fingers together. “I mean, you are.”
Right. He is. He’s about to marry Eddie. Has a ring on his left hand and everything to prove it. He’s Christopher’s step-dad—something real. Something permanent. Buck’s head ducks, eyes casting away. “Y-Yeah. I guess. Technically. Um.”
Eddie’s other hand lifts, a finger catching the side of Buck’s chin and dragging Buck’s head back toward him. “We’re family, Buck,” Eddie tells him, squeezing their fingers together. “We’re getting married next summer. You’re his step-dad.”
Suddenly overwhelmed with affection, Buck tilts forward in a rush, crashing their mouths together. The angle is a little wrong, Eddie’s strong nose smashing into his. Eddie laughs against his mouth, twisting his head a little to the side to allow their mouths to press together just right. Eddie’s thumb brushes over his knuckles as Buck melts into the kiss, letting all the love trapped in his chest flow into it.
Pulling back, Buck presses his temple against Eddie’s cheek, exhaling rough.
“That’s not— fuck. I’m doing this wrong,” Buck grumbles. “I need to talk to you about– about something else. Too.”
Eddie’s hand finds his hair, carding through the short curls at the back. “Okay, tell me so I can keep kissing you.”
“He’s working on this … it’s a project.” Buck keeps his eyes closed, allowing the comforting touches to give him the bravery to talk about this. He just doesn’t want to make things complicated for Christopher. He’s been through so much—the last thing he needs is Buck’s childhood throwing a wrench in his school project. “He needs photos of me. And um. Probably you.”
“Sure.”
“As kids,” Buck clarifies.
Eddie’s fingers pause in his hair. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re…”
“I want to tell him.” Buck lifts his head, meeting Eddie’s eyes, searching for uncertainty in them.
But Eddie looks so at ease. So sure. So— unbothered. He just smiles, warm and gentle. “Okay.”
Buck blinks. Blinks again. “... Okay?”
Buck spent an hour pacing the kitchen and cursing out his mediocre meatballs just to get an okay? Like it’s just— like it’s fine. Like it’s not a problem.
“Yeah, okay.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, reassuring in the way his easy confidence always is. “I mean, I figured it’d happen eventually.”
“R-Right.” Buck’s fingers tighten around Eddie’s, the touch grounding him. Eddie’s always been so comfortable about Buck’s gender and his queerness in general, even when he hadn’t understood his own; Eddie had been quietly, instinctively understanding. He even researched so he didn’t have to ask Buck any invasive questions.
“And it’s okay? If I tell him?” Buck asks.
“Buck, honey, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, “It’s a part of you. If you wanna share that with our kid, that’s for you to decide.”
Our kid. Our kid. Our kid.
Buck bites down on a smile, ducking his head and exhaling, relief flooding him.
Eddie drops his head onto Buck’s shoulder, letting the silence settle for a moment. There’s no charge in the quiet, just comfortable, easy emptiness.
He is the one to break it, though. After a beat, Eddie says, “I love you. Love every part of you.”
The words are just a little slurred, like his eyes have been closed since his cheeks hit Buck’s shoulder. Buck laughs a little, his shoulders shaking with it.
“You’re so sleepy.”
Eddie squishes his hand one more time in his before flopping back against the bedding. “I also love our bed.”
Shaking his head, Buck stands up, “Uh-huh. Okay. Take a nap, old man. Dinner’s ready in an hour.”
Buck brushes himself off, feeling steadier than he had when he’d heard Eddie’s keys slot into the door. He breathes out slow, letting his heart rate settle.
Eddie lifts his head, resting up on his elbows. “I love you, Buck.”
Realising he hadn’t said it back, Buck smiles, leaning down to squeeze Eddie’s thigh. “I love you, too. Now lay down. Properly.”
Eddie huffs, letting out a distinctly old-man groan as he shifts on the bed, head landing amongst Buck’s collection of pillows, Eddie’s own not even close to him. Figures.
A single eye pried open, Eddie asks, “Do you wanna tell him together?”
The offer is sweet. They like to do things together—good things, bad things, hard things, silly things—but this is Buck’s thing. His truth.
