Chapter Text
The station felt alive again.
Not just busy—because the 118 was always busy—but whole.
Music drifted from the loft speakers while Chim argued with Hen over whether the burgers outside were burning. Ravi kept sneaking fries off the tray every time Eddie looked away, and Bobby—alive, here, smiling—stood at the kitchen counter shaking his head like this chaos was exactly what he’d missed.
Buck leaned against the railing upstairs, arms folded over his chest, and watched Eddie laugh so hard he nearly spilled his beer.
God, Buck had missed that sound.
“Hey!” Eddie snapped suddenly, pointing at Ravi. “I saw that!”
Ravi grinned, entirely unashamed, another fry halfway into his mouth. “You left them unattended.”
“That’s theft.”
“That’s survival.”
Christopher laughed from the couch. “Dad, you do leave food around like bait.”
“Traitor,” Eddie muttered.
Buck snorted quietly to himself.
This—this was what things were supposed to feel like.
Eddie back at the 118. Christopher back home. Bobby in the kitchen. Athena dropping by every twenty minutes just to kiss Bobby’s cheek and pretend she wasn’t checking on all of them.
The family was back together, so Buck should’ve just felt happy.
He did feel happy.
Mostly.
“Buck!” Chimney yelled from downstairs. “You planning on helping or just staring dramatically into the middle distance?”
Buck blinked. “I wasn’t staring dramatically.”
Hen looked up from the grill. “You were absolutely staring dramatically.”
“I hate all of you.”
“Love you too!” Chim called back.
Buck headed downstairs, rolling his eyes, but Eddie caught his wrist as he passed.
“You okay?”
There it was.
That soft look Eddie always got when it came to Buck.
The one that somehow made Buck feel seen all the way down to his bones.
“Yeah,” Buck said easily. “Just glad you’re back.”
Eddie’s expression warmed instantly. “Me too.”
And Buck ignored the weird little flip in his stomach.
~
Hours later, dinner had turned into stories. The kind that only happened when everyone felt safe enough to relax.
Christopher sat cross-legged on the couch while Eddie leaned back beside him, one arm stretched over the cushions as he talked.
“El Paso was weirdly quiet,” Eddie admitted. “Like—I kept waiting for sirens or something.”
“You?” Hen teased. “Unable to relax? Shocking.”
Eddie pointed at her. “I relaxed eventually.”
“No, you didn’t,” Buck said automatically.
Eddie looked over at him with a grin. “Okay, maybe not eventually.”
Everyone laughed, but Buck stayed quiet when Eddie kept talking.
About Christopher’s grandparents, about old neighborhood spots, aout helping fix up a neighbor’s truck because apparently Eddie Diaz could never just sit still, about dancing with Christopher in the kitchen while making breakfast, about this tiny taco place Christopher became obsessed with.
Buck listened carefully.
Maybe too carefully.
Because these were new stories.
Stories Eddie had never told him before.
Not during the late-night phone calls or during their texts.
Not during the days Buck spent pretending the station didn’t feel empty without him.
“And then Chris tried to teach Pepa’s dog how to skateboard,” Eddie said, laughing.
Christopher groaned. “Dad.”
“What? It’s true.”
“The dog was fine!”
“The dog was terrified.”
Buck smiled because everyone else was smiling, but something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.
Because Eddie had called him.
A lot.
Sometimes for ten minutes. Sometimes for hours.
Buck had clung to those calls like lifelines without ever admitting it out loud.
And yet…
Eddie never told him any of this.
Why?
“Buck?”
Buck looked up fast. Bobby stood near the kitchen with two beers in hand.
“You with us?”
“Yeah.” Buck rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Just tired.”
Bobby gave him a look that clearly said I know you’re lying but I’ll allow it for now.
“Come help me in the kitchen.”
Buck followed him gratefully.
The second they were alone, Bobby handed him a beer.
“You okay?”
Buck huffed a laugh. “Does everyone have some kind of psychic connection now?”
“Comes with the job.”
Buck leaned against the counter.
Out in the living room, Eddie was still talking while Christopher corrected half his stories dramatically.
Buck watched Eddie smile.
Watched the way he lit up when he talked about Christopher.
Watched how easy it was for him to slide right back into the 118 like he’d never left.
And suddenly Buck heard himself ask quietly—
“Do you ever feel weird when people change without you there?”
Bobby stayed silent for a moment. “People always change, Buck.”
“Yeah, but…” Buck frowned. “What if you miss parts of it?”
Bobby’s eyes softened with understanding that made Buck immediately regret speaking.
“You feel left out.”
Buck looked away.
“That sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
Buck swallowed. “I know Eddie didn’t do anything wrong,” he said quickly. “I mean, obviously he didn’t. He doesn’t have to tell me everything.”
“But?”
Buck stared down at the beer bottle in his hands. “But I wanted him to.”
The words settled heavier than he expected.
Bobby nodded slowly.
“You care about him.”
“Yeah,” Buck said immediately. Too immediately.
Bobby hid a smile behind his drink.
Buck noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, that was definitely a face.”
“It was not.”
“That was absolutely a face, Bobby.”
Bobby chuckled quietly, then glanced toward Eddie. “You know,” he said casually, “sometimes the people we love become so important to us that we stop noticing the line between friendship and something deeper.”
Buck’s heart stumbled.
Hard.
“Oh.”
Bobby took another sip of beer like he hadn’t just detonated something inside Buck’s brain. “Just something to think about.”
Buck opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Because the thing was— Being Eddie’s best friend had never been hard.
Not once.
Not even when Eddie was stubborn. Or closed off. Or drove Buck insane.
Loving Eddie—however Buck already loved him—felt as natural as breathing.
So what if—
No.
Nope.
Buck straightened immediately, internally slamming a door shut on that thought.
Absolutely not.
Except…
The idea lingered anyway.
Small.
Quiet.
Persistent.
Maybe loving Eddie more than he already did wouldn’t actually be difficult. Maybe it wouldn’t even change that much.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy.
“Buck!”
Buck nearly jumped out of his skin. Eddie stood in the doorway holding an empty bowl.
“You good?”
“Yep.” Buck’s voice cracked slightly. “Totally good.”
Eddie squinted. “Why are you standing like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you just saw a ghost.”
Bobby very suddenly became fascinated with washing dishes.
Traitor.
Buck cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”
Eddie stepped closer anyway because of course he did. “You sure?”
And there it was again.
That concern.
That warmth.
That unwavering Eddie-ness.
Buck’s chest ached unexpectedly. “Yeah,” he said softer this time.
Eddie held his gaze another second before nodding. “Okay.” Then he bumped his shoulder lightly against Buck’s. “C’mon. Chim and Ravi are about to start wrestling over dessert.”
Buck laughed despite himself. “Why?”
“Ravi ate the last brownie.”
“Oh, that’s fatal.”
“Exactly.”
Eddie headed back toward the living room.
Buck followed a step behind, eyes fixed on the familiar slope of Eddie’s shoulders.
The thought still sat quietly in the back of his mind.
Not overwhelming, but just there, waiting.
And for the first time, Buck didn’t entirely want it to leave.