“No. I—I think it’d be better if it’s just Chris and me.” Chris is an open and accepting kid, but Buck’s not really nervous about his reaction—more about what it could mean for his social life if anyone else found out. “I want him to feel like he can ask me anything.”
“Alright.” Eddie rolls onto his side, settling in. “Kiss?”
“Demanding.”
“It was a simple request.”
Endlessly fond, Buck leans down, smoothing a thumb over Eddie’s cheek. “One kiss.”
“C’mere,” Eddie murmurs, tugging Buck down by the collar into a slow, sweet kiss. When it breaks, Eddie’s head drops back against the pillow like it weighs a ton.
“I’ll come wake you in an hour,” Buck says over his shoulder as he steps into the hall.
“You’re the best,” Eddie mumbles, already halfway asleep.
Buck stands in the hallway for a minute or two before striding down it, his fingers fidgeting as he knocks on the cracked-open door. It swings open a little, revealing Chris in his desk chair with his Switch in hand. He doesn’t even look up, just makes a vague greeting grunt.
“Hey, kiddo, are you— um. Have you got a sec?”
Chris doesn’t look up, just keeps jamming his thumbs at the Joy-Cons. Half-mumbling, he asks, “Is it dinner time?”
“No, I just– I wanna talk. About something.”
Hitting pause, Chris lifts his head. Looking suddenly suspicious, he sets the Switch down on his desk amidst the mess of his homework. “...Okay.”
Buck steps into the room, half-closing the door behind him but leaving it ajar. He smiles nervously, forcing his shoulders to relax.
“The photos. You asked for. I— my parents, they didn’t take a lot when I was a kid, but uh, I do have some. Only a few.”
Ones he’ll have to ask Maddie for, because he doesn’t have a single good one handy, just a blurry baby picture and one of him much, much older, a couple of years before graduation.
“Okay. I only need one,” Chris says.
“No, no. I know. It’s just— I look different. In them. And it’s okay, if, because of that, you don’t wanna include them in your project.”
Buck is used to the questions that come when people know. He’s learned how to brace for them, how to let the comments that would’ve made a younger version of him’s skin crawl slide off his back, forgotten before the sentence is even over.
Christopher hasn’t. Christopher doesn’t even know.
Chris's expression shifts, brows pulling together. “But you’re my Buck.”
God. Buck wants to hug him so badly. He loves this kid so much.
“Y-Yeah. I’m… I’m your Buck. But…” Swallowing again, Buck gestures toward Christopher’s unmade bed. “It’s easier if I show you. Can I sit?”
Nodding, Chris turns, watching as Buck sits down.
Once he’s settled at the edge, Buck pulls out his phone, scrolling till he finds the photo of him when he was an infant. He’s in Maddie’s arms, little blonde curls dancing in the wind as Maddie grins widely at the camera, one of her front teeth missing. He holds the phone out for Christopher to see. “Okay, so, this is me when I was a baby.”
The photo doesn’t make the truth obvious. He’s wearing a hand-me-down green onesie, one of Daniel’s old pieces. It was before he died, Buck’s pretty sure, but Daniel is nowhere to be seen—probably in hospital, not standing outside Maddie’s school with her in a loosely fitting uniform.
Chris smiles, zooming in on the picture with his finger and thumb. “You’re so blonde.”
“Ha. Yeah.”
His hair has darkened over the years, but in the right light still appears a little golden. He turns the phone back to himself, swiping a few times before revealing the next photo. It’s a photo of Buck at fifteen, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, birthmark splotchy, cheeks ruddy and dark with an unimpressed frown on his face. He’s wearing a dress for his school dance, which Maddie gave him from her own closet. It bunches tight at the waist, stopping just above the knee.
Buck’s skin prickles uncomfortably just at the sight of it.
“But, um. This is me. When I was uh– your age.”
Chris looks at the phone when it’s offered to him, mouth downturned at the corner. He looks up at Buck, confusion evident. “But that’s a girl.”
“Yeah. I’m, um.” Buck straightens his spine, taking the phone back and discarding it beside him, keeping his gaze steady as he asks, “Have you heard of… h-have you ever met anyone who’s transgender before, Chris?”
Chris leans back in his chair. “...Yeah? I have the internet, Buck.”
“Right.” Buck huffs a laugh. The slightly unintentionally bitchy tone is Eddie through and through. God, he’s so Eddie’s kid. Buck smiles, mind racing as he searches for the right words. “Well, I’m transgender. When I was a kid, I was a little girl—or everyone thought I was. But I’m not. I was just born in the wrong body. When I was in my early twenties, I… I went through some pretty big changes. So I could be happy. So I could feel like myself.”
Sounding like a mirror-image of his father, Chris simply says, “Okay.”
Buck rubs his hand over his thigh nervously. “A-And if you have any questions, you can ask them. Anything.”
Chris takes a minute, rolling the thought around before tentatively asking, “... Do you not want me to include the photos?”
He really is the best kid.
Buck tilts closer, giving a small shrug.
“I don’t mind, bud. Really. I just don’t want it to make things difficult for you at school. Having two dads is one thing; having a trans step-dad is another.”
Chris seems to consider this, then shrugs. “If someone was mean about it, Dad would kick their ass.”
“Your dad would—” Buck pauses and thinks back to Nashville, and to every other time someone has bothered them in public since they got together and has to bite down on a smile. “Okay, he might. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. You could talk to your teachers. Or to me. And we can sort it out.”
Chris nods. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Chris turns away, grabs his Switch again and settles back into his chair, unpausing the game. Eyes glued to the screen, he asks, “Can you text me the photos?”
Buck blinks. “You want—”
“You’re family, Buck.” Chris lifts a shoulder, unfazed, as if he’s not making Buck almost cry. “It’s a family tree.”
Eyes burning, Buck grabs the arm of the chair and tilts it back, pulling Chris into a tight hug. “I love you so much, Chris.”
Chris lets out an exaggerated wheeze, lifting one hand to pat Buck’s back awkwardly. “You’re smothering me.”
“With love.”
Likely rolling his eyes, Chris squeezes back, just once. “I love you, Buck. Can I go back to my game now?”
Finally pulling back, Buck stands, brushing his hands off on his legs. “Okay. If you do have any questions later, just— just ask, okay? Anything.”
“Okay.”
Okay.
Buck walks out of the room and finds Eddie standing there, back against the wall, eyelids still heavy with sleep. He’s supposed to be napping. Buck knows full well Eddie’s not sleeping at all till they go to bed later if he’s up now. He’ll follow Buck around the kitchen while he finishes dinner off and then make out with him against the fridge, exhaustion be damned. Eddie is a deeply predictable creature.
Buck steps in closer, voice dropping low, but not accusatory. “You were listening?”
“Just at the end,” Eddie assures him, grabbing Buck by the wrist and dragging him nearer.
Buck goes where he’s pulled, shifting to take Eddie’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “He’s a good kid.”
“Gets that from Shannon,” Eddie says quietly, always unwilling to take any credit for the amazing kid he raised. “And from you.”
“And from you, Eddie,” Buck insists, holding his gaze. “You raised him to be like that. Judgement-free. Understanding. Open-minded. That wasn’t what teenage Eddie Diaz was taught, but that’s what you gave to him.”
And Buck is so, so lucky for it—for Eddie taking the time to unlearn what he was told, for learning to be kind, patient, and willing to grow. He came from a place that told him different meant wrong, but he dragged himself out anyway, taught himself differently, and proceeded to teach his kid better, too.
“Buck,” Eddie breathes out, eyes wet.
“I’m—”
Cutting him off, Eddie pulls him in, peppering a few kisses along his cheek before dropping his face into Buck’s neck, nosing at the skin there.
“O-Oh. Hey,” Buck breathes out.
He lifts a hand, petting at the straight, soft strands of Eddie’s hair. Eddie melts further against him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
“He’s right, you know,” Eddie mumbles.
“Hm?”
“You’re family.” Eddie’s hand finds Buck’s waist, settling at the small of it as he nuzzles into his neck. “You’ve been our family for a long time, Buck.”
“Yeah,” Buck exhales, content, happy, and himself. “I know.